Arianna leaned in towards me. “Would they all jump in front of a bullet if it meant protecting you? Or sometimes, do you fight your own battles?”
I slammed my book shut, ready to leave class and pay for it later. This might be why he called this class his babysitting duties.
“Let’s start at the beginning for our new student. We’ll summarize what we've gone over. Bolton, most common myths?”
He was battling for dominance. Here he was king, even though he had no followers. I had to fold under him. He was our teacher, and that alone labeled him an authority figure.
“New Girl, better do some reading in her spare time. The myth of Hades and Persephone, the myth of Aphrodite and Adonis, the myth of Pandora's box, the myth of Eros and Psyche, and the myth of Perseus and Medusa.”
The challenge in his voice was heavy and stern. “Why is mythology relevant today?”
I was telling her all of the secrets without her knowing. She wasn't even bothering to write any of this down. She was blissfully unaware of this being the only time I would open up to her.
“It’s all around us. Most people don't notice. Companies, products, motivations… all plucked from mythology and shoving it down their throats.”
Her fist was pushed into her cheek, holding her up, like this conversation was boring her to death.
She spoke again almost to herself, murmuring, “Nike is named after the Greek goddess of victory. And Starbucks is a siren, also mythology.”
Alba asked her to repeat herself louder, clearly impressed, and now certainly in agreement with Austin’s theory that she was, in fact, the one.
I wasn't convinced. She still wasn't special, and I still wasn't blown over by some sign.
I felt nothing—certainly not complete.
Bolton
Nyx had detention with New Girl.
She was working her way through the group, stealing private time with each one of them.
I didn’t bother to text him and see how it went. I didn’t really care. I didn’t care what anyone had to say about her. It was my decision that mattered.
I would see him tonight for our annual meeting with Alba. Really, it was a festivity of complaints that I was against completing our circle. Nothing productive ever came from the wasted hour of my time.
A series of complaints I had heard so many times before.
Asinine.
Did they think I wanted to be immortally stuck in my senior year? No. It’s what I called my own personal hell.
Never mind the circle being stuck at Arcadia was throwing the world out of whack. All our gods were dead. There were no gods serving up retribution or pulling the strings anymore.
Trump was fucking president; people were worshiping the Kardashians; and social media was determining fucking worth. Being here was the last thing I wanted.
We needed to balance the world by being a part of it—Not by repeating senior year for a 100th time.
I dipped into the faculty building unseen exactly at seven o’clock. I was always early as our unofficial and unelected leader; it made scolding everyone who was late easier. I liked being first, in control, and god-like above everyone else. I had been like this since I could remember, even on the playground, as a younger, less vile me, I would dominate the monkey bars and charge a hefty fee for the sweet treats their loving moms put in their lunchboxes as payment.
Both my parents thought it was endearing. I was raised in an environment of ruthlessness, to be unafraid and to not follow but lead.
The faculty building was never used after four; none of our teachers were dedicated enough to put in extra hours. They already just chalked up the student body, minus four scholarship students yearly, as over-privileged and over-stimulated by our circumstances.
Alba wasn't like the rest of the staff, he was just like us, waiting on us all to arrive and stuck in a loop just like us. He took a special interest in us and led the charge in our search. Years of the same shit can make someone a dangerous type of motivated.
He even started the scholarship program to move the search along quicker by integrating new students every year—four to be exact. We had four chances every year.
I pressed my student ID to the secure pad and waited for the little light to go green before I squeezed the handle to open the door. We were the only students with access.
I looked at my phone, which I always had on “Do Not Disturb,” overlooking the group chat, and focusing on the time. I had plenty of it to look at her file the way I originally planned to.
Watching her basic ass behavior wasn't enough. I needed ammo in the war against her infiltration.
Getting a file out of a locked filing cabinet was easy. I had been picking locks since grade school, once I realized all the best things are the ones you can't have.
I took what I wanted, no apologies.
Especially if I was forced to repeat senior year until the one showed up—the only one not drawn to Arcadia or us.
Adventure kept her away, roaming, and hard to pinpoint. Despite popular belief, magic could only do so much. We weren’t even at our full strength as a broken circle.
This was our fourteenth time stuck as seniors, never aging or moving on. It was Pandora’s punishment for being separated outside the clouds of Olympus. The gods loved a good sadomasochist torture session.
The lock almost begged to unhinge, falling apart instantly, as I jammed my key into its mechanism. I pulled the file cabinet open with a yank and a creek like the drawer hadn't been opened in years. I propped my phone up on its socket letting the flashlight beam down on the files as I fingered through them to find her first name.
I still didn't know her last name, and her first didn't really matter either—she was New Girl. I finally found her file. It was all new and protected between as files as old as someone repeating senior year as many times as we had.
My resentment for this place behind the gate grew each year I was stuck here. There were only a few holidays when the boundary was lifted and we could sneak out into the real world: Halloween, Harvest Kickoff, and Summer Solstice.
The hours and days between were a long drawn inhale, and I wasn't breathing until I could exhale outside these grounds.
I opened the file, only finding one piece of paper with her demographics, like a medical office: height, eye color, address, emergency contact, and nothing else. The lone, thin piece of paper had a Post-it attached.
Nice try. It’s not that black and white.
I recognized the handwriting instantly.
Alba.
He knew everything, with good reason; he was actually two-hundred years old stuck in the body of a forty-year-old teacher.
I closed the file as hard as I could and kicked the filing cabinet against the wall in the office I broke into.
Mad didn't describe how I felt when I didn't get my way.
It was a poison rushing through my veins, turning every ounce of me into a villain. I was no hero.
That was an easy label when I could do and say what I wanted. That kind of comfort irritated people so much that it landed me in their hate category. I had played the villain for so long I didn't even know what heroes were anymore.
Fuck heroes.
Fuck their golden rules.
Fuck their self-sacrificing, courage, and humility.
I was selfish and unafraid, and everyone knew it just as much as I did. I wasn't ashamed. I was the essence of Aries, trapped in a teenager, doomed to this repetitive punishment—all because of the one who got lost.