by Vera Strange
Meanwhile, oblivious to Hector’s dread, Luca and Juan squabbled over the PlayStation.
“Hey, I go first,” Juan said, leaping onto the sofa and grabbing for the controller. His straight brown hair was clipped into a bowl cut. It flopped in his brown eyes. Hector envied Juan’s style. His own hair would never fall that straight.
“No, my turn!” Luca added, shoving his brother out of the way. Luca’s hair was styled into a spiky buzz cut with lines carved into the sides like lightning bolts. He liked to call himself Lightning Luca, even though he’d never been that fast.
“You went first yesterday,” Juan whined, trying to swipe the controller back. “It’s not fair. We have to trade off.”
“That’s because I’m older,” Luca said, snagging the controller back from Juan. He held it up over his younger brother’s head, just out of his reach.
“Boys, settle down,” Dad shouted as he started cleaning up the kitchen table and clearing away the books. “Or nobody goes first anywhere—except to their bedrooms to be grounded.”
Dad chuckled at his own joke, his ample belly shaking. Even though he wasn’t in shape the way he used to be when he was Hector’s age, the pictures from when he was young looked so much like Hector it was almost eerie. Dad loved regaling them with stories about his glory days of racing, especially over loud, boisterous family dinners. His year to race, he came in fourth place right behind their mother, who took third place. They both had been so close but so far at the same time.
“Take that, Zeus!” Luca yelled at the television. He and Juan were playing some new fantasy game featuring the Greek gods. They were totally obsessed with it lately. “I’m so gonna take over Mt. Olympus.”
No matter what they were doing, everyone in the Gomez family was competitive. Hector jealously watched Juan and Luca jamming at the PlayStation controller. His stomach churned. He wished he could just go in there and join them. Or do what he really wanted to do—wander around outside and snap pictures of landscapes, or animals, or just about anything.
“Can’t I play hooky just this once?” Hector pleaded with Phil, feeling the words stick to his tongue, which felt thick in his mouth. “Magic hour is around sunset. It’s the best time to take pictures, but I always miss it—”
Phil cut him off. “Heroes don’t play hooky. You wanna win that Cup, don’t you? You can take pictures another time. We can’t afford to slack off right now.”
“But please, just one day,” Hector said, almost swallowing the words. “I promise, I’ll train extra hard tomorrow.”
Dad looked over and met his eyes. “Son, I know it’s almost time for the big race. Trust me, I’ve been there, standing right in your little—I mean big—shoes. It can feel scary. But you know how much this means to our family, right?”
“That’s right, we deserve to win that Cup,” Phil said, piling on to the guilt trip.
“Yup, and this is our last chance,” Dad added, clapping Hector on the shoulder. “You might be the youngest Gomez, but you’re also the fastest and strongest. This is our year to win it.”
They looked expectantly at Hector. The desire for the Zeus Cup clearly shone in their eyes.
It was true—he was their last chance.
Hector did know how much this meant to them. It had been drilled into his head since he was a baby. Maybe even since before he was born. There was no avoiding his fate—or Fates, as the Greek gods called them.
“Of course,” Hector forced himself to say. It was pointless to argue.
“The prelim race is in two days, Wonderboy,” Phil said, tapping his clipboard. “You have to have a solid finish to even qualify for a slot in the big one. We don’t have any time to waste, especially taking boring pictures of lame nature stuff.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
They don’t understand me, Hector thought glumly as he slunk off to his bedroom to grab his athletic bag and running shoes. They don’t even bother to try. He eyed the camera sticking out of its bag, then reached for it and picked it up, feeling the smooth button that triggered it to snap pictures.
“Hurry up!” Phil called, making Hector almost drop the camera.
He started to leave the camera on his desk, scooping up his athletic bag instead. But then he hesitated.
Maybe I can sneak off and snap some pictures during training.
That thought cheered him up slightly. He snuck the camera into his sports bag, carefully tucking it inside a towel.
