Furious - By Jill Wolfson Page 0,90

will do whatever they want ’cause they know they’ll get away with it. Hunter High needs our law and order.”

“It’s all black and white with you. People are people and they make mistakes. You don’t give anyone a break. You’re…”

“I’m what?”

“You’re a colossal, monomaniacal tool. You’re power crazy.”

“I’m just using my power!”

He gives a double thump of his baton. That’s how I know I’ve gotten to him. “Meg, your power is using you. And so is someone else—Ambrosia. She’s manipulating you.”

“You never did like her, Raymond. You’re jealous. You just want me to be your harmless, patient, forgiving little friend again. You think I should reenlist in the Good Girl Brigade.”

“Did I say that? No! I like having a sassy straight friend. You do have things to be angry about. So does Stephanie and so does Alix. I’m not arguing with you about that.”

“What’s your problem, then?”

“You think you’re in control, but Ambrosia is twisting your anger for her own purpose. That’s what Ms. Pallas told me. Ms. Pallas knows that you won’t listen to her, but you might listen to me. You need to listen to me. This is serious. You are up against something very powerful and dangerous. I want to help. I’m on your side. But I can only do so much. Ms. Pallas—”

I break in mockingly, spit out the words. “Ms. Pallas. When did you become completely devoted to her? What a suck-up! You sound exactly like her.”

“You want to talk about swallowing someone’s entire way of thinking? You sound like Ambrosia!”

“What if I do?”

“Ambrosia is not who she says she is.”

“And who is Ms. Pallas? Not some first-year teacher! What’s she up to?”

Instead of answering, he waves his hand in front of his nose. “Whew. Your breath. Have you been eating your young? Take a look at yourself.” He spins me around so I get a close-up of my face in the small locker mirror.

“What? What am I supposed to see?”

“You’re that blind? Let’s do a vision test.” He stands behind me, points to my eyes: “Healthy or bloodshot?” To my lips: “Kissable or cracked and raw?” To my skin: “Caramel-colored or puke green?” To my stomach: “Flat or bloated? And what’s with the enlarged pores? Honey, your complexion is like the surface of the moon. You’re unraveling fast, a total mess. You look as bad as your victims. Everyone but you can see it.”

I have to admit that I do look like Grade C dog doo. I let him fuss with my hair a little and push back some brittle strands, but others spring up to take their place. “I’m a little tired, that’s all. Maintaining law and order is a full-time job.”

“A little tired? What about Stephanie and her new fangs? Alix looks like the Incredible Hulk. Ms. Pallas says—”

Poof. Raymond’s moment of being tolerated is over. I don’t want to know what Ms. Pallas—whoever she is—has to say. I push away his hand. “Let’s do your vision test now. How many fingers am I holding up?” I flash him the middle one.

Raymond swallows hard. “I hardly recognize you, inside or out. All this hostility and anger, 24-7. Meg, when you make others live in misery, you wind up living in it, too.”

30

“There’s a certain someone,” Ambrosia says. “A meddling type. She and I go way, way back. Sometimes she calls herself Athena, sometimes Minerva, sometimes she fancies herself up as Pallas Athena.”

I start to say I knew it, but Ambrosia tells us to listen. “She demands complete obedience, but I’m having none of that. She’s jealous of you three—your youth, your power, your unwillingness to compromise. She thinks that minor goddesses should kowtow to someone of her elevated stature.”

“Who’s she calling minor?” Alix readies her fists for a fight.

Stephanie’s jaw tenses. “No authority tells me what to do or not to do anymore.”

Ambrosia makes a tent with her hands, taps the fingers. “She’s stopped me before with her meddling. And now she’s brought in a compatriot and together they plan to dilute your power. This compatriot pretends to be your friend. He offers comfort and understanding, the family you never had. That’s how he sucks you in.”

I fold my arms over my chest and press my belly against the ocean railing. I’m barefoot and the cliff is cold against my feet. Out in the water, a pod of dolphins breaks the surface. Waves pound the rocks. Overhead, thick fog blocks out any hope of a sunny day.

“Your true enemy is doubt,” Ambrosia