Chapter 19 It Don’t Mean a Thing If It Ain’t Got That Bling
FRANKIE REARS BACK, OBVIOUSLY AS shocked by her demand as I am. “I wasn’t mean—”
“Yes, you were.” She narrows her eyes. “Ellie’s my friend, and she’s obviously had a rough day. There’s no reason to make fun of her for that.”
I start to tell her it’s okay, that it’s no big deal. But there’s suddenly a giant lump in my throat that makes it impossible for me to get any words out.
No one’s ever stuck up for me like this before. Not even Paris.
Frankie starts to grow huffy, but as Fifi continues to glare at him, his huffiness turns to discomfort. And this time when his hand goes to his neck, it isn’t to clutch his pearls. It’s to run a finger under his collar, as if his brightly patterned tie has suddenly become way too tight for him.
In fact, he seems so uncertain that I’d be tempted to laugh if I wasn’t still reeling over the way Fifi is defending me. Are all Aphrodites like this or just my roommate?
“Fine, I’m sorry, Ellie. You look…” Frankie looks pained as he struggles to find something kind to say about my appearance.
Which does make me laugh, because I know exactly how bad I look right now—especially compared to the two of them. “It’s fine,” I tell him. “I know I need a shower.”
We both glance at Fifi to see if she’s satisfied with his apology. Apparently, she is, because her arms are back by her sides and a huge smile has replaced her frown as she tells me, “Now hurry up and call your muse, Ellie! Then we can get our labors together.”
“I thought I had called her.” I hold up the letter in my hand. “That’s what I was trying to ask Frankie. What else do I need to do?”
“That should be enough.” Frankie nods to the letter. “Who does it say you got?”
“It says her name is Calliope.” I turn the letter to show him the name written in sparkly gold letters across the center of the paper.
His eyes go wide. “Calliope?” he repeats in a whisper.
My stomach sinks at his reaction. “Is that bad? Who is she?”
“Are you kidding?” Fifi exclaims as she claps her hands in obvious glee. “It’s the best. Calliope is, like, the OG of muses.”
“Really?” I meet Frankie’s suddenly cautious gaze with my own. Fifi may be happy with this turn of events, but I’m reserving judgment until I can figure out what has Frankie so shocked.
“Well, I wouldn’t call her the OG,” he says after several long seconds of silence. “But she’s definitely one of the Big Nine.”
“Not just one of the Big Nine!” Fifi crows. “The most important of the Big Nine!”
I feel my own eyes grow big as I realize who she’s talking about. “You don’t actually mean my muse is…”
“That’s exactly what we mean,” Frankie says as he bends down to get a closer look at my letter. “That definitely says your muse is Calliope. The Calliope.”
“The muse of epic poetry?” I have to ask, because this is just too bizarre. “Of the original nine muses. That Calliope?”
“There’s only one and she’s definitely it.” This time when he looks at me, there’s something in his eyes that I can’t quite figure out. “You know, I’ve never seen one of the Big Nine assigned to a student at Anaximander’s before.”
“Never?” Fifi asks before I can.
He shakes his head. “Never.”
“That’s weird—” I start.
“That’s awesome!” Fifi says at the exact same time. “Except, where is she?” She looks around the room like she expects Calliope to be hiding in a corner or under a bed.
“She’s probably just hung up somewhere,” Frankie tries to reassure me. “The Big Nine have a lot to do.”
“I can imagine.” I’m still reeling from the news that Calliope—the Calliope—is my muse. She’s the one who’s going to give me my labors. And she’s the one I’m supposed to ask for help when I need it. Finally, something is happening that feels right.
I have been assigned the most important, best muse pretty much of all time!
How is that possible? More, how will I even work up the nerve to speak to her?
I want to ask Frankie that and so much more, but the truth is, he’s not here for me. He’s here for Fifi, and I’ve already taken up too much of their time. I need to just wait patiently for Calliope to arrive. I wonder if she’s late because she’s sorting out my hall assignment. I bet that’s it.
“Why don’t you guys get back to what you have to do?” I suggest as I move toward my suitcase. “I’ll just, um, unpack while I wait for Calliope…”
I’m not really going to unpack—not if my hall assignment is about to change—but I can make myself look busy while I wait.
Frankie runs with my suggestion as he opens his messenger bag and pulls out a gold eleven-by-fourteen frame decorated with apples and hearts and arrows.
