“If you can’t say something nice about the Godlympics, don’t say anything at all!” commands Coach Trapezius. “Romans over here—Greeks over there!”

  As we joylessly take our places, it’s plain to see our Godlympic spirits are way, way down. And our mood isn’t helped when we get to our chariot. There, waiting for us, is our Debbius Downius driver, Phaethon.

  “I’m Phaethon, your driver. My father is Helios, the Sun God. He granted me one wish, and I asked to drive his sun chariot across the sky. He said it would be too much for me. I said it wouldn’t be, but it was, and I crashed. As punishment, I’m doomed to drive a school chariot for all eternity.”

  “¡Ay caramba!” snorts Sol, the Romans’ driver. “This guy makes Hades look happy! Lighten up, fella!”

  I wish we could tell all the grown-ups to lighten up. But as we board our chariots, it looks like that ship has sailed. Onward—and downward—we go!

  When we arrive at Olympia Stadium to get ready for the opening ceremonies, we can’t believe our eyes. It’s a mob scene.

  The Greek fans are cheering us like mad, but the Roman fans are actually booing! They’re even heckling us Odds—and we’re just the snack squad!

  “Booooo! I don’t like peas!” screams some fan at Puneous.

  “Eggs have high cholesterol!” yells another at Mathena.

  “Onions make me cry!” a woman shouts at me.

  When the Romans arrive, the same thing happens to them . . . in reverse. The Roman fans cheer, and the Greek fans boo! By the time we get past the crazed crowd and into the tunnel of the stadium, we’re all a little spooked.

  “Some Roman told me to jump in the lake,” says Poseidon.

  “Some Greek told me the last time he saw a mouth like mine, it had a hook in it,” says Neptune.

  “Heracles very scarred by that experience,” murmurs Heracles.

  “Hercules need to tell his therapist about this,” mutters Hercules.

  “Someone bumped into me . . . AND NOW MY APPLE IS BRUISED!” cries Minervous.

  “Plus: scientific research shows that eggs cause levels of good cholesterol to rise!” claims Mathena.

  “Okay, don’t you guys see how screwy this is?” I ask.

  “Yeah!” says Oddpollo. “Who are these games for anymore? Not us!”

  “Don’t listen to them, Greeks!” snaps Coach Gluteus Maximus. “You have a job to do! Zeus is counting on you!”

  “Focus, Romans!” growls Coach Trapezius. “Jupiter needs you! And don’t you forget it!”

  “Come on, Adonis,” I beg. “Even you can see this is messed up.”

  “Yeah, Apollo,” pleads Oddpollo. “These are supposed to be games! Who needs this?”

  Adonis and Apollo look at us. They look at the coaches. They scratch their heads, kick the ground with their sandals, and, finally, heave a huge sigh.

  “You heard the coaches,” Adonis says to us.

  “Time to go to work,” Apollo says to the Romans.

  Trumpets blare a loud fanfare as we make our way through the tunnel and enter Olympia Stadium for the Parade of Athletes. Coach Gluteus Maximus leads the Greek Gods out first (us lowly snack servants make sure to walk ten steps behind). Coach Trapezius follows with the Roman Gods (and their equally humble refreshment roadies).

  The stadium is packed to the rafters. The roar of the crowd is deafening. The whole building feels like it’s shaking. The truth is, it’s pretty awesome . . . and also a little frightening. But you know what’s even more terrifying than the crowd? The faces of our guest instructors as we march by!

  “Just Do It™!” thunders Nike.

  “This means war!” howls Ms. Meticulous.

  “Rock the house, Greeks!” shouts Sisyphus.

  “The world’s on your shoulders, Romans!” screams Atlas.

  Well, I’m glad everyone has these games in perspective!

  “Dude, this is wack!” hisses Gaseous (while hissing from another part of his body). “And speaking of wack, check out your dad!”

  Sitting on four ginormous golden thrones in the center of the stadium are Mom and Dad, and Jupiter and Juno. I . . . I . . . I can’t even.

  “Dad!” Adonis and I gasp. “What are you wearing???”

  “Pretty neat, huh?” whispers Dad. “Athena made them! I called the bull, so Jupiter had to be the dopey oak tree!”

  “Zip it, Zeus!” cries Jupiter. “Oak trees are strong!”

  “Are not!” says Dad.

  “Are too!” says Jupiter.

  “Ti stille, Zeus!” snaps Mom. “Stop being so bullheaded!”

