by Vera Strange
Text copyright © 2021 by Disney Enterprises, Inc.
Illustrations by Jeff Thomas © Disney Enterprises
All rights reserved. Published by Disney Press, an imprint of Buena Vista Books, Inc. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Disney Press, 1200 Grand Central Avenue, Glendale, California 91201.
Designed by Phil Buchanan
Cover design by Phil Buchanan
ISBN 978-1-368-06546-7
For more Disney Press fun, visit www.DisneyBooks.com
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Epilogue
1: The Zeus Cup
2: Mt. Olympus
3: Emo God Dude
4: Tripped at the Finish Line
5: Damsel in Distress…NOT
6: Dreams are for Rookies
7: Where There’s Smoke…There’s Fire
8: Pain and Panic
9: Small Underworld After All
10: Go the Distance
11: Zero to Hero, Just Like That
12: Wonderboy
13: Liar, Liar, Head on Fire
14: Playing Hooky
15: Lord of the Dead
16: Release the Titans
17: Jeepers, Mister!
18: Work of Heart
19: Cerberus
20: Three Heads Are Better Than One
21: Your Most Lugubriousness
22: Hades Rules!
Acknowledgments
As soon as Hector woke up, he almost wished he hadn’t.
The alarm blared, jerking him from sleep and the dream he’d been having about running. His legs felt tired, even though he’d slept soundly the whole night. Running seemed to be the only thing he did lately, even while snoozing.
He groaned and flopped over in his twin bed, feeling the softness of the worn flannel sheets and burying his head in the pillow to block out the alarm. When that didn’t work, he flailed around until he hit the SNOOZE button. His legs felt sore from training yesterday. He blinked in the dim morning light.
It wasn’t that he had to go get dressed and head to school like most twelve-year-olds—he didn’t.
In fact, he didn’t have to go anywhere.
Hector was homeschooled, along with his three older brothers, and could take all his classes in his pajamas at the kitchen table. He was the baby of the family, and his brothers made sure to remind him of that fact on a daily basis. He didn’t even have to brush his hair—technically speaking—although if he left it alone his father would tease him for being lazy.
His dark locks were curly and thick and grew in every direction as if they had a mind of their own, reminding him of Medusa’s snake hair. He’d learned about Medusa in their lesson on Greek mythology and found her fascinating.
Sadly, his hair didn’t endow him with any stone-stare death powers.
Major bummer, he thought. Too bad he wasn’t a Greek god or demigod.
Or whatever they were called.
His dad’s voice shot through his head, wise and stern and amused all at once. Son, you always need to put your best foot forward. That is…if you don’t wanna fall flat on your face, he’d add with a chuckle.
He loved laughing at his own corny Dad Jokes, as he liked to call them.
Hector wasn’t sure how combing his hair had anything to do with his feet, but parents could be super weird like that.
He rubbed his eyes, forcing them open. His room was the smallest room in the house since he was the youngest Gomez brother, but it was bright and cozy. He had a beat-up wooden desk, an equally beat-up dresser, and a twin-size bed. As he yawned and stretched, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror on the door. As predicted, his hair shot out wildly every which way. His brothers’ voices echoed through his head.
Wonderboy, did yah stick your fingers in an electric socket?
Uh dork-face, your hair sticking up like that doesn’t actually make you taller…. You’re still just an annoying little loser.
But the truth was, Hector actually didn’t mind. He knew they loved him, despite the squabbling and teasing. Affectionately known as the Gomez Four around town, they could get pretty rowdy around the kitchen table until Dad finally lost his patience and yelled at them to shut it…or else.
Usually, the or else never actually materialized.
Deep down, their father was a total softie, and they all knew it. The real trouble came if Mom was home and overheard them acting up during homeschooling hours. She was the real heavy in the family.
But usually, his mom was busy running their family’s store, Hero’s Sporting Goods, located right smack in the center of the Mt. Olympus town square, which boasted one stoplight, a smattering of locally owned stores and quaint restaurants, and an idyllic, leafy park filled with white marble statues of Greek gods, the town’s claim to fame.
Well, that…and the Mt. Olympus Spartan Run.
Ugh. Hector didn’t even want to think about the Spartan Run, but unfortunately, he had no choice. There was no point in delaying the inevitable. Hector climbed out of bed before Mom could yell for him.
“Wonderboy…yeah, right,” he muttered to his reflection.
Sure, on the outside he looked strong and fit and athletic. He’d been training for so long now that he was faster and could do more push-ups and pull-ups than almost any other kid his age, which is what had earned him the dreaded nickname. It also made him the favorite to win this year’s Mt. Olympus Spartan Run, a grueling obstacle-based competition for local twelve-year-olds. The annual race was only two short weeks away. It was also the reason for his daily misery.
Hector was finally old enough to qualify for the race, having just turned twelve a few weeks ago. And he did look the part of Wonderboy. But inside, he didn’t feel strong. He felt weak and unworthy of the Cup.
The Zeus Cup.
