by Joan Holub
Taking turns, the Gray Ladies borrowed the tooth and the microphone to announce the third-, then second-, then first-place winners. The three-headed dog sculpture, whose title was Cerberus, won third prize.
“Hades will be thrilled when he hears about this,” Pheme leaned over to whisper. Hades, who was Persephone’s crush, also attended MOA. He was godboy of the Underworld, and Cerberus was his pet dog. That fierce-looking creature guarded the entrance to the Underworld and kept shades—spirits of the dead, that is—from escaping.
Hestia cheered extra loudly when her favorite ice sculpture, The Birth of Athena, took second place and a female sculptor stepped up to claim the prize.
Heracles’ First Labor, whose creator turned out to be none other than the world-renowned Pygmalion, won first. It was the sculpture Hestia had admired of Heracles battling the Nemean lion.
Later, as an artist from the Greekly Weekly News sketched a picture of Pygmalion’s winning statue, Hestia listened in on Pheme’s brief interview with the great sculptor.
“Were you surprised to win?” Pheme asked him.
“Not at all,” Pygmalion told her with a haughty sniff. “This was only an amateur contest, so there was really no competition for someone of my stature in the art world. I only entered because the contest organizers begged me to.”
A few minutes later, after the two girls began their trip back to MOA, Pheme imitated the manner of Pygmalion’s speaking. “Those other sculptors are losers without a scrap of talent compared to me,” she said with her chin up and her nose in the air.
Grinning, Hestia added, “They are not worthy even to lick my sandals.”
Both girls burst out laughing, which caused them to bobble around in the air. In fact, Hestia laughed so hard, she actually did a frontward flip and had to right herself. Pygmalion was a brilliant sculptor, but he was also very arrogant.
“I kind of hoped The Birth of Athena would take first, but at least it won second,” Hestia commented as they flew back over the gray-black sea.
“What’s good about second place?” Pheme said with a snort. “All the publicity and acclaim go to the winner!”
“Huh? No way. The Athena sculptor almost won,” Hestia argued. “Hundreds admired and enjoyed that woman’s work. Her talent made them happy. It made me—probably others too—pause to think. That’s the stuff that’s important.”
“Ha!” said Pheme, unconvinced. But then she changed the subject. “So I saw you talking to the Gray Ladies. They’re weird, right?”
Hestia nodded. “I’ll say. Imagine having to share your only eyeball and tooth with your sisters! I wonder how they eat. It would be hard to chew food with only one tooth.”
“Maybe they just take turns sipping milkshakes,” said Pheme.
“Yeah, in a single glass where they share one straw,” Hestia added.
The girls laughed again, bobbling about in the air as before. “Those ladies don’t just look and act weird, they also said some really weird stuff to me,” Hestia confided once she’d straightened. “Stuff that doesn’t make any sense.” After a pause she added, “Only I’m wondering if it was supposed to have been helpful advice since they’re counselors.”
“What kind of advice?” encouraged Pheme. In her excitement to hear what Hestia would reveal, her glittery orange wings beat double-time.
“They said I wear armor, for one thing,” Hestia told her. A sudden gust of wind blew her hood back. She tugged it forward as she then went on to repeat not just the armor comment but the cooking-pot comment also, and the warning not to cheat herself. “I didn’t ask for their advice. Especially unclear advice like that.”
“Yeah, but like you said yourself, they’re counselors,” said Pheme. “Giving advice is what they do. And their suggestions usually make sense after you consider them awhile.”
As the girls began to fly over land again, Hestia wondered if Pheme had ever received advice from the Gray Ladies. She didn’t ask, however. She sensed it might be a touchy subject. When another gust of wind flipped back the hood of her chiton, Hestia pulled it into place again.
Pheme glanced at her. “If you don’t get cold, why do you always wear hoods?”
Hestia shrugged. “I just like them. They make me feel more comfortable. Snuggly. And . . . safer, somehow.”
Pheme’s eyebrows shot up. “Safer? From what?”
“I don’t know,” said Hestia, looking away. “From stuff I don’t want to deal with, I guess. Getting called on in class. Being noticed when I don’t want to be. I’m kind of shy, and a hood is protection in a way.”
“Like a helmet?” Pheme asked.
Hestia nodded. “Or a shield. Any type of—”
“Armor!” they both blurted at once.
