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Funny how Bob, Bill, and Josh now avoided Nick like the COVID. There were no more #2 stabs in the neck; no stalking him down the halls or anywhere else. After they’d told their story, they were sent to the school counselor: whom they had to see regularly, three times a week. Too bad, Nick thought. Maybe they’d all think twice before punching another kid.
In the meantime, Nick slipped easily back into his old life. It wasn’t hard to take up the daily grind: studying, homework, and tests. For Track, he sat on the sidelines, feeling like a helpless mascot. To keep up his lie about “working out,” he spent lots of time in the gym.
At school, Nick stuck to the story that he’d been away in Greece: mainly, to visit his dad. In a strange way, it was true. He noticed that girls who’d formerly shunned him now ran after him, flirting. That would have been welcome if there was no Helen, waiting for him in Thrace. Or was she? Maybe she’d come to hate him and had gone home to Athens. Frankly, he wouldn’t blame her.
Just like old times, Mom tried to support him, but she didn’t get this new age. Unlike her Boomer Days, the pressure on kids to Get Into the Right College no Matter How Much It Cost had reared up like the Lion. Frankly, Nick thought, he’d rather face a monster . . .
In P.R., the only good thing Nick did was trying to help out his mom. He cooked every night, made sure to take out the trash, even helped fold laundry. She would smile in appreciation, but sometimes gave him a look like: Why are you here and not there?
One night, before she got home, Nick sighed over boiling rice. After being back for two weeks, Nick’s routine was so set he walked through it like a zombie. He might as well go to the Pier, get on a carousel horse and ride it in circles. Speaking of horses . . . no. He stayed away from Lil’ Pardner.
In the morning, after his shower, Nick cleared away steam and stared at himself in the mirror. What he saw was a tired, pale guy, a . . a drudge. He was staying up ‘till two, glued to his teachers’ websites, caught in a catchup mode that, realistically, would take to the Twelfth of Never.
At school, he was so tired he’d taken to wearing a hat so he could drop off in class.
Still, that beat real sleep. In P.R., he dreamed every night, and they were always the same: there was Helen, dressed in white, red hair down to her waist, and all the time she was calling: “Nikólaos, where are you? Why have you left me alone?” The dreams ended with her reaching out, so real he could almost touch her . . .
Nick always woke in a sweat. Where was she? he wondered. Did his dreams really reflect what was happening in Mýthos?
His third week home, the dream changed. White-robed Helen gave way to a figure high on a mountain. As the sleeping Nick came closer, he saw it was his dad: bound by enormous chains.
“Nikólaos,” Chiron whispered, his face contorted with pain.
The Dream Nick saw his dad’s side, bloody and torn.
“Dad!” he yelled, “where are you?”
“Mount Elbrus,” said Chiron. “I don’t have much time. I have come to tell you that you must return to Mýthos.”
Dream Nick looked down in shame.
“Typhon grows stronger,” said Chiron. “Seven of his children still live. You must—”
The chained figure started to flicker.
“Dad!” Nick cried, “don’t leave me.”
But the black centaur was gone.
The next morning, Nick got up extra-early so he could talk to Mom.
“Sweetie, it’s five A.M. You okay?”
Nick watched her grab a pod of coffee.
“Um . . . yeah. No. I’m not sure.” Mom took out a plastic cup with a lid. “I thought . . . “I thought I saw Dad last night.”
“Really?” she asked. “I’ve had dreams of him too.”
“What did he say?”
“I’m afraid I can’t remember.”
“Well, he told me to go back. To finish what I started.”
Mom nodded as she stirred some milk in her cup.
“And?”
“And what?”
“What do you want to do?”
“I-I don’t know.”
Nick padded around the kitchen in what passed for pajamas.
Mom gave him a sharp look.
“I think,” she said, “that you do.”
“Is that your Mom Sense?”
“Beats Spidey every time.”
Nick leaned against the fridge.
“When I left,” he said, “I was scared. I didn’t want to marry a queen and I didn’t want to be king.”
“Okay,” Mom said, like that was everyday talk.
“I didn’t want to leave Helen—”
“I won’t ask,” said Mom.
“Thanks. And I don’t want to be a quitter.”
“You never have been,” she said.
“Yeah, why start now? Even if Typhon is huge and a jerk, they need me to fight him.” Mom nodded as Nick looked down. “Does that sound conceited?”
“No, Sweetie. You were the one who was chosen. Of course, they need you.”
“Thanks,” said Nick. “I just feel if I keep hiding here . . . there won’t be a here left.”
“Or a Mýthos,” said Mom. Then she gave him a smile. “Let’s not forget about Helen.”
“No way. Mom,” said Nick, “thanks for helping me decide.”
“I didn’t.”
Nick ran forward, squeezing her close in a bear hug.
“You’re the best mom ever,” he said, “and Dad’s the Number One dad.”
That really made her smile.
As the toaster began to shake and the floor tiles rumble, Nick remembered to tell her something.
“Mom,” he called, watching waves of light bend toward him, “did I mention that I’m a centaur?”
