The Lightning Thief

make me nuts.
    We got shoehorned into the car with this big fat lady and her dog, a Chihuahua with a rhinestone collar. I figured maybe the dog was a seeing-eye Chihuahua, because none of the guards said a word about it.
    We started going up, inside the Arch. I’d never been in an elevator that went in a curve, and my stomach wasn’t too happy about it.
    “No parents?” the fat lady asked us.
    She had beady eyes; pointy, coffee-stained teeth; a floppy denim hat, and a denim dress that bulged so much, she looked like a blue-jean blimp.
    “They’re below,” Annabeth told her. “Scared of heights.”
    “Oh, the poor darlings.”
    The Chihuahua growled. The woman said, “Now, now, sonny. Behave.” The dog had beady eyes like its owner, intelligent and vicious.
    I said, “Sonny. Is that his name?”
    “No,” the lady told me.
    She smiled, as if that cleared everything up.
    At the top of the Arch, the observation deck reminded me of a tin can with carpeting. Rows of tiny windows looked out over the city on one side and the river on the other. The view was okay, but if there’s anything I like less than a confined space, it’s a confined space six hundred feet in the air. I was ready to go pretty quick.
    Annabeth kept talking about structural supports, and how she would’ve made the windows bigger, and designed a see-through floor. She probably could’ve stayed up there for hours, but luckily for me the park ranger announced that the observation deck would be closing in a few minutes.
    I steered Grover and Annabeth toward the exit, loaded them into the elevator, and I was about to get in myself when I realized there were already two other tourists inside. No room for me.
    The park ranger said, “Next car, sir.”
    “We’ll get out,” Annabeth said. “We’ll wait with you.”
    But that was going to mess everybody up and take even more time, so I said, “Naw, it’s okay. I’ll see you guys at the bottom.”
    Grover and Annabeth both looked nervous, but they let the elevator door slide shut. Their car disappeared down the ramp.
    Now the only people left on the observation deck were me, a little boy with his parents, the park ranger, and the fat lady with her Chihuahua.
    I smiled uneasily at the fat lady. She smiled back, her forked tongue flickering between her teeth.
    Wait a minute.
    Forked tongue?
    Before I could decide if I’d really seen that, her Chihuahua jumped down and started yapping at me.
    “Now, now, sonny,” the lady said. “Does this look like a good time? We have all these nice people here.”
    “Doggie!” said the little boy. “Look, a doggie!”
    His parents pulled him back.
    The Chihuahua bared his teeth at me, foam dripping from his black lips.
    “Well, son,” the fat lady sighed. “If you insist.”
    Ice started forming in my stomach. “Um, did you just call that Chihuahua your son?”
    “ Chimera , dear,” the fat lady corrected. “Not a Chihuahua. It’s an easy mistake to make.”
    She rolled up her denim sleeves, revealing that the skin of her arms was scaly and green. When she smiled, I saw that her teeth were fangs. The pupils of her eyes were sideways slits, like a reptile’s.
    The Chihuahua barked louder, and with each bark, it grew. First to the size of a Doberman, then to a lion. The bark became a roar.
    The little boy screamed. His parents pulled him back toward the exit, straight into the park ranger, who stood, paralyzed, gaping at the monster.
    The Chimera was now so tall its back rubbed against the roof. It had the head of a lion with a blood-caked mane, the body and hooves of a giant goat, and a serpent for a tail, a ten-foot-long diamondback growing right out of its shaggy behind. The rhinestone dog collar still hung around its neck, and the plate-sized dog tag was now easy to read: CHIMERA—RABID, FIRE-BREATHING, POISONOUS—IF FOUND, PLEASE CALL TARTARUS—EXT. 954.
    I realized I hadn’t even uncapped my sword. My hands were numb. I was ten feet away from the Chimera’s bloody maw, and I knew that as soon as I moved, the creature would lunge.
    The snake lady made a hissing noise that might’ve been laughter. “Be honored, Percy Jackson. Lord Zeus rarely allows me to test a hero with one of my brood. For I am the Mother of Monsters, the terrible Echidna!”
    I stared at her. All I could think to say was: “Isn’t that a kind of anteater?”
    She howled, her reptilian face turning brown and green with rage. “I hate it when people say that!