“ ‘Your own armor has served you well, but perhaps now is the time to shed it?’ ” Hestia said, reciting the short Gray Lady’s advice again, word for word. “So maybe they were trying to tell me I should get rid of the hoods on my chitons.”
Pheme regarded Hestia thoughtfully as they flew closer and closer to Mount Olympus, which now towered on the horizon. “I don’t get being shy. I mean, it’s so easy to talk. For me, the bigger the audience, the better.”
Hestia grinned at her. “Yeah! I’ve noticed! You’re lucky. I wish I were that way.”
“If everybody were like me, no one could get a word in edgewise, though,” Pheme said matter-of-factly as they approached the Academy at the top of Mount Olympus. “Still, maybe you just need a little boost so people can start getting to know you.” She licked her lips eagerly. “And I’m just the goddessgirl to help with that. Soon everyone at MOA will know not only your name but everything about you!”
She reached over and gave Hestia an excited hug just as they hit some bumpy air currents. They jumped apart, working to stay aloft.
Hestia’s stomach gave a lurch. It had nothing to do with the bumpy air currents, however. She’d always been a very private person, so the idea of others knowing “everything” about her kind of freaked her out. But if she were to be honest, it was also a little thrilling. And it was, after all, what the Gray Ladies had seemed to advise. Even Ms. Xena approved of publicity. So Pheme would be doing Hestia a favor by giving her some. Right?
8
Pizzazz
HESTIA SPENT MOST OF SATURDAY in the cafeteria kitchen. Between helping out with lunch and dinner, she and Ms. Okto brainstormed ideas for a menu for next Saturday’s banquet. Unfortunately— or fortunately, depending on how you looked at it—Chef Soterides came by to offer his opinions too.
“Zeus has already approved my main course,” the chef informed them. “All that’s left to decide are the appetizers and dessert. For appetizers I suggest we serve goat cheese crostini with roasted grapes; shrimp-and-tomato tarts; and a basil-ambrosia yogurt dip with baked pita wedges.”
Ms. Okto folded all eight of her arms into four pairs and glared at him. “And just how are we supposed to find time to do all these fancy-pants appetizers in addition to the rest of the meal?”
The chef raised an eyebrow. “Not up to the challenge?”
Ignoring the obvious jab, Ms. Okto continued to glower at him. “A big platter of hambrosia roll-ups ought to do the trick. Takes a lot less time too.”
Chef Soterides gave a sniff. “Uninspired and boring,” he pronounced.
Ms. Okto pursed her lips. “Oh yeah? Well, I find your suggestions pompous and fussy!”
Caught in the cross fire, Hestia and Ms. Xena stood near the two cooks, looking back and forth between them as they sparred.
Suddenly, the chef snapped his fingers. “We’ll carve turnips into the shape of little anchovy fish. Boil them, dunk them in oil, and then decorate each to look just like the real thing, using salt and poppy seeds.”
“I knew it! I knew you’d suggest those things. Stealing my ideas, just like back in cooking school.”
Chef Soterides did a double take. “Oktopia? Is that you?” His face broke out into a huge smile. �
�I haven’t seen you since we graduated. What’s it been? Twenty years?”
“Twenty-three,” Ms. Okto corrected him. Then, sounding miffed, she said, “I can’t believe you didn’t remember me till now. How many other eight-handed cooks have you come across all these years?”
“None,” the chef admitted sheepishly. His eyes darted to Hestia and Ms. Xena, who were listening in unabashedly. Quickly, they both got busy doing small kitchen tasks, so as not to appear too nosy.
“Seriously, Oktopia,” Soterides said. “I’ve never known anyone as handy in a kitchen as you.”
To Hestia’s surprise Ms. Okto let out a giggle. “Stop trying to butter me up, Soty. I still haven’t forgiven you for claiming that anchovy idea as your own, you know.”
Hestia grinned at Ms. Xena, whispering, “Soty?” Ms. Xena shrugged and grinned back.
“I was desperate,” the chef said now in a pleading tone. “You’ve got to understand. King Nikomedes was interviewing me for a job. The cost of failure was . . .” He drew a finger across his throat.