  “Act your age, Jupiter,” growls Juno, “or I’ll give you a time-out!”

  The two dads huff and puff, then stand up from their thrones. On cue, the formerly frenzied fans go completely silent. It’s so quiet, you can hear a pin drop!

  PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTT!!!

  Okay, it’s not a pin, but you get the idea!

  “Greetings, citizens of Mount Olympus!” booms Zeus. “Welcome to Nectarade Olympia Stadium!”

  “For the first-ever middle school Godlympics!” roars Jupiter. “Brought to you by Bank of Olympus!”

  “My fellow host and I need no introduction,” says Zeus. “Well, I don’t, at least. Everybody knows Zeus—”

  “They know me too!” barks Jupiter. “I’m Jupiter! I’m very important!”

  “Blah blah blah,” grumbles Zeus. “Anyway, we are here to decide, once and for all, who is the best in all Olympus: the Greeks . . . or the Romans!”

  “These Godlympians you see before you represent the greatest collection of middle school athletic talent the world has ever known!” exclaims Jupiter.

  “And to them we say this,” Zeus declares. “For these Godlympic Games, we hereby command you to remember—and follow—our Godlympic creed: The most important thing is not to PLAY, but to WIN!”

  “Whatever it takes!” orders Jupiter. “WIN at all costs!”

  “By hook or by crook!” demands Zeus. “WIN no matter what!”

  “To the DEATH, if need be!” they thunder.

  “To the WHAT did you say?” Freya and Juno gasp.

  “You heard us! Just . . . WIIIIIIIIIIINNN!!!!”

  And the crowd goes wild.

  “Will the captains please come forward?” asks Zeus.

  Adonis and Apollo take a step toward Zeus and Jupiter. They look as shell-shocked as the rest of us.

  “Do you, on behalf of your teammates, pledge to obey this Godlympic creed?” the Great Gods ask.

  “Uhhh,” stammers Adonis.

  “Umm,” splutters Apollo.

  “Well???” the Great Gods sneer. “We’re waiting!”

  We’re all waiting. Adonis and Apollo look at us, at Freya and Juno, and finally, at each other.

  “No,” says Apollo.

  “No,” says Adonis.

  “NOOOOOOO?????” Zeus and Jupiter bellow.

  All of us—Greeks and Romans, Gods and Odds—gather together and stand beside Adonis and Apollo.

  “You heard them,” I reply. “We say no.”

  And the crowd goes wilder.

  Zeus and Jupiter are beside themselves with anger.

  “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, NO???” they bluster.

  “I mean we’re not going to fight the Romans to the death,” I reply. “That’s just bonkers.”

  “In fact, we don’t want to be a part of these Godlympics at all,” adds Oddpollo. “This was supposed to be fun! And you grown-ups have sucked all the fun out . . . again!”

  “But you can’t say no!” Zeus screams. “We made these Godlympics for YOU!”

  “Actually, Dad,” I say, “I think you made them for you.”

  “You too, Papa,” Oddpollo says to Jupiter. “All the Godlympic stuff—all the ‘Brought to you by’ this and ‘Sponsored by’ that and ‘Official’ whatever—that had nothing to do with us. That was all you guys!”

  “Not to mention the constant coaching and nonstop workouts!” chimes in Adonis.

  “And the endless interviews and commercials and promotions!” echoes Apollo.

  “Heracles not a piece of meat!” grouses Heracles. “He not some trained seal!”

  “Hercules not capitalist tool to be exploited!” grumbles Hercules. “He in it for love of game!”

  “I beg your pardon,” seethes Zeus, “but the Godlympics are all about competition and sportsmanship and love!”

  “Love???” I fume. “You asked us to spy on them, Dad!”

  “YOU DID???” Jupiter rages at Zeus. “HOW COULD YOU???”

  “Oh, please, Papa—you asked us to spy, too!” Oddpollo scolds Jupiter.

  “Face it, Dad,” I say. “You just want to beat Jupiter.”

  “Ja—that’s what you said, sukker,” adds Mom.

  “And you just want to beat Zeus, Papa,” Oddpollo reminds Jupiter.

  “Verissimo!” chirps Juno. “So true!”

  “Yeah—and we don’t want any part of it anymore!” Adonis declares.

  “Right, you guys?” Apollo asks all of us.

  “RIGHT!” we all roar.

