Read Online Oh. My. Gods. by Tera Lynn Childs - Free Book Online Page A

with anyone but herself—and now me. But she’s part immortal, too.
    “So, which god are you—”
    She suddenly jerks me across the hall toward an open door, almost sending me sprawling on the floor.
    “What the—”
    “The Hades harem,” she explains. “You do not want to mess with them.”
    And, peeking back out the doorway, boy can I see why.
    The group just rounding the corner look like your average Goths—black hair, black clothes, black eyeliner—but with an edge. Pretty fitting for the god of the underworld’s descendants.
    Shoulder-to-shoulder, they stride down the hall, daring anyone to get in their way. The Zeus set stares them down, but most of the other students in the hall scamper out of their path. As they pass the doorway, a tall, thin girl with pale skin, shoulder-length black hair, and piercing pale blue eyes, stares at me with intimidating intensity. I know I must be a novelty and all, but she really doesn’t need to look like she wants to melt me with her eyes.
    “Who is that?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.
    “That,” she says, grabbing my shoulder and dragging me into the classroom, “is Kassandra. Trouble on a cosmic scale.”
    I don’t need her warning to know that.
    “This is Cornball’s class,” she says, flopping into a desk in the last row. “Make it through this and it’s all downhill until lunch.”
    “Great,” I say, dragging my fascinated thoughts back from Kassandra and the Hades harem and following her to the back of the room.
     I can do this. With Nicole’s help I’ll be in sync with the social patterns in no time, and all I have to do is get my Bs. No prob—
    “I assume you all practiced the quadratic formula over the summer holiday,” the big, beefy teacher at the front of the class says. “Take out a sheet of paper, solve for x and graph the solution.”
    He turns to the board and writes a list of ten equations, each one longer than a long distance phone number. Crap. Maybe USC will accept a solid C average.
    Maybe I should have sat in the front row.
    “How has your day been thus far, Phoebe?”
    I look up at the sound of Damian’s voice. What a question. It’s a miracle I’ve made it to lunch, and the last thing I need is his interference in my half-hour of education-free time. My brain seriously needs to decompress.
    “Fine,” I say.
    Really, though, my brain is on fire. I made it through Algebra on sheer luck—and a few answer prompts from Nicole. Cornball might have gotten his nickname from all the stupid jokes he makes during class, but when it comes to math he’s as serious as an 8.0 on the Richter scale.
    Modern Greek had been a little easier—being a first-year language class and all—but I was the only one in the class on the downhill side of puberty. You don’t know how immature fourteenyear-olds can be until you’re stuck in a room with a bunch of them for an hour.
    The only thing that made World History, my last class before lunch, bearable was hunky Mr. Sakola. He looks like some fifties movie star, with a bright white smile, perfectly combed hair, and a really cute dimple in his left cheek. He’s also as charming as Will Smith—with an equally beautiful wife, if the framed pic on his desk is any indication. The class, however, was another dumpload of information. I took enough notes to fell an entire forest.
    So, by fine I mean exhaustingly rotten, but I don’t say it.
    “Good.” He smiles like a principal—wide and proud, his sophisticated face cracking into sophisticated lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes. “Any problems or questions?”
    “No . . .” I say, but even that’s not true. “Actually, there is one thing.”
    He nods, encouraging me to clarify.
    Though I have seriously considered not telling him this, I think it’s in my best long-term interest to be as forthright as possible. After all, I don’t want him out to make my life more miserable than it already is. So, I suck it up and say, “I, um,