resemblance!”
Everybody laughed except Annabeth and a few of my other friends.
Tyson didn’t seem to notice. He was too mystified, trying to swat the glowing trident that was now fading over his head. He was too innocent to understand how much they were making fun of him, how cruel people were.
But I got it.
I had a new cabin mate. I had a monster for a half-brother.
SIX
DEMON PIGEONS ATTACK
The next few days were torture, just like Tantalus wanted.
First there was Tyson moving into the Poseidon cabin, giggling to himself every fifteen seconds and saying, “Percy is my brother?” like he’d just won the lottery.
“Aw, Tyson,” I’d say. “It’s not that simple.”
But there was no explaining it to him. He was in heaven. And me . . . as much as I liked the big guy, I couldn’t help feeling embarrassed. Ashamed. There, I said it.
My father, the all-powerful Poseidon, had gotten moony-eyed for some nature spirit, and Tyson had been the result. I mean, I’d read the myths about Cyclopes. I even remembered that they were often Poseidon’s children. But I’d never really processed that this made them my . . . family. Until I had Tyson living with me in the next bunk.
And then there were the comments from the other campers. Suddenly, I wasn’t Percy Jackson, the cool guy who’d retrieved Zeus’s lightning bolt last summer. Now I was Percy Jackson, the poor schmuck with the ugly monster for a brother.
“He’s not my real brother!” I protested whenever Tyson wasn’t around. “He’s more like a half-brother on the monstrous side of the family. Like . . . a half-brother twice removed, or something.”
Nobody bought it.
I admit—I was angry at my dad. I felt like being his son was now a joke.
Annabeth tried to make me feel better. She suggested we team up for the chariot race to take our minds off our problems. Don’t get me wrong—we both hated Tantalus and we were worried sick about camp—but we didn’t know what to do about it. Until we could come up with some brilliant plan to save Thalia’s tree, we figured we might as well go along with the races. After all, Annabeth’s mom, Athena, had invented the chariot, and my dad had created horses. Together we would own that track.
One morning Annabeth and I were sitting by the canoe lake sketching chariot designs when some jokers from Aphrodite’s cabin walked by and asked me if I needed to borrow some eyeliner for my eye . . . “Oh sorry, eyes .”
As they walked away laughing, Annabeth grumbled, “Just ignore them, Percy. It isn’t your fault you have a monster for a brother.”
“He’s not my brother!” I snapped. “And he’s not a monster, either!”
Annabeth raised her eyebrows. “Hey, don’t get mad at me! And technically, he is a monster.”
“Well you gave him permission to enter the camp.”
“Because it was the only way to save your life! I mean . . . I’m sorry, Percy, I didn’t expect Poseidon to claim him. Cyclopes are the most deceitful, treacherous—”
“He is not! What have you got against Cyclopes, anyway?”
Annabeth’s ears turned pink. I got the feeling there was something she wasn’t telling me—something bad.
“Just forget it,” she said. “Now, the axle for this chariot—”
“You’re treating him like he’s this horrible thing,” I said. “He saved my life.”
Annabeth threw down her pencil and stood. “Then maybe you should design a chariot with him .”
“Maybe I should.”
“Fine!”
“Fine!”
She stormed off and left me feeling even worse than before.
The next couple of days, I tried to keep my mind off my problems.
Silena Beauregard, one of the nicer girls from Aphrodite’s cabin, gave me my first riding lesson on a pegasus. She explained that there was only one immortal winged horse named Pegasus, who still wandered free somewhere in the skies, but over the eons he’d sired a lot of children, none quite so fast or heroic, but all named after the first and
Everybody laughed except Annabeth and a few of my other friends.
Tyson didn’t seem to notice. He was too mystified, trying to swat the glowing trident that was now fading over his head. He was too innocent to understand how much they were making fun of him, how cruel people were.
But I got it.
I had a new cabin mate. I had a monster for a half-brother.
SIX
DEMON PIGEONS ATTACK
The next few days were torture, just like Tantalus wanted.
First there was Tyson moving into the Poseidon cabin, giggling to himself every fifteen seconds and saying, “Percy is my brother?” like he’d just won the lottery.
“Aw, Tyson,” I’d say. “It’s not that simple.”
But there was no explaining it to him. He was in heaven. And me . . . as much as I liked the big guy, I couldn’t help feeling embarrassed. Ashamed. There, I said it.
My father, the all-powerful Poseidon, had gotten moony-eyed for some nature spirit, and Tyson had been the result. I mean, I’d read the myths about Cyclopes. I even remembered that they were often Poseidon’s children. But I’d never really processed that this made them my . . . family. Until I had Tyson living with me in the next bunk.
And then there were the comments from the other campers. Suddenly, I wasn’t Percy Jackson, the cool guy who’d retrieved Zeus’s lightning bolt last summer. Now I was Percy Jackson, the poor schmuck with the ugly monster for a brother.
“He’s not my real brother!” I protested whenever Tyson wasn’t around. “He’s more like a half-brother on the monstrous side of the family. Like . . . a half-brother twice removed, or something.”
Nobody bought it.
I admit—I was angry at my dad. I felt like being his son was now a joke.
Annabeth tried to make me feel better. She suggested we team up for the chariot race to take our minds off our problems. Don’t get me wrong—we both hated Tantalus and we were worried sick about camp—but we didn’t know what to do about it. Until we could come up with some brilliant plan to save Thalia’s tree, we figured we might as well go along with the races. After all, Annabeth’s mom, Athena, had invented the chariot, and my dad had created horses. Together we would own that track.
One morning Annabeth and I were sitting by the canoe lake sketching chariot designs when some jokers from Aphrodite’s cabin walked by and asked me if I needed to borrow some eyeliner for my eye . . . “Oh sorry, eyes .”
As they walked away laughing, Annabeth grumbled, “Just ignore them, Percy. It isn’t your fault you have a monster for a brother.”
“He’s not my brother!” I snapped. “And he’s not a monster, either!”
Annabeth raised her eyebrows. “Hey, don’t get mad at me! And technically, he is a monster.”
“Well you gave him permission to enter the camp.”
“Because it was the only way to save your life! I mean . . . I’m sorry, Percy, I didn’t expect Poseidon to claim him. Cyclopes are the most deceitful, treacherous—”
“He is not! What have you got against Cyclopes, anyway?”
Annabeth’s ears turned pink. I got the feeling there was something she wasn’t telling me—something bad.
“Just forget it,” she said. “Now, the axle for this chariot—”
“You’re treating him like he’s this horrible thing,” I said. “He saved my life.”
Annabeth threw down her pencil and stood. “Then maybe you should design a chariot with him .”
“Maybe I should.”
“Fine!”
“Fine!”
She stormed off and left me feeling even worse than before.
The next couple of days, I tried to keep my mind off my problems.
Silena Beauregard, one of the nicer girls from Aphrodite’s cabin, gave me my first riding lesson on a pegasus. She explained that there was only one immortal winged horse named Pegasus, who still wandered free somewhere in the skies, but over the eons he’d sired a lot of children, none quite so fast or heroic, but all named after the first and
Similar Books
