“Oh, goodness . . .” Eudora rubbed the edge of the paper. “This is very nice. Arachnean-silk fiber! Eggshell finish. Triple weave. It will make quite an impression on the admissions committee.”
“It’s blank,” I said.
“Ah, details. I’m sure you’ll add the right words.”
I wondered if I could use that approach for my English class. Maybe I had been looking at this writing stuff all wrong. I could buy some expensive cardstock at the stationery store, fill it with Blah, blah, blah, blah,and my teacher would go, Oh, nice paper! A+!
Eudora reluctantly slid the blank letter back to me. “Well done, Percy. When you do write your letter, it’s not necessary to thank me too much.”
I looked at the poster of the smiling otter, who was loving that laughter medicine, then at Sicky Frog, who was not.
“Okay,” I said.
“Just a short mention would be sufficient,” Eudora said.
“So I guess we’re all done for now?” I pointed to the door. “ ’Cause I’m really looking forward to spending the rest of my day in class.”
“Of course you are!” Eudora said, because much like minor goddesses, Nereids don’t do sarcasm. “And I know how proud your father must be!”
I couldn’t bring myself to respond. It still felt surreal that I had talked to my dad. He’d called the school. He’d been watching. It almost made up for all the demi bags he’d never brought me, though honestly, I couldn’t blame him for skipping those Olympian brunches. He was too smart to subject himself to phoenix eggs Benedict.
“Soon, we’ll have to talk standardized testing,” Eudora reminded me. “And you’ll need those other two letters of recommendation by winter break. But for now, you should relax! What else do you have on your plate today?”
“A discussion about some short story. A math test. A chemistry lab.”
She nodded contentedly, as if I’d given her the perfect description of relaxation. “Remember, I am here if you need anything. Now, what color Jolly Rancher would you like? Green? Yellow?”
She really didn’t know me very well. She offered me the jar, and I dug around until I found the only blue piece.
Eudora smiled. “You’re going to do just fine, Percy. I have a good feeling about this year! Now if you’re running late to third period, I could always—”
“I’ll walk,” I said quickly. “But thanks, Eudora.” I saluted her with my Jolly Rancher, then saluted Sicky Frog. “I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”
I have to admit, it was kind of relaxing sitting in English class. No, I hadn’t read the story or done my homework. But I was pretty sure I could bluff my way through a literature conversation today. I could talk about bravery, initiative, and self-discovery. You can get a lot of mileage out of that stuff.
I was relieved to get home that night—at least until dinner turned into a letter-writing party. You’d think that with an English teacher, a soon-to-be-published author, and a daughter of Athena at the table, we could come up with some believable praise that Ganymede might say about me. You would be wrong.
Annabeth had come over around sunset. She didn’t bring cupcakes this time. She’d been too busy catching up on schoolwork after hunting the diapered god of geriatrics in the park that morning. She and I chopped peppers for the salad while Paul cooked spaghetti. And, yes, after the horned-serpent incident, I’d sworn off spaghetti, but pasta is like a best friend: you can’t stay mad at it forever.
Once the table was set and the Dave Brubeck Quartet was jazzing out on Paul’s turntable, we broke garlic bread and talked about our respective days, just the four of us. Well . . . four and a half of us. I had to keep reminding myself that my mom was expecting a little mortal bundle of Jackson-Blofis.
It was a pretty average dinner for us, which was exactly what I needed. Paul told funny stories about his classes. His students were goofs. His fellow teachers and administrators were even bigger goofs. My mom told us that her book had received its first one-star review online, even though the book wouldn’t be out for several more months. Apparently, the reviewer didn’t like that the title Love Songs of the Gods promoted paganism.
Paul chuckled. “Little do they know.”
I offered to talk to Hylla, queen of the Amazons and fearsome monarch of online retailing, about removing the review, but my mom said there was no need.
“I’m going to print it and frame it,” she said. “I kind of love it.”