Oh. My. Gods. - Weebly

Cesca checks the bench for dust. When it passes inspection, she
sits and carefully crosses her legs.
I’m too wound up to sit. Instead, I start pacing. “I have some-
thing to tell you.”
“Sounds serious,” Nola says.
“Well . . .” I stalk three steps before spinning around. “It is.”
Nola and Cesca look at each other. Knowing from years of experience
that I mean it, they settle in for whatever I have to say.
“Cesca,” I begin. “I don’t know if you told Nola about my IM
slip-up—”
“I didn’t.” She looks offended that I would even ask.
“But,” I continue, indicating she shouldn’t interrupt, “I want to
explain to both of you the secret of Serfopoula.”
“Aha!” Nola jumps up and points at me. “I knew there was something
fishy about this island.”
“Nola, please,” I say.
Cesca smacks her on the leg. “Sit down and let her finish.”
Nola sinks reluctantly back to the ground, but I can tell she’s still
gloating. And this time she’s right.
“It’s not a secret military testing ground or a witness protection
hideout for the Kennedy conspirators.”
Her lower lip pouts out and I can tell she’s vastly disappointed.
“It is,” I say, drawing it out with a sense of the dramatic, “more
mythology than conspiracy.” At their confused looks I continue.
“Serfopoula is protected because the Academy is a private school
for the descendants of Greek gods.”
“For the what?” Nola asks.
Cesca uncrosses her legs and leans forward. “Get out.”
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