The Lightning Thief (Percy Jackson and the Olympians, #1)

by Rick Riordan

My name is Percy Jackson. I’m twelve years old. Until a few months ago, I was a boarding student at Yancy Academy, a private school for troubled kids in upstate New York. Am I a troubled kid? Yeah. You could say that.

I was used to the occasional weird experience, but usually they were over quickly. This twenty-four/seven hallucination was more than I could handle.

Every so often I would spring a Mrs. Dodds reference on somebody, just to see if I could trip them up, but they would stare at me like I was psycho.

Confession time: I ditched Grover as soon as we got to the bus terminal.

A word about my mother, before you meet her. Her name is Sally Jackson and she’s the best person in the world, which just proves my theory that the best people have the rottenest luck. Her own parents died in a plane crash when she was five, and she was raised by an uncle who didn’t care much about her. She wanted to be a novelist, so she spent high school working to save enough money for a college with a good creative-writing program. Then her uncle got cancer, and she had to quit school her senior year to take care of him. After he died, she was left with no money, no family, and no diploma. The only good break she ever got was meeting my dad. I don’t have any memories of him, just this sort of warm glow, maybe the barest trace of his smile. My mom doesn’t like to talk about him because it makes her sad. She has no pictures. See, they weren’t married. She told me he was rich and important, and their relationship was a secret. Then one day, he set sail across the Atlantic on some important journey, and he never came back. Lost at sea, my mom told me. Not dead. Lost at sea.

We sat together on the edge of the bed. While I attacked the blueberry sour strings, she ran her hand through my hair and demanded to know everything I hadn’t put in my letters. She didn’t mention anything about my getting expelled. She didn’t seem to care about that. But was I okay? Was her little boy doing all right?

Maybe if I kick you in your soft spot, I thought. And make you sing soprano for a week.

“He was kind, Percy,” she said. “Tall, handsome, and powerful. But gentle, too. You have his black hair, you know, and his green eyes.” Mom fished a blue jelly bean out of her candy bag. “I wish he could see you, Percy. He would be so proud.” I wondered how she could say that. What was so great about me? A dyslexic, hyperactive boy with a D+ report card, kicked out of school for the sixth time in six years.

The last thing I remember is collapsing on a wooden porch, looking up at a ceiling fan circling above me, moths flying around a yellow light, and the stern faces of a familiar-looking bearded man and a pretty girl, her blond hair curled like a princess’s. They both looked down at me, and the girl said, “He’s the one. He must be.” “Silence, Annabeth,” the man said. “He’s still conscious. Bring him inside.”

I was alone. An orphan. I would have to live with…Smelly Gabe? No. That would never happen. I would live on the streets first. I would pretend I was seventeen and join the army. I’d do something.

She was probably my age, maybe a couple of inches taller, and a whole lot more athletic looking. With her deep tan and her curly blond hair, she was almost exactly what I thought a stereotypical California girl would look like, except her eyes ruined the image. They were startling gray, like storm clouds; pretty, but intimidating, too, as if she were analyzing the best way to take me down in a fight.

“Mr. D offended his father a while back, took a fancy to a wood nymph who had been declared off-limits.” “A wood nymph,” I repeated, still staring at the Diet Coke can like it was from outer space. “Yes,” Mr. D confessed. “Father loves to punish me. The first time, Prohibition. Ghastly! Absolutely horrid ten years! The second time—well, she really was pretty, and I couldn’t stay away—the second time, he sent me here. Half-Blood Hill. Summer camp for brats like you. ‘Be a better influence,’ he told me. ‘Work with youths rather than tearing them down.’ Ha! Absolutely unfair.”

“We haven’t seen any other centaurs,” I observed. “No,” said Chiron sadly. “My kinsmen are a wild and barbaric folk, I’m afraid. You might encounter them in the wilderness, or at major sporting events. But you won’t see any here.” “You said your name was Chiron. Are you really…” He smiled down at me. “The Chiron from the stories? Trainer of Hercules and all that? Yes, Percy, I am.”