Hector pictured the shiny, golden statue molded into the form of the ancient Greek god Zeus. He knew that Zeus wasn’t just any god: According to Greek mythology, he was the god of the skies and thunder and the ruler of all the gods on Mt. Olympus.
But that trophy was the bane of his existence. He wished that it didn’t exist. Or rather, it could exist, but he wished that his family didn’t care so much about him winning it. Making it worse, it wasn’t just his family who cared—it was everyone in the whole town.
Winning the Cup was the highest honor in his quaint, idyllic Midwestern town.
Idyllic…but boring.
Not much ever happened here—except the race. It was literally the only thing the town was known for. The race itself dated back over one hundred years to the founding of the town by immigrants from Greece. Today, the town was much more diverse than it had been back then, and everyone in his family had trained for the race when they were twelve—his father, his mother, his three older brothers. But they’d all fallen short of winning the prized Cup. His oldest brother, Phil, came the closest, but he finished in second place. And second didn’t earn you the Cup.
Now it was up to Hector to win the race and bring the trophy home for his family. But the problem was, he didn’t care about winning the Cup. He hated training. He hated competing. He hated pretty much everything about the race.
But nobody had ever asked him what he wanted. Hector would have much rather spent his time working on his true love—photography. Out in nature, snapping landscape photos or capturing candid portraits was when he felt most alive.
A few years ago, he’d discovered his dad’s old Canon in the basement, covered in dust, and sa
lvaged it. Ever since then, he couldn’t stop taking and developing pictures—experimenting with different shutter speeds and saturations to create new sorts of images. But his family thought that artsy stuff was just a waste of time.
Time that Hector should spend training.
Phil was always on his case, pushing him to focus harder on his athletics and not waste time snapping pointless photos of “random stuff” that nobody even cared about.
The problem was, Hector cared. He’d even bought special cleaning products to care for the lens, using the money he saved up working at Hero’s on the weekends with his family.
Ugh, I don’t wanna train today.
His eyes flicked to the overstuffed athletic bag shoved in the corner and chock-full of gear—sweats, running shoes, special powder to keep his hands dry while scaling walls and climbing ropes. Hero’s Sporting Goods was emblazoned on the side of the bag, advertising their shop.
It wasn’t like he had a choice. After homeschooling was finished, Dad and the boys pitched in at Hero’s, helping their mother restock the merchandise—everything from baseballs to lacrosse sticks to rock-climbing equipment and everything in between—and running the checkout counter, then closing up the shop and sweeping the stoop at the end of the business day.
But lately, Hector had to train at the local field every day—and Phil was his coach. Even though he was only sixteen years old, there was no better coach in town. And he drove Hector super hard.
Maybe he could pretend he was sick today?
Like deathly about-to-die kind of sick?
That was unlikely to work, though. His mom could sniff out lies, even virtually over text.
Maybe he could just beg for a single day off? One measly day of rest?
But he knew that wouldn’t work, either, not in the Gomez family. Training was the most important thing, even more important than school, though his parents wouldn’t admit that, at least not if somebody else was listening. In fact, athletics was the family’s business.
Not just their business—but their life. They all lived and breathed and obsessed over the annual race. All except Hector.
Outside his bedroom door, he could hear the house beginning to stir and awaken around him. The squawking of alarms and creaking of stairs and doors. The sound of his older brothers squabbling over who got to shower first.
“No fair, Phil,” Luca griped, banging on the bathroom door. “You went first yesterday—and used all the hot water!”
“Lemme alone,” Phil’s muffled voice shouted back. “I’m the oldest—that means I get first dibs on shower time.”
They only had one bathroom for the kids, so it was always a morning battle. Another voice echoed through the house, this one higher pitched.
“Hey, whatta ’bout me?” Juan added to the morning cacophony, his voice cracking.
“You’re last!” both Phil and Luca yelled back at the same time.
“Well, except for Wonderboy,” Phil added, making all three brothers crack up. “We all know he gets a cold shower.”
Still in bed, Hector rolled his eyes. Besides, the joke was on them. He’d been showering at night before bed when there was plenty of hot water left.
The smell of bacon drifted down the hall, mixed with the rich aroma of coffee burbling into the coffeemaker. That meant it was banana-pancake-and-bacon day, his favorite day.
Hector stood up and stretched. It wasn’t that he didn’t have a nice life. He had a goofy, loving family and a comfortable home, even though his large family stretched its limits at times. And his brothers were his best friends.
But there was all this pressure around the race. He just didn’t get it. Hector often felt like an outsider in his family. Like he didn’t fit in or belong.
When he was younger, he once asked his parents if he was adopted, much to their abject horror. They quickly assured him that while he may have been a “little bit of a surprise,” he was definitely their child.
“You’re a Gomez, son,” his father said, patting his shoulder. “Should I congratulate you—or apologize?”
“Oh, stop it, Pedro,” Mom said, playfully slapping Dad’s shoulder. “We both know you should apologize.”
They each chuckled, not noticing the crestfallen look on Hector’s face.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be part of their family. Truly, he did love them. It was just that he couldn’t understand why he felt so different.