Fifi can’t help looking. “Are those my—”
“Labors?” Frankie grins. “Yeah, they are. Do you like the frame? I spent hours decorating it.”
“Are you kidding? I love it!” she squeals as he hands it to her. “The apples are my favorite part.”
“Right?” Frankie looks proud. “You can’t hand an Aphrodite her labors without at least a few blinged-out apples.”
They both laugh at a joke I don’t understand before Fifi goes back to oohing and aahing over the frame.
And while, sure, it looks pretty from here—if you like the whole over-the-top thing—part of me wants to hurry her up to what’s really important. Her labors.
My whole life I’ve heard about the twelve labors every student at Anaximander’s gets, but I’ve never actually seen them up close.
I know Fifi’s will be different from mine—every student gets a unique list specifically designed for their strengths and weaknesses—but I’d still like to see what she got.
Partly because it will give me an idea of what to expect and partly because she’s my friend.
I want to make sure she’s good with everything.
It seems rude to ask, though—labors are personal things. I don’t know that I want to parade in front of everyone the areas that the gods believe I need work on.
So, instead of asking or trying to catch a glimpse of Fifi’s list, I busy myself with hanging my uniform in the closet.
I know I’ll just have to move the clothes later, but at least everything will be on hangers so the wrinkles can start to come out.
Thankfully, everyone at Anaximander’s wears the same thing—cobalt-blue blazers with the school crest on the left side and white or navy dress shirts with matching blue, white, and black plaid ties.
Bottoms are either navy pants or shorts or skirts in the same plaid as the tie.
We can wear polo shirts or hoodies from our halls on casual days, but I figure I’ll stick to the uniform. I’m pretty sure that’s what everyone in Athena Hall does.
After getting all my clothes put away, I move on to putting my books on the small bookshelf over my desk while Frankie and Fifi get everything situated.
“Where do you want to hang them?” he asks, nodding to the labors Fifi still has clutched in her hands.
“I don’t know. What do you think, Ellie?”
“Oh!” I look up way too casually, like I haven’t been dying for a chance to look at her labors. “I don’t know. How about over your nightstand, where you can see them every morning when you get up?”
“Oh, that’s a good idea!” She grins at Frankie. “Let’s put them there.”
“Your wish is my command.” He moves toward the small wooden nightstand next to her bed.
“Wait, really?” I ask, because how cool would that be? I could be in Athena Hall by dark if muses can grant wishes.
“No, not really.” He rolls his eyes. “I’m a muse, not a genie.”
My cheeks start to heat, but Fifi loops an arm through mine as she giggles. “It would have been cool, though, huh?”
“Really cool.”
Frankie quickly gets the labors hung up, but before I can get a good look at the twelve elaborately written sentences on the paper inside the frame, he pulls out a bag of gumballs in every color imaginable.
“What are those?” Fifi asks even as she makes grabby hands toward the bag.
“This is how you reach me.” Frankie looks almost as excited as she does as he passes them to her. “Muses don’t have cell phones, so if you’ve got a problem or need advice, just chew a gumball and I’ll be here as soon as I can.”
“Seriously?” I ask. “Muses answer to gumballs?”
“We do,” he replies with a laugh. “The only catch is, they have to last all year. So don’t chew twenty of them tomorrow or you might not have enough to make it until June.”
“How many are there?” Fifi asks, staring at the bag with a combination of awe and excitement.
“Seventy-five, which should be more than enough to get you through. Although,” he continues with a wink, “if you want to chew one on mani-pedi night, I won’t complain. I paint a mean set of toes—glitter definitely included.”
We both laugh along with him, just as he intends. But then Frankie grows solemn.
“Seriously, though, I’m here to help. Call me anytime and I’ll come. Okay?”
“Okay.” Fifi nods.
“Well, then, it looks like my work here is done.” He slides his hammer-and-nail kit back into his bag and is in the middle of buckling it up when Fifi throws herself at him and gives him a giant hug.
“Thanks for everything!” she says as she squeezes him tight.
“I haven’t done anything yet,” he laughs. But his grin is indulgent as he pats her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Fifi. I can tell you two are going to have an amazing year. And Ellie, I’m sure we will be seeing a lot of each other. Good luck with Calliope!”
I want to ask him again when he thinks she might show up, but before I get a chance to, Frankie disappears, the sound of the window slamming behind him our only clue as to where he’s gone.