“Hmph!” said Ms. Okto. Then, appearing to take pity on him at last, she added, “Fine. The faux anchovies will do for an appetizer. Now, how about Hestia’s chocolate ambrosia bars for dessert?”
Hestia had made another batch of them just before lunch, and now Ms. Okto handed one to the chef. Hestia watched anxiously as he took a bite. He chewed, then frowned.
Before he could say a word, Ms. Okto put seven hands on her hips. The eighth hand shook a wooden stirring spoon at him. “You’d better not insult Hestia’s work. Everyone loves those bars!”
Soterides glanced between Ms. Okto and Hestia. “Absolutely scrumptious!” he declared. “But are they special enough?”
Hestia wrinkled her brow and spoke up before the cafeteria ladies could. “You’re probably right,” she said. “The dessert for such a mega-important banquet should have . . . pizzazz.”
“Precisely!” agreed the chef. And for the next fifteen minutes he and Ms. Okto argued over dessert ideas.
In the end the lunch lady cocked her head. “How about if we leave the dessert to Hestia? It can be a surprise. To us and to everyone else.”
“But this is unheard of!” Soterides exclaimed. “You can’t be seri—”
“Ahem!” interrupted Ms. Okto. There were daggers in her eyes. “You. Owe. Me. One,” she said, pronouncing each word loudly and distinctly.
The chef heaved a big sigh. “Yes, that’s true,” he conceded. “Very well.”
“Really?” said Hestia, looking from one to the other. “Are you sure?” she asked Ms. Okto.
“Wouldn’t have suggested it if I weren’t,” she said. “You’ve proved yourself an excellent cook many times over. I trust that whatever you come up with will be a huge hit.”
“Sure it will,” Ms. Xena chimed in.
Hestia beamed at them. “Thanks. I won’t let any of you down.”
“I should hope not,” the chef couldn’t seem to resist saying. “I can’t imagine what Zeus might do if displeased. He’s a zillion times more powerful than King Nikomedes, after all.” Then, in case his meaning hadn’t been clear enough, he drew a line across his throat with a finger.
“Pshaw,” said Ms. Okto. “Don’t let Soty worry you, Hestia. He’s as nutty as a fruitcake if he thinks Zeus isn’t going to love what you create.”
Hestia nodded. She wasn’t really worried about pleasing Zeus. As everyone knew, the principal had a major sweet tooth. No, it was Chef Soterides she was most worried about. Ms. Okto was counting on her to prove herself to him!
Back in her room after dinner that night, Hestia sat at her desk to brainstorm dessert ideas. However, everything she came up with—from cakes and cookies to ice cream and pastries—seemed too ordinary. There was that word again. Well, she might be ordinary, but she wasn’t going to create an ordinary dessert! She rejected her ideas as fast as she wrote them down. If there were ever a time for making a bold, risky move cooking-wise, it was now. But she could think of nothing with real pizzazz.
Feeling frustrated, she had just decided to take a brainstorming break when her roomie walked in. Since Aglaia had slept over in Calliope’s room last night and Hestia had worked in the kitchen most of the day, the two girls hadn’t hung out at all since those few minutes Friday afternoon.
Aglaia flopped down onto her bed, curled up with a pillow, and closed her eyes. “Phew! I could really use a nap,” she said. “Calliope and I talked so late last night, I hardly got any sleep. And ever since I got up this morning, I’ve been helping Hephaestus in his workshop. I’m dead.”
Forcing a smile, Hestia sat on her own bed, drew up her knees, and hugged them. “So you guys had fun? You and Calliope?” She tried to make her voice sound light, even though her insides tightened into a knot of worry. She was pretty sure Calliope didn’t have a roommate. Not yet, anyway. What if Aglaia decided to switch roommates and move in with this new girl, leaving Hestia all alone?
“Uh-huh. Lots of fun,” Aglaia replied sleepily. Then suddenly her eyes popped open and she pushed herself up onto an elbow to face Hestia. “I am a bad roommate!” she exclaimed. “I forgot to ask about your trip to the ice sculpture contest with Pheme. How’d it go? Did she talk your ear off? Like I’m doing now?”
They both grinned.
“It was great, actually,” said Hestia, relaxing some. Quickly, she told Aglaia all about the trip, the amazing sculptures, and the Gray Lady judges. She even recited what the counselors had said to her, and how she and Pheme had figured their advice meant Hestia should try to put herself out there more so others could get to know her better.
