“To get my suitcase out of the trunk.” I go for matter-of-fact—any hesitation on my part will have my parents shuffling us back into the car and driving straight home.
That isnotgoing to happen. Not today and definitely not on my watch. Today is the first day of the rest of my life—new school, new friends, Athena Hall, my labors—and I am not putting it off for one more second. “Paris and I need to get going.”
It’s a gamble, I know—the car is locked, and neither of my parents are the type to be steered anywhere they don’t want to go. Thankfully, though, it only takes them about a minute to come to the same conclusion PT and I already have.
That Paris and I are completely out of time.
My dad reluctantly pulls out his key fob, and by the time I reach the back of the car, the trunk is already opening. My relief is short-lived, though, because a glimpse inside reminds me of just how big my suitcase really is.
Why, oh why, did I think I needed to pack my entire wardrobe plus my thirteenth-birthday present—all eleven volumes ofAncient Myths for Any Occasion, the Abridged Version?
Because that’s what Athena girls do, I remind myself asI grab my overstuffed backpack and sling it over my shoulders. We’re founts of knowledge who are always prepared for anything.
But when I start to reach for my suitcase, Paris stops me.
“I’ll take yours,” he says, grabbing onto the handle of my giant blue suitcase and wrestling it to the ground. “You can take mine.”
And that’s why Paris is my favorite, even though he’s a pain in the butt at least sixty percent of the time. He’s always, always got my back.
Still, I start to argue with him—Athena girls carry their own bags.
But a quick glance at my watch tells me we’ve got less than five minutes to get to the school before the opening ceremony starts, and there’s no way I’m going to get there in time if I’m also lugging that suitcase.
And since Athena girls are practical above all else, I decide to go with it.
“You’re the best,” I tell him as I grab onto the handle of his much lighter, much more sensibly sized black suitcase and lug it out of the back seat. Thank the gods, Paris’s thirteenth-birthday present was his PlayStation Portal.
“I am,” he agrees with the superior smile that normally makes me want to “accidentally” step on his toes—at the very least. But he’s doing me a huge favor at the moment, so I figure he’s earned it.
Then it’s quick—very quick—hugs with the still bemused parental units before Paris and I sprint for the bridge.
Correction: Paris sprints for the bridge while I jog, dragging his suitcase behind me. And can I just say, it’s so not fair that he’s suddenly gotten so much stronger than me. I’m totally going to work on that this year. I don’t know what that means, but I’m more than ready to find out.
From a distance, I can hear my mother calling, “Make sure to eat!”
Like that’s ever been a problem with Paris…
But then another voice joins hers and it’s not my father’s. It’s PT’s. “Remember, Penelope, the answer is fire.”
I have no idea what that means and no time to ask him what he’s talking about, so I just give a half wave with my free hand and keep moving forward. I know my mom wishes things could have gone differently here—and I kind of wish that too. But there’s no use worrying about could-have-beens. Not when the bridge—and my future—is right in front of me. And not when there’s no time to waste.
Excitement buzzes through me as I take my first step onto the bridge, and the world around me starts to change.
From afar, the walls of the bridge look like a simple wooden lattice. But now that I’m closer, I realize every single crisscrossing piece of wood is actually carved into the shape of a different snake. They’re arranged so that every X has one piece of wood with a snake head at the top while the other piece of wood has the snake head at the bottom.
It’s eerie and fascinating, and if I had more time, I’d totally stop to check them out. But the big hand on my watch just moved to twenty-eight. There is no more time.
Thankfully the bridge is short, no more than a hundred steps or so.
Except, somewhere after what has to be at least two hundred steps, I realize not only am I not at the end, but also that the actual exit of the bridge is no longer in sight. It’s vanished, and so has my brother.
“Paris?” I yell, worried.
“I’m up here, Penelope!” he shouts back. “Hurry up!”
“I’m trying!” I call, because I really am. But just because this suitcase is lighter than mine doesn’t mean it isn’t heavy.
My arms are shaking from its weight, my heart beating wildly out of control. I want to stop, to catch my breath, but the second I slow down, the hundreds and hundreds of wooden snakes come alive around me.
