I will now sing the praises of pastry carts.‌

Not only can they transport tasty baked goods to the vicinity of your

face, they can also be covered with tablecloths that hide a lower shelf perfect for crouching on when you’re a demigod who needs to sneak into a brunch. Yes, I know that’s a cliché—I got the idea from old TV shows—but hey, you’ve got to do what works.

The only tough part was convincing Barbara, my new best friend and dryad server, to push me as close to Ganymede as possible.

Her price?

“I want to meet Annabeth Chase,” she said. “I want a selfie and an autograph.”

“I— Really?”

“She’s my hero!” Barbara said.

“No, I get that. She’s my hero, too. It’s just . . .” I decided not to elaborate. I’d been prepared for Barbara to demand something much more difficult, like a personal quest or a box of gold-foil collectors’ edition Mythomagic cards. “I can definitely arrange a meet and greet.”

“Deal!” she said cheerfully. “But if you’re discovered, I have no idea who you are or how you got under the cart, and I will scream, ‘Demigod! Kill him!’ Cool?”

“I would expect nothing less.”

So I curled up under the cart with the chalice of immortality in my lap, hidden behind a white tablecloth embroidered with lightning bolts, as

Barbara wheeled me into the dining room.

“Anyway,” Zeus was saying, “there I was, surrounded by angry llamas. Well, you can imagine!”

“My dear,” said Hera, “there were no llamas in ancient Greece.”

“Well, there were in Crete!” Zeus growled. “I don’t know, maybe Kronos decided we couldn’t have nice things and he sent them all to Peru, but at the time, wow! Llamas everywhere! As I was saying, I was all alone. No Amalthea. No Kouretes. Just me in my diapers, a mere mewling babe, if you can picture it—”

“I can picture it, Dad,” Athena said dryly.

The cart creaked and wobbled. I was so close to the dining table I could smell wet lion fur. I didn’t dare look, but I figured I must be getting close to Ganymede.

Just a few more feet . . . “Stop that!” Zeus snapped. The cart stopped.

“I’m telling a story here, Barbara!” “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

There was a long pause. I imagined all the gods staring at the cart, wondering why it seemed so heavily laden and why it was creaking more than usual. I waited for Barbara to yell Demigod! Kill him!

Finally, Zeus grunted. “Where was I?” “Crete,” Hermes said. “Surrounded by llamas.” “Right, so ”

I had trouble keeping track of the story. Partly, my heart was hammering too loudly. And partly, I just didn’t want to keep track of the story.

Zeus rambled on, trying to build sympathy for his poor baby self all alone on Crete. I doubted his audience was feeling the suspense since (spoiler) he was immortal, so the possibility of him getting killed by llamas was quite low. Nevertheless, I hoped everyone had stopped looking at the pastry cart. I risked lifting the bottom of the tablecloth.

I had a great view of Zeus’s sandaled feet. Did he polish those toenails or what?

Focus, Percy.

Ganymede stood on the other side of Zeus—only ten feet away, but still too far to slip him the chalice, especially since there was a lightning god between us. I tried to look up to see Ganymede’s face, but my angle wasn’t

good enough. I couldn’t tell if he knew I was there or if he was too busy sweating Greek fire to notice.

I wondered if I could crawl from the cart to under the table, past all those immaculately groomed godly feet, without getting noticed. Probably not. Then I glanced to my right and locked eyes with the lion.

Well, that was super. He looked sleepy and surprised, like he was wondering if he was still dreaming or if the pastry cart really had a human head on the bottom shelf.

Probably the worst thing I could have done was to continue staring at him. So that’s what I did. He had pretty gold eyes. I’ve never been much of a cat person, but I could see the appeal of that big fuzzy face resting on giant fluffy paws, except for the fact that the face had fangs and the paws had claws.

I tried to use my son-of-the-sea-god patent-pending telepathy to send him a message: I am harmless. Please do not eat me. But I was pretty sure that 1) the lion was not a sea creature, and 2) even if I could communicate with him, he would not listen to me.

I mouthed, Okay, bye.

I slowly lowered the edge of the tablecloth. It would not protect me from the lion, but maybe he would forget about me?

“Then,” Zeus was saying, “my loving mother showed up! And you will never guess what she did!”

Rawwwwwr, said the lion. Everyone around the table laughed.

“That’s right, Lucius!” Zeus agreed. “She roared! After that . . .”

