The Lost Hero

PIPER WOKE UP AND IMMEDIATELY GRABBED a mirror. There were plenty of those in the Aphrodite cabin.
She sat on her bunk, looked at her reflection and groaned.
She was still gorgeous.
Last night after the campfire, she‘d tried everything. She messed up her hair, washed the makeup off her
face, cried to make her eyes red. Nothing worked. Her hair popped back to perfection. The magic makeup
reapplied itself. Her eyes refused to get puffy or bloodshot.
She would‘ve changed clothes, but she had nothing to change into. The other Aphrodite campers offered
her some (laughing behind her back, she was sure), but each outfit was even more fashionable and ridiculous
than what she had on.
Now, after a horrible night‘s sleep, still no change. Piper normally looked like a zombie in the morning, but
her hair was styled like a supermodel‘s and her skin was perfect. Even that horrible zit at the base of her nose,
which she‘d had for so many days she‘d started to call it Bob, had disappeared.
She growled in frustration and raked her fingers through her hair. No use. The do just popped back into
place. She looked like Cherokee Barbie.
From across the cabin, Drew called, ―Oh, honey, it won‘t go away.‖ Her voice dripped with false sympathy.
―Mom‘s blessing will last at least another day. Maybe a week if you‘re lucky.‖
Piper gritted her teeth. ―A week?‖
The other Aphrodite kids—about dozen girls and five guys—smirked and snickered at her discomfort.
Piper knew she should play cool, not let them get under her skin. She‘d dealt with shallow, popular kids plenty
of times. But this was different. These were her brothers and sisters, even if she had nothing in common with
them, and how Aphrodite had managed to have so many kids so close in age … Never mind. She didn‘t want to
know.
―Don‘t worry, hon.‖ Drew blotted her fluorescent lipstick. ―You‘re thinking you don‘t belong here? We
couldn‘t agree more. Isn‘t that right, Mitchell ?‖
One of the guys flinched. ―Um, yeah. Sure.‖
―Mmm-hmm.‖ Drew took out her mascara and checked her lashes. Everyone else watched, not daring to
speak. ―So anyways, people, fifteen minutes until breakfast. The cabin‘s not going to clean itself! And Mitchell, I
think you‘ve learned your lesson. Right, sweetie? So you‘re on garbage patrol just for today, mm-kay? Show
Piper how it‘s done, ‘cause I have a feeling she‘ll have that job soon—if she survives her quest. Now, get to
work, everybody! It‘s my bathroom time!‖
Everybody started rushing around, making beds and folding clothes, while Drew scooped up her makeup
kit, hair dryer, and brush and marched into the bathroom.
Someone inside yelped, and a girl about eleven was kicked out, hastily wrapped in towels with shampoo
still in her hair.
The door slammed shut, and the girl started to cry. A couple of older campers comforted her and wiped
the bubbles out of her hair.
―Seriously?‖ Piper said to no one in particular. ―You let Drew treat you like this?‖
A few kids shot Piper nervous looks, like they might actually agree, but they said nothing.
The campers kept working, though Piper couldn‘t see why the cabin needed much cleaning. It was a lifesize
dollhouse, with pink walls and white window trim. The lace curtains were pastel blue and green, which of
course matched the sheets and feather comforters on all the beds.
The guys had one row of bunks separated by a curtain, but their section of the cabin was just as neat and
orderly as the girls‘. Something was definitely unnatural about that. Every camper had a wooden camp chest at
the foot of their bunk with their name painted on it, and Piper guessed that the clothes in each chest were neatly
folded and color coordinated. The only bit of individualism was how the campers decorated their private bunk
spaces. Each had slightly different pictures tacked up of whatever celebrities they thought were hot. A few had
personal photos, too, but most were actors or singers or whatever.
Piper hoped she might not see The Poster. It had been almost a year since the movie, and she thought by
now surely everyone had torn down those old tattered advertisements and tacked up something newer. But no
such luck. She spotted one on the wall by the storage closet, in the middle of a collage of famous heartthrobs.
The title was lurid red: king of sparta. Under that, the poster showed the leading man—a three-quarters
shot of bare-chested bronze flesh, with ripped pectorals and six-pack abs. He was clad in only a Greek war kilt
and a purple cape, sword in hand. He looked like he‘d just been rubbed in oil, his short black hair gleaming and
rivulets of sweat pouring off his rugged face, those dark sad eyes facing the camera as if to say, I will kill your
men and steal your women! Ha-ha!
It was the most ridiculous poster of all time. Piper and her dad had had a good laugh over it the first time
they saw it. Then the movie made a bajillion dollars. The poster graphic popped up everywhere. Piper couldn‘t
get away from it at school, walking down the street, even online. It became The Poster, the most embarrassing
thing in her life. And yeah, it was a picture of her dad.
She turned away so no one would think she was staring at it. Maybe when everyone went to breakfast she
could tear it down and they wouldn‘t notice.
She tried to look busy, but she didn‘t have any extra clothes to fold. She straightened her bed, then
realized the top blanket was the one Jason had wrapped around her shoulders last night. She picked it up and