Page 57 of The Wild Zone

“Congrats,” I said with the weakest, wobbliest smile ever.

He sat beside me and held out the bowl. “Consolation bite?”

“I don’t deserve it,” I said. But I took the spoon from him anyway.

“You look like you had a rough time out there,” he said. Then he dropped his voice. “Searching for Grant?”

I swallowed a mouthful of vanilla ice cream, wincing from the pain in my throat. “That was the plan. Didn’t work out too well.”

Benny gestured at my head. “You got a little something…”

I felt around in my hair and pulled out a crushed pine cone. For a brief second, I considered telling Benny about the hooded man with the chain, but that felt like a lot to unload on someone else. Plus, once I pulled that thread, everything else would unravel. I’d have to explain who I thought the man was, what he’d said, and why he might not have been real. I’d have to describe my visions. Then I’d have to explain why Benny shouldn’t be scared of me even though I could snap him in half like a pencil.

Instead, I just said, “Yep.”

Because Benny was Benny, he didn’t pry. He simply sat with me and stared at the ground while I poached another spoonful of his ice cream.

“You shouldn’t be going in there by yourself,” he said.

“I wasn’t by myself,” I protested weakly. “The whole camp was in the woods.”

Benny raised an eyebrow. “You know what I mean. We were supposed to make a plan together. Tonight at KP. Let us help you.”

I sighed. “I was just trying to do the right thing. I know you understand that.”

He looked me over, noting the state of my clothes and the cuts on my arms. I wondered if bruises were starting to appear on my throat. He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a yellow cellophane-wrapped square. “This might help.”

Benny set the square on the bench beside me and took back his ice cream.

“Cellophane isn’t environmentally friendly,” I chided him as I fussed with the wrapper.

“It’s rice paper,” he said.

“Oh. Cool.” Inside the paper was a rectangular chunk of…something. I would’ve guessed a miniature brownie, but the color was too orange. I popped the entire thing in my mouth and chewed. Then I stopped.

I didn’t know how Benny had done it, but the orange square tasted like my mom’s spaghetti and meatballs. My eyes teared up. I let the taste fill my mouth. I didn’t want to swallow and lose the flavor—my connection with Mom. Then I noticed something else strange. When my mouth watered and made me swallow, my throat didn’t hurt.

I looked at my arms. The cuts were fading.

I actually laughed in amazement, and that didn’t hurt my stomach!

“Feeling better?” Benny asked with a smile.

“What is this?”

“It’s called ambrosia,” he said. “Food of the gods. In small amounts, it can heal demigods of almost anything. The Stolls gave me some after I failed the, uh, backflip-off-the-roof test.”

“Ouch. But how did you get this flavor?”

“You like it? I’m pretty sure it’s the best flan de coco I’ve ever had!”

I cocked my head. “That’s a funny way to say spaghetti.”

Benny mirrored my expression. “Spaghetti? No, it’s flan de coco with caramel sauce.” He closed his eyes dreamily. “And just a hint of cafecito aftertaste.”

“Hey, geniuses!” Travis called to us. “Ambrosia tastes like whatever your favorite food is!”

Several Hermes campers laughed. Benny and I stared at each other. Then we cracked up too.