He convened the head counselors of the nine inhabited cabins to discuss the issue. (The Hephaestus kids were on a quest for Celestial bronze, and Zeus’s cabin was empty because he’d curtailed his extracurricular activities to appease Hera. The Hunters were on a stopover, though, so Cabin Eight was occupied.)

“We need a way to supply the camp,” Chiron said. “Any ideas?”

“Yes! We take what we need by force!” bellowed the leader of the Ares cabin.

“Or we could just, you know, steal it,” suggested the Hermes representative.

“No, no!” The son of Apollo whipped out his lyre. “We should sing for our supper, as did the minstrels of yore!”

“Of your what?” asked the Dionysus counselor.

“What?”

“‘The minstrels of your,’” the Dionysus girl said impatiently. “Of your what?”

A representative of the visiting Hunters intervened. “Not your. Yore.”

The Dionysus girl gave up.

“This is getting us nowhere.” The daughter of Athena stood. “Chiron, the camp needs a steady source of income.”

“Agreed,” Chiron said. “Suggestions?”

“One.” She rested her fingertips on the table and surveyed the others with great solemnity. “We will sell something that people will buy in massive quantities.”

“Wine!” called the Dionysus girl.

“Weapons!” yelled the Ares boy.

“Vocal arrangements in four-part harmony!” sang out the Apollo counselor.

“Food.”

All eyes turned to the Demeter boy who had spoken. He shrugged. “People always need food. Big city like New York, lots of people—lots of customers.”

Chiron stroked his beard. “I like it. But what kind of food?”

That wasn’t an easy question to answer. The Athena and Dionysus cabins wanted to sell food associated with their godly parents: olives and olive oil in honor of Athena; and grapes, grape juice, grape jelly, and wine (again) for Dionysus. The Hermes, Artemis, and Ares kids suggested putting their herding, hunting, and slicing-and-dicing talents to use and opening a butcher shop. Poseidon’s daughter campaigned loudly for a seafood shack that offered “both Manhattan and New England clam chowder.” Apollo’s son, still stuck on his original idea, tried to woo the Aphrodite counselor to his cause by pointing out that music was the food of love. She wasn’t buying it—and neither, she said disdainfully, would any self-respecting customer.

The discussion was escalating into an argument when the Demeter head counselor offered one last suggestion. “What about this?” He held out a small red object.

“Miniature explosive!” the Ares boy bellowed. “Duck!”

“It’s not an explosive or a duck,” the Demeter boy said. “It’s a berry native to this land. Grows all over the place here.”

The Aphrodite girl wrinkled her nose. “Excuse me, but ew! There are seeds all over the outside! So unattractive. And red? That color is so overdone, fruit-wise.”

“Yes, but it’s tasty,” the Demeter counselor said. “I call it a strawberry.”

“Why?” the Athena girl wanted to know.

“Because blueberry, raspberry, blackberry, and cranberry were taken. Here, try one.” He spilled a handful onto the table.

The other counselors and Chiron sampled the strawberries. “Sweeeet,” drawled the Dionysus counselor. Even the Aphrodite girl agreed—though she picked off the seeds first.

Chiron asked the Demeter boy to stand. “It seems we have our product,” he said. “Will you and your siblings oversee the crop and grow it in abundance?”

The Demeter boy straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin. “We will make it our sacred duty,” he said, “though we might ask the satyrs for backup on the reed pipe and the Dionysus kids for an assist now and then.”

The Dionysus counselor gave him a thumbs-up.

The Apollo boy strummed his lyre for attention. “Gentle souls, hear my pledge! I will make it my sacred duty to name and market our newfound venture.” He strummed another chord, adjusted the tuning, and strummed again. “I will even compose a catchy jingle to advertise our wares throughout the fair streets of New York. Like a plague, this jingle will infect the minds of everyone who hears it. Soon all the world will sing of our product. The jingle shall go a little something like this…”

Fortunately, the other counselors talked him down before he could create a virulent, incurable ear worm. But the Apollo campers did do a great job marketing the new product, obviously keeping secret the fact that our divine new food was, in fact, grown by semidivine beings.

And that, newbie demigods, is how the Delphi Strawberry Service came to be.

Hello? You still reading? Hello?

Shoot. I knew I should have worked in a fight scene.

PJ: We’re a little limited on time, so let’s get right to the questions.

So, do I get to keep the T-shirt?

PJ: You do, but since clothes tend to get slashed, burned, and bloodied here, you might want to purchase additional ones at the camp store.

AC: Percy!

PJ: What? Oh. Guess that makes life here sound a little dangerous.

NDA: Deadly, even.

AC: Nico!

PJ and NDA: Anna-be-eth!

AC: Idiots.

PJ: You’ll be fine here. Probably. It’s when you go on a quest that you’ll encounter…trouble.

A quest? Do I have to go on a quest?

AC: You may not believe it now, because this is all so new to you, but getting picked for a quest is every demigod’s dream. It’s what we train for. It’s what we’re born to do.

PJ: You might not get picked right away. I mean, sure, I did—I was here, what, less than a week before I headed out to face death?

AC: You were a special case, Seaweed Brain.

PJ: Aw, you called me special!

NDA: She also called you Seaweed Brain.

“Face death”? Am I going to die?

NDA: I’ll take this one. Yes, you will die—someday. When you do, you’ll go to live, er, to exist in the Underworld.

PJ: Leo didn’t.

NDA: Leo cheated death with a potion that he shouldn’t have had. Without it, he’d have stayed dead. Like he was supposed to.

PJ: Hazel came back too.

NDA: That’s totally different! I brought her back on purpose.

PJ: Just saying that not everyone who dies stays dead.

NDA: Next question.

What if I don’t like it here? Can I go home?

AC: I’ve never been homesick. I bet that feeling stinks. But before you pack your bags for home, ask yourself, who will protect you out there in the mortal world? Who will teach you to use your powers? Who will really understand what it’s like to be a demigod?

PJ: You can always Iris-message home. I hear moms in particular like that.

Will my conversations be private, or does Iris stay on the line?

PJ: You know, I never thought about that.

AC: I’m sure Iris hits mute. Plus, these days she’s too busy running Rainbow Organic Foods and Lifestyles—her new whole-foods, gluten-free, vegan business—to listen in.

NDA: Gods, I’d rather be stuck in a bronze jar with only pomegranate death-trance seeds again than eat that ROFL stuff.