Chapter 6 It’s All Ancient Greek to Me
I BLINK MY EYES A couple times just in case I’m hallucinating. People can’t just disappear, can they? Even in the middle of a school dedicated to the gods, people have to walk away just like everyone else.
Except, apparently, for this one particular Hades boy. Because he is gone. Like, gone gone. Like, vanished gone, and I have absolutely no idea where he went or how he got there.
A part of me wants to stick around and search for him for a little while—there has to be some kind of root cellar or hidden door out here or something, because there’s no way he just evaporated into thin air.
But I’ve got absolutely no time for that, not when this detour has made me even later than before.
So instead of looking for the way-too-cute-for-his-own-good Hades boy, I turn back around and race toward the tree I think he pointed at.
The sparkles are back by my side now—apparently their infatuation with him was short lived.
They circle around my waist and forehead for a few seconds before rushing past me to the gravel path they tried to get me to go down earlier.
I almost follow them—calling the weedy, rock-strewn area next to the tree stump a path was very generous on the Hades boy’s part. But his disappearing act proves he knows a lot more about this place than I do, so I decide to trust him.
It’s probably a bad decision, but I’ve got no more time to waste. I hurtle onto the path and race through an even more densely wooded part of the forest. It grows darker with each step I take, the thick foliage blocking out the sun a little more with each foot I travel down this makeshift trail.
The darker it gets, the more nervous I become. The fact that the sparkles are boinging around like they’re even closer to freaking out than I am definitely doesn’t help the situation.
Frustrated tears burn the backs of my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Instead, I blink them away and force myself to keep going. And going. And going. Just when I’m about to give up and turn back, I burst out of the darkness and straight into what has to be the center of campus.
Thank the gods.
All around me are giant buildings with signs in front of them, calling out their important-sounding names—the Parthenon, the Hall of Legends, the Stoa.
The marble exteriors gleam bright white in the suddenly blinding sunlight, and if I didn’t know better, I would think I’d wandered straight into ancient Greece.
Or what I imagine ancient Greece must have looked like, based on my years of studying everything about the place in preparation for coming here.
The buildings are all built in a square formation—two per side of the square, except for the Stoa, which takes up an entire side on its own—and they’re all lined with columns. So, so, so many columns.
Doric columns. Ionic columns. Corinthian columns, each one a little more ornate than the one that came before it.
Some of the columns are bare, but others have ivy and climbing roses winding their way around them all the way up to their slanted roofs.
The roofs themselves are edged with gold—whether paint or the real thing, I can’t tell from here—and a variety of acroteria.
The small pedestals and statues are different for every roof—some are flowers, some are just graphic-looking designs, and some look almost scary, like they could be gargoyles in a different time or place.
More cobblestone pathways lined with well-manicured hedges surround each building and lead to other buildings and, more importantly, to the center of the square. And standing right in the middle of that square is a giant, round building.
Thank the gods. I’ve finally, finally, found the amphitheater.
I rush past the huge open-air Stoa with its pointy roof. The brochures say it is a favorite place for students to hang out and eat lunch. I can see why—it looks supercool.
It has to have close to a hundred ornate Corinthian columns making up its sides, each one topped by rosettes and leaves. Running along the edge of the roof—above the fancy columns—is an even fancier molding carved with a bunch of different people and animals.
There’s a part of me that wants nothing more than to stop and stare at the building—it’s positively awe inspiring—and I promise myself that I will, the first chance I get.
But right now, even the Stoa’s truly incredible architecture can’t hold a candle to the building looming directly in the center of the agora and directly in front of me.
It’s not as big as the amphitheaters they used to have in ancient Greece, of course, but it’s definitely big enough to intimidate me.
Designed in a semicircle with a huge back wall and staggered seats running up that wall from the ground to the very top, it’s super imposing.
Especially since I’m late and looking for any way in that doesn’t involve me humiliating myself.
Considering I’m facing the back wall and the main entrance is on the other side of the amphitheater—the side that all the seats are facing—where the stage and orchestra circle are, I’m desperate to find even the tiniest entrance.
