Oh. My. Gods. by Tera Lynn Childs

she becomes a citizen of Greece then that makes this whole thing so much more real. Like she can’t ever turn back. Like I can’t turn back.
    “What about me?” I ask.
    “Damian and I love each other. We are going to make a life together and that can only happen here.” She takes the discarded color schemes and drops them in the wastebasket in the kitchen. “That doesn’t mean that you’re not a major part of that life, even when you choose to return to the States. You are my daughter. My love. My everything. That will never change. But don’t you think I deserve a little happiness after all these years?”
    We were happy. In California.
    Mom had her practice and Aunt Megan and Yia Yia Minta.
    I had Nola and Cesca and a track team full of friends.
    Everything was great. So why did we have to move all the way around the world just for a guy?
    “Besides,” she says, her voice all wistful. “I like Greece. It makes me feel closer to your father to be in his homeland.”
    “Homeland?” I ask, shocked. “Dad was from Detroit. Motown is his homeland.”
    “His family is Greek. In his heart he was always Greek.”
    “That’s creepy.” I stand up and start pacing. “You marry this new guy and move to Greece to be closer to your dead husband?”
    She gasps as I say it. I know that was pretty harsh, but it’s the truth.
    “Phoebe,” she begins, and I know she’s serious because she uses my real name, “what your father and I had was very special. Nothing—not his death, not my remarriage—will ever change that. Damian understands.”
    Well, I don’t understand. Mom may think it’s fine to snag a new husband, but I don’t need a new father. And being in Greece will never make me feel closer to the one I had.
    Sure, I’ve been thinking more about Dad since we got to Serfopoula than I have in ages, but that’s because of the stepdad thing. Mom is probably going through the new husband thing. It’s displaced guilt or something because she feels bad for remarrying. That’s her baggage.
    Dad was perfect and now he’s gone. I can’t get him back and don’t want to replace him.
    “Fine.” I stalk into the kitchen, wiping at the tears I don’t want Mom to see, and refill my glass of water. “You stay here and become Greek. I’ll send you a postcard from USC when I graduate.”
    With a satisfying slam, I shut myself in my bedroom and fling myself on the bed. I can picture Mom watching me storm away, shrugging at my infantile behavior, and going back to planning her wedding.
    It’s like I don’t even matter anymore.
    Rolling to the edge of the bed, I reach over to the desk to grab my Physics II book. If it’s like everything else at this school my eight homework problems are going to turn into a major scientific treatise.
    When Mom knocks on my door to call me to dinner I ignore her. The last thing I want is to face another meal of goo-goo eyes and green sea slugs—even though Stella’s powers are grounded, I don’t put it past her to bring real ones this time. Besides, I still have half a book to read for Ms. T.
    My door swings open. “Phoebe, dinner is—”
    “Mom!” I shout, jumping off my bed. “You can’t just barge into my room. Don’t I get any privacy?”
    “I’m sorry. When you didn’t answer I—”
    “Look, I don’t want dinner. I’m not hungry.” Actually, I’m starving, but I would rather go hungry until lunch tomorrow than have a family dinner. “I have a lot of work to do, so just leave me alone.”
    The hurt in her green eyes makes my heart ache. Not enough to take back what I said, though.
    I’m surprised she’s not shouting right back at me.
    “All right,” she says softly. “I understand your need for distance. I’ll ask Hesper to leave a plate of leftovers in the fridge.”
    I shrug, like I’m not interested. Like I’m not already plotting to sneak out and consume that plate after everyone’s in bed. “Whatever.”
    Her sad smile says she already knows