I risked another peek, just to see if the lion was about to eat my face. Instead, Lucius had his head tilted and eyes closed in a look of utter bliss as Rhea scratched his ear, probably in an effort to keep him quiet.

I did meet the gaze of someone else, though. Apparently, she had peeked under the table to see the cute kitty. Now, from across the table, Athena was staring right at me.

Our eye-lock lasted less than a second, but the thing about Athena is that she is so smart, she can just glance at you and you feel like you’ve gone through a silent interrogation under a hot spotlight. The conversation went something like this:

Athena: Why?

Me: Quest. Sorry. Trying to hide.

Athena: Under a pastry cart? That is so clichéd. Me: Yeah, I know.

Athena: I can’t believe my daughter is still dating you. Me: Love is a mystery. Please don’t kill me?

Athena: . . . . . .

Me: . . . . . .

She popped her head back up while Zeus went on with his story. I waited for the goddess to interrupt and reveal my identity.

“So anyway, the first llama—” Zeus was saying.

“Ganymede?” Athena interrupted. “Would you be a sweetheart and take that pastry cart back to the kitchen? I don’t see any clotted cream for the scones, and that’s a deal-breaker.”

Ganymede stuttered, “Uh, I—”

“I want Ganymede to hear the end of the story!” Zeus protested.

“But, Father,” Athena said, calm and collected, “you know how Rhea loves her scones.”

There followed a moment of electric tension—I could imagine storm clouds forming around Zeus’s chair.

“Hmph,” he said at last. I couldn’t see him, but I swore I could feel the moment he let go of Ganymede’s wrist. “Hurry back.”

“Or don’t,” Hera muttered. “Take your time.”

The cart started to move. I couldn’t tell if it was shaking because of the wheels or because Ganymede was coming apart.

Behind us, Zeus mumbled, “I do love watching him walk away ”

“Could you not at the brunch table?” Hera asked through what sounded like clenched teeth.

“So where was I?”

“Crete,” Hermes said. “Llamas.”

The double doors swung open, and we were safely in the kitchen.

Gasping, I rolled out from under the pastry cart. I realized I’d been holding my breath for way too long.

“Oh, baby!” said Ganymede. “Come to Papa, you beautiful thing!”

Thankfully, he was not talking to me. He made gimme-gimme hands at the chalice. I wondered why he just didn’t grab it. Then it occurred to me I had to hand it over. I had to complete the quest and place the cup into his possession.

“Chalice for you, sir,” I said, and managed to lift the cup.

Ganymede hugged it, kissed its rim, examined it for dents and dings. “Oh, Percy Jackson! You did it! I don’t know how to thank you!”

“How about a recommendation letter?”

Ganymede blinked. “Right! Of course!” A piece of paper floated down from nowhere, straight onto my chest.

I looked at both sides. “It’s blank.”

“Just dictate whatever you want me to say. The words will write themselves. When you’re done, as long as you haven’t gone overboard with the praise, my signature will appear at the bottom. It’s all completely legitimate and legal.”

All this . . . for a blank piece of paper.

I could have laughed or sobbed, but that wouldn’t have done any good.

And it would have attracted the attention of the other gods. “Thanks,” I said, getting to my feet. “So . . . we’re done?”

“Now I have to fill this chalice,” Ganymede said. “And clotted cream! I need some clotted cream! But yes. We’re done. I won’t forget this, Percy Jackson. Good luck in college!”

As Ganymede rushed around the kitchen, Zeus called out, “Ganymede, where are you? I’m getting to the good part!”

“Coming, Lord Zeus!” Ganymede called. “Just . . . filling my chalice, which has been in my possession this entire time!”

He winced, then returned to work. Clotted cream obtained and chalice filled, he rushed the cart back into the dining hall.

I glanced at Barbara the dryad. “Thanks for your help. I’ll arrange that meet and greet with Annabeth.”

“Awesome! It must be such a thrill to work for her.” “Um, yep.”

I turned and nearly jumped out of my jeans. Chef Naomi was standing one inch away, glaring at me.

“Bit of a letdown, doing quests for the gods?” she asked. “Kind of the way I feel every time I make a meal and none of them even says thank you.”

“You know,” I said, “it’s a living.”

She patted me on the shoulder. “Would you like a demi bag for the road?

Then you can get out of my kitchen.”