Oh. My. Gods. - Weebly

side of the desk and leaning her hip against his chair, “this is the
most exciting part.”
More exciting than the whole I’m-a-descendant-of-Nike thing?
“A general grounding of powers is usually sufficient to prevent
any adolescent descendant from using them,” Damian explains.
“I didn’t think I’d need to use something more powerful,” Coach
mutters.
“I believe the glow we all saw was your powers trying to manifest.”
Damian leans forward and rests his elbows on the desk. “The fact
that yours—latent and dormant as they were—managed to appear
at all suggests that they are quite potent.”
I stare at him. “How is that possible?”
“Like any other talent, powers strength vary greatly from person
to person,” Damian says. “There is a correlation between strength
and the concentration of godly blood you carry. In short, the closer
your proximity to a deity, the stronger your powers.”
“Which is a complicated way of saying . . .?”
Mom beams. “That your father was Nike’s grandson.”
It’s a good thing I’m sitting down, because otherwise I think I’d
fall over. I’m only one “great” away from a goddess?
“Your powers,” Damian says, “have phenomenal potential.”
Coach pumps his fist. “We are so going to win the Mediterranean
Cup this year!” When Mom, Damian, and I all glare at him,
he hurries to say, “Not that we’d use her powers to win, of course.
Phoebe doesn’t need powers to kick tail on the course.”
Powers? My powers? I have phenomenal powers? Now that is a
strange thought.
Yet somehow it makes sense. When I think about how easy run-
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