“Look, if the thing I fought really was the Minotaur, the same one in the stories…” “Yes.” “Then there’s only one.” “Yes.” “And he died, like, a gajillion years ago, right? Theseus killed him in the labyrinth. So…” “Monsters don’t die, Percy. They can be killed. But they don’t die.” “Oh, thanks. That clears it up.”

“Diagnosed with dyslexia. Probably ADHD, too.” I tried to swallow my embarrassment. “What does that have to do with anything?” “Taken together, it’s almost a sure sign. The letters float off the page when you read, right? That’s because your mind is hardwired for ancient Greek. And the ADHD—you’re impulsive, can’t sit still in the classroom. That’s your battlefield reflexes. In a real fight, they’d keep you alive. As for the attention problems, that’s because you see too much, Percy, not too little. Your senses are better than a regular mortal’s. Of course the teachers want you medicated. Most of them are monsters. They don’t want you seeing them for what they are.”

It smelled just like any public bathroom, and I was thinking—as much as I could think with Clarisse ripping my hair out—that if this place belonged to the gods, they should’ve been able to afford classier johns.

“You are dead, new boy. You are totally dead.” I probably should have let it go, but I said, “You want to gargle with toilet water again, Clarisse? Close your mouth.”

Annabeth stared at me. I couldn’t tell whether she was just grossed out or angry at me for dousing her. “What?” I demanded. “What are you thinking?” “I’m thinking,” she said, “that I want you on my team for capture the flag.”

Annabeth nodded. “Your father isn’t dead, Percy. He’s one of the Olympians.” “That’s…crazy.”

“Then who’s your dad?” Her hands tightened around the pier railing. I got the feeling I’d just trespassed on a sensitive subject. “My dad is a professor at West Point,” she said. “I haven’t seen him since I was very small. He teaches American history.” “He’s human.” “What? You assume it has to be a male god who finds a human female attractive? How sexist is that?” “Who’s your mom, then?” “Cabin six.” “Meaning?” Annabeth straightened. “Athena. Goddess of wisdom and battle.”

When you came, I was hoping…I mean—Athena can get along with just about anybody, except for Ares. And of course she’s got the rivalry with Poseidon. But, I mean, aside from that, I thought we could work together. I thought you might know something.”

My glass was empty, but Luke said, “Speak to it. Whatever you want—nonalcoholic, of course.” I said, “Cherry Coke.” The glass filled with sparkling caramel liquid. Then I had an idea. “Blue Cherry Coke.” The soda turned a violent shade of cobalt. I took a cautious sip. Perfect. I drank a toast to my mother.

“Number eight, the silver one, belongs to Artemis,” he said. “She vowed to be a maiden forever. So of course, no kids. The cabin is, you know, honorary. If she didn’t have one, she’d be mad.”

“No. One of them, number two, is Hera’s,” he said. “That’s another honorary thing. She’s the goddess of marriage, so of course she wouldn’t go around having affairs with mortals. That’s her husband’s job. When we say the Big Three, we mean the three powerful brothers, the sons of Kronos.” “Zeus, Poseidon, Hades.”

“You’re wounded,” Annabeth told me. “Quick, Percy, get in the water.” “I’m okay.” “No, you’re not,” she said. “Chiron, watch this.” I was too tired to argue. I stepped back into the creek, the whole camp gathering around me. Instantly, I felt better. I could feel the cuts on my chest closing up. Some of the campers gasped. “Look, I—I don’t know why,” I said, trying to apologize. “I’m sorry.…” But they weren’t watching my wounds heal. They were staring at something above my head. “Percy,” Annabeth said, pointing. “Um…” By the time I looked up, the sign was already fading, but I could still make out the hologram of green light, spinning and gleaming. A three-tipped spear: a trident. “Your father,” Annabeth murmured. “This is really not good.” “It is determined,” Chiron announced. All around me, campers started kneeling, even the Ares cabin, though they didn’t look happy about it. “My father?” I asked, completely bewildered. “Poseidon,” said Chiron. “Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Father of Horses. Hail, Perseus Jackson, Son of the Sea God.”