As he headed for the door, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. He looked tall and strong—every bit the athlete his family wanted him to be.
But inside he felt different.
He was a Gomez, though, and that meant…
Time to train.
He headed for the door and the rigorous obstacle-filled workout that awaited him at the local town field.
In his beat-up cherry-red pickup truck, Phil drove through the center of Mt. Olympus, a quaint town square filled with local shops and governed by that one stoplight.
Welcome To Mt. Olympus…Home Of The Mt. Olympus Spartan Run, read the cheerful sign leading into town.
Hector cringed at that reminder of his future. It wasn’t just that he had to get through the race in two weeks. If he did well, he knew that wouldn’t be the end of it. His parents would want him to keep training in the hopes of getting a track scholarship to college, just like Phil was doing. The more successful he was in these races, the more hopes would be pinned on his promising athletic career. It was like a double-edged sword.
If he failed, he would let his whole family down. But if he succeeded—if he won the race and captured the Zeus Cup—then the pressure would never stop. But what choice did he have?
Oblivious to Hector’s angst, Phil cracked up the radio, bobbing his head to the upbeat rock song. Hector glanced at him.
Phil looked like an older version of Hector. He still had a boyish face, but he was taller, with long, awkward limbs and a curly mop of hair that was shaved close on the sides. It seemed to be all the rage these days on social media, but Hector just thought it looked silly.
“Your haircut makes you look ridiculous,” Hector blurted out with a giggle. “You look kind of like a celery stalk. Tall and narrow with curly leaves on top.”
“Hey, dude, I look super rad,” Phil shot back, running his hands through his hair and primping in the rearview mirror. Hector snorted out another laugh at his brother’s antics.
“Yeah, like a rad celery stalk,” he quipped. “Not sure vegetables are ever cool, though.”
Phil winked at his reflection. “Whatever. You’re just jealous of my sick style.”
Hector cracked a smile, then turned his gaze back to the window, watching the storefronts flash by as he and Phil drove through the familiar downtown.
Mt. Olympus often felt like a piece of history, perfectly preserved and untouched by modern conveniences and the passage of time, almost like a relic of some ancient era that had long since passed into memory, like out of their history lessons. While that made it a safe place to grow up, it also meant little ever happened there.
Safe meant boring, at least in Hector’s opinion. The race was the town’s one claim to fame, and the source of all the excitement around these parts. Cuz it’s not like there’s something else to get excited about, Hector thought glumly.
They didn’t have a major sports team or even a concert venue. You had to drive two towns over to see the newest movie releases at the multiplex, and even farther for concerts.
Mt. Olympus had the Spartan race.
And that was it.
The thought made Hector’s smile fade, and he couldn’t help thinking about the grueling torture session Phil had planned for him at the field. He sometimes hated how he could go from fine to annoyed or sad like someone had flipped a switch. His mom said he was moody, and his moodiness had seemed to intensify when he turned twelve. She assumed it was because he was a tween now, and it came with the territory, but Hector knew it was so
mething else. It was the race, and the fact that turning twelve meant this was his year to qualify. It was too much pressure, but he couldn’t tell them that.
His eyes landed on their family’s store. They had the prime spot in the center of town.
“Hero’s Sporting Goods—Official Sporting Goods Supplier of the Mt. Olympus Spartan Run since 1917,” read the sign printed on the red awning. The business had belonged to his mom’s side of the family, but when she married his father, they’d taken over the day-to-day running of the place. They carried everything anyone could ever want in sports merchandise.
The only thing missing from the store was…
The Zeus Cup.
Through the large storefront windows, which were always glistening and spotless (Hector had scrubbed them many times under his mom’s careful watch), he saw the empty glass trophy case, prominently placed front and center. This is where the Zeus Cup was supposed to be displayed. His grandparents had it built years ago, hoping someone in their family would one day bring the Cup home.
Unfortunately, it had remained empty ever since.
