Oh. My. Gods. - Weebly

I was taunting him in the qualifying race, his grip on me remains
relaxed. From the way he’s clenching his jaw and staring straight
ahead I’m pretty sure I’m not getting any more conversation out
of him.
I can’t stand the tension-rich silence.
“Do you know where you’re going to college?” I ask, hoping he’ll
go for the change of subject.
No response. Shocking.
“I’m going to USC next year,” I say, filling the silence with my
own voice. “Hopefully, I’ll get a cross-country scholarship. I just
have to make a B average and do well in our meets and the coach
says he’ll give me a full ride, which I’ll really need since Mom’s not
working anymore and I don’t expect Damian to pay for anything
because—”
“Oxford,” Griffin blurts. “I’m going to Oxford.”
Apparently he’s no match for babbling girls. I’ll have to keep
that in mind in the future.
Remembering that Stella has the same plan, I ask, “Does everyone
at the Academy go to Oxford?”
“The school has an . . . arrangement with the university administration.”
“What are you going to study?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to add, “Mythology?” but I decide
against the sarcasm. At the moment he’s being heroic, but tomorrow
at school is fair game and I don’t want to end up zapped to the
ceiling in my underwear or anything.
“Economics.”
That’s it. One word response.
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