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specific.
    “Home is pretty damn obvious,” I say, and she doesn’t yell at me for swearing, like the au pairs do or like Mother does when she’s around. “Home is Mount Olympus.”
    I want to add you stupid idiot , but I don’t, because that would be rude. Besides, it would make me seem like I’m out of control. It seems like everything will make me seem out of control.
    (Megan would ask, What’s wrong with being out of control? And I’d say, Nothing, if you want to be Brit or Dionysus or someone, which I don’t. I don’t like the way they take over a room with their stupid moods and their crazy behavior. Especially Dionysus, who always blames it on what he ate or what he drank.)
    Megan’s green eyes seem even sharper than they had a minute ago. I swear, I’m going to contact Athena if I can figure out how and ask about empaths. Because it seems like Megan’s doing more than reading my emotions. It seems like she’s reading my mind.
    “What part of Mount Olympus is home?” she asks.
    “ All of it.” I raise my voice even more. “ All of it, don’t you get it?”
    “The entire community?” she asks, as if she’s surprised.
    “Yes,” I say. “And the palaces and the dogs and the stupid statues and that horrid library, all of it.”
    “But not the people.”
    “You asked about the community,” I say. “Isn’t a community people ?”
    She gives me a little teeny smile. “I guess it is. My mistake. So, you miss your siblings—”
    “I told you that,” I snap.
    “— all of your siblings?” she asks.
    “I don’t know all of them. I don’t even know how many there are. I mean, I didn’t know the four I had here before this summer, and my dad has hundreds, literally, some of whom have completely stopped communicating with everyone at home.”
    Megan nods. “You’re right. Now I’m not being specific. Do you miss all of the siblings you’ve interacted with? Athena as well as Tiffany and Brittany? Hermes? Pan? Persephone?”
    “Yes,” I say. Even if they’re annoying in person, I miss that. I really, really miss that.
    My eyes start filling with tears, and that pisses me off more than anything.
    No. Wait. The fact that Megan would know that my eyes are filling with tears even if I turn away from her pisses me off even more.
    I don’t like Megan, I really don’t. I don’t like how she makes me feel. I don’t like how she pushes, and I don’t like that she makes me angry.
    “What are you thinking?” she asks.
    Veronica tells me that her shrink always asks “What are you feeling?” and some of the other girls with shrinks agree that feeling is the word shrinks usually use, not thinking . But Megan knows what I’m feeling, and not what I’m thinking, and thinking is the only thing that I can keep (somewhat) private.
    “It’s none of your damn business,” I say, then realize how childish that sounds.
    “Crystal, when you’re in this room, your business is my business.”
    “And you won’t tell anyone what I say and blah, blah, blah.” I stand up. “I don’t care. I really don’t.”
    Tears are running down my face, but maybe if I don’t wipe them off, she won’t notice.
    “I miss my family. All of my family. I miss my home. I miss my room. I miss my sisters. I miss my life. And I left it because of you .”
    She hasn’t stood up, so I’m looming over her, but she doesn’t seem freaked out about that. Most people hate it when someone stands over them.
    She just folds her hands over her round little tummy and says, “You agreed to leave. You thought it was a good idea.”
    “I did not ,” I say. “I didn’t want to go.”
    “You said you did.” Megan is so calm. I hate that she’s so calm. She should be mad too. “All I can go on is what you say—”
    “In this stupid room, I know,” I say. “But I wasn’t in this room. I was in Lost Angeles with Tiff and Brit and Daddy and you, and everyone wanted me to leave and live with Mother, except me, and I