The Lightning Thief

snapped my photograph before I could recap my sword.
    “Our bags!” Grover realized. “We left our—”
    BOOOOOM!
    The windows of the bus exploded as the passengers ran for cover. Lightning shredded a huge crater in the roof, but an angry wail from inside told me Mrs. Dodds was not yet dead.
    “Run!” Annabeth said. “She’s calling for reinforcements! We have to get out of here!”
    We plunged into the woods as the rain poured down, the bus in flames behind us, and nothing but darkness ahead.

WE VISIT THE GARDEN GNOME EMPORIUM
    I n a way, it’s nice to know there are Greek gods out there, because you have somebody to blame when things go wrong. For instance, when you’re walking away from a bus that’s just been attacked by monster hags and blown up by lightning, and it’s raining on top of everything else, most people might think that’s just really bad luck; when you’re a half-blood, you understand that some divine force really is trying to mess up your day.
    So there we were, Annabeth and Grover and I, walking through the woods along the New Jersey riverbank, the glow of New York City making the night sky yellow behind us, and the smell of the Hudson reeking in our noses.
    Grover was shivering and braying, his big goat eyes turned slit-pupiled and full of terror. “Three Kindly Ones. All three at once.”
    I was pretty much in shock myself. The explosion of bus windows still rang in my ears. But Annabeth kept pulling us along, saying: “Come on! The farther away we get, the better.”
    “All our money was back there,” I reminded her. “Our food and clothes. Everything.”
    “Well, maybe if you hadn’t decided to jump into the fight—”
    “What did you want me to do? Let you get killed?”
    “You didn’t need to protect me, Percy. I would’ve been fine.”
    “Sliced like sandwich bread,” Grover put in, “but fine.”
    “Shut up, goat boy,” said Annabeth.
    Grover brayed mournfully. “Tin cans . . . a perfectly good bag of tin cans.”
    We sloshed across mushy ground, through nasty twisted trees that smelled like sour laundry.
    After a few minutes, Annabeth fell into line next to me. “Look, I . . .” Her voice faltered. “I appreciate your coming back for us, okay? That was really brave.”
    “We’re a team, right?”
    She was silent for a few more steps. “It’s just that if you died . . . aside from the fact that it would really suck for you, it would mean the quest was over. This may be my only chance to see the real world.”
    The thunderstorm had finally let up. The city glow faded behind us, leaving us in almost total darkness. I couldn’t see anything of Annabeth except a glint of her blond hair.
    “You haven’t left Camp Half-Blood since you were seven?” I asked her.
    “No . . . only short field trips. My dad—”
    “The history professor.”
    “Yeah. It didn’t work out for me living at home. I mean, Camp Half-Blood is my home.” She was rushing her words out now, as if she were afraid somebody might try to stop her. “At camp you train and train. And that’s all cool and everything, but the real world is where the monsters are. That’s where you learn whether you’re any good or not.”
    If I didn’t know better, I could’ve sworn I heard doubt in her voice.
    “You’re pretty good with that knife,” I said.
    “You think so?”
    “Anybody who can piggyback-ride a Fury is okay by me.”
    I couldn’t really see, but I thought she might’ve smiled.
    “You know,” she said, “maybe I should tell you . . . Something funny back on the bus . . .”
    Whatever she wanted to say was interrupted by a shrill toot-toot-toot , like the sound of an owl being tortured.
    “Hey, my reed pipes still work!” Grover cried. “If I could just remember a ‘find path’ song, we could get out of these woods!”
    He puffed out a few notes, but the tune still sounded suspiciously like Hilary Duff.
    Instead of finding a path, I immediately slammed into a tree and got a nice-size knot on my head.
    Add to the list of superpowers I did not have: infrared vision.
    After tripping and cursing and generally feeling miserable for another mile or so, I started to see light up ahead: the colors of a neon sign. I could smell food. Fried, greasy, excellent food. I realized I hadn’t eaten anything unhealthy since I’d arrived at Half-Blood Hill, where we lived on grapes, bread, cheese, and extra-lean-cut nymph-prepared barbecue. This boy needed a double