“And, hey, um, Tyson . . .”
He looked at me.
“I wanted to say, well . . .” I tried to figure out how to apologize for getting embarrassed about him before the quest, for telling everyone he wasn’t my real brother. It wasn’t easy to find the words.
“I know what you will tell me,” Tyson said, looking ashamed. “Poseidon did care for me after all.”
“Uh, well—”
“He sent you to help me. Just what I asked for.”
I blinked. “You asked Poseidon for . . . me?”
“For a friend,” Tyson said, twisting his shirt in his hands. “Young Cyclopes grow up alone on the streets, learn to make things out of scraps. Learn to survive.”
“But that’s so cruel!”
He shook his head earnestly. “Makes us appreciate blessings, not be greedy and mean and fat like Polyphemus. But I got scared. Monsters chased me so much, clawed me sometimes—”
“The scars on your back?”
A tear welled in his eye. “Sphinx on Seventy-second Street. Big bully. I prayed to Daddy for help. Soon the people at Meriwether found me. Met you. Biggest blessing ever.
Sorry I said Poseidon was mean. He sent me a brother.”