Rick Riordan Percy Jackson and the Olympians
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5 problems . I couldn ' t stand the idea that something might be wrong at camp . Even worse , I couldn ' t shake the memory of my bad dream . I had a terrible feeling that Grover was in danger .
In social studies , while we were drawing latitude / longitude maps , I opened my notebook and stared at the photo inside — my friend Annabeth on vacation in Washington , D . C . She was wearing jeans and a denim jacket over her orange Camp Half-Blood T-shirt . Her blond hair was pulled back in a bandanna . She was standing in front of the Lincoln Memorial with her arms crossed , looking extremely pleased with herself , like she ' d personally designed the place . See , Annabeth wants to be an architect when she grows up , so she ' s always visiting famous monuments and stuff . She ' s weird that way . She ' d e-mailed me the picture after spring break , and every once in a while I ' d look at it just to remind myself she was real and Camp Half-Blood hadn ' t just been my imagination .
I wished Annabeth were here . She ' d know what to make of my dream . I ' d never admit it to her , but she was smarter than me , even if she was annoying sometimes .
I was about to close my notebook when Matt Sloan reached over and ripped the photo out of the rings . " Hey !" I protested . Sloan checked out the picture and his eyes got wide . " No way , Jackson . Who is that ? She is not your —" " Give it back !" My ears felt hot . Sloan handed the photo to his ugly buddies , who snickered and started ripping it up to make spit wads . They were new kids who must ' ve been visiting , because they were all wearing those stupid HI ! MY NAME IS : tags from the admissions office . They must ' ve had a weird sense of humor , too , because they ' d all filled in strange names like : MARROW SUCKER , SKULL EATER , and JOE BOB . No human beings had names like that .
" These guys are moving here next year ," Sloan bragged , like that was supposed to scare me . " I bet they can pay the tuition , too , unlike your retard friend ." " He ' s not retarded ." I had to try really , really hard not to punch Sloan in the face . " You ' re such a loser , Jackson . Good thing I ' m gonna put you out of your misery next period ." His huge buddies chewed up my photo . I wanted to pulverize them , but I was under strict orders from Chiron never to take my anger out on regular mortals , no matter how obnoxious they were . I had to save my fighting for monsters . Still , part of me thought , if Sloan only knew who I really was ... The bell rang . As Tyson and I were leaving class , a girl ' s voice whispered , " Percy !" I looked around the locker area , but nobody was paying me any attention . Like any girl at
Meriwether would ever be caught dead calling my name .
Before I had time to consider whether or not I ' d been imagining things , a crowd of kids rushed for the gym , carrying Tyson and me along with them . It was time for PE . Our coach had promised us a free-for-all dodgeball game , and Matt Sloan had promised to kill me .
The gym uniform at Meriwether is sky blue shorts and tie-dyed T-shirts . Fortunately , we did most of our athletic stuff inside , so we didn ' t have to jog through Tribeca looking like a bunch of boot-camp hippie children .
I changed as quickly as I could in the locker room because I didn ' t want to deal with Sloan . I was about to leave when Tyson called , " Percy ?"
He hadn ' t changed yet . He was standing by the weight room door , clutching his gym clothes .
" Will you ... uh ..." " Oh . Yeah ." I tried not to sound aggravated about it . " Yeah , sure , man ." Tyson ducked inside the weight room . I stood guard outside the door while he changed . I felt kind of awkward doing this , but he asked me to most days . I think it ' s because he ' s completely hairy and he ' s got weird scars on his back that I ' ve never had the courage to ask him about .
Anyway , I ' d learned the hard way that if people teased Tyson while he was dressing out , he ' d get upset and start ripping the doors off lockers .
When we got into the gym , Coach Nunley was sitting at his little desk reading Sports Illustrated . Nunley was about a million years old , with bifocals and no teeth and a greasy wave of gray hair . He reminded me of the Oracle at Camp Half-Blood — which was a shriveled-up mummy —