“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.TheCalliope.”
“The muse of epic poetry?” I have to ask, because this is just too bizarre. “Of the original nine muses.ThatCalliope?”
“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—theCalliope—is my muse. She’s the one who’s going to give me my labors. And she’s the one I’m supposed to askfor help when I need it. Finally, something is happening that feelsright.
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.”
