It occurred to me that I wasn't quite sure how I knew the answer to Metis's question. I didn't think Nike had even been mentioned in the chapter that I'd read. But since it wasn't the strangest thing that I'd encountered at Mythos, I pushed it out of my mind.
Professor Metis speared one of the louder snickerers with a dirty look before asking him an even more obscure question about Reapers.
When I was sure Metis wasn't going to call on me again, I went back to staring out the window and brooding about how I'd caused my own mom's death just by picking up the wrong girl's hairbrush.
Chapter 3
Myth-history was my last class of the day. As soon as the bell rang, I stuffed my textbook into my bag.
"See ya, Gwen."
Carson Callahan called out a cheery good-bye and slid the plastic bag with the charm bracelet into one of the pockets on his designer khaki cargo pants. I nodded at him, shouldered my bag, and left.
I walked down the crowded hallway, pushed through the first door I came to, and stepped outside. Five main buildings made up the heart of Mythos Academy-math-science, English-history, the gym, the dining hall, and the library-all grouped together in a loose cluster, like the five points of a star. Even though I'd been going here for two months now, the buildings all looked the same to me-dark gray stone covered with thick, heavy vines of glossy ivy. Large, creepy Gothic structures, with towers and parapets and balconies. Statues of various mythological monsters like gryphons and Gorgons perched on all the buildings, their mouths open in silent, angry snarls.
An enormous open quad and a series of curving walkways connected the five buildings to each other before the ash gray cobblestones snaked down a hill and farther out to the student dorms and the other structures that made up the rest of the lush academy grounds. Green grass still rolled over the smooth lawns, despite the October chill. Here and there, tall maples and oaks spread their limbs wide, their leaves holding on to the last bright blazes of bloody crimson and pumpkin orange.
I zipped up my hoodie, stuck my hands in my pockets, and headed across the quad, skirting around the groups of students who'd stopped to talk, pull out their cell phones, and check their messages. I'd made it about halfway when high, trilling laughter caught my ear.
I turned my head and saw Jasmine Ashton holding court underneath the towering maple tree that stood in the center of the quad.
Jasmine Ashton was the most popular girl in my class, which was made up of the seventeen-year-old, second-year students. Jasmine was also a Valkyrie with a mane of strawberry-blond hair, bright blue eyes, and the most expensive designer clothes that money could buy. She was the kind of girl who made everyone else look plain-even her thin, gorgeous, similarly dressed friends. Jasmine sat on an iron bench underneath the maple tree, looking at something on her laptop and giggling, along with Morgan McDougall, her best friend.
With her black hair, hazel eyes, curvy body, and supershort skirts, Morgan was only slightly less beautiful and popular than Jasmine, which made her the number-two diva in our class. Morgan's reputation for being a raging slut who'd sleep with almost anyone made her number one with the guys, though. Naturally.
Two more girls sat on either side of Jasmine and Morgan, while Daphne Cruz perched on a fleece blanket on the grass in front of the bench. All the popular Valkyrie princesses tended to stick together.
The girls weren't alone. Samson Sorensen stood behind Jasmine, rubbing her shoulders with the rapt devotion of a slave. No wonder, since the Viking was Jasmine's boyfriend and one of the cutest guys in school. Sandy brown hair, hazel eyes, dimples. Samson could have easily passed for a Calvin Klein model. He also happened to be the captain of the swim team. No football here. All the kids at Mythos did fancy, froufrou sports like swimming, tennis, archery, and fencing. Seriously, fencing. What was the point of that?
Seeing Jasmine and Samson together was like staring at a life-size version of Ken and Barbie. They just looked that perfect together, like they'd been made for each other.
The other students at Mythos might not pay much attention to me, but I was still able to hear plenty of juicy gossip on my own. Rumor had it that there was Big Trouble in paradise between the happy couple. Evidently, Samson was ready to go All the Way, since he and Jasmine had been dating since last year, but she wasn't ready to cash in her V Card just yet-
I was so busy staring at them that I slammed into a guy walking the opposite way across the quad. And, of course, my messenger bag slid off my shoulder and hit the ground, spilling my books everywhere. Because that's just what happened to girls like me.
"Sorry," I muttered, falling to my knees and attempting to scoop everything back into my bag before anyone got a good look at anything, especially the now-empty tin of chocolate-chip cookies that Grandma Frost had baked for me and the comic books that had slid out. The colorful pages flapped and fluttered like dragonflies in the breeze.
Instead of walking around me like I'd expected him to, the guy I'd hit decided to crouch down next to me instead. My eyes flicked up to his face. It took me a second to recognize him, but when I did, I froze. Because Logan Quinn was the guy I'd just rammed into.
Uh-oh.
Even among the rich warrior kids at Mythos, Logan Quinn was the kind of guy who scared everyone. He did whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted to. And a lot of what he liked to do involved hurting people.
Everything about Logan screamed bad boy, from his thick, silky, ink-black hair to his intense ice blue eyes to the black leather jacket that highlighted his broad shoulders. Oh yeah, he was sexy, in a rough, rumpled, I-just-climbed-out-of-some-girl's-bed kind of way. Apparently, Logan lived up to the hype and was well on his way to sleeping with most, if not all, of the hottest girls at Mythos. Supposedly, he signed the mattresses of the girls that he scored with just to keep track of all of them. Something that the other guys had taken to doing, although not with as much success as Logan. Except maybe in Morgan McDougall's room.
Logan Quinn was also descended from a long line of Spartans. Yeah, those Spartans, the warriors who held off thousands of bad guys before most of them kicked it at the ancient battle of Thermopylae. All of which had been brought to life by Gerard Butler and his chiseled man abs in 300. Professor Metis had let us watch the movie in class three weeks ago, before she proceeded to lecture us about the historical importance of the battle. But Gerard's abs had been impressive enough for me to daydream about them and tune out Metis.
There were only a handful of Spartans here at Mythos, but all the other students tread carefully around them. Even the richest, snobbiest kid knew better than to piss off a Spartan. At least, to his face anyway. That's because Spartans were hands-down the best fighters at the academy. Spartans were born warriors. That's all they knew how to do, and that's all they ever did.