“But what if a mortal sees me pulling out a sword?” Chiron smiled. “Mist is a powerful thing, Percy.” “Mist?” “Yes. Read The Iliad. It’s full of references to the stuff. Whenever divine or monstrous elements mix with the mortal world, they generate Mist, which obscures the vision of humans. You will see things just as they are, being a half-blood, but humans will interpret things quite differently. Remarkable, really, the lengths to which humans will go to fit things into their version of reality.”

Your dad created some stupid saltwater spring for his gift. My mom created the olive tree. The people saw that her gift was better, so they named the city after her.” “They must really like olives.” “Oh, forget it.” “Now, if she’d invented pizza—that I could understand.” “I said, forget it!”

We got restless waiting for the bus and decided to play some Hacky Sack with one of Grover’s apples. Annabeth was unbelievable. She could bounce the apple off her knee, her elbow, her shoulder, whatever. I wasn’t too bad myself.

In a way, it’s nice to know there are Greek gods out there, because you have somebody to blame when things go wrong. For instance, when you’re walking away from a bus that’s just been attacked by monster hags and blown up by lightning, and it’s raining on top of everything else, most people might think that’s just really bad luck; when you’re a half-blood, you understand that some divine force really is trying to mess up your day.

I searched the back of the warehouse until I found Medusa’s office. Her account book showed her six most recent sales, all shipments to the Underworld to decorate Hades and Persephone’s garden. According to one freight bill, the Underworld’s billing address was DOA Recording Studios, West Hollywood, California. I folded up the bill and stuffed it in my pocket.

I went back to the picnic table, packed up Medusa’s head, and filled out a delivery slip: The Gods Mount Olympus 600th Floor, Empire State Building New York, NY With best wishes, PERCY JACKSON

“I’m not saying hello to a pink poodle,” I said. “Forget it.” “Percy,” Annabeth said. “I said hello to the poodle. You say hello to the poodle.” The poodle growled. I said hello to the poodle.

We couldn’t get berths in the sleeper car, so we dozed in our seats. My neck got stiff. I tried not to drool in my sleep, since Annabeth was sitting right next to me.

“Someday, I’m going to see it in person. I’m going to build the greatest monument to the gods, ever. Something that’ll last a thousand years.” I laughed. “You? An architect?” I don’t know why, but I found it funny. Just the idea of Annabeth trying to sit quietly and draw all day. Her cheeks flushed. “Yes, an architect. Athena expects her children to create things, not just tear them down, like a certain god of earthquakes I could mention.” I watched the churning brown water of the Mississippi below. “Sorry,” Annabeth said. “That was mean.”

“The Gateway Arch,” she said. “This may be my only chance to ride to the top. Are you coming or not?” Grover and I exchanged looks. I wanted to say no, but I figured that if Annabeth was going, we couldn’t very well let her go alone.

“Guys,” I said. “You know the gods’ symbols of power?” Annabeth had been in the middle of reading about the construction equipment used to build the Arch, but she looked over. “Yeah?” “Well, Hade—” Grover cleared his throat. “We’re in a public place.…You mean, our friend downstairs?” “Um, right,” I said. “Our friend way downstairs. Doesn’t he have a hat like Annabeth’s?”

I felt like drowning myself. The only problem: I was immune to drowning.

“Still…Hades has the helm of darkness. How could anybody else sneak into the throne room and steal the master bolt? You’d have to be invisible.” We were both silent, until Luke seemed to realize what he’d said. “Oh, hey,” he protested. “I didn’t mean Annabeth. She and I have known each other forever. She would never…I mean, she’s like a little sister to me.” I wondered if Annabeth would like that description.

Annabeth and I had to climb the old-fashioned way, holding down the barbed wire for each other as we crawled over the top.

