And the most epic thing of all is the semicircle of seated adults currently facing us from the center of the amphitheater—also known as the orchestra. They have to be the instructors, and oh my gosh, why didn’t my parents tell me how cool they were?
From the guy with long locs and super soulful eyes to the woman in the bright pink power suit with a giant snake coiled around her left arm, every single one of them looks fantastical. Magical.Epic.
I don’t know what gifts the gods have bestowed on the group of them, but it’s obvious that they’ve been given a lot—I can feel their power even all the way over here, at the edge of the stands.
But no matter how powerful they all look, no one holdsa candle to the woman standing directly in the middle of the orchestra—arms raised and gaze focused on the stands full of students.
I don’t know how to describe her except to say that everything about her is gold.
Her wavy, shoulder-length hair? A deep, lush gold.
Her wide, long-lashed eyes? A bright amber gold.
Her long, flowing dress? A warm honey gold.
Even her skin sparkles like she’s been dusted by tiny flecks of gold—the twenty-four-karat kind, not the fourteen-karat one the rest of us settle for.
I’ve never seen anyone like her before, and even though I’ve missed twenty-five minutes, I don’t need an introduction to know who she is: Anastasia Themis, headmaster of Anaximander’s.
Her reputation precedes her—or maybe it’s just that my enthusiasm precedes me. I spent the summer combing through everything I could find, which admittedly wasn’t much, in an effort to learn as much as possible about this school and her.
There wasn’t much out there about Anaximander’s that wasn’t in the brochure—this place is shrouded in secrecy—but there were plenty of entries about Anastasia Themis in the last volume of my birthday present. Not to mention in the many magazines and newspapers my parents subscribe to. She was even the main feature in July’s edition ofOld Myths, New Gods.
I read the story so many times I’ve practically got it memorized. Which is how I know she has a tattoo of a lightning bolton her right bicep that was placed there by Zeus himself. And also how I know that she’s fifty-seven even though she looks like she’s still in her twenties.
She’s been in charge of Anaximander’s for over a decade, and she was a teacher here for a lot of years before that. My dad says she was the hardest, but the fairest, instructor he ever had.
More than all that, though, she’s also a counselor to the Anaximander graduates who run our world. The article says they seek her advice regularly.
And now she’s speaking to us. It seems surreal.
“As you can see,” she says, her voice trilling like a million little bells as she scans the amphitheater from one end to the other, “the upperclassers are as excited as the faculty and I are to have you here, new ones.”
More cheers ring out to support her claims as Paris and I finally make our way over to the front-row bench he’s saved for us with his backpack and jacket.
We slide into our spots just as Dr. Themis holds a hand up to silence the boisterous shouts from the upperclassers. Everyone quiets down except for one large section of the stands—the one filled with a bunch of students wearing brightly colored clothes, many of whom also have slashes of red or pink on their faces and in their hair.
Ugh. Theyhaveto be the Aphrodites. Too loud, too excited, way too unconcerned with the rules. My mother says they’re one small step up from anarchists, and watching them now, I absolutely believe her.
“Enough!” Dr. Themis finally orders, her trilling bells turning into a blaring siren sound that has my spine stiffening and every hair on the back of my neck sticking straight up.
At first, it looks like the Aphrodites still aren’t going to quiet down—they’re having way too much fun cheering. But then she shoots them a narrow-eyed glare that eventually brings them to heel. Personally, I can’t believe it took them that long. I can’t imagine what it would feel like to be stared at like that—and I really hope I never, ever find out.
As the amphitheater finally turns silent, Dr. Themis continues, “I know all you new students are excited to find out where at Anaximander’s you belong, and I’m pleased to let you know that moment has finally arrived.”
She pauses a second to let the words sink in, and excitement zings through me. Because for the first time since I stepped foot on that bridge, I finally feel like I know where I’m going. More, I know exactly where I belong.
Which is why I’m not nervous at all when Dr. Themis says, “First years, please come down to the center of the orchestra to receive your instructions.”
7.Sometimes All That Glitters ReallyIsGold
BECAUSE WE’RE IN THE FRONTrow, Paris and I are the very first ones to the center of the orchestra. He drags his feet a little, and I can tell he’s uncomfortable at being the focus of all the people staring down at us.
It doesn’t bother me, though. Not when getting here before anyone else gives me time to watch the other first years—and holy cow, there have to be at least one hundred and fifty of them—slowly make their way down the stairs.
Some of the first years are dressed like Paris, in worn jeans and T-shirts that proclaim their favorite games or bands or superheroes. But a lot of them are actually dressed like me, in the colors of the hall they want to belong to.
I’m surprised to see how much red and pink is floatingaround—there must be a ton of wannabe Aphrodites in this year’s class. Go figure.
