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“Any idea what kind of spirits are following you?” “Shiny blobs,” Meg said. “They were shiny and sort of…blobby.” Percy nodded gravely. “Those are the worst kind.”
“Sure it is,” Percy said. “Some of the best demigods have gotten their start by blowing up toilets.”
Percy’s expression turned grim. He faced us. “You hear that, guys? A batch of cookies is depending on me. If you get me killed on the way to camp, I am going be ticked off.”
Now, come along. The woods can’t be that bad.” The woods were that bad.
It warmed my heart that my children had the right priorities: their skills, their images, their views on YouTube.
When the giants started to wake, I drew up a very clear Twenty-Point Plan of Action to Protect Apollo and Also You Other Gods, but he didn’t even read it!”
“Thank you, Sherman,” Chiron continued. “It’s good to know you won’t be giving the god of archery a swirly.
The others seemed confused. Then the glow became brighter: a holographic golden sickle with a few sheaves of wheat, rotating just above Meg McCaffrey. A boy in the crowd gasped. “She’s a communist!”
I did not feel like a special snowflake (though my mother, Leto, always assured me I was one), and I was sorely tempted to accuse Sherman of not treating me as such.
She looked as if she’d just gone through Hades’s haunted house. (Pro tip: DO NOT.)
Her eyes regained some of their dark green intensity. I feared she was envisioning ways she might inflict pain upon me with her art supplies.
“Yes, Meg, like trees. Groves are typically composed of trees, rather than, say, Fudgsicles.
“Meg,” I said, “you can’t trust those reviews on RateMyOracle.com. The hotness factor for the Sibyl of Cumae, for instance, is completely off. I remember that quite clearly.”
I heroically leaped to her side, my hand on my sword. (I would have drawn it, but it was really heavy and got stuck in the scabbard.)
Defeating one ant had taken all my energy. (I don’t think I have ever written a sadder sentence than that.)
How many ants would I be facing? I had no idea. After you reach the number impossible, there’s no point in counting.
The tone of the scream reminded me of Hera whenever she stormed through the hallways of Olympus, yelling at me for leaving the godly toilet seat up.
Oh, the horror! A sonnet I could have handled. A quatrain would have been cause for celebration. But only the deadliest prophecies are couched in the form of a limerick.
The others’ expressions turned grim. When a child of Ares makes a valid point, you know the situation is serious.
Hades used to love sneaking up on me that way and yelling, “HI!” just as I shot an arrow of death. He found it amusing if I missed my target and accidentally wiped out the wrong city.
The arrow quivered. (Oh, dear. That was a horrible pun. My apologies.)
“But you’re an arrow,” I said. “Shooting you is the whole point.” (Ah, I really must watch those puns.)
Want to hit Leo? That is understandable Hunk Muffin earned it
Damien White punched Leo’s arm and walked away grinning. I wasn’t sure Damien even knew Leo. He simply couldn’t turn down a chance to punch someone.