Furious - By Jill Wolfson Page 0,27

something strong and powerful ready to come out. A me who can stand up for herself and who can right wrongs and who never has to be afraid. The real me, a Fury me.

I think that Stephanie and Alix are also bouncing between the two poles of not believing a word and total certainty. We keep dancing and shrieking a thousand oh my Gods, and under a darkening sky we pump Ambrosia with questions:

“Are you nuts?” (Alix)

“What exactly are the Furies?” (Stephanie)

“How do we use this power?” (Alix again)

“If we are Furies, who are you?” (me)

“Who else knows about this?” (Alix again)

Ambrosia gives us one straightforward and four not-exactly-straightforward answers:

“No.”

“You have a lot of soul-searching to do to answer that question.”

“You harness it.”

“I am the one who called you out of your sleep.”

“Me and a certain busybody.”

Ambrosia hands us each a few sheets of paper. “Your job description. FAQs about Furies. For future reading,” she says. “But now, dance, celebrate! Enjoy the cosmic moment.”

So that’s exactly what we do. By the time the sun sets, I’m charged with an exciting new energy, a sense of hope and optimism that maybe my life truly has been turned upside down. I am not who I think I am. We aren’t who we think we are.

What do we do next? What happens after you get information like this?

“You’re not putting us on?” Alix asks again.

“Don’t take my word for it,” Ambrosia says. “See for yourself. You need to test your powers, play with them, learn what they can do.”

“I have another question.” Stephanie’s dreads are puffed out, like they gorged themselves on salt air and our energy. “Is anyone else starved? I mean, really starved?”

“Yeah,” Alix agrees. “I gotta get home and make dinner for my little brother. It’s burrito night, his favorite.”

This doesn’t seem like an appropriate ending to a day like this one, but I guess it’s what happens after any event that blows apart what you think you know about life and about yourself. Everything changes. Maybe we really are Alecto, Tisiphone, and Megaera.

But right now we are also Alix, Stephanie, and Meg, who have chores and homework. I, for one, am going to get in massive trouble with the Leech for being so late.

We wind up doing what ordinary girls do. We promise to call each other. We make plans for tomorrow and then, after one more squealing oceanfront dance, we head off in our different directions to think about what just happened.

* * *

I can’t go to the Leech’s house yet. I’m not ready to face her. This is too wild not to talk about. I duck into a deserted playground, sit on the bottom of a slide, and phone Raymond. Even though he’s coughing and his ears are clogged, I make him shut up and listen. My words gush out. I know I’m not making total sense.

“It hasn’t sunk in yet, but I think it’s true,” I say.

“What hasn’t sunk in?”

“What I just told you! What Ambrosia said.”

“Slow down, Meg! She said what?”

“I’m the undisputed master of holding a grudge.”

Cough. “You?”

I pace the playground. I need to keep moving. Too much energy. “She said that I have to practice more than the others because everyone boils at different degrees. When it comes to fury and outrage, Stephanie and Alix are hotter cauldrons than I am.”

“That’s for sure.”

“But I’m at a breaking point. Plus, I have all the raw talent. Nothing to worry about. She said so.”

“Gee, that’s a relief.”

“Are you being sarcastic?”

Sneeze. He changes the subject. “Ambrosia’s role in all this is…?”

I sit on a toddler rocking horse, some sort of made-up creature, part dinosaur, part giraffe. It’s purple with big yellow spots. “She’s the one who called us. That’s what she said. Plus, she’s in charge of the paperwork.”

Raymond snorts, and I get a flash of irritation. He’s already made up his mind and thinks it’s all a crock. “Don’t snort! You think this isn’t possible!”

“I don’t think anything yet. I don’t have all the evidence.”

“You think Ambrosia’s messing with me! You think I’m gullible. You think I’m what you see is what you get.”

“Meg, calm down. I’m trying to keep an open mind without my brains spilling out. By the way, that wasn’t a snort at you. It was a big hunk of phlegm.”

“Gross.”

“Imagine what it tastes like. Tell me more about the paperwork.”

I move to a bench with an overhead streetlamp and read something random from a section titled “Anger Exercises.” The typeface is