Twelve Days of Stella (2 page)

regularity, and the residents didn’t feel compelled to pay formal tribute. Which meant

that Stella usually found the temple deserted—the perfect environment for clear

thinking.

As she climbed the shallow steps and passed through the colonnade to enter the temple

proper, she felt a growing sense of calm and clarity. There was something about the

brightly colored mural the covered every square inch of the interior walls that just ...

made her smile. It portrayed all the gods and goddesses in their most resplendent glory.

Like a massive and ancient family portrait.

Stella went, as she always did, to stand before the goddess on the far wall. The one

wearing a beautiful golden crown, holding a plump pomegranate in her elegant hand,

and with a proud peacock lying across her feet. Hera.

It had been years since Stella met with her immortal ancestor. The great deities rarely

left Olympus anymore, and Stella hadn’t had time—or an invitation—to attend their

court. If she couldn’t speak to Hera face-to-face, then this was the next best thing.

She lifted a hand to run her fingertips over the gilded sandals on Hera’s feet, but

stopped when she heard footsteps echoing into the temple.

Startled, she turned to see who else still visited the temple, and was even more shocked

to see Phoebe’s friend, Troy, hurrying inside. He was carrying a cloth bag in his

outstretched hands, eyeing it nervously as if it might bite at any second.

***

“Travatas?” Stella asked, trying to determine what might be in the

bag. “What are you—“

“Aaaack!” he screamed, dropping the bag and then quickly

retrieving it when it started to wriggle away. The bag grasped

firmly in one hand, he glared at Stella. “You scared the crap out of

me! I didn’t think anyone visited the temple anymore.”

Stella arched a brow. “Neither did I.”

“Oh.” He gave her an apologetic look. “Sorry. I guess you were here

first.” Reversing course, he backed toward the door. “I’ll go. Let you finish your, uh—“

“No!” Stella blurted, then readjusted her composure. “I mean, you’re welcome to stay.

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It’s a public place.”

Troy glanced at the bag. “Um, I think I should come back later.” The bag wriggled

again. He muttered, “Or maybe not at all.”

Now she was more curious than anything. What was in that bag?

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she insisted, crossing the temple until she stood in front of him at

the entrance. “You’re obviously here to,” —she gestured at the wriggling bag—“make

an offering of some sort. You should present it.”

Arms crossed over her chest, Stella stifled a laugh at the miserable look on Troy’s face.

He looked like she’d asked him to kiss a frog. But she wanted to know what was

wriggling inside that bag, so she adopted her most intimidating look—she had many—

and waited. She could sense him weighing his choices. Although she could read his

thoughts if she tried—a power she had inherited from her ancestor goddess—she

preferred watching and guessing. Made her feel ... more human.

Finally, his shoulders slumped.

“Okay,” he said. “If you’d wait outside, this’ll just take a second.”

Stella shook her head slowly. “No thank you. I won’t be in your way.” She stepped aside

and gestured into the temple. “Go ahead.”

To his credit, Troy didn’t waver. He clenched his jaw, gripped the bag tighter, and

stalked across the limestone floor. When he reached the section of the mural that

represented Asklepios, the god of medicine, he knelt down and pulled at the opening of

the bag.

Stella couldn’t contain her gasp when a small green snake slithered out.

***

Stella prided herself on her ability to remain calm in every

situation. Seeing that little green stripe of reptilian slime

appear out of the bag tested her control to the limit. Ballet

flats, she felt sure, were not a significant barrier against

snake bites.

“Is that thing dangerous?” she asked, pleased that her

voice remained steady.

“No way,” Troy replied. But he backed away quickly. “He’s grass snake.” The snake

hissed and Troy jumped back. “Completely,” —he swallowed hard—“harmless.”

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The snake, perhaps finding the stone floor too cold, slithered back into the bag.

“What are you doing with it?” she asked. “Just leaving it here?”

“No, I’m” —Troy took a step toward the bag—“sending him to Olympus. To

Asklepios.”

Even though Troy couldn’t see her behind him, Stella nodded. The god of medicine was

quite fond of snakes, just as Hera was fond of peacocks. Sending a god or goddess a

favorite gift was a definite way to gain their favor. Since humans stopped worshipping

the gods as deities, they didn’t receive nearly enough offerings to sustain their egos.

Stella watched as Troy held out his hands toward the snake-filled bag, a look of intense

concentration on his face. His hands glowed. Then the bag disappeared, leaving the

snake on the cold floor. Troy twisted his wrists and the snake floated gently into the air,

toward the painting of Asklepios. For a moment the snake hovered before the serpentwrapped staff of the medicine god. Then the snake merged into the mural and was

gone.