Hector knew that winning the Cup and displaying it proudly in the front window would bring glory to the family and bump up business for their store, too. He felt the added pressure building inside him like a valve that needed to be released. He did want to win it—not for himself, but for his family. They loved him and took care of him, putting a roof over his head and food on his table.
But he didn’t feel worthy.
Inside, he felt weak and afraid.
Mom stepped outside to sweep the front steps as they drove past. She waved at them, grinning at Hector.
“Good luck training!” she called out in her singsong voice. Her long, dark braid swung around her neck. “Break a leg…or actually…don’t break it. But you know what I mean,” she said with a wink. Her eyes still sparkled with youthful energy, despite her age.
“Thanks, Mom!” Hector shouted back through the window.
He sat back again and tried to focus on the positives. Like last night, Juan and Luca had slipped him candy bars after dinner, breaking their parents’ no-candy-during-the-week rule, because they knew he would be famished from practicing so hard. Apparently, they’d snuck into the pantry and swiped them from the top shelf, where Dad hid his stash, unbeknownst to Mom, who was always on him to eat healthier. Dad had a serious sweet tooth.
Their truck curved around the central town square, which had large marble statues of famous Greek gods. The town’s founders had been big on celebrating their history and culture.
Under the leafy trees and scattered among the benches where people lounged and snacked and played with their kids, stood the statues—Zeus, Hera, the Fates, the Muses, Pegasus, Hercules, and of course Hades in the middle of it all. He was the God of the Underworld.
Hector shuddered, picturing the god who ruled over the souls doomed to the River Styx. He’d loved their father’s lesson on Greek mythology, partially because it related to their town. He knew the names of all the gods by heart and what they controlled. The Hades statue stood a little bit taller than the others—and he looked creepier, too. It was befitting his role.
Hector’s eyes locked onto the statue of Hades. The god had spiky, needlelike teeth and a wicked grin, and wore long robes. Flames took the place of his hair, curling upward into a peak.
Suddenly—for a split second—the hair flashed with blue flames. The statue’s eyes lit up yellow and locked onto Hector.
They bored into him.
Hector flinched in shock and grabbed his brother’s arm. Phil jerked the steering wheel in surprise, and before Hector could blink, with a deafening squeal of the tires, the car veered to the side of the road.
“Watch out!” Phil snapped. “I’m driving here!”
He steadied the truck, but they’d almost swerved into the ditch on the side of the road.
“I’m sorry! But look!” Hector said, pointing to the statue of Hades in the town square.
“What’s so important that you almost made me crash?” Phil said with a scowl, squinting toward the park. “I don’t see anything.”
“Over there…can’t you see it…that tall statue in the middle?”
Hector leaned forward for a better angle, but everything looked normal now. The statue of Hades was just a statue. There were no blue flames. No fire. No smoke.
Nothing.
Hector blinked to clear his vision, but it didn’t matter. There was nothing out of the ordinary. And now he felt silly for almost making them crash.
Phil frowned. “Uh, yeah. Hasn’t that dumb statue always been there? What’s that guy’s name again?”
“Hades?” Hector said, his heart still pounding.
My eyes must’ve been playing tricks on me, he thought, feeling foolish.
That was the only possible explanation. Statues weren’t alive, and they certainly couldn’t catch on fire. Let alone with blue flames. They were made out of marble, for crying out loud. He was probably just stressed out about the upcoming race.
“Yup, that’s the guy,” Phil confirmed, steering them around the town square. The statues whizzed past their windows. “Lord of the Dead. Or Underworld. Or something super emo like that. Who cares? It’s ancient history…literally.” Phil snorted out a laugh.
Clearly, he’d inherited their dad’s annoying habit of laughing at his own corny jokes.
“That’s right,” Hector said, remembering the lesson. “He rules over souls, right? I wonder what other crazy god powers he has.”
All the Greek gods had more than one power. It was one of the most interesting parts of learning about them.
