Chapter 6 I Do My Best to Kill Benny
I Do My Best to Kill Benny
I know it’s wrong to talk bad about your parents, but wow, the gods are not always the brightest stars in the sky.
Mr. Pindar, our Pantheon Politics instructor, turned out to be pretty entertaining. He was a retired poetry professor from Riverhead, although I suspected he might also be a satyr in disguise. (Satyrs and poets have a similar vibe.)
He was a small guy with thick-framed yellow bifocals, a bushy white man-bun, and a wild gray beard that made his head look like a dandelion.
His jeans were tucked into Ugg boots—plenty of room to conceal satyr hooves—and his grimy T-shirt was covered in constellation patterns.
Despite his age, his eyes sparkled when he told stories.
He spoke with so much energy, waving his arms and beaming with glee, that it was hard not to pay attention.
The class was me and four other kids, all from the Athena cabin. Today’s session focused on how often the gods had been tricked—by mortals and even other gods.
Sisyphus, a mortal, cheated death twice in Hades’s domain.
Hermes was just a baby when he invented cattle rustling by taking Apollo’s entire herd.
Zeus had tricked his dad Kronos into vomiting up his other kids and then cut him to pieces with his own scythe.
Prometheus stole fire from Zeus to give to mortals, which is how humans evolved into the annoying creatures we are today.
Mr. Pindar meant for us to take the stories as warnings that we shouldn’t fall into traps the way the gods had, but I saw his tales as an acknowledgment of the gods’ weaknesses. Honestly, it was refreshing to know they weren’t flawless.
I strutted away from Pantheon Politics feeling inspired. Maybe I could make this work after all.
I headed across the grounds toward the forge. I could learn about crafting weapons, maybe even pick up some gossip about the secrets of the Wild Zone. Or if not, I could at least hit stuff with a hammer.
On the way, I was surprised to see Harper leading a group of campers through an obstacle course like it was nothing.
He leaped barbed-wire hurdles, swung ropes across chasms, and wove and dodged between columns that bristled with spikes, his blond hair bouncing like in a slow-motion shampoo commercial.
He flicked a stray lock out of his eyes, and I swear the little sweat droplets were shaped like hearts.
When one of his cabinmates fell into a noxious-gas-filled pit labeled li’l tartarus, Harper didn’t even think twice before doubling back and helping the poor kid out. Then Harper kept running, still well in front of the other campers.
“Woo-hoo!” I cheered.
Harper and I weren’t super close, but after the night of horrors we’d endured, it was weirdly comforting to see him doing so well.
He glanced my way and grinned.
“Looks like he might break the camp record,” said Silena Beauregard. I hadn’t realized she was standing beside me, despite her bright pink tracksuit, flashy gold whistle, and diamond-studded stopwatch.
“Really?” I beamed like a proud parent.
Silena nodded. “So far, he’s almost untouchable. Incredible coordination. Makes me wonder how he got so beat up last night, coming back to the cabin all covered in bloody scratches and mud.”
My stomach dropped when I realized what was happening.
She was trying to press me for information.
My smile thinned out. “Mm-hmm. I don’t know how he got scratched up,” I said, which was true.
Silena cocked her head. “Really? Because I was told you all were together when the harpies caught you. Seems like you would have seen what happened.”
I laughed nervously. I glanced around for something to draw Silena’s attention away from me—like a monster, or a camper on fire.
Then I noticed Harper had come to a dead stop in front of the final hurdle in the obstacle course—a slimy drainage pipe he’d have to crawl through to reach the finish line.
He stood frozen, staring at the tunnel entrance.
“What is he doing?” I squinted at him.
Silena frowned. “Go on, Harper! You’re almost home!”
Harper laced his hands behind his head, breathing deep like he was trying to steel his nerves.
After chasms, barbed wire, and Li’l Tartarus, the drainage pipe looked like a walk in the park to me.
I wondered if Harper was worried about getting slimy, but being dipped in mud last night hadn’t seemed to bother him.
Silena shook her head, clearly mystified. “Excuse me.” She hurried to the edge of the obstacle course to give Harper a pep talk.
I should have been relieved that her focus was no longer on me. I should’ve fled the scene as fast as possible. Instead, I was transfixed by whatever was happening with Harper.
His cabinmates started to catch up. They passed him like he was just another obstacle, dove headlong into the tunnel, and belly-crawled to the other side, crossing the finish line.
Harper continued to eye the drainpipe like it was his worst enemy.
“Harper!” Silena called. “You’ve got less than a minute to beat the record.”
