Oh. My. Gods. - Weebly

Damian gives Stella a disapproving look, like he knows she threat-
ened to smote me. “Certainly not,” he says, his voice clipped. “The
students have been made aware of your arrival and know better than
to use their powers against you. If anyone . . .” The word hangs there,
but I think we all know he’s talking about Stella. “. . . disobeys my
instructions you are to report them to me immediately.”
“Sure.” I push my plate away. But what if I can’t tell him because
I’ve been turned into a sea slug?
“I assure you, Phoebe,” he says, smiling like I said something silly,
“no student has been smoted from the Academy in generations.”
Yeah, like that makes me feel better. That just means they’re out
of practice. They’ll probably do it wrong and I’ll end up on Mars or
something.
“I know this is a little . . .” Mom sits down on my bed while I unpack
my suitcases. “. . . hard to absorb.”
“Hard to absorb?” I cry, flinging my good Nikes onto the floor
and wheeling around to gape at her. “Hard to absorb? Finding out
that Ben & Jerry’s had discontinued White Russian was hard to
absorb. This is . . .” I wave my hands in the air, trying to find the
words to actually describe how I feel. “. . . freaking unbelievable.”
She starts taking T-shirts out of the suitcase and folds them into
neat piles according to color family.
“I’m sorry,” she says, setting a red RUN HARD OR RUN HOME T-shirt
on the red, orange, and yellow pile. “I should have told you sooner,
but I thought you had enough on your mind already with all the
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