Deep Water, Percy Jackson

MISTAKE THREE: I Mentioned The Oracle

Looking back now, I have no idea how I didn't realise it sooner. What other possible explanation could there be?

I guess, though, when you're twelve and soaked in toilet water, you have more important things to do than realise that the new kid is the son of Poseidon. Namely, working through your complete and utter humiliation. Cold water dripped from my drenched hair onto my face. The bathroom was completely flooded. I kicked at the water lightly, sending a splash bouncing off of the tiled walls. Annabeth, opposite me, was wringing out her hair in a desperate attempt to dry off. Percy, however, was completely, inexplicably, dry.

He stood up slowly, on shaky legs. Annabeth looked at him with wide, uncertain eyes. "How did you..."

Never in my life had I seen Annabeth at a loss for words.

Percy took a moment to respond, green eyes surveying the wreckage. "I don't