Oh. My. Gods. - Weebly

I don’t plan on eating anything that was crawling across my plate
two minutes ago.
Sensing a searing glare, I glance up at Stella. Her gray eyes burn
with undisguised fury. In comparison, the dolmades are much more
inviting.
Besides, I need to eat all I can before she gets her powers back.
“So what is this school like?” I ask, forking a piece of cucumber.
“I mean, if everyone is from all different places, then how do they
take all the same classes?”
“For many centuries,” Damian explains, “all classes at the Academy
were taught in Greek. The gods felt that their descendants
should learn their native language.”
Oh great. How am I ever going to pull that B average I need for
USC if I can’t even understand the instructor? This is like one of those
social experiments where they drop kids off in a foreign country and
they have to either learn the language or be stuck there forever.
“When the British Empire rose to power in the early 1800s, the
headmaster lobbied the gods to change the official school language
to English.” He takes a drink of water. “This turned out to be an
extremely wise decision since many of our students go on to study
at Oxford, Cambridge, and Ivy League universities.”
Whew! Though, in the great grand scheme of things, the language
barrier would be a minor problem.
“And if everyone but me has superpowers,” I say carefully, building
up the courage to ask what’s really bothering me, “am I going to
get zapped like a zillion times a day? Am I going to get . . .” I glance
nervously at Stella, only mildly secure in the idea that her powers
are grounded. “Smoted?”
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