𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐒𝐞𝐞 𝐌𝐞 𝐈𝐧 𝐀 𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧 - 𝑷. 𝑱𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒔𝒐𝒏

𝐓𝐨𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐨𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐬, 𝐈'𝐦 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝

Once I got past the shock of my Latin teacher being a horse—yes, a horse—I managed to enjoy the tour. I was just careful not to walk behind him. I've cleaned up after enough floats in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade to know that trusting a horse's back end is like trusting a toddler with a cupcake.

We passed the volleyball pit, and I could practically hear the campers whispering, "Look! The new kid! He's got a minotaur horn! Bet he's got some great stories!" One of them even pointed and said, "That's him!" Great, now I'm "that guy."

Most of the campers looked older and sported satyr friends who were taller than Grover—who, by the way, could've been mistaken for a lawn gnome in his orange CAMP HALF-BLOOD shirt. Honestly, I felt like they were waiting for me to do a backflip or something. Spoiler alert: I can barely do a somersault.

I glanced back at the farmhouse. It was a lot bigger than I expected—four stories of sky-blue paint and white trim that screamed "upscale beach resort." I was admiring the brass eagle weather vane when I caught a glimpse of something moving in the attic window. I felt like a kid at a magic show who just saw the magician's assistant drop the rabbit.

"What's up there?" I asked Chiron, trying to sound casual.

He squinted at the window, and his smile faded faster than a magician's rabbit in a hat. "Just the attic."

"Someone lives there?"

"No," he said with finality. "Not a single living thing."

I got the feeling he was telling the truth. Still, I was convinced that curtain had just winked at me.

"Come on, Percy," Chiron said, his cheerful tone now about as convincing as a used car salesman's smile. "Lots to see!"

We strolled through the strawberry fields, where campers picked berries while a satyr played a tune on a reed pipe. Apparently, these strawberries were so good, they were exported to New York restaurants and Mount Olympus. Chiron mentioned that Mr. D's presence had a magical effect on plants. "They just go bananas! Well, not literally, since he's not allowed to grow those," he said. "Too many monkeys at camp."

As we wandered, I noticed the satyr's music sent bugs fleeing the strawberry patch like they'd just heard the fire alarm. I couldn't help but wonder if Grover had that same effect when he played—like an acoustic version of pest control.

"Grover won't get in too much trouble, right?" I asked Chiron. "He was a good protector, really."

Chiron sighed, shedding his tweed jacket and draping it over his horse back like a fancy saddle. "Grover has big dreams, Percy. Perhaps bigger than his little satyr frame can handle. To reach those dreams, he must first demonstrate great courage. Finding a new camper and bringing them safely to Half-Blood Hill."

"But he did that!"

"I might agree," Chiron said, "but the Council of Cloven Elders might not be so lenient. After all, he lost you in New York, and your mother... well, that didn't help his case. Plus, he was out cold when you crossed the property line. They might question whether this shows any courage on his part."

I wanted to argue. None of it was Grover's fault, but guilt was gnawing at me like a hungry squirrel. If I hadn't ditched him at the bus station, he might not be in hot water.

"He'll get another chance, right?"

Chiron winced. "That was Grover's second chance, Percy. The council is not eager to grant him a third, especially after five years ago. Trust me, I advised him to take a breather. He's still so small for his age."

"How old is he?"

"Oh, twenty-eight."

"What! And he's in sixth grade?"