The Lightning Thief

had started swimming off the page, circling my head, the letters doing one-eighties as if they were riding skateboards. There was no way I was going to remember the difference between Chiron and Charon, or Polydictes and Polydeuces. And conjugating those Latin verbs? Forget it.
    I paced the room, feeling like ants were crawling around inside my shirt.
    I remembered Mr. Brunner’s serious expression, his thousand-year-old eyes. I will accept only the best from you, Percy Jackson.
    I took a deep breath. I picked up the mythology book.
    I’d never asked a teacher for help before. Maybe if I talked to Mr. Brunner, he could give me some pointers. At least I could apologize for the big fat F I was about to score on his exam. I didn’t want to leave Yancy Academy with him thinking I hadn’t tried.
    I walked downstairs to the faculty offices. Most of them were dark and empty, but Mr. Brunner’s door was ajar, light from his window stretching across the hallway floor.
    I was three steps from the door handle when I heard voices inside the office. Mr. Brunner asked a question. A voice that was definitely Grover’s said “. . . worried about Percy, sir.”
    I froze.
    I’m not usually an eavesdropper, but I dare you to try not listening if you hear your best friend talking about you to an adult.
    I inched closer.
    “. . . alone this summer,” Grover was saying. “I mean, a Kindly One in the school ! Now that we know for sure, and they know too—”
    “We would only make matters worse by rushing him,” Mr. Brunner said. “We need the boy to mature more.”
    “But he may not have time. The summer solstice deadline—”
    “Will have to be resolved without him, Grover. Let him enjoy his ignorance while he still can.”
    “Sir, he saw her. . . .”
    “His imagination,” Mr. Brunner insisted. “The Mist over the students and staff will be enough to convince him of that.”
    “Sir, I . . . I can’t fail in my duties again.” Grover’s voice was choked with emotion. “You know what that would mean.”
    “You haven’t failed, Grover,” Mr. Brunner said kindly. “I should have seen her for what she was. Now let’s just worry about keeping Percy alive until next fall—”
    The mythology book dropped out of my hand and hit the floor with a thud.
    Mr. Brunner went silent.
    My heart hammering, I picked up the book and backed down the hall.
    A shadow slid across the lighted glass of Brunner’s office door, the shadow of something much taller than my wheelchair-bound teacher, holding something that looked suspiciously like an archer’s bow.
    I opened the nearest door and slipped inside.
    A few seconds later I heard a slow clop-clop-clop , like muffled wood blocks, then a sound like an animal snuffling right outside my door. A large, dark shape paused in front of the glass, then moved on.
    A bead of sweat trickled down my neck.
    Somewhere in the hallway, Mr. Brunner spoke. “Nothing,” he murmured. “My nerves haven’t been right since the winter solstice.”
    “Mine neither,” Grover said. “But I could have sworn . . .”
    “Go back to the dorm,” Mr. Brunner told him. “You’ve got a long day of exams tomorrow.”
    “Don’t remind me.”
    The lights went out in Mr. Brunner’s office.
    I waited in the dark for what seemed like forever.
    Finally, I slipped out into the hallway and made my way back up to the dorm.
    Grover was lying on his bed, studying his Latin exam notes like he’d been there all night.
    “Hey,” he said, bleary-eyed. “You going to be ready for this test?”
    I didn’t answer.
    “You look awful.” He frowned. “Is everything okay?”
    “Just . . . tired.”
    I turned so he couldn’t read my expression, and started getting ready for bed.
    I didn’t understand what I’d heard downstairs. I wanted to believe I’d imagined the whole thing.
    But one thing was clear: Grover and Mr. Brunner were talking about me behind my back. They thought I was in some kind of danger.
    The next afternoon, as I was leaving the three-hour Latin exam, my eyes swimming with all the Greek and Roman names I’d misspelled, Mr. Brunner called me back inside.
    For a moment, I was worried he’d found out about my eavesdropping the night before, but that didn’t seem to be the problem.
    “Percy,” he said. “Don’t be discouraged about leaving Yancy. It’s . . . it’s for the best.”
    His tone was kind, but the words still embarrassed me. Even though he was speaking quietly, the other