Page 21 of The Wild Zone

Clarisse sat down at the head of the Ares table and gestured for us to settle in. For such a rowdy group, I was surprised at how orderly our cabin was when it came to eating. Nobody tried to take up extra space on the benches. Nobody crowded anyone else. There was even a decent-size space left at one end of the bench for me.

Unfortunately, it was right next to Sleeping Cootie Boy, who I realized had been one of Clarisse’s archers in the woods the night before.

As I sat down, I braced myself for nasty comments from him, but he was too busy talking to his goblet.

“Hot chocolate,” he ordered, “heated to one hundred thirty-six degrees and made with milk—none of that watered-down stuff. And marshmallows shaped like stars.”

I wondered if he might be just a little out of his mind. But then, with a trickling sound, his goblet filled with the creamiest, chocolatiest-looking liquid I’d ever seen.

Bloop! Bloop! Bloop!

Three puffy, star-shaped marshmallows bobbed to the surface of his drink.

All around our table, and at other tables, kids were giving drink orders to their goblets, too. From what I could tell, people were mostly going for hot chocolate, coffee, or orange juice, but I spotted a few more elaborate concoctions with fresh fruit garnishes, bubbling dry ice, and tiny umbrellas.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Cootie Boy grinned at me. “Alcohol isn’t allowed. But otherwise, ask for whatever you want. Try it!”

I eyeballed my own cup and licked my lips.

“Sun—” I paused.

Sunkist was my favorite drink. Mom always brought an icy-cold two-liter bottle whenever we went to the beach. But she wouldn’t approve of that for breakfast. She’d expect me to drink something more wholesome—bonus points if it was something Korean, like hyeonmi-cha.

Except I didn’t really feel like rice tea. I wanted the Sunkist.

Olivia would ask for hyeonmi-cha. No question.

She’d been born in Korea to two regular mortal Korean parents. She could speak the language fluently. She was Korea.

I, on the other hand, had been born stateside to a Korean woman and a Greek god who rode a motorcycle with an it’s fight o’clock somewhere bumper sticker. I could recognize the Korean alphabet but only knew how to say hello and thank you. Ancient Greek, though, I could have an entire conversation in. Demigod brains were apparently hardwired for that. Unfortunately, without a lot of ancient Greeks around, it had proven to be kind of a pointless skill. Meanwhile, Olivia got the lion’s share of Mom’s praise for being an all-star Korean.

I looked at my goblet and sighed. “Hyeonmi-cha, please.”

The goblet gurgled and filled with a cloudy, foamy, orangish-brown liquid. Definitely not hyeonmi-cha. On my first try, I had managed to short-circuit my magic cup.

“Eww! What is that?” Cootie Boy curled his lip as he looked at my drink.

I grimaced. “I asked for rice tea, but—”

“Never order rice tea, anyone!” He raised his voice and pointed at me, laughing.

“Elam!” Clarisse barked, and he instantly quieted. “We attack creatures, not cultures. Apologize to Katie.”

“Sorry, Katie,” Elam said, glowering at his goblet.

Nice of Clarisse to stick up for my culture. If only she hadn’t also ordered Elam to fire a bow at me the night before….

Everyone was watching us, so I forced a smile. “It’s fine.”

To prove it, I picked up the goblet and drank. It tasted like musty oranges. Maybe the goblet had sensed my conflict and tried to give me Sunkist-flavored hyeonmi-cha. Somehow, I didn’t think this new beverage was going to catch on.

Thankfully, before I had to drink any more, nymphs arrived with trays of scrambled eggs, fruit salad, buttered toast, and pancakes. While everyone was busy serving themselves, I quietly dumped out the rest of my drink and asked the goblet for water. It was boring but better.

To say I devoured my breakfast would be an understatement. With all that running through the Wild Zone the night before, I’d worked up an appetite.

I was just stuffing in the last bit of pancake when a satyr at the head table blew an unnecessarily loud conch horn.

“Ow,” I said, rubbing my ears.