Jorma

“You saved the world," annabeth said.
"We saved the world."
"And Rachel is the new Oracle, which means she won't be dating anybody."
"You don't sound disappointed," I noticed.
Annabeth shrugged. "Oh, I don't care."
"Uh-huh."
She raised an eyebrow. "You got something to say to me, Seaweed Brain?"
"You'd probably kick my butt."
"You know I'd kick your butt."
I brushed the cake off my hands. "When I was at the River Styx, turning invulnerable . . . Nico said I had to concentrate on one thing that kept me anchored to the world, that made me want to stay mortal."
Annabeth kept her eyes on the horizon. "Yeah?"
"Then up on Olympus," I said, "when they wanted to make me a god and stuff, I kept thinking—"
"Oh, you so wanted to."
"Well, maybe a little. But I didn't, because I thought—I didn't want things to stay the same for eternity, because
things could always get better. And I was thinking . . ." My throat felt really dry.
"Anyone in particular?" Annabeth asked, her voice soft.
I looked over and saw that she was trying not to smile.
"You're laughing at me," I complained.
"I am not!"
"You are so not making this easy."
Then she laughed for real, and she put her hands around my neck. "I am never, ever going to make things easy for
you, Seaweed Brain. Get used to it."
When she kissed me, I had the feeling my brain was melting right through my body. I could've stayed that way forever, except a voice behind us growled, "Well, it's about time!"
Suddenly the pavilion was filled with torchlight and campers. Clarisse led the way as the eavesdroppers charged and hoisted us both onto their shoulders.
"Oh, come on!" I complained. "Is there no privacy?"
"The lovebirds need to cool off!" Clarisse said with glee.
"The canoe lake!" Connor Stoll shouted. and they dumped us in the water.”
― Rick Riordan, The Last Olympian

“Right before the game, she strolled up to me. "Hey, Seaweed Brain."
"Will you stop calling me that?"
She knows I hate that name, mostly because I never have a good comeback. She's the daughter of Athena, which doesn't give me a lot of ammunition. I mean, "Owl-head" and "Wise Girl" are kind of lame insults.”
― Rick Riordan, The Demigod Files

“Okay," Annabeth said. "What exactly do you smell?"
"Something bad," Tyson answered.
"Great," Annabeth grumbled. "That clears it up.”
― Rick Riordan, The Sea of Monsters

“I've got this." Apollo stepped forward. His fiery armor was so bright it was hard to look at, and his matching Ray-Bans and perfect smile made him look like a male model for battle gear. "God of medicine, at your service."

He passed his hand over Annabeth's face and spoke an incantation. Immediately the bruises faded. Her cuts and scars disappeared. Her arm straightened, and she sighed in her sleep.

Apollo grinned. "She'll be fine in a few minutes. Just enough time for me to compose a poem about our victory: 'Apollo and his friends save Olympus.' Good, eh?"

Thanks, Apollo," I said. "I'll, um, let you handle the poetry.”
― Rick Riordan, The Last Olympian