The Lightning Thief

from the wall. Maybe it was my imagination, but the boat seemed to respond. At least, it didn’t break into a million pieces. We spun around one last time, the water level now almost high enough to shred us against the metal net. Then the boat’s nose turned toward the tunnel and we rocketed through into the darkness.
    Annabeth and I held tight, both of us screaming as the boat shot curls and hugged corners and took forty-five-degree plunges past pictures of Romeo and Juliet and a bunch of other Valentine’s Day stuff.
    Then we were out of the tunnel, the night air whistling through our hair as the boat barreled straight toward the exit.
    If the ride had been in working order, we would’ve sailed off a ramp between the golden Gates of Love and splashed down safely in the exit pool. But there was a problem. The Gates of Love were chained. Two boats that had been washed out of the tunnel before us were now piled against the barricade—one submerged, the other cracked in half.
    “Unfasten your seat belt,” I yelled to Annabeth.
    “Are you crazy?”
    “Unless you want to get smashed to death.” I strapped Ares’s shield to my arm. “We’re going to have to jump for it.” My idea was simple and insane. As the boat struck, we would use its force like a springboard to jump the gate. I’d heard of people surviving car crashes that way, getting thrown thirty or forty feet away from an accident. With luck, we would land in the pool.
    Annabeth seemed to understand. She gripped my hand as the gates got closer.
    “On my mark,” I said.
    “No! On my mark!”
    “What?”
    “Simple physics!” she yelled. “Force times the trajectory angle—”
    “Fine!” I shouted. “On your mark!”
    She hesitated . . . hesitated . . . then yelled, “Now!”
    Crack!
    Annabeth was right. If we’d jumped when I thought we should’ve, we would’ve crashed into the gates. She got us maximum lift.
    Unfortunately, that was a little more than we needed. Our boat smashed into the pileup and we were thrown into the air, straight over the gates, over the pool, and down toward solid asphalt.
    Something grabbed me from behind.
    Annabeth yelled, “Ouch!”
    Grover!
    In midair, he had grabbed me by the shirt, and Annabeth by the arm, and was trying to pull us out of a crash landing, but Annabeth and I had all the momentum.
    “You’re too heavy!” Grover said. “We’re going down!”
    We spiraled toward the ground, Grover doing his best to slow the fall.
    We smashed into a photo-board, Grover’s head going straight into the hole where tourists would put their faces, pretending to be Noo-Noo the Friendly Whale. Annabeth and I tumbled to the ground, banged up but alive. Ares’s shield was still on my arm.
    Once we caught our breath, Annabeth and I got Grover out of the photo-board and thanked him for saving our lives. I looked back at the Thrill Ride of Love. The water was subsiding. Our boat had been smashed to pieces against the gates.
    A hundred yards away, at the entrance pool, the Cupids were still filming. The statues had swiveled so that their cameras were trained straight on us, the spotlights in our faces.
    “Show’s over!” I yelled. “Thank you! Good night!”
    The Cupids turned back to their original positions. The lights shut off. The park went quiet and dark again, except for the gentle trickle of water into the Thrill Ride of Love’s exit pool. I wondered if Olympus had gone to a commercial break, or if our ratings had been any good.
    I hated being teased. I hated being tricked. And I had plenty of experience handling bullies who liked to do that stuff to me. I hefted the shield on my arm and turned to my friends. “We need to have a little talk with Ares.”

WE TAKE A ZEBRA TO VEGAS
    T he war god was waiting for us in the diner parking lot.
    “Well, well,” he said. “You didn’t get yourself killed.”
    “You knew it was a trap,” I said.
    Ares gave me a wicked grin. “Bet that crippled blacksmith was surprised when he netted a couple of stupid kids. You looked good on TV.”
    I shoved his shield at him. “You’re a jerk.”
    Annabeth and Grover caught their breath.
    Ares grabbed the shield and spun it in the air like pizza dough. It changed form, melting into a bulletproof vest. He slung it across his back.
    “See that truck over there?” He pointed to an eighteen-wheeler parked across the street from the diner. “That’s your ride. Take you straight to L.A., with one stop in Vegas.”
    The