The Chalice of the Gods (Percy Jackson and the Olympians, #6)

by Rick Riordan

Look, I didn’t want to be a high school senior. I was hoping my dad could write me a note: Dear Whoever, Please excuse Percy Jackson from school forever and just give him the diploma. Thanks, Poseidon

Honest truth? Most of the time, being a demigod blows chunks. Anybody who tells you different is trying to recruit you for a quest.

I’d also promised my girlfriend, Annabeth. The plan was that I’d graduate on time so we could go to college together. I didn’t want to disappoint her. The idea of her going off to California without me kept me up at night.

You’d be amazed how many teachers, administrators, and other school staff are monsters in disguise. Or maybe you wouldn’t be amazed.

You know you’ve been a demigod too long when you’re flushed out of your school straight into the Atlantic Ocean and you’re not even surprised.

me more, or held me together as much as Annabeth, and I knew she could say the same about me—because if I were slacking as a boyfriend, she would let me know real quick.

If I had to choose between being with Annabeth and . . . well, anything, that was no choice at all.

“Are you kidding?” He grinned at Annabeth. “A chance to do quests, just the three of us? Like old times? The Three Musketeers!” “The Powerpuff Girls,” Annabeth suggested. “Shrek, Fiona, and Donkey,” I said. “Wait a minute,” Grover said. “I’m fine with this,” Annabeth said.

“Discreet is what we do,” said Grover, who had once blindly dive-bombed Medusa in a pair of flying shoes while screaming at the top of his lungs.

He said this as if I had done something completely inexplicable, like ordering blueberries on a pizza. (Although come to think of it . . . that could work.)

She needs to grow up!” said the three-thousand-year-old twentysomething.

The Giving Tree. (Speaking of which, never give that book to a satyr for his birthday, thinking he might like it because it’s about a tree. That satyr will cry, and then he will hit you. I speak from experience.)

I am a guy of limited talents. If I can’t kill it with water, a sword, or sarcasm, I am basically defenseless. I come preloaded with sarcasm. The pen-sword is always in my pocket. Now I had access to water, so I was as prepared as I could ever be.

The chickens were staring at us with their beady black eyes as if thinking, Dude, if we were still dinosaurs, we would tear you to pieces.

I had an irrational fear that she would yell, Gross! Boy cooties! and run away from me.

“These chickens want trouble? I’ll give them trouble.”

Poop yourself for no.” I had never wanted to hear yes so much in my life.

That night, I procrastinated on my homework. Huge surprise, I know.

Some of the other demigods got really freaked out, which is not good when you’re in a crowd of kids armed with swords.

I was starting to see why a goddess might want to hang out at a farmers’ market. Gods loved burnt offerings. They could live on fragrances the way I could live on my mom’s seven-layer dip.

Find someone who loves you the way my girlfriend pushes me off a cliff. Without hesitation. With full confidence in your abilities, with the rock-steady belief that your relationship can handle it, and with complete faith that when you come out of the water, assuming you survive, you will totally forgive them for the push. Almost certainly forgive them. Probably. Bonus points if you find someone with enough chutzpah to say Bon voyage while they do it.

She said this as if her line of reasoning made perfect sense, like of course x = 2yz3 where x is yoga and y is tea.

I thought about all the things I wanted to tell her . . . I wished I could at least let her know how much I loved her.

I don’t understand a single part of what I just said, but nobody asked my opinion.

“You named your staff Mercedes?” Annabeth asked. Then she quickly added, “That’s a beautiful name.”

“He will go by the name . . . Gary.” I didn’t dare laugh, but all I could think about was the cartoon snail from SpongeBob SquarePants.

Annabeth had already seen my baby pictures, so I wasn’t worried about what they were saying. I had no dignity left.

Annabeth and I were still together. I figured that was good enough.

The video would probably go viral on GodTok or whatever they were using on Mount Olympus these days.

If I told you I fell into Tartarus again, or got swallowed by a giant, or had to go bungee jumping in a volcano, you’d be like, Yeah, that makes sense. But Percy visiting a library? That’s way off brand.

Gary the Goblet Ganker.

She flashed me a smile. “I’m impressed you can quote Shakespeare.” “I can quote SparkNotes.”

I was really glad I’d woken up before Dream Poseidon could show me his baby bump.

Gary was staring at me expectantly, so I fell back on my demigod tool of last resort: procrastination.

“You’re moot,” I grumbled, because I am deadly with those quick clap-backs.

Now I was locked in a wrestle-to-the-death contest with Gary the diapered god of halitosis. And I was losing.

(Does the Empire State Building have a dungeon? Probably, right?)

Hi, my dog didn’t go off, and I ate my alarm shoes.