Oh. My. Gods. - Weebly

“Fine.” I turn off the track, heading for the stadium exit. “Finish
my cooldown for me, will ya?”
“Wait,” he calls after me. “Phoebe, wait.”
I am halfway to the exit when he reaches me. His fingers close
around my upper arm. I’m not sure if he would physically stop me
if I keep going because I stop the second he touches me.
Wheeling around, I jab my index finger in his face. “I have better
things to do than finish my session in tension-heavy silence, so
unless you’re ready to spill about whatever you came here for, I’m
going home.”
His grip on my arm tightens just a little when I start to turn
away.
“Okay,” he says, his voice low. “I’ll explain. Let’s get back to your
cooldown and I’ll tell you why I’m here.”
I nod my head and follow him back to the track.
“I should—” His pace is brisk, and I walk faster to keep up. “I’m
sorry for not talking to you all week. That wasn’t fair.”
“No,” I say as we walk even faster, “it wasn’t. But by now I’m
pretty much used to your unfair treatment.”
I’ve had lots of practice.
“I just . . .” He kicks our pace up to a jog. “. . . get uncomfortable
when people know my weaknesses.”
“Weaknesses? What are you talking about?”
“My being related to Hercules.”
“Surely other people know about th—”
“Only Headmaster Petrolas,” he says quietly. “And you.”
“What about Nicole?” I ask. They’d been friends when they were
kids, she had to know.
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