The Lightning Thief

she’s been here longer than just about anybody. And you already know Chiron. . . .”
    He pointed at the guy whose back was to me.
    First, I realized he was sitting in the wheelchair. Then I recognized the tweed jacket, the thinning brown hair, the scraggly beard.
    “Mr. Brunner!” I cried.
    The Latin teacher turned and smiled at me. His eyes had that mischievous glint they sometimes got in class when he pulled a pop quiz and made all the multiple choice answers B .
    “Ah, good, Percy,” he said. “Now we have four for pinochle.”
    He offered me a chair to the right of Mr. D, who looked at me with bloodshot eyes and heaved a great sigh. “Oh, I suppose I must say it. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood. There. Now, don’t expect me to be glad to see you.”
    “Uh, thanks.” I scooted a little farther away from him because, if there was one thing I had learned from living with Gabe, it was how to tell when an adult has been hitting the happy juice. If Mr. D was a stranger to alcohol, I was a satyr.
    “Annabeth?” Mr. Brunner called to the blond girl.
    She came forward and Mr. Brunner introduced us. “This young lady nursed you back to health, Percy. Annabeth, my dear, why don’t you go check on Percy’s bunk? We’ll be putting him in cabin eleven for now.”
    Annabeth said, “Sure, Chiron.”
    She was probably my age, maybe a couple of inches taller, and a whole lot more athletic looking. With her deep tan and her curly blond hair, she was almost exactly what I thought a stereotypical California girl would look like, except her eyes ruined the image. They were startling gray, like storm clouds; pretty, but intimidating, too, as if she were analyzing the best way to take me down in a fight.
    She glanced at the minotaur horn in my hands, then back at me. I imagined she was going to say, You killed a mino taur! or Wow, you’re so awesome! or something like that.
    Instead she said, “You drool when you sleep.”
    Then she sprinted off down the lawn, her blond hair flying behind her.
    “So,” I said, anxious to change the subject. “You, uh, work here, Mr. Brunner?”
    “Not Mr. Brunner,” the ex–Mr. Brunner said. “I’m afraid that was a pseudonym. You may call me Chiron.”
    “Okay.” Totally confused, I looked at the director. “And Mr. D . . . does that stand for something?”
    Mr. D stopped shuffling the cards. He looked at me like I’d just belched loudly. “Young man, names are powerful things. You don’t just go around using them for no reason.”
    “Oh. Right. Sorry.”
    “I must say, Percy,” Chiron-Brunner broke in, “I’m glad to see you alive. It’s been a long time since I’ve made a house call to a potential camper. I’d hate to think I’ve wasted my time.”
    “House call?”
    “My year at Yancy Academy, to instruct you. We have satyrs at most schools, of course, keeping a lookout. But Grover alerted me as soon as he met you. He sensed you were something special, so I decided to come upstate. I convinced the other Latin teacher to . . . ah, take a leave of absence.”
    I tried to remember the beginning of the school year. It seemed like so long ago, but I did have a fuzzy memory of there being another Latin teacher my first week at Yancy. Then, without explanation, he had disappeared and Mr. Brunner had taken the class.
    “You came to Yancy just to teach me?” I asked.
    Chiron nodded. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure about you at first. We contacted your mother, let her know we were keeping an eye on you in case you were ready for Camp Half-Blood. But you still had so much to learn. Nevertheless, you made it here alive, and that’s always the first test.”
    “Grover,” Mr. D said impatiently, “are you playing or not?”
    “Yes, sir!” Grover trembled as he took the fourth chair, though I didn’t know why he should be so afraid of a pudgy little man in a tiger-print Hawaiian shirt.
    “You do know how to play pinochle?” Mr. D eyed me suspiciously.
    “I’m afraid not,” I said.
    “I’m afraid not, sir ,” he said.
    “Sir,” I repeated. I was liking the camp director less and less.
    “Well,” he told me, “it is, along with gladiator fighting and Pac-Man, one of the greatest games ever invented by humans. I would expect all civilized young men to know the rules.”
    “I’m sure the boy can learn,” Chiron said.
    “Please,” I said, “what is this place? What am I doing here? Mr. Brun—Chiron—why would you go to Yancy Academy just to teach