Aglaia rolled onto her back to stare at the ceiling. “So the Gray Ladies just expect you to suddenly stop being shy? Like that?” She snapped her fingers.
“I guess so,” said Hestia. She unclasped her knees and brought her legs down so that her feet rested on the braided rug between their beds. “Pheme thinks I need publicity,” she added. “She interviewed me for her column in Teen Scrollazine.”
“Cool,” said Aglaia. Her eyes were closed again. “When will the interview come out?”
“I’m not really sure,” Hestia replied. “Soon, I think.”
The two girls talked a little more about Hestia’s trip, and she described her favorite Athena ice sculpture. Then she sat up straighter as a sudden flash of inspiration struck her.
A sculpture. That was it! She would sculpt her banquet dessert! Not from ice, though. From cake! Her brain began to dance with cake, frosting, and special filling ideas. Maybe, since the purpose of the banquet was to celebrate the winner of the Service to Humankind Award, she could make her dessert in the shape of a trophy!
She jumped up from her bed and began to pace around the room. Was sculpting a trophy from cake even possible? Obviously, she’d need to experiment before getting too far ahead of herself.
Hearing steady breathing, she peered over at Aglaia and saw that her roomie had fallen asleep. Would she want to be woken up so she could change into her pj’s? Hestia wondered. But then she decided she should just let Aglaia sleep.
Aglaia’s yellow-and-blue polka-dotted comforter was bunched up at the foot of her bed, so Hestia pulled it up and stretched it over her. There. Much better!
• • •
The next night, Hestia was exploring the trophy-cake idea in the school’s kitchen when Pheme suddenly walked in.
“I’ve been looking all over for you,” Pheme told her. Cloud-letters puffed from her lips to hang in the air near the ceiling.
“Why? What’s up?” said Hestia. She had just finished mixing up an ambrosia filling she hoped to use inside her sculpted dessert. The cake she’d baked earlier was sitting nearby on a cooling rack.
Instead of answering right away, Pheme said, “I’ve never actually been in this kitchen before, but I remembered you spend a lot of time here. Good thing, or I’d never have tracked you down.” She looked around. Her eyes roved over the huge brick fireplace, the gla
ss-fronted cupboards, and the clean wooden countertops before coming to rest hungrily on the contents of the bowl Hestia held.
Seeing her interest, Hestia dipped a clean spoon into the ambrosia filling and held it out for Pheme to taste.
“Mmm, yummy,” the goddessgirl murmured as she licked the filling off the spoon. Then she finally said what she’d come to say. “I turned in my Teen Scrollazine column about you this morning. The new issue comes out Wednesday. I’ll be sure you get a copy hot off the presses.”
Hestia’s heart gave a flutter. “You turned in the interview already? I was hoping you might show it to me first. Is it too late?”
“ ’Fraid so. But don’t worry. You’ll love what I wrote.” She grinned easily, setting her spoon in the sink. Then she began to walk around and fiddle with various kitchen gadgets.
Each time she asked “What’s this?” Hestia would glance up from what she was doing to answer.
“Slotted spoon.”
“Whisk.”
“Peeler.”
“Wow, cooking sure is a lot of work,” Pheme said as she studied a pastry brush. “The things we do to set a good example for mortals, huh? Hey, maybe my interview will even boost your chances of winning the Service to Humankind Award.”
Hestia shrugged. “Oh, yeah. I kind of forgot about that award. I haven’t decided if I’ll even enter the contest yet.”
“Why not? You’d have as good a chance of winning as a lot of other students,” Pheme urged. “Especially after everybody reads my article about you.”
Hestia had to smile at that. Pheme was always so confident!
“But if I did put in my name, wouldn’t we be, like, competitors?” Hestia asked.
Pheme shook her head. “I’m not entering. Since I’ll be covering the contest for Teen Scrollazine, I don’t think it would be right for me to be in the contest too. It’d be like a . . a . . .” As she searched for the term she was after, she waved a potato masher in the air.
“Conflict of interest?” Hestia supplied. It was a term she’d learned in Ethics-ology class last year. It meant a situation in which there were conflicting aims. In this case, Pheme probably figured she’d have a hard time writing objectively about the contestants if she were one of them.