This is the sequel to Mt. Olympus Junior High. You might want to check that out if you haven't before you read this, since it probably won't makes sense if you don't. Please review!
Artemis
I flip the last page of the book I'd been reading and sigh. That's the fifth book I've finished today. Summer kicked off with rain. This is the third day I've sat inside with nothing to do. Sighing again, I get to my feet and walk across the hall to Apollo's room, not bothering to knock. It's not like I'd be barging in on anything important, anyway. He never does anything interesting.
"Got any other books?" I ask, laying the one I'd been reading on the desk. He sets down his guitar and shakes his head.
"Nope. You've read them all. Including all of my old textbooks. From third grade," He points out. I groan.
"There's absolutely nothing to do," I whine.
"Want to play a board game?" He offers.
"Why on Earth would I want to play a board game?" I shoot back.
"Just a suggestion," He mutters, throwing his hands up in the air. "You could always go outside and cause motiveless pain and suffering to innocent animals."
"Apollo, it's raining," I remind him.
"So, you'd be a little wet. Big whoop."
"Apollo, what kind of idiot would be out in this weather?"
Hermes
I push my dripping hair out of my eyes and knock on the slick, wooden door to the Underworld. One of Hades's creepy-ass masked servants opens the door and glares at me through the eye-slits.
"Here are your dead souls," I tell him, handing him a bag of jars. "Oh, and here's Hades's monthly edition of Hydra Beat. Tell him he needs to renew his subscription if he wants to keep getting it." The servant grunts something that I take as, "Sure thing, homie." and closes the door. I turn and rifle around in the mailbag, my hand blindly finding the last letter. I pull it from the bag and attempt to decipher the address written on it in loopy, elaborate handwriting.
Mrs. Crystal Reef
Ashwood Stables
Mt. Olympus, Greece
Who in their right mind would want to get in touch with Crystal? As I fly towards the barn, it hits me that I could just look at the return address instead of wondering about it. I am a genius.
Sir Alder Bracken
Brightwood Academy
Mt. Olympus, Greece
I stop dead in my tracks.
If you've been living under a rock and don't know what Brightwood Academy is, it's a huge deal. It's this super-prestigious boarding school that specializes in horseback-riding. Brightwood students go on to be world-renowned champions. In order to get in to Brightwood, you must first be asked to try out. Even then you're not sure if you've gotten in. Only about 5% of all applicants make it, and of that 5%, only 10% makes the competition team. Barns like Brightwood compete at the elite level on the A Circuit, otherwise there's no way I would've won Nationals six times, some hotshot from Brightwood would've crushed me. There are three levels at the A Circuit. Junior, which is for kids ages 2-7, teen, which is for kids 8 and up, and elite, which is for prestigious schools like Brightwood Academy, Pelham Lane, and Star Stables. Others compete at the teen level and hope to be snapped up by a scout from one of these schools, unless be doomed to a humiliating life of never-ending teen competitions. In order to compete at the elite level, your team as a whole must pass a second test, in addition to the one taken individually to be allowed to compete on the A Circuit.
I fly faster now, eager to know what business Sir Alder Bracken of Brightwood Academy has with Crystal and her team of riders. We're pretty accomplished, Apollo was undefeated this year, Aphrodite was undefeated this year, I've won Nationals six times, and this is the first year that Ares hasn't been undefeated, but in comparison to Brightwood, we may as well be a group of beginners scraped up off the streets and thrown into the saddle.
The barn comes into view, and I put on a new burst of speed and rush in through the double doors.
"Hermes!" Crystal snaps, "What did I say about flying in the barn?! You'll spook the horses!"
"Sorry," I pant, "but I have a letter for you. From Brightwood Academy." I swear, the whole barn goes silent. Not a single swallow dares to chirp, not a mouse stirs, not a horse stamps its feet. Crystal takes the letter from my hands and slowly, carefully opens it. Then she begins to read. As her eyes run down the page, her expression grows more and more excited. When she finishes, she folds up the letter and shoves it into her pocket. "What?" I ask, "What's going on?"
"Alder Bracken is a scout from Brightwood," She explains, "and she wants to see my competition team compete for a spot at Brightwood!" My eyes widen. A spot at Brightwood could change our lives! Our riding careers would take off! Wait, she said a spot. As in, singular. One spot. Ten members of the Ashwood competition team.
Oh shit.