𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐲 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐥𝐲𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐬 (𝐩𝐭.𝟏)

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟒𝟓

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐘

The Friday before winter break, my mom packed me an overnight bag and a few deadly weapons and took me to a new boarding school. We picked up my friends Annabeth, Olivia, Diane and Thalia on the way.

It was an eight-hour drive from New York to Bar Harbor, Maine. Sleet and snow pounded the highway. The girls and I hadn't seen each other in months, but between the blizzard and the thought of what we were about to do, we were too nervous to talk much. Except for my mom. She talks more when she's nervous. By the time we finally got to Westover Hall, it was getting dark, and she'd told Annabeth and Thalia every embarrassing baby story there was to tell about me.

Thalia wiped the fog off the car window and peered outside. "Oh, yeah. This'll be fun."

Westover Hall looked like an evil knight's castle. It was all black stone, with towers and slit windows and a big set of wooden double doors. It stood on a snowy cliff overlooking this big frosty forest on one side and the gray churning ocean on the other.

"Are you sure you don't want me to wait?" my mother asked.

"No, thanks, Mom," I said. "I don't know how long it will take. We'll be okay."

"But how will you get back? I'm worried, Percy."

I hoped I wasn't blushing. It was bad enough I had to depend on my mom to drive me to my battles.

"It's okay, Ms. Jackson." Diane smiled reassuringly. Her brown hair was tucked into a white ski cap and her brown eyes were black. "We'll keep him out of trouble."

My mom seemed to relax a little. She thinks Diane is the most levelheaded demigod ever to hit eighth grade. She's sure Diane often keeps me from getting killed. She's right, but that doesn't mean I have to like it.

"All right, dears," my mom said. "Do you have everything you need?"

"Yes, Ms. Jackson," Thalia said. "Thanks for the ride."

"Extra sweaters? You have my cell phone number?"

"Mom—"

"Your ambrosia and nectar, Percy? And a golden drachma in case you need to contact camp?"

"Mom, seriously! We'll be fine. Come on, guys."

She looked a little hurt, and I was sorry about that, but I was ready to be out of that car. If my mom told one more story about how cute I looked in the bathtub when I was three years old, I was going to burrow into the snow and freeze myself to death.

The girls ollowed me outside. The wind blew straight through my coat like ice daggers.

Once my mother's car was out of sight, Thalia said, "Your mom is so cool, Percy."

"She's pretty okay," I admitted. "What about you? You ever get in touch with your mom?"

As soon as I said it, I wished I hadn't. Thalia was great at giving evil looks, what with the punk clothes she always wears—the ripped-up army jacket, black leather pants and chain jewelry, the black eyeliner and those intense dark eyes. But the look she gave me now was a perfect evil "ten."