The Lightning Thief

from Waterland in Denver.
    “I wrote him a letter when we got back,” Annabeth said. “Just like you suggested. I told him . . . I was sorry. I’d come home for the school year if he still wanted me. He wrote back immediately. We decided . . . we’d give it another try.”
    “That took guts.”
    She pursed her lips. “You won’t try anything stupid during the school year, will you? At least . . . not without sending me an Iris-message?”
    I managed a smile. “I won’t go looking for trouble. I usually don’t have to.”
    “When I get back next summer,” she said, “we’ll hunt down Luke. We’ll ask for a quest, but if we don’t get approval, we’ll sneak off and do it anyway. Agreed?”
    “Sounds like a plan worthy of Athena.”
    She held out her hand. I shook it.
    “Take care, Seaweed Brain,” Annabeth told me. “Keep your eyes open.”
    “You too, Wise Girl.”
    I watched her walk up the hill and join her family. She gave her father an awkward hug and looked back at the valley one last time. She touched Thalia’s pine tree, then allowed herself to be lead over the crest and into the mortal world.
    For the first time at camp, I felt truly alone. I looked out at Long Island Sound and I remembered my father saying, The sea does not like to be restrained.
    I made my decision.
    I wondered, if Poseidon were watching, would he approve of my choice?
    “I’ll be back next summer,” I promised him. “I’ll survive until then. After all, I am your son.” I asked Argus to take me down to cabin three, so I could pack my bags for home.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
    W ithout the assistance of numerous valiant helpers, I would have been slain by monsters many times over as I endeavored to bring this story to print. Thanks to my elder son, Haley Michael, who heard the story first; my younger son, Patrick John, who at the age of six is the levelheaded one in the family; and my wife, Becky, who puts up with my many long hours at Camp Half-Blood. Thanks also to my cadre of middle-school beta testers: Travis Stoll, clever and quick as Hermes; C. C. Kellogg, beloved as Athena; Allison Bauer, clear-eyed as Artemis the Huntress; and Mrs. Margaret Floyd, the wise and kindly seer of middle-school English. My appreciation also to Professor Egbert J. Bakker, classicist extraordinaire; Nancy Gallt, agent summa cum laude ; Jonathan Burnham, Jennifer Besser, and Sarah Hughes for believing in Percy.

Don't miss the exciting new series The Kane Chronicles , by Rick Riordan

    We only have a few hours, so listen carefully.
    If you’re hearing this story, you’re already in danger. Sadie and I might be your only chance.
    Go to the school. Find the locker. I won’t tell you which school or which locker, because if you’re the right person, you’ll find it. The combination is 13/32/33. By the time you finish listening, you’ll know what those numbers mean. Just remember the story we’re about to tell you isn’t complete yet. How it ends will depend on you.
    The most important thing: when you open the package and find what’s inside, don’t keep it longer than a week. Sure, it’ll be tempting. I mean, it will grant you almost unlimited power. But if you possess it too long, it will consume you. Learn its secrets quickly and pass it on. Hide it for the next person, the way Sadie and I did for you. Then be prepared for your life to get very interesting.
    Okay, Sadie is telling me to stop stalling and get on with the story. Fine. I guess it started in London, the night our dad blew up the British Museum.
     
    My name is Carter Kane. I’m fourteen and my home is a suitcase.
    You think I’m kidding? Since I was eight years old, my dad and I have traveled the world. I was born in L.A. but my dad’s an archaeologist, so his work takes him all over. Mostly we go to Egypt, since that’s his specialty. Go into a bookstore, find a book about Egypt, there’s a pretty good chance it was written by Dr. Julius Kane. You want to know how Egyptians pulled the brains out of mummies, or built the pyramids, or cursed King Tut’s tomb? My dad is your man. Of course, there are other reasons my dad moved around so much, but I didn’t know his secret back then.
    I didn’t go to school. My dad homeschooled me, if you can call it “home” schooling when you don’t have a home. He sort of taught me whatever he thought was important, so I learned a lot about Egypt and basketball stats and my dad’s favorite musicians. I read a lot,