I turn to see which tree he’s talking about—wearein the middle of a forest, after all. There are lots of trees. “The one next to the big tree stump? I don’t see any—”
I break off, mid-sentence, as I turn back to face him. Because he’s no longer there.
6.It’s All Ancient Greek to Me
I BLINK MY EYES Acouple 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. Becauseheis 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 straightinto 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,somany 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 Corinthiancolumns 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 ofeveryonewhen 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?”