  “Well, we are having a Godlympics and that’s final!” decrees Zeus.

  “I’ll second that, Zeus,” agrees Jupiter. “If you children don’t want to compete against each other, perhaps you’d like to compete against us instead!”

  “Oh, baby!” howls Adonis. “Would we EVER!”

  “Okay, boomers!” cries Apollo. “Bring it!”

  “You’re on!” thunders Zeus. “If we win, you kids go along with whatever Jupiter and I decide for Olympus—no questions asked, and no more back talk . . . EVER!”

  “And if we win,” I reply, “you stop this stupid feud with the Romans!”

  “DONE!”

  “Oh nei, oh nei!” moans Mom.

  “Oh mio dei!” groans Juno.

  “Tomorrow. Right back here,” states Jupiter. “THE GODLYMPIC GAMES: KIDS VS. ADULTS!”

  And the crowd goes wildest.

  Holy cow—it’s like we signed a Declaration of Independence!

  “WE’RE PLAYING THE GROWN-UPS!” we whoop.

  Then reality sets in.

  “We’re playing the grown-ups,” we whisper.

  “Don’t panic, you guys,” I say.

  “Are you sure?” asks Minervous. “It seems like a good time for panicking to me!”

  “Oddonis is right,” adds Mathena. “Let’s approach this logically. First, we’ll go back to the Godlympic Village and analyze our options. Then I’ll make a spreadsheet. It’ll be so fun!”

  “Whoopee,” sneers Puneous.

  But when we get to the school chariots, the doors are closed!

  “Hey, what gives, Sol?” asks Oddpollo. “Open the door!”

  “No can do, kiddo!” replies Sol. “Boss’s orders!”

  “What about you, Phaethon?” I ask, knowing what I’m in for.

  “I’m Phaethon, your driver. My father is Helios, the Sun God. He granted me one wish, and I asked to drive his sun chariot across the sky. He said it would be too much for me. I said it wouldn’t be, but it was, and I crashed. As punishment, I’m doomed to drive a school chariot for all eternity. Except for today. Zeus gave me the rest of the day off, so I’m going to do something fun. I am going to stand in line at the post office!”

  “Then how are we supposed to get back to the Godlympic Village?” wails Adonis. “That’s like ten miles from here!”

  “I know how you can get there,” says Sol.

  “How?” asks Apollo.

  Hmmm. Very funny, Sol!

  By the time we stumble into the village, it’s dark and we’re starving. But when we get in line for food at the cafeteria, we’re met by a frightfully forlorn Fryonysus.

  “Sorry, chums, but there’s no chow!” apologizes Fryonysus. “The grown-ups took it all away!”

  “NO FOOD???” howls Heracles. “Now you found Heracles’s Achilles heel!”

  “Food equal comfort to Hercules,” admits Hercules. “And Hercules feeling very uncomfortable right now!!!”

  “I’m so sorry.” Fryonysus sighs. “I wish I could help.”

  “What the heck are we supposed to eat?” asks Belchous. “I can’t burp on an empty stomach!”

  “I’ve got a serious gas shortage here!” moans Gaseous. “I need to feed my furnace!”

  “I’LL STARVE!!!” cries Minervous.

  Suddenly the cafeteria door bursts open. Mamma Mia! It’s Mom and Juno!

  “Don’t you worry, bambini!” trills Juno. “Mamma Juno and Mamma Freya are here to save the day!”

  “Yumpin’ yimini—you betcha!” cries Mom. “And have we got a treat for you! We made . . . LUTEFISK!!!”

  “I was going to make pizza, or spaghetti and meatballs, or maybe a lasagna,” says Juno. “But Freya, she insisted! She says her boys LOVE their lutefisk!”

  I thought there might be something fishy about these Godlympics. Now I know there is!

  After the moms leave, there’s a definite air of sadness in the cafeteria. And it’s not just the leftover lutefisk!

  “What a horrible way to treat a fish,” moans Neptune.

  “Forget the fish,” snarls Apollo. “What a horrible way for the grown-ups to treat us!”

  “They take food!” cries Heracles. “It almost cruel!”

  “They messing with our minds!” wails Hercules.

  “Maybe we bit off more than we can chew,” says Adonis. “I mean, they’ve got all the power, and we’ve got—”

  “A whole lotta lutefisk.” Poseidon sighs.

  “Does that mean we’re quitting?” asks Aphrodite excitedly.