“Uh, let’s see,” Phil said, drumming the steering wheel to the upbeat rock song blaring on the tinny old radio. “I remember something about potions or alchemy. And something else—oh yeah…fire.”
“Wait, what did you just say?” Hector asked, holding his breath.
“Uh, the emo god dude has fire powers?” Phil said. “Wow, he’d be fun to have at a family barbecue. Wouldn’t even need a lighter.” He chuckled again.
But Hector wasn’t laughing.
Hades had fire powers?
He remembered how the statue’s spiky hair ignited with blue flames. That couldn’t be a coincidence…could it?
Phil glanced at Hector with concern. “Hey, you look a little clammy. Sure you’re feeling all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Since when do you care about the Greek gods so much?” Phil narrowed his eyes.
“Uh, I don’t really care,” Hector said, though he still felt unsettled. “You’re right, they’re lame and boring, totally ancient history.”
“Okay, good,” Phil said. “That’s my all-star. We can’t have anything distracting you before the prelims. You have to qualify, remember?”
“Yup, it’s crunch time.” Hector repeated what had been drummed into him every day for the last few weeks.
“That’s right, Wonderboy,” Phil said in his best coaching voice. “We’ve got to train hard if we’re gonna win.” He paused and frowned. “Trust me, dude. You don’t wanna end up like me. Coming in a close second. Always wondering what if. That’s why I’m so hard on you out there.”
“Wait, you still think about your race?” Hector asked, feeling curiosity prick at him. It seemed like an eternity since Phil had competed. Hector had only been a little kid back then.
“All the time,” Phil said, setting his lips into a grim line.
“But you came in second,” Hector said. “That’s really awesome.”
“Awesome, but not good enough,” Phil said with a sad shake of his head. His celery-top hair flopped around. “You only get one chance to win, and it’s gone before you know it.”
“But that was four years ago,” Hector said. “And you did the best you could.”
“Did I really?” Phil said, sounding uncertain. “How can you be sure?”
“Because I saw you race,” Hector said, thi
nking back to when he cheered his brother on from the bleachers with his family. “You barely lost! For most of the race, you led the pack.”
Phil reached over and shut off the radio. Silence engulfed the car. “Look, I know I don’t talk about it much,” he said. “Cuz it’s not easy to admit. But yeah, not a day goes by that I don’t think about my race—or dream about it.”
“Wow, you dream about it?” Hector said. “I thought I was the only one who ran races in my dreams. I even wake up tired from all that running in my sleep.”
Phil laughed a grim laugh. “More like nightmares,” he said. “I replay the race in my head all the time, wondering if I could’ve done something different. Trained harder that last week. Jumped a little higher. Turned on the speed a little more toward the end. Or if it was just my bad luck that day, and I wasn’t good enough to win. I came so close that I could almost feel the weight of the Zeus Cup in my hand. So close, but not close enough. That’s why I’m so hard on you on that field, my man.”
Hector felt that sink in. He couldn’t believe how much Phil still dwelled on his second-place finish. As his brother droned on about the importance of focusing on his training, Hector closed his eyes, but he couldn’t stop seeing the Hades statue in his mind.
The blue flaming hair. The glowing yellow eyes. Almost as if they were looking into Hector’s soul.
“Stay focused!” Phil yelled from the side of the field. He checked his watch and then smacked his clipboard.
“I’m trying my best!” Hector shouted breathlessly, scaling a rope to the top, then leaping onto a narrow beam. Below him spanned the practice course, erected at the athletic field behind the school so that kids like Hector could train for the big race.
Several different obstacles made up the course. Next up was a towering wall to scale, which always felt hard until he got to the other side and had to clamber down without falling. Then there was a series of ropes to climb, a pit to swing across, and netting to army-crawl under.
Suddenly, Hector wobbled on the balance beam, almost falling flat on his face. Stay focused, he told himself sharply, catching his balance at the last second. That was close.