Wrath of the Triple Goddess

by Rick Riordan

Maybe that sounds self-centered, but the idea of anybody writing a book about me makes me super paranoid.

Annabeth often told me I would make a great dad, because I already had the right jokes—stupid, corny, and stupid.

He suggested I think of homework as triage. “Look at your assignments like they’re wounded patients,” he’d said, “and handle them in order of severity. ‘Okay, you need immediate attention, or you’ll die. You can wait a bit. You aren’t that bad—go home, take some aspirin, and call me tomorrow.’”

My sword was better at slashy-slashy than stabby-stabby, and I did not want to slashy-slashy Annabeth. That would make her mad.

My thoughts started rambling, as they do. I wondered if I should call him CE for short. Did that mean before he became a Cloven Elder he was Grover BCE? This is how my mind works. Welcome to the chaos.

My plan to confuse her until her head exploded was going well.

Grover ducked behind the curtain. While he searched, Silbe and I glared at each other and drooled menacingly.

must’ve looked like I needed all the help I could get. She handed me the entire jar.