Wrath of the Triple Goddess

by Rick Riordan

Also, I’d missed my entire junior year thanks to some business we won’t get into (Hera) on account of some meddling gods (Hera) for reasons of a cosmic apocalypse (Hera).

You’re probably thinking, Percy, you’ve been dealing with the Greek gods for years. How could you not know her?

It’s never Hi, I’m Zeus. It’s always I am the Thunder-Maker, the Paranoid Patriarch, Heavenly Adulterer, Lightning Britches, King of Luxurious Beard Products

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

(Side effects can include panic attacks, mass hysteria, and psychological misdiagnoses. Ask your doctor if Iris-messages are right for you.)

I’m not sure if you’ve ever had this experience—when you see someone you know from a distance, and for a split second you don’t recognize them. Your brain just registers, Oh, that person looks amazing. Then you realize it’s someone you’ve known for years—your girlfriend, in fact—and that sends a tingle of happiness through your whole body.

“Now my arachnophobic girlfriend is talking about buying cobwebs. Who are you?”

I’d barely been able to master numbers and colors in Spanish, even with my friend Leo Valdez as a tutor.

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

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