Being late to the first-day assembly is bad enough.
Being late and drawing the attention of every person in the amphitheater is another thing altogether.
One I want absolutely no part of.
Not sure what to do or how to get in—this school obviously has a signage problem—I start walking along the back curve of the amphitheater, hoping for a miracle…or at least a door.
In the end, I find several, but they’re all locked—which isn’t exactly a surprise considering how my day has been going.
I’ve just started to resign myself to having to walk in in front of everyone when I finally—finally—spot an open door at the edge of the semicircle.
Even better, standing in the center of that open doorway is Paris.
Relief and gratitude flow through me. So what if he didn’t wait for me at the bridge? He waited for me here and that’s what matters.
I start running toward him—or as close to running as I can get while dragging this ridiculous suitcase.
“Where have you been?” he hisses once I reach him. “You’ve missed everything.”
“Everything?” A combination of fear and regret burns in my stomach as I glance at my phone—it still doesn’t have any service, but at least it can tell me the time. “In twenty-five minutes?”
“They move fast here.” He grabs the suitcase out of my hand and ushers me inside. “Come on, I saved a seat for you.”
Loud, raucous cheers sound from the stands as the door closes behind us. My heart is beating triple time as we walk down a long hallway beneath the seats. It’s dark, but that doesn’t matter, as there isn’t much to see except for the huge pile of luggage at the end of it.
Paris drops his suitcase into the middle of the pile, then motions for me to do the same with my backpack.
“Come on. I grabbed seats at the bottom so we wouldn’t have to disturb everyone by trying to climb up the stairs.
Not that I thought you’d be half an hour late. You really have to work out more.”
“How were you not late?” I demand with narrowed eyes. It’s one thing for me to reach the conclusion that I need to work out more—it’s another thing entirely for him to actually say it. “After that obstacle course on the bridge? And the snakes—”
“Snakes?” He looks completely confused. “What snakes?”
“Seriously? The snakes that swarm and bite you—”
If possible, Paris looks even more baffled. “I didn’t see any snakes. I just walked across the bridge and followed the signs—”
“Signs? There were no signs!” I squawk indignantly.
“What are you talking about? They had one posted every two feet between the bridge and here. With giant black letters.” He shakes his head like he can’t believe I missed them.
But I didn’t miss them. There just weren’t any. I looked everywhere for them. I mean…didn’t I?
For the first time, doubt starts to creep in. I checked everywhere I could think of. But maybe I did miss them somehow? I don’t think that’s possible, but it’s not like there are a lot of other explanations. Paris saw the signs. I didn’t. Signs, like Hades boys, don’t just disappear.
This has to be my fault.
That or it really was the donut holes, after all. Next year I’m going to eat two dozen of them. Maybe that way I can just step onto the bridge and show up in the middle of the amphitheater. Not going to lie…skipping that nasty flower field sounds pretty good right about now.
“Next time just text me. I’ll give you directions,” Paris mutters as he takes my wrist and starts tugging me along. “Come on, let’s go before we get into trouble on the first day.”
Just the thought of being in trouble has my already jittery stomach threatening to revolt. So much so that I don’t bother to tell him about my no-service message and simply ask, “Do you know what they’re cheering about?”
“I think it’s about the new pattern.”
“New pattern?” I feel like I’m twenty-five steps behind, not just twenty-five minutes. “For what?”
“Supposedly, it’s some kind of logic problem,” my brother answers. “Something about how to get around the school.”
“You mean they don’t just give us a map—”
I break off as we step from the shadowed hallway into the full-blown light of the amphitheater.
It’s even more impressive than I imagined.
Not to mention, it’s definitely bigger than it looks from the back.
And brighter, even though that only makes sense considering there’s no roof.
Like the amphitheaters of ancient Greece, this one is completely open air.
Above us, the sky shines a bright, beautiful blue.
But the size of the place is the least surprising—and intimidating—part of the amphitheater.