The Lightning Thief

to think about that. Grover would be the first. He had to be.
    July passed.
    I spent my days devising new strategies for capture-the-flag and making alliances with the other cabins to keep the banner out of Ares’s hands. I got to the top of the climbing wall for the first time without getting scorched by lava.
    From time to time, I’d walk past the Big House, glance up at the attic windows, and think about the Oracle. I tried to convince myself that its prophecy had come to completion.
    You shall go west, and face the god who has turned.
    Been there, done that—even though the traitor god had turned out to be Ares rather than Hades.
    You shall find what was stolen, and see it safe returned.
    Check. One master bolt delivered. One helm of darkness back on Hades’s oily head.
    You shall be betrayed by one who calls you a friend.
    This line still bothered me. Ares had pretended to be my friend, then betrayed me. That must be what the Oracle meant. . . .
    And you shall fail to save what matters most, in the end.
    I had failed to save my mom, but only because I’d let her save herself, and I knew that was the right thing.
    So why was I still uneasy?
    The last night of the summer session came all too quickly.
    The campers had one last meal together. We burned part of our dinner for the gods. At the bonfire, the senior counselors awarded the end-of-summer beads.
    I got my own leather necklace, and when I saw the bead for my first summer, I was glad the firelight covered my blushing. The design was pitch black, with a sea-green trident shimmering in the center.
    “The choice was unanimous,” Luke announced. “This bead commemorates the first Son of the Sea God at this camp, and the quest he undertook into the darkest part of the Underworld to stop a war!”
    The entire camp got to their feet and cheered. Even Ares’s cabin felt obliged to stand. Athena’s cabin steered Annabeth to the front so she could share in the applause.
    I’m not sure I’d ever felt as happy or sad as I did at that moment. I’d finally found a family, people who cared about me and thought I’d done something right. And in the morning, most of them would be leaving for the year.
    * * *
    The next morning, I found a form letter on my bedside table. I knew Dionysus must’ve filled it out, because he stubbornly insisted on getting my name wrong:
     
Dear    Peter Johnson    ,
    If you intend to stay at Camp Half-Blood year-round, you must inform the Big House by noon today. If you do not announce your intentions, we will assume you have vacated your cabin or died a horrible death. Cleaning harpies will begin work at sundown. They will be authorized to eat any unregistered campers. All personal articles left behind will be incinerated in the lava pit.
    Have a nice day!
    Mr. D (Dionysus)
    Camp Director, Olympian Council #12
     
    That’s another thing about ADHD. Deadlines just aren’t real to me until I’m staring one in the face. Summer was over, and I still hadn’t answered my mother, or the camp, about whether I’d be staying. Now I had only a few hours to decide.
    The decision should have been easy. I mean, nine months of hero training or nine months of sitting in a classroom—duh.
    But there was my mom to consider. For the first time, I had the chance to live with her for a whole year, without Gabe. I had a chance be at home and knock around the city in my free time. I remembered what Annabeth had said so long ago on our quest: The real world is where the monsters are. That’s where you learn whether you’re any good or not.
    I thought about the fate of Thalia, daughter of Zeus. I wondered how many monsters would attack me if I left Half-Blood Hill. If I stayed in one place for a whole school year, without Chiron or my friends around to help me, would my mother and I even survive until the next summer? That was assuming the spelling tests and five-paragraph essays didn’t kill me. I decided I’d go down to the arena and do some sword practice. Maybe that would clear my head.
    The campgrounds were mostly deserted, shimmering in the August heat. All the campers were in their cabins packing up, or running around with brooms and mops, getting ready for final inspection. Argus was helping some of the Aphrodite kids haul their Gucci suitcases and makeup kits over the hill, where the camp’s shuttle bus would be waiting to take them to the airport.
    Don’t think about leaving yet, I told myself. Just train.
    I got to the