“Oh—I…” Harper gestured vaguely in front of him. “I’m pretty sure everyone else already beat me.”
Silena tapped her stopwatch. “No, this time I’m talking about the record for the slowest time. Let’s go!”
Harper’s expression reminded me of a cornered animal’s. Finally, he leaped on top of the drainpipe and ran across it to the finish line.
Some of his cabinmates laughed. Others teased him and booed.
Silena looked like she wanted to pull her hair out, except that would’ve ruined her perfect butterfly cut. “You have to go through for it to count!”
“I…uh…wanted to think outside the box,” Harper offered.
If he was trying to charmspeak, it didn’t seem to work on anyone—not even me.
“Next time, try thinking inside the tunnel!” Silena blew her gold whistle. “Okay, everybody, reset. One more time!”
While the Aphrodite kids groaned and complained, I continued on my way, but I was still wondering what had happened to Harper. Why had that drainpipe challenge shaken him so badly?
The obstacle course ended a few hundred meters before the archery range—which would have added quite a few more interesting obstacles, per a sign that said warning: arrows fly everywhere.
Zuri was lined up with several of her cabinmates, firing at targets across a field. Except she was bent over backward, shooting upside down. Despite the odd angle, Zuri nailed her shot—a perfect bull’s-eye—and the rest of the campers applauded.
“Do another one!” said a blond boy, jumping up and down with excitement.
Zuri rolled her eyes. “Will, trick shots are just for show. They won’t help you in a battle.”
“Pleeeease?”
“Hmph.” Zuri scowled, but I got the sense she couldn’t say no to her younger cabinmate. She lay on her back in the grass, again looking at the target upside down, and nocked another arrow. This time she drew the bow with her feet.
I’d bet Mom would adopt her in a heartbeat. Finally, Olivia would have a sibling who could keep up with her in trophies and medals.
The thought made my mouth taste like cardboard.
I’d never shot a bow before. Or handled a firearm. Those were areas where Mom had not allowed me to follow in Olivia’s footsteps.
My sister had fallen in love with archery at summer camp when she was nine years old. Mom had progressed her to an air rifle and trained her in sharpshooting at ten. When I asked to do the same, Mom said it was too dangerous. Like I was so incompetent, I’d accidentally hurt someone.
None of that was Zuri’s fault. Still, I couldn’t help feeling a little bitter as she scored another bull’s-eye.
Out of morbid curiosity, I grabbed an extra bow and arrow from a quiver stand. I positioned myself like I’d seen the other campers (not Zuri) do it, painstakingly nocked the arrow, drew back the bowstring, and focused on the target.
Then I realized the archery range had gotten quiet.
I glanced over to find every camper on the range watching me, including Zuri. I wondered if some of them had heard that my mom was an Olympic sharpshooter. That seemed like the sort of gossip Apollo kids would be interested in.
Now they seemed to be expecting something just as great from me with a bow and arrow. This was even worse than my recurring dream where I’m onstage in my underwear.
“Oh, hey!” I laughed nervously and lowered the bow. “I’ll save you some time. I’m nothing like my mom. A fact I’m reminded of daily.” I set down the bow and arrow. “I was just checking the balance on this bad boy. And, yup, it’s balanced!”
Zuri frowned. “Katie…”
“Sorry. I’ve got a…thing.” I waved at her over my shoulder and hurried away, my face burning with embarrassment. “Have fun!”
I walked until I found myself near the edge of camp.
The strawberry fields spread into the distance.
A group of satyrs and campers were inspecting the plants, picking the ripe berries and filling crates that were destined for restaurants in New York City.
According to Apollo’s super-interesting orientation film, the camp’s farm made enough money to fund a scholarship program for campers who went on to college—assuming they lived that long, of course.
I knew I was getting close to the forge when I heard the clang of metal against metal.
On either side of an open work area, two brick furnaces shimmered with heat, raising the temperature at least ten degrees.
Despite that, Blacksmithing was clearly a popular class.
At least twenty kids from various cabins labored and sweated at the anvils, pounding their hammers against glowing red arrowheads under the supervision of a tall, ripped Black guy who I assumed was head counselor of the Hephaestus cabin.
Showers of sparks from the molten metal made the pavilion look like a low-altitude fireworks festival.
“Flat and pointy, people!” said the counselor, shaping his hand like a blade. “Those arrows need to fly fast and hit hard!” He gave me a friendly smile as I walked over. “ ’Sup. New camper, right? I’m Beckendorf.”