In other words: Now he had to do it, and he didn’t like that.
If you’ve concluded that Poseidon is a “hands-off” type of parent, you win the chicken-dinner award. I didn’t even meet him until I was in middle school, when （purely by coincidence） he needed something from me.
But we get along okay now. I know he loves me in his own way. It’s just hard for gods to be close to their mortal offspring. We demigods don’t live long compared to the gods. To them, we’re sort of like gerbils. Gerbils who get killed a lot. Plus, Poseidon had a lot of other stuff going on: ruling the oceans; dealing with oil spills, hurricanes, and cranky sea monsters; remodeling his mansions.
“I just want to get into New Rome University,” I said. “Isn’t there any way you can . . . ?” I wriggled my fingers, trying to indicate godlike magic that could make problems disappear. Not that I’d ever seen such a thing. Gods are much better at magically creating problems than making them go away.
Poseidon combed his mustache with the tip of his trident. How he did that without cutting his face, I don’t know.
“Unfortunately,” he said, “those recommendation letters are the best I could do. They are the only way the Olympian Council will let you work off your debt.”
Communicating underwater is complicated. I was partly translating his words from whale-song hums and clicks and partly hearing his voice telepathically in my head, so I wasn’t sure I’d understood him.
“I haven’t got any student debt,” I said. “I haven’t even been accepted yet.”
“Not student debt,” Poseidon said. “This is the debt you owe for . . . existing.”
My heart sank. “You mean for being a child of one of the Big Three. Your kid.”
Poseidon gazed into the distance, as if he’d just noticed something interesting in the abyss. I half expected him to shout, Look, shiny! and then disappear while my head was turned.
About seventy years ago, the Big Three gods—Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades—made a pact not to sire any more demigod children. We were too powerful and unpredictable. We tended to start major wars, instigate natural disasters, create bad sitcoms . . . whatever. Being gods, the Big Three still found ways to break the pact and not get in trouble. Instead, it was us demigod kids who suffered.
“I thought we’d moved past this,” I muttered. “I helped you guys fight the Titans—”
“I know,” my dad said.
“And Gaea and the giants.”
“I know.”
“And—”
“My son.” The edge to his voice told me it would be best to stop listing my greatest hits. “If it were up to me, I would waive this ridiculous requirement altogether. Alas, someone”—he glanced up, someone being code for my unreasonable brother Zeus—“is a stickler for rules. You were never supposed to be born, so you are technically ineligible for New Rome University.”
I couldn’t believe this.
Also, I could totally believe this.
Just when I thought I might catch a break, I didn’t. The Olympian gods seemed to think I was their personal kickball.
I relaxed my jaw to keep from grinding my teeth. “So, three recommendation letters.”
Poseidon brightened. “Zeus wanted it to be twenty-five. I talked him down to three.”
He looked like he was waiting for something.
“Thank you,” I grumbled. “I don’t suppose you could write one for me?”
“I’m your father. I would be biased.”
“Yeah, we wouldn’t want any bias.”
“I’m glad you understand. To earn each letter, you will have to undertake a new quest. All three will have to be completed before the application deadline of the winter solstice. Each time a god writes you a letter of recommendation, give it to Eudora, and she’ll put in your file.”
I tried to think of gods who might cut me some slack and give me simple quests. I’d helped lots of immortals over the years. The trick was coming up with some who would remember I had helped them—or even just remembered my name. “I guess I can ask Hermes. And Artemis . . . ?”
“Oh, you can’t go asking the gods. They’ll have to come to you. But don’t worry!” Poseidon looked really pleased with himself. “I took the liberty of putting your name on the Olympian quest board.”
“The what now?”
Poseidon snapped his fingers and a neon-yellow flyer appeared in his hands. It was an ad with my photo and this copy: