Anyway, our chore that day was combat arena and archery range prep. I loved practicing in the fighting zones, but tidying up afterward and getting everything ready for the next session? I’d rather tackle the Nemean Lion, and from the looks on my cabinmates’ faces, they felt the same way. We might have staged a sit-down if nonaggressive protest didn’t sicken us so much.

Instead, we trudged out to the arenas. To my surprise, a number of campers from other cabins were there too. So was Sherman, which kind of surprised me, because he normally wasn’t the first one on-site when we had to do chores.

“Ares cabin!” he barked. “Take a knee!”

I didn’t get what was going on. We were supposed to be doing prep. And why were all these other campers here? Nevertheless, we Ares kids knelt as one and waited to see what would happen.

“I’m running a friendly little relay race today,” Sherman announced to the whole crowd. “Who wants in?”

The Ares kids all started raising our hands, naturally. I still didn’t understand why Sherman was holding a race instead of making us do our assigned tasks, but I wasn’t going to argue.

He gestured at us impatiently. “No, no, not you, Ares cabin. You’re just here as observers. This race is in the arena and archery range, and you know those areas too well. It wouldn’t be fair to the other competitors.”

Fair? How could this guy be the head of our cabin? I almost stormed away in disgust. But then I noticed the crafty twinkle in Sherman’s eye. He was up to something. What, I didn’t know. But I wanted to find out.

“What do we win?” asked Cecil Markowitz. That kid, always thinking about the potential payout.

Sherman smiled slyly. “Whoever finishes first gets to fire the T-shirt gun tonight.”

His announcement caused a ripple of excitement. Guns weren’t a big favorite at Camp Half-Blood; most campers preferred the traditional weapons of ancient Greece. The Ares cabin T-shirt gun was one of the few exceptions. It shot tightly rolled Half-Blood tees fifty feet in the air. It was a real crowd-pleaser during camp sing-alongs and volleyball matches.

After some jostling and debate, five contestants stood up to volunteer: Will Solace, Miranda Gardiner, Billie Ng, Cecil Markowitz, and Damien White. My money was on Will or Damien to win whatever Sherman had cooked up. Will, because he was clever and quick. Damien, because he was devious.

“Competitors!” Sherman held up a hand, fingers splayed. “This race consists of five tasks, which are as follows: Each of you must sharpen the blades of two practice swords. Then you must replace four used archery targets with new ones. After that, you polish a shield. Then you must replace the points on three spears. Finally, reattach a straw dummy’s limbs and head. Then return here to me.” Sherman curled his fingers into a fist. “Any questions?”

I was biting the inside of my cheek to keep the smirk off my face. I had to give it to Sherman—he’d come up with a great plan to get the other campers to do our work. Nothing like the promise of firing a large gun to keep people from thinking straight.

Sherman lined up the racers and bellowed, “Go!” Off they raced. Twenty minutes later, Miranda crossed the finish line first. Gasping, she raised a triumphant fist in the air. Sherman grabbed her in a hug, then quickly let go, red-faced and grinning sheepishly. We Ares kids cheered lustily for the victor, for the chores we didn’t have to do, and most of all, for Sherman—our ace head counselor.

Whether you’re a serious player or just a camper looking for a little fun competish, there’s no better place than the volleyball court to feel the sun on your back, the wind in your hair, or a ball in your face. Come to play, come to watch, come to catch a T-shirt from the Ares cabin’s gun—just come!

LAUREL: Check it—we’re in charge of the volleyball court.

HOLLY: We keep it ready to go.

LAUREL: Makes me sick.

HOLLY: The court?

LAUREL: No, that campers play for fun, as in—

HOLLY: Don’t say it!

LAUREL:—recreationally.

HOLLY: Gross! Pointless!

LAUREL: Totally goes against our heritage.

HOLLY: True that. Ancient Greeks loved organized competitive sports.

LAUREL: Hello, ever hear of the Olympics?

HOLLY: Or the Panathenaia?

LAUREL: Sand courts were everywhere back then. Ancient Greeks wrestled and boxed in them.

HOLLY: Called them palaestrae. Singular: palaestra.

LAUREL: After Palaestra, the goddess who invented wrestling.

HOLLY: Hear that, boys? The goddess of wrestling.

LAUREL: Girl power!

HOLLY: They wrestled naked.

LAUREL: So no place to hide weapons.

HOLLY: Palaestra ruled the ring.

LAUREL: Like we rule the court.

HOLLY: Victors 20, Opponents 0. Can I get an Oh, yeah!?

LAUREL: Oh, yeah! Know who I’d like to take on?

HOLLY: I know who I’d like to take on.

LAUREL and HOLLY: The Hunters.

HOLLY: Check it, newbies. When the Hunters are at camp, we play capture the flag.

LAUREL: Hunters 56, Half-Blood 0. Unacceptable result.

HOLLY: So I’m hiding the flags the next time they show.

LAUREL: Can’t play capture the flag without flags to capture!

HOLLY: Then we’ll throw down a volleyball challenge.

LAUREL: Victors versus Hunters. Two of them against the two of us.

HOLLY: Those Hunters? They’ll look like frightened prey.

LAUREL: Deer looking down the wrong end of an arrow.

HOLLY: Mixed-green salad looking down the wrong end of a fork.

LAUREL: What?

HOLLY: I’m going vegetarian.

LAUREL: Hey, me too.

HOLLY: Since when?

LAUREL: Since before you decided to.

HOLLY: I decided it first!

LAUREL: Did not.

HOLLY: Did too.

LAUREL: This conversation is over.

HOLLY: It’s over when I say it’s over!

LAUREL and HOLLY: It’s over!

So you’re taking a walk in the wild, minding your own business, when—WHAM!—a chunk of Celestial bronze falls from the sky and almost kills you. What do you do now? I’ll tell you what: you bring that bronze on down to the hottest place in camp—the forge! Cabin Nine campers will jump at the chance to hammer the mystical metal into a weapon, a shield, armor, or even—wink, wink—a helmet! While there, you might catch a glimpse of everyone’s favorite Cyclops, Tyson. And maybe you can get the Hephaestus kids to ask their dad to watch where he tosses his scraps next time.

Creative juices flow freely in this airy studio. It’s a favorite place of Athena’s children, who come to sculpt, paint, weave, and do ceramics, but anyone is welcome to embrace their artistic side here (also their artistic front and top, but please refrain from embracing bottoms). Skeins of naturally dyed yarn, easels with stretched canvases, blocks of marble and clay, and all the tools and paints you could ask for await!

This cavernous workshop lies underground, nestled deep in the woods at the foot of the western hills. Bunker Nine was sealed following the first demigod civil war and eventually lost to memory. For more than one hundred and fifty years, it sat like a time capsule waiting to be discovered. But now, thanks to the fiery touch of Leo Valdez, its secrets and mechanical supplies are within reach. Are you curious enough to venture in?