I Accidentally Liquefy My Guidance Counselor
“You’re alive!” said Eudora when I walked into her office on Monday morning.
“You don’t have to sound so surprised.”
“No, I’m not—All right, yes, I’m surprised. How did you do it?”
I sat down next to Sicky Frog and told Eudora about our Halloween walking tour with the dead. Judging from the salt water that trickled down her hairdo, just hearing about it made Eudora feel anxious.
“That’s … terrifying.” She shook her head. “And the recommendation letter?”
I showed her the parchment. She spent a long time reading it, lovingly caressing the words until I started to wonder if she was looking for any sign that Hecate might have mentioned her.
Annabeth, Grover, and I had ended up spending the rest of the weekend at
the manse. Partly because Hecate had wanted us to hang around so she could hear more details about our plan. And partly, I think, because she was holding us hostage in case she changed her mind about feeding us to the eels. Also, it gave her a couple extra days of complimentary pet-sitting. But we didn’t mind that. Walking Hecuba, Gale, and Nope had become something I actually looked forward to, as long as Hecuba didn’t drag me through the shadow-world into random department stores.
During our time with her, Hecate had mentioned Eudora several times. I didn’t want to tell my counselor how many curse words had been sprinkled through those conversations until the goddess finally calmed down.
Eudora looked up and sighed contentedly. “That’s her writing, all right.
Oh, Percy, what a triumph! This will look wonderful with your college application. And if New Rome doesn’t work out, this could get you into any number of excellent technical schools!”
“Um … New Rome will work out. I only need one more letter, right?”
“Of course.” She traced her fingers over the red cursive. I started to worry she might keep the document as a memento, so I figured I should
break my other news.
“Also,” I said, “Hecate owed me a boon. And I collected.”
Eudora’s eyes widened behind her bottle-thick glasses. “A boon? Oh, my! What did you ask for? Can—can I see it? Is it a lock of her hair? An autographed photo?”
“Even better,” I said. “I convinced her to reopen her magic school.” Eudora melted into water.
That’s not a metaphor. She actually dissolved into a large puddle all around her office chair. I stood, worried that I’d killed her. Did I need to dive in and save her? I wasn’t a registered lifeguard. My job was ocean, not saving
Nereids from their own puddles.
“Hello?” I called. “Are you okay down there?”
The puddle rippled. It bubbled, then seeped together into a waterspout that got taller and taller until Eudora stood before me, fully herself again. I wondered how her shell-do liquefied, not to mention her glasses.
“I—I can’t believe this,” she sobbed. “Did you actually—Did I hear you right?”
“Yeah. I convinced her to give it another shot. Like you said, there are so many potential students in the world, and they don’t all belong at camp.”
I suppressed a shudder, thinking about the Aeaean naiads, who I definitely wouldn’t want showing up at our campfire sing-along with their spritz
bottles of Fancy Water.
“They need the school,” I said. “And Hecate needs the school. The manse hasn’t been right since she shut it down. What’s more, Hecate could use the help. She’s great at offering a crossroads. She’s not so great at ushering
people through them. She needs somebody who can advise her students, guide their choices, let them move on when they finish their studies.”
“Does that mean …?” Eudora’s voice was no more than a squeak. “She’s rehiring you as her admissions director. Full-time.” Then I added
quickly, “But only after you’re done helping me out with this semester, of
course.”
“EEP!” Eudora forgot about etiquette and personal boundaries. She came around the desk to hug me. She picked me up, swung me around, then put
me down and did a happy jig. “THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!”
“It’s okay.” I grinned. “Totally fine. Just, uh, keep doing a great job helping me get into college, okay?”
“Oh, I will! I will get you into all the colleges!” “Just New Rome would be great.”
“New Rome it is! Oh! Oh!”
She danced around the room, hugged her office chair, and then tried to hug Sicky Frog. She seemed to have forgotten all about me. That was okay.
I figured my work there was done, so I headed to first period, where I doubted the teacher would be so happy to see me.
I made it through my day somehow, though I may have fallen asleep in class once. Okay, three times.
After dismissal, I started heading back to Gramercy Park, thinking I should walk a certain flatulent polecat and two hellhounds who would really need to pee. I was kind of sad when I realized I didn’t have to do that anymore. On
the bright side, I could go home … but first, I stopped by the Cracked Teapot.
My mom was standing by her usual table, rubbing her back. She was staring at her computer screen as if it had offended her.
“Writer’s block?” I asked. “Percy!”
She hugged me tight, though she did not pick me up and spin me around, which wouldn’t have been good for her or me or the baby. With Grover’s help, I’d sent her a note by wind spirit on Saturday morning, just to let her know I was alive, but still, it was great to see her in person.
“Not writer’s block,” she said. “Writer’s back.” She rubbed her lower spine. “How did it go with Hecate? Tell me everything!”
I gave her the rundown while we ordered another pot of tea and I ate a cookie. Again, I felt lucky I didn’t spend every day writing here, or I’d eat way too much sugar, which, to be honest, I did anyway.
When I finished my story, my mom beamed. “You did something wonderful, Percy.”
“Yeah, well … if you ever change your mind about studying witchcraft, I know a goddess.”
She laughed. “Not likely. I’m happy with my choices. But what you did for Eudora, and Hecate, and the animals … You left them in a better place than you found them. And happier. That’s a very Percy thing to do, and I’m proud of you.”
I was way too old and cool to be affected by a compliment from my mom. I didn’t blush or fidget or anything. I tried to say something, but I had
a lump in my throat. Probably just a piece of cookie. “So, are you coming home tonight?” my mom asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “Is it okay to have Grover and Annabeth over? And maybe Juniper? She discovered that plants ride free on the Long Island Rail Road because nobody notices them.”
“Of course!” my mom said. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen Juniper. But you might want to do your laundry before they come over.”
“Oh. Right.”
My mom had stopped doing my laundry this year. She said I needed practice doing it myself. So far, I was getting a lot of practice letting it pile up. I was probably also getting practice letting new life-forms develop in the hamper.
“Sure,” I said.
“And I’d love help getting the living room tidied up,” she added. “And
—”
“Got it,” I said. “The usual chores. I don’t suppose you’ll write me a college recommendation letter for doing them?”
“They wouldn’t believe me. I’m too biased about how wonderful you are.
And you’ll be even more wonderful when you do those chores! Now, I really ought to finish this chapter, or I’ll never hit my word count for the day. See you at home?”
I headed back to the apartment, and even though I had laundry and vacuuming to do, I found myself smiling. Sometimes chores aren’t so bad, especially when it means getting ready for a family dinner.