“I don’t know. Just a feeling. Annabeth, come with me—” “Are you kidding?” She looked at me as if I’d just dropped from the moon. Her cheeks were bright red. “What’s the problem now?” I demanded. “Me, go with you to the…the ‘Thrill Ride of Love’? How embarrassing is that? What if somebody saw me?” “Who’s going to see you?” But my face was burning now, too. Leave it to a girl to make everything complicated. “Fine,” I told her. “I’ll do it myself.” But when I started down the side of the pool, she followed me, muttering about how boys always messed things up.

We’d almost made it to the rim when the row of mirrors opened like hatches and thousands of tiny metallic…things poured out. Annabeth screamed. It was an army of wind-up creepy-crawlies: bronze-gear bodies, spindly legs, little pincer mouths, all scuttling toward us in a wave of clacking, whirring metal. “Spiders!” Annabeth said. “Sp—sp—aaaah!” I’d never seen her like this before. She fell backward in terror and almost got overwhelmed by the spider robots before I pulled her up and dragged her back toward the boat.

“So if the gods fight,” I said, “will things line up the way they did with the Trojan War? Will it be Athena versus Poseidon?” She put her head against the backpack Ares had given us, and closed her eyes. “I don’t know what my mom will do. I just know I’ll fight next to you.” “Why?” “Because you’re my friend, Seaweed Brain. Any more stupid questions?”

My nightmare started out as something I’d dreamed a million times before: I was being forced to take a standardized test while wearing a straitjacket.

I couldn’t remember the last time I had so much fun. I came from a relatively poor family. Our idea of a splurge was eating out at Burger King and renting a video. A five-star Vegas hotel? Forget it. I bungee-jumped the lobby five or six times, did the waterslide, snowboarded the artificial ski slope, and played virtual-reality laser tag and FBI sharpshooter. I saw Grover a few times, going from game to game. He really liked the reverse hunter thing—where the deer go out and shoot the rednecks. I saw Annabeth playing trivia games and other brainiac stuff. They had this huge 3-D sim game where you build your own city, and you could actually see the holographic buildings rise on the display board. I didn’t think much of it, but Annabeth loved it.

“What do you do if they’re longer than six feet?” “Oh, that happens all the time. It’s a simple fix.” He let go of my neck, but before I could react, he reached behind a nearby sales desk and brought out a huge double-bladed brass axe. He said, “I just center the subject as best I can and lop off whatever hangs over on either end.” “Ah,” I said, swallowing hard. “Sensible.” “I’m so glad to come across an intelligent customer!”

Panic closed up my throat. What was I doing here? These people around me…they were dead. Annabeth grabbed hold of my hand. Under normal circumstances, this would’ve embarrassed me, but I understood how she felt. She wanted reassurance that somebody else was alive on this boat.

I thought maybe Annabeth and I had both had the right idea. Even here in the Underworld, everybody—even monsters—needed a little attention once in a while. I thought about that as we waited for the ghouls to pass. I pretended not to see Annabeth wipe a tear from her cheek as she listened to the mournful keening of Cerberus in the distance, longing for his new friend.

Inside the courtyard was the strangest garden I’d ever seen. Multicolored mushrooms, poisonous shrubs, and weird luminous plants grew without sunlight. Precious jewels made up for the lack of flowers, piles of rubies as big as my fist, clumps of raw diamonds. Standing here and there like frozen party guests were Medusa’s garden statues—petrified children, satyrs, and centaurs—all smiling grotesquely. In the center of the garden was an orchard of pomegranate trees, their orange blooms neon bright in the dark. “The garden of Persephone,” Annabeth said. “Keep walking.”

understood why she wanted to move on. The tart smell of those pomegranates was almost overwhelming. I had a sudden desire to eat them, but then I remembered the story of Persephone. One bite of Underworld food, and we would never be able to leave.

I glanced at the empty, smaller throne next to Hades’s. It was shaped like a black flower, gilded with gold. I wished Queen Persephone were here. I recalled something in the myths about how she could calm her husband’s moods. But it was summer. Of course, Persephone would be above in the world of light with her mother, the goddess of agriculture, Demeter. Her visits, not the tilt of the planet, create the seasons.