Oh. My. Gods. by Tera Lynn Childs

the expansive front hall and all thought flees.
    In front of me, directly across the stone tiled floor from the main door, is the biggest trophy case I have ever seen. And it is jam-packed with shining gold trophies.
    “Wow,” I whisper, unable to hide my awe.
    “The Academy has an illustrious history,” he says, walking up behind me when I zombie-walk to the glass case, spellbound by all the glitter.
    “Are all these for sports?” I ask. Front and center is a big gold trophy that makes the Stanley Cup look like a wineglass. That must be for some major competition.
    “Hardly,” Damain says with a half-laugh. “The sports trophies are nearer to the end of the cabinet.”
    I follow the direction of his gesture with my eyes. I have to squint to see the section he’s pointing to because it’s halfway down the never-ending hall.
    The hall is like twenty feet wide and just as tall, all shiny-smooth stone. Marble, probably. Clearly it runs the entire length of the building—all several hundred feet. Now I notice that there are windows in the wall behind the columns, letting in bright stripes of morning sunlight across the marble floor and reflecting off the glass-fronted cases. The whole space glows with the same soft amber color as the marble.
    Every last inch of the interior wall is a trophy display.
    “Then what—”
    “Many of these are for academic competitions,” he explains, answering my question before I finish. “But we also hold many historical artifacts on display. Artifacts too valuable to display in a museum. Our security is impenetrable.”
    “Artifacts?”
    “This,” he says, pointing to a no-larger-than-life-size apple that looks like it’s been dipped in gold, “is the Apple of Discord, the cause of the Trojan War.”
    I lean in for a closer look. Other than being gold, it doesn’t look any different than a regular apple. Then the letters of a Greek word carved on its side start to glow, like it knows someone’s watching.
    “Be careful.” Damian pulls me back. “The Apple is tremendously powerful and dangerous. Do not get too close.”
    “Oh,” I say casually, trying not to look impressed. “What else do you have?”
    “There is one display I think you will especially enjoy.” He strides off down the hall toward the sports section. When he stops in front of an almost empty case I nearly run into him.
    All that’s in the case is a little wreath of dried-up twigs. Not very impressive. Damian must think I’m easily amused.
    Then I read the plaque.
    Laurel presented to the first Olympic champion, Nikomedes, 919 BC.
    Oh. My. God.
    I blink up at Damian, disbelieving.
    He smiles, a broad, self-satisfied smile that tells me he knows he impressed me and he isn’t going to let me forget it. I don’t care.
    Reaching up, I finger the glass in front of the wreath, marveling at the thought that it had once crowned the very first Olympic champion ever. Kinda makes our medals seem like Happy Meal prizes.
    “Come, Phoebe,” Damian says, “we must discuss your schedule.”
    “B-but—”
    He gently presses a hand to my back and leads me away. “There will be plenty of time for worshipping the athletic artifacts,” he says. “You will be here for one year, at least.”
    Yes, yes, one year.
    “Next time,”—he stops in front of a door and, unlocking it, ushers me inside—“I will show you the actual Sandals of Pheidippides.”
    It’s a good thing Damian points me to the chair in front of his desk because I am on the verge of expiring from excitement. Suddenly, hurrying back to Athens to see the subway display—on my way back to civilization or not—seems like a really unnecessary expedition.
    Who needs a replica when you can see the real deal?

Chapter 3

    “YOU’RE THE NOTHOS.”
    Turning around in my desk, I stare at the girl behind me.
    “The what?” I ask.
    “Nothos,” she says again. “The normal one.”
    “Normal?” I laugh. “Depends on your definition.”
    “As in not