The Hidden Oracle (The Trials of Apollo, #1)
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Read between June 15 - June 15, 2016
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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.”
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“Sure it is,” Percy said. “Some of the best demigods have gotten their start by blowing up toilets.”
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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.”
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Now, come along. The woods can’t be that bad.” The woods were that bad.
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It warmed my heart that my children had the right priorities: their skills, their images, their views on YouTube.
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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!”
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“Thank you, Sherman,” Chiron continued. “It’s good to know you won’t be giving the god of archery a swirly.
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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!”
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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.
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She looked as if she’d just gone through Hades’s haunted house. (Pro tip: DO NOT.)
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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.
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“Yes, Meg, like trees. Groves are typically composed of trees, rather than, say, Fudgsicles.
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“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.”
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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.)
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Defeating one ant had taken all my energy. (I don’t think I have ever written a sadder sentence than that.)
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How many ants would I be facing? I had no idea. After you reach the number impossible, there’s no point in counting.
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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.
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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.
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The others’ expressions turned grim. When a child of Ares makes a valid point, you know the situation is serious.
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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.
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The arrow quivered. (Oh, dear. That was a horrible pun. My apologies.)
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“But you’re an arrow,” I said. “Shooting you is the whole point.” (Ah, I really must watch those puns.)
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Want to hit Leo? That is understandable Hunk Muffin earned it
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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.