It was a mystery.
Even his parents seemed baffled at times by his lack of enthusiasm over competing for the Zeus Cup, despite his best efforts to try to fake it.
His eyes flicked to what he truly loved—his camera. It sat in the worn old bag on his desk, labeled Canon.
All I want to do is take pictures, but nobody understands me, he thought, feeling…well, angsty and misunderstood.
That was his usual state of being, though he tried his best to hide it.
“Hector, you’re late for school,” Mom called from the kitchen, snapping him out of his usual morning pity party. “Don’t make me call you…again.”
“Coming!” Hector yelled quickly.
He knew better than to argue with his mom, especially before she’d had her minimum two cups of coffee.
None of the Gomez Four wanted to be late for homeschool, even though there was no bell to signal that they were tardy—or principal’s office to get sent to if they misbehaved.
While Dad was their teacher, a role which he relished and gave his all, Mom functioned as their principal. Suffice it to say, no one wanted to get sent to her office.
With a deep sigh, and before his mother could call for him again, Hector turned away from the camera bag. He got dressed and ran his fingers through his hair, though it didn’t help and probably made it worse, and sauntered into the kitchen for breakfast and homeschooling. Hector actually looked forward to the school part of his day. He liked learning new things. What he didn’t like was what would come right afterward:
Training. Training. Training.
And more training.
“There’s the Wonderboy!” Dad called from the kitchen table. “Looking stronger every day, thanks to your brother here.” He clapped Phil on the shoulder, making him wince.
Dad might look like…well, a normal middle-aged dad with thinning hair and a paunchy stomach, but he was still almost as strong as he’d been in his teen years when he trained for the race, just like everyone in their family.
“This is our year,” Mom added from the kitchen, where she was slurping coffee. Her long, dark hair was tied back into a crisp braid. She was dressed in her usual work uniform—a red Hero’s shirt paired with khakis and athletic sneakers with a yellow lightning bolt.
“Yeah, nothing can stop this kiddo,” Phil added with a wink. “Plus, he’s got a secret weapon that makes him go faster—”
“Yeah, farts!” Luca said, careening into the kitchen and letting out a loud fart sound by pressing his hands to his face and blowing on them.
“I meant my coaching—” Phil shot back, but then Juan cut him off.
“Magical fart powers!” Juan added, giggling like the little monster he was and chasing after Luca in the kitchen while they both made farting noises, trying to outdo each other.
“Stop it!” Mom started, swatting at them.
But she couldn’t help it—she snorted a laugh, spraying out coffee.
Then the whole family broke out in raucous laughter. Hector giggled, feeling better already. Just when he felt too much pressure, his brothers always had a way of lightening the mood. Dad slapped the table joyfully, tears leaking from his eyes.
“Oh, these are definitely my kiddos,” he managed between chuckles.
“That’s right, I blame you,” Mom said, trying to sound stern. But her smile betrayed her true feelings. Hector felt lucky to have parents who still genuinely adored each other.
“Okay, enough goofing around,” Mom said, getting hold of herself and swallowing the last of her coffee in o
ne gulp. “Time for school—and time for me to get to work. Somebody has to bring home the bacon,” she added, sliding a fresh plate of it onto the kitchen table.
As Hector settled into a chair and opened his workbook, he felt a more serious mood descend over him. He tried to focus on his work, but he could already hear Phil’s voice coaching him to run raster, climb higher, train harder.
Phil was even more on edge lately because the last preliminary race was two days away. And the real deal—the Mt. Olympus Spartan Run to claim the Zeus Cup—was in two short weeks. Hector knew he should be excited, but he just couldn’t wait for it to be over.
“Come on, Wonderboy,” Phil said, rushing Hector up from the kitchen table the second Dad declared homeschooling finally over. “We gotta hit the field. This is crunch time.”
Hector, Luca, and Juan had just finished a lesson on fractions. Hector despised fractions. Math class was his least favorite subject by far, but he still wished that the lesson wasn’t over, or that there was some way to delay the inevitable torture that awaited him at the field.
“Yeah, boy! It’s crunch time!” Juan teased, getting up to give Hector a noogie. “Have fun!”
“Better you than me,” added Luca.
He and Juan ran to the living room to play video games until it was time to head over to the store. They spent every free minute on video games.
Excitedly, Phil grabbed his clipboard, where he meticulously recorded all of Hector’s race times. He took his job of coaching his little brother seriously. The times had decreased steadily with each week of intensive training leading up to the big race, thanks to Phil’s rigorous coaching and Hector’s efforts.
Phil peered back at Hector impatiently when he didn’t budge from the table. He tapped his clipboard and checked his digital watch. “Four hours until sunset means…”
“Four hours left to train,” Hector repeated the familiar mantra, his stomach lurching in response.
Slowly—even hesitantly—he stood up from the table, which was piled with computers, the remains of snacks, workbooks, and crumpled homework. It was like his whole body was rebelling against the idea of training today.