The Lightning Thief

Clarisse and I and a few others—we took a field trip during winter solstice. That’s when the gods have their big annual council.”
    “But . . . how did you get there?”
    “The Long Island Railroad, of course. You get off at Penn Station. Empire State Building, special elevator to the six hundredth floor.” She looked at me like she was sure I must know this already. “You are a New Yorker, right?”
    “Oh, sure.” As far as I knew, there were only a hundred and two floors in the Empire State Building, but I decided not to point that out.
    “Right after we visited,” Annabeth continued, “the weather got weird, as if the gods had started fighting. A couple of times since, I’ve overheard satyrs talking. The best I can figure out is that something important was stolen. And if it isn’t returned by summer solstice, there’s going to be trouble. When you came, I was hoping . . . I mean— Athena can get along with just about anybody, except for Ares. And of course she’s got the rivalry with Poseidon. But, I mean, aside from that, I thought we could work together. I thought you might know something.”
    I shook my head. I wished I could help her, but I felt too hungry and tired and mentally overloaded to ask any more questions.
    “I’ve got to get a quest,” Annabeth muttered to herself. “I’m not too young. If they would just tell me the problem . . .”
    I could smell barbecue smoke coming from somewhere nearby. Annabeth must’ve heard my stomach growl. She told me to go on, she’d catch me later. I left her on the pier, tracing her finger across the rail as if drawing a battle plan.
    Back at cabin eleven, everybody was talking and horsing around, waiting for dinner. For the first time, I noticed that a lot of the campers had similar features: sharp noses, upturned eyebrows, mischievous smiles. They were the kind of kids that teachers would peg as troublemakers. Thankfully, nobody paid much attention to me as I walked over to my spot on the floor and plopped down with my minotaur horn.
    The counselor, Luke, came over. He had the Hermes family resemblance, too. It was marred by that scar on his right cheek, but his smile was intact.
    “Found you a sleeping bag,” he said. “And here, I stole you some toiletries from the camp store.”
    I couldn’t tell if he was kidding about the stealing part.
    I said, “Thanks.”
    “No prob.” Luke sat next to me, pushed his back against the wall. “Tough first day?”
    “I don’t belong here,” I said. “I don’t even believe in gods.”
    “Yeah,” he said. “That’s how we all started. Once you start believing in them? It doesn’t get any easier.”
    The bitterness in his voice surprised me, because Luke seemed like a pretty easygoing guy. He looked like he could handle just about anything.
    “So your dad is Hermes?” I asked.
    He pulled a switchblade out of his back pocket, and for a second I thought he was going to gut me, but he just scraped the mud off the sole of his sandal. “Yeah. Hermes.”
    “The wing-footed messenger guy.”
    “That’s him. Messengers. Medicine. Travelers, merchants, thieves. Anybody who uses the roads. That’s why you’re here, enjoying cabin eleven’s hospitality. Hermes isn’t picky about who he sponsors.”
    I figured Luke didn’t mean to call me a nobody. He just had a lot on his mind.
    “You ever meet your dad?” I asked.
    “Once.”
    I waited, thinking that if he wanted to tell me, he’d tell me. Apparently, he didn’t. I wondered if the story had anything to do with how he got his scar.
    Luke looked up and managed a smile. “Don’t worry about it, Percy. The campers here, they’re mostly good people. After all, we’re extended family, right? We take care of each other.”
    He seemed to understand how lost I felt, and I was grateful for that, because an older guy like him—even if he was a counselor—should’ve steered clear of an uncool middle-schooler like me. But Luke had welcomed me into the cabin. He’d even stolen me some toiletries, which was the nicest thing anybody had done for me all day.
    I decided to ask him my last big question, the one that had been bothering me all afternoon. “Clarisse, from Ares, was joking about me being ‘Big Three’ material. Then Annabeth . . . twice, she said I might be ‘the one.’ She said I should talk to the Oracle. What was that all about?”
    Luke folded his knife. “I hate prophecies.”
    “What do you mean?”
    His face