  “Oh, thank Gods,” responds Venus. “I could really use a spa day.”

  “Quitting?” Puneous squawks. “Spa day? Are you serious? Who are you guys?”

  “Puneous is right,” adds Heightania. “You’re Gods! Stand tall!”

  “Easy for you to say, Ella Vator,” replies Adonis. “You don’t have to compete against the grown-ups!”

  Hmmm.

  “By George, that’s it!” I declare.

  “Who’s George?” asks Adonis.

  “Nobody,” I reply.

  “Then why’d you say ‘By George’? Is George a God?”

  “No.”

  “Is George an Odd God?”

  “No.”

  “Then what does George have to do with this?”

  “Nothing!” I shout. “It’s an expression!”

  “Well, it’s a pretty silly expression, if you ask me,” says Adonis. “And I’ll bet you George would agree.”

  “Maybe we should ask George what he thinks,” suggests Apollo.

  “FORGET ABOUT GEORGE!” I holler.

  “Can George help us win the Godlympics?” asks Gaseous.

  “NO!!!” I yelp. “But if you hear me out, I think I know who can.”

  “That’s great!” says Belchous. “Maybe we should wait a bit, though.”

  “Why should we wait?” I ask.

  “Well, I’m sure George would like to hear too!”

  “Look, I know where you’re coming from,” I say to the Gods. “I’ve been there. You’re thinking there’s no way you can win against the grown-ups. And it’s true—you might not be able to beat them by yourselves. But you’re not alone. You’ve got US!”

  “Oddonis is right!” agrees Oddpollo. “We’ve got some mad odd skills. And we trained just as hard as you guys did, so we’re in surprisingly good shape!”

  “He’s got a poind,” seconds Bacteria. “Germes—I’b been beaning to tell you how brawdy you look!”

  “Plus,” I add, “the grown-ups won’t work together. They don’t even like each other! But we do!”

  “See what I mean?” I proclaim to the Gods. “We can do this!”

  “So what are we supposed to do?” asks Adonis.

  “Nothing! Just kick back and leave everything to us!” Then I turn and roar as loudly as I can: “ODD GODS! ASSEMBLLLLLLLLLLLLE!!!”

  “We’re right here,” says Mathena. “We’ve been here literally the entire time you have.”

  “Sorry—I guess I got carried away.”

  “What exactly do you want from us?” Mathena asks.

  “Follow me, and you’ll see!” I reply.

  BRRRRRAAAAAAAACKK!!! booms Gaseous. “This is so exciting! Ooh—and if you tell me what he looks like, I’ll go get George, too!”

  While the Gods put their feet up, the Odd Gods get down to work.

  In the morning, the Gods are exhilarated, and the Odds are exhausted . . . but determined. We’re helped out by an anonymous PANCAKE delivery—though we all know who’s responsible: Fryonysus! What a pal! We need every bite of those flapjacks, too, because the grown-ups block our chariots again and we have to walk all the way back to Olympia Stadium! To lift our spirits while we walk, I come up with a rousing chant:

  I DON’T KNOW BUT I’VE BEEN TOLD,

  I DON’T KNOW BUT I’VE BEEN TOLD,

  ALL OUR FOLKS ARE REALLY OLD!

  ALL OUR FOLKS ARE REALLY OLD!

  I DON’T KNOW BUT IT’S BEEN SAID,

  I DON’T KNOW BUT IT’S BEEN SAID,

  WHEN THEY FACE US THEY’LL WET THE BED!

  WHEN THEY FACE US THEY’LL WET THE BED!

  SOUND OFF—ONE TWO!

  SOUND OFF—THREE FOUR!

  But Germes ends the chant when he sings, “FIVE SIX—I HAVE TICKS!”

  The stands are filled when we arrive at the stadium, and we have to squeeze through the gauntlet of grumblers again.

  “Booooo!!!!” they scream. “Youth is wasted on the young!”

  “Children should respect their elders!”

  “Onions still make me cry!”

  ACK! Why did Oddpollo and I wear these onion costumes again???

  Olympia Stadium is jammed, and when we march in, it gets so loud we can’t even hear ourselves think! It feels like all of Olympus—Greek and Roman—is here. The adults take up most of the seats, but there’s a very enthusiastic, very vocal bunch of little kids sitting in one corner of the stadium. And guess who’s sitting with them? Mom and Juno! So cool! They’ve made some super signs, too!

 

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