The Demigods of Olympus: An Interactive Adventure by Rick Riordan Page B

air and making a Y-shape with his fingers. “HOOK ’EM HORNS!!!”
    I turned my body to talk semi-privately with Sam. “Is that, like, a secret satyr sign?”
    Sam looked concerned. “I’ve never seen that in my life. I don’t think this is the right bus.”
    “Of course it’s not the ‘right’ bus. But maybe it’s a better bus—a gift from the gods?” I gestured at the bus, the shirts. “I mean, they’re wearing Greek letters. The bus says ‘Greek Week.’ It’s air conditioned . And they’ve got water.” I gestured at the now-crumpled cup that Dirty Guy had tossed on the ground.
    Sam sighed and shrugged.
    “What’s your name?” Sam asked Baseball Hat as I climbed on board.
    “I am Bacchus. God of partying.” He gestured expansively as he turned toward the back of the bus. “Welcome to my bach-a-nel.”
    Sam tugged frantically at the back of my shirt. “Bacchus is Roman !”
    But the doors were shut and the bus was already moving.
    Fifteen minutes later, Sam and I had found seats deep in the heart of another planet. A planet apparently called Delta Sigma Lambda Eta Beta, or something like that.
    A girl in cutoff shorts and a white tank top tied at the waist sidled up to Sam. “You’re cute,” she giggled, reaching out to run her fingers through his hair.
    I was worried that she would touch his horns, but Sam ducked out of the way before she made contact. He was reaching for yet another plastic cup to stash in his bag, presumably for a later snack.
    Dirty Guy lunged toward us, tripping over two of his friends. He leveled his gaze. “So, which one of you’s gonna be the ‘T’?”
    “The tea?” I gulped, thinking about cannibals and sweet tea and wondering what we’d gotten ourselves into.
    “Yeah. We got the rest.” He whistled. “Guys!”
    Three other dudes wearing orange and white facepaint scrambled into a line. They pulled on orange clown wigs as I read the letters painted on their bare chests. “AXES…? Oh, you need the ‘T’ for Texas.”
    “HOOK ’EM HORNS!!!!” They all started whooping and yelling again.
    Sam refocused after stuffing a few more cups into his backpack. “Oh, no. We can’t go to the game.”
    Dead silence, as four sets of eyes narrowed at us.
    Dirty Guy kept his gaze locked on Sam as he asked Letter A, “Did that pledge just say ‘no’?”
    Letter A shook his head in disappointment. “We thought you were our brothers .”
    “Well, actually, I’m a sat—”
    I kicked Sam to shut him up.
    “We, um…we’re going to Zilker Park.” I fumbled for an idea. “The Rho Rho Rho House is having a, um, tailgate party. It’s going to be, you know, epic.”
    “Yeah. We’re supposed to go and stake out a spot for after the game,” said Sam, catching on.
    “Rho Rho Rho?” Letter S asked, blinking.
    “Yeah, it’s a new sorority,” I blundered on. “Just your types.”
    “It’s our, er, pledge class gift to, um, thank the brothers for welcoming us….”
    We must have done a decent sales job, or else there was something other than water in those cups. Regardless, they happily dropped us off at Zilker Park with plans to meet up after the game.

    When we finally arrived at Zilker Park, we wove through hordes of sunbathers and picnickers to get to the central attraction. Barton Springs Pool was gigantic—a thousand feet long and about one hundred fifty feet wide. According to one sign, it was more than eighteen feet deep in some places. Concrete walkways stretched the pool’s length, with stairs leading into the water, but the bottom of the pool looked more like a riverbed, with mossy rocks and even some fish swimming around. The whole area was surrounded by grassy slopes and shade trees.
    Seeing all that sparkling clear water reminded me of how grubby I felt.
    When Sam produced two swimsuits from his backpack, I could have kissed him. (FYI, I didn’t.)
    “If you want to meet a god,” Sam said, “you’ve gotta swim where the gods are.”
    Five