Troy’s entire body sagged with relief.

“Why?” Stella asked.

He turned to face her, his cheeks flushed a deep pink she could see even in the faint

light of the temple. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts before

answering. “I’m ... asking a favor.”

A favor from the god of medicine?

“Is someone sick?” Stella didn’t know Troy well, but her stomach still turned at her next

thought. “Are you sick?”

Troy’s eyes widened. “No, no. Nothing like that.” He squeezed his eyes shut and shook

his head. “It’s stupid,” he explained. “I shouldn’t have even wasted my time. Or,” —he

nodded at the mural—“his.”

“I don’t think you would have gone to the effort of getting the snake if it was stupid.”

Stella didn’t know why she was wasting her time reassuring him, but it distracted her

from her own thoughts so she kept going. “What was the favor?”

Troy groaned and ran a hand over his hair.

“I come from a long line of doctors, you know. Since forever.” He rocked back on his

heels. “But I want to be a musician. I asked for permission to pursue my passion.”

“What if you don’t get it?”

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“I’ll pursue it anyway.” He gave Stella a helpless smile. “You can’t just ignore a

passion.”

***

Stella considered Troy’s statement. You can’t just ignore a

passion. He was willing to face his family’s—and his

ancestor god’s—disapproval to pursue the thing he loved

the most.

Her mom had felt that way about painting.

Stella wasn’t sure she had that kind of passion. For

anything.

“Or who knows,” Troy said with a laugh, interrupting her

thoughts. “I’ll probably chicken out and go to med school anyway.”

“No.” She shook her head slowly. “I don’t think you will.”

Not when he cared enough to bring a live snake to the pantheon temple.

He studied her for a moment, and she could practically feel his confusion. What was he

thinking? For a brief instant she was tempted to let herself into his thoughts, but she

steeled her resolve.

“I guess we’ll see,” he finally said.

They fell into a silence. Troy gazed up at the painting of his ancestor god, with a

miserable look on his face. Stella stared blankly at nothing in particular. Suddenly, more

than anything, she wanted to know what her passion was. She would be going off to

college in a few months, starting her adult life, and she had no idea what she wanted to

do.

“How did you know?” she asked.

Troy looked at her. “Know what?”

“That you wanted to be a musician,” she explained. She tugged nervously at the hem of

her shirt, then caught herself and pressed her hands against her thighs. “How did you

know you didn’t want to be a doctor?”

“I don’t know,” he answered, unhelpfully. “I guess I’ve just always known. I’ve always

turned to music as my escape when everything else seems impossible.”

Great. She couldn’t think of anything she viewed as an escape. Maybe she wasn’t

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The Twelve Days of Stella

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supposed to have a passion. If she was, wouldn’t she have found it by now? Shouldn’t

she at least have some clue by now?

“You heading home?” he asked, clearly oblivious to her deflating mood. “I’ll walk with

you and pop in on Phoebe.”

She nodded and they headed out of the temple. They didn’t speak. Normally Stella

would feel compelled to make small talk, to fill the awkward silence. But right now all

she could think of was finding her passion. It seemed like everyone but she had a

passion. Troy had his music. Phoebe had running. Daddy had the school. Her mom had

had painting.

What did Stella have?

***

“Troy!” Phoebe squealed as he and Stella walked through

the front door. Then she noticed Stella behind him and

frowned.

If Troy noticed her questioning look, Stella noted, he

ignored it and flopped onto the sofa next to her. “Hey

Phoebes.”

“Omigods,” Phoebe said, apparently forgetting her confusion. “You will never believe

what I accidentally did today.”

As she explained the incident to Troy, Stella glanced around the room, confirming that

there had been no Skittles recurrence in her absence. The thought reminded Stella of the

jar on her desk, and she held back a smile.

“I’ll be in my room,” she announced, although she was quite certain neither of them

would take notice if she autoported herself to New Guinea. Stella hated feeling like an

outsider. She suddenly wished Adara had not gone home for the winter holiday.

She would just have to console herself with Skittles.

Pulling the door shut behind her, Stella kicked off her ballet slippers, grabbed the jar of

candy, and sank into her crisp white armchair. As she sat there, popping Skittle after

Skittle (wondering whether a single candy would be called a Skittle or a Skittles) and

gazing at the quartet of portraits on her bed, a flash of light drew her attention to the

door.

When she went to inspect, she found a folded sheet of notebook paper on the floor.