Finally, Annabeth told them about our latest adventures. She played down the most terrifying parts, like almost getting turned into grave dust, but I think my mom filled in the blanks pretty well.
“Wow. Embracing old age?” She smiled at Paul. “I have a smart kid.”
“Yes, you do,” Paul said. “I think he gets that from your side.”
I may have blushed. It’s one thing being called the son of Poseidon. Getting noticed for being anything like my mom, though . . . that’s a compliment.
“What happened on Olympus?” Annabeth asked me. “I didn’t get to hear about it.”
I hesitated. I was still processing what I’d seen at the brunch—and not just the horror of Zeus’s pedicured toenails. “It wasn’t too bad,” I said. “I got Ganymede the chalice just in time. He gave me my letter.”
Annabeth waited for more. I gave her a look. Later, okay?
“So . . .” Paul broke the silence. “What does a godly recommendation letter look like?”
“I’ll show you after dinner,” I promised. “Probably best if we don’t get spaghetti sauce on it.”
Once we’d cleaned up the dishes, I brought out the letter and set it on the living room table. Everybody leaned in like they were looking at a board game.
“It’s blank,” my mom noted.
“Lovely paper, though,” Paul said.
“If you got an essay on this paper,” I said, “would you just give it an A-plus without reading it?”
Paul grinned. “I would probably write ‘Nice try with the lovely paper, but you still need to provide examples that prove your thesis.’ ”
“Well, there goes that idea,” I grumbled.
My mom picked up the letter and looked at both sides. “Is it written in some sort of invisible ink?”
“I have to do it myself.” I explained what Ganymede had told me—that I could say whatever I wanted, within reason, and once I had done a good job, his signature would appear at the bottom.
Paul frowned. “That seems a bit . . .”
“Too trusting?” Annabeth guessed.
“I was going to say lazy on Ganymede’s part.” Paul glanced at the ceiling. “Though I hope that doesn’t get me zapped with a lightning bolt.”
“Nah,” I said. “The gods would take that as a compliment. They raise lazy to an art form.”
“Nice work if you can get it,” Paul said.
I knew he was being facetious, but the comment made me wince. I’d been offered that work, and I’d turned it down. But the more I thought about Ganymede, the happier I was with my choice. His job was anything but nice.
My mom set the paper back on the table. “How does it know when to start writing?”
“Dunno,” I admitted. “Maybe I just say ‘Dear Admissions Office.’ ”
I should have known better. Fancy calligraphy blazed to life across the top of the paper, each letter forming in fiery bronze ink with a sound like a burning fuse: Dear Admissions Office.
“Well, crap,” I said.
Well, crap, wrote the fancy calligraphy.
“No! Delete!” I said.
Thankfully, the writing erased itself.
I looked at Annabeth, who was trying hard not to laugh.
“This isn’t funny,” I said, “Delete, delete. I didn’t know it would start. Delete, delete.”
My mom stared at the letters writing and erasing themselves. “That is amazing paper. What’s it made out of?”
I wasn’t about to tell her Arachnean silk, because Annabeth had a major spider phobia. I didn’t want to have to peel her off the chandelier.
“Maybe we should help Percy get it written now,” Paul said, “so he doesn’t have to worry about it.”
“Spoken like a true English teacher,” Annabeth said. “It can’t be that hard, right? How about, ‘I highly recommend Percy Jackson for New Rome University. He is adorable and has nice eyes.’ ”
“I am not saying that. Delete, delete,” I complained, though I did keep the first sentence. That one sounded okay.
“ ‘And his mother is very proud of him,’ ” my mom chipped in, “ ‘though college would be a wonderful experience, as it might teach him to do his own laundry.’ ”
“You’re all terrible people,” I said. “Delete, delete.”
Paul cleared his throat, like he was getting ready to launch into a lecture on similes. “ ‘I, Ganymede, cupbearer to the gods, have found Percy Jackson to be an excellent hero—brave, kind, and fantastic at chopping vegetables.’ ”