“You have got to be kidding me.”

Of the large crowd gathered at the cafeterium’s bulletin column, only one dared voice what many were thinking.

“A Prometheus Dance? Fabulous, life suddenly has meaning.”

Given the fact that the speaker could have majored in sarcasm, had she the desire, didn’t seem to quell her peers’ enthusiasm. Like a flash, the half of the student body on lunch break were out the doors and doing cartwheels on the Academy’s lawn. Only a few stragglers remained to read the fine print on the hastily festive-looking parchment.

“Date required? No date no entry?” Hercules was the most civic-minded student currently enrolled and saw injustice in almost any situation, no matter how customary. No one was yet sure if it was all the hero training or if the boy was just naturally naive.

“Don’t sound so shocked, it’s the faculty’s version of natural selection.” Hel, another student who could rival Cassandra in the “cheerful” category spoke up. “Only the dateable portion of the student body gets to stand around in a dark, crowded room with people they don’t like and drink bland punch.”

“But that sounds like any dance. What’s so special about this one?” Herc read over the fine print again, searching for a clue. “Formal dress required?”

Cassandra and Hel nodded in unison, identical expressions on their faces. “Right. This way you get to stand around with a bunch of people you don’t like, but you get to be in an outfit you paid way too much for, chafes in unmentionable places, and that three other people have an exact match of. Not to mention the shoes.”

“My favorite part’s the one where you find out how much it’ll cost to get bland punch stains out.”

“If it’s all this trouble,” Herc, being the voice of optimism, chimed in, “how come everyone gets excited to go?”

“Because,” a new voice sauntered its way into the conversation, “it’s not every day you get to get all dolled up and decked out and show it off to your peers.”

The few remaining male heads in the room all whiplashed to keep Andromeda in view for as long as possible. Being half nymph and half god, she was a head-turner on her own, but her fashion sense was less than conservative as well. Needless to say, she was one of the more popular girls in the school, but not for the same reason that Helen was popular; the Trojan princess was a museum piece, you could look and admire the craftsmanship, but touching it was out of the question. Dromey, on the other hand, was a petting zoo. The metaphor spoke for itself.

“You’re lucky,” Hel whispered in Herc’s ear, just loudly enough for everyone to hear, “last year she held a raffle to see who go to be her date. Biggest turn out for a school-related function in recorded history.”

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Lunch had proved to be too short for anyone to do any serious date-hunting. Except for Andromeda, who needed a separate satchel to carry her invitations. Being the only one not desperately scouring the countryside for anyone or anything they could weasel a ‘yes’ out of, she was on her way to her chariot to go home and sort through all her offers. She had just finished loading all her papers when a familiar form caught her eye.

“Hey, Seph!” she called. “Need a ride?” Persephone’s eyes flew open in surprise as they searched for the source of the voice. After spotting Dromey, she trotted over, carefully avoiding the other chariots making their way out of the parking lot. Even if she hadn’t been a goddess, she would’ve been hard to miss. But as it was she was a rosy-colored, long legged goddess of striking looks. She also stood head and shoulders above most of the students and faculty at the school. She was also completely oblivious of the stares she garnered simply walking across the parking lot. Dromey never really understood the male fascination with attractive women who were unaware of themselves. Personally she found it a little annoying. Mostly because it tended to create transparent copycats, but Seph’s oblivion was genuine, so she tolerated it.

“Hi, Dromey,” the goddess beamed at her friend, “what’s with the bag?” She indicated the sack of potential dates. The demigoddess explained as best she could, even throwing in a few amusing anticdotes of her attempted wooers that day. During the monologue, Seph climbed in the chariot and they managed to get out of the parking lot without major bodily damage, Dromey still talking about her day. Halfway through her spiel on Achontus, the geek that sat behind her in History, she paused.

“Seph?” The young goddess snapped out of the reverie she’d slipped into. Dromey favored her with a scrutinizing look and decided she looked worn out.

“Still not sleeping, huh?” Seph shook her head wearily. “That’s really weird, Seph, you might want to talk to your mom about it.”

“Yeah, right.” Persephone snorted. “If I tell her about it she’ll either tell me it’s all in my head, or she’ll take me out of school, move to some remote place and squirrel me away from the rest of the world for the rest of my life.”

Sadly enough, she was right. Demeter was the epitome of the overprotective mother. Every stereotype held true, and no exaggeration was out of character. She would go to any lengths to keep her daughter innocent, even going so far as to hire baby-sitters for her when she had to go out of town. Seph had been to Olympus once in her life, and that had been for Hercules’s baby shower. And it had taken quite a bit of whining on her part to get her mother to let her go in the first place. After the minor skirmish with the lightning bolt and Hades, Demeter had put her foot down and said never again.

And all too soon, they were stopping at Seph’s house. A quaint little cottage in the middle of nowhere, a place that few people knew about. To Demeter it meant security, to Persephone it was like something out of a slasher play. Of course she couldn’t say anything to her about it, her mother would flip if she knew Seph had seen such a thing. So Persephone sat in her room, stewing in her own paranoias and felt certain someone was watching her.

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Lunch the next day was fairly routine. Or at least for that time of year, everyone assured the inexperienced. “Oh come on, lovikins!” “Like I said before, drop dead. In every conceivable way.” “You’re so hot when you play hard to get.” Icarus and Cassandra’s banter actually gave people a sense of stability, that some things in the universe, no matter how chaotic seeming, would be nothing in comparison with teenagers in search of a Prom date.

In the lunch line: “Oh please please please? Come on, you’re my last hope!” “For the last time, no. Warriors do not dance. They cut the throats of those who ask them more than twenty times before lunch.”

At a central table in the cafeterium: “Hmmmm, eenie, meenie, miney, moe...” “Uh, Dromey, you’re on my scroll.” “Okay, Gregarious is off the list. You gettin’ this, Seph?” “Yes.” “I’m out?” Crash! “You tell me, sport. Where was I? Moe?”

In the Royal Box: “Look at her! Just, just look! Flaunting herself like that!” “Calm yourself, my good man. Let her have her fun with the common rabble, she can’t do a thing with them anyway.” “That’s right. That’s right! She’s mine! She has no right to flirt her way through the student body, she should be at my side at all times! She knows she’s my date for the dance, why does she insist on torturing me so?” “Haven’t the foggiest.”