My cheeks burn hotter as Lexie and her friends snigger at us.
“Be careful or I’ll assign you two to write a term paper together. I am known for my matchmaking skills, after all.”
That statement makes me turn away from Haden quickly. I stare down at the text on my iPad. Not because I’m backing down from him, but because the last thing I want is to get stuck working alone with this Haden jerk—for any reason.
Ms. Leeds sits on the edge of the table in front of the class, crossing her long legs. “Haden brings up an interesting point that I hope none of you missed. There are many interpretations and versions of these myths other than the ones featured in our textbook. The so-called Rape of Persephone story actually contradicts many of the other myths in which the figure of Persephone appears. In myths such as Orpheus and Eurydice, and Psyche and Cupid, Persephone is portrayed as quite the formidable queen of the underworld, not as a lilting flower, easily taken and tricked by a man. When I was at Berkley, I wrote a paper on this subject. My research showed that there were very early versions of the Persephone myth that claimed that she was not ‘taken’ at all. One version suggested that Persephone, tired of being under the constant watch of an overbearing mother, left the mortal world of her own free will in order to fulfill a greater purpose. She recognized the underworld’s need for a queen and chose to fulfill it.”
“But why would someone change her story?” Lexie asks, not waiting for the teacher to call on her this time.
“As I wrote in my paper: to very patriarchal societies, a tale about a young maiden who takes her own future into her hands, leaves her home and family in search of her own destiny—and possibly a bit of forbidden love—is a very dangerous story indeed. So, therefore, they changed her story to fit their purposes. To make her a victim—a morality tale to warn girls from wandering too far from home, like Little Red Riding Hood. They changed her story to take away her power. That is the true rape of Persephone, if you ask me.”
I nod in agreement and notice that Lexie does, too.
For the first time, I feel connected to Persephone’s story. Well, Ms. Leeds’s version of it anyway. We’d both left our homes in search of a bigger purpose.
Ms. Leeds launches into the rest of her lecture on other underworld myths, and I can tell she’s trying to spark another lively debate. But I keep quiet after that, and so does Haden. As Bridgette enlightens the class with her perspective on the plight of beautiful women in Greek mythology, I risk a glance back at Haden. He looks up as if he senses my movement, and for the briefest of moments, his eyes seem to flash a fiery mix of amber and jade green.
I run into Tobin on my way from humanities to geometry.
“Hey, superstar,” he says. “You doing okay after your dad’s big announcement?”
“Fine,” I say, “except for pretty much being nominated for class leper.”
I look behind my shoulder, feeling like I am once again being followed. I must look as shaken as I feel when I look back at Tobin, because he puts a hand on my shoulder and asks, “Are you okay? Lexie and her little mafia aren’t getting to you already, are they?”
“No,” I say. “It’s that … I saw him again. The guy from the grove. At least, I think it was him—he looks different somehow. But still the same.”
“What?” Tobin says, dropping his hand from my shoulder. “Did you see him somewhere outside? You didn’t go back there again, did you?”
“No, he was here. He was in my humanities class. He’s a student.”
The tone coming off Tobin is even darker than it was after we found Pear. “What’s his name?” he asks. “Do you know his name?”
“Haden,” I say. “I think it was Haden Lord.”
Tobin takes in a sharp breath.
I look down at my iPad. “Like I said, I’m not a hundred percent positive it’s the same.…”
But Tobin storms off before I finish my sentence.
chapter twenty-three
HADEN
“What the Tartarus is that?” Garrick asks, his eyes enlarged with horror as he looks from it to me and then back to it.
“Harpies if I know,” I say under my breath. I’m too busy scanning the room for a certain face to scrutinize the alien mass in front of me.
“Gods, it smells almost as bad as it looks.” Garrick picks up his knife and poses as if he is about to prod the glistening mass with the point of the blade. He hesitates and then pulls the knife back. “I mean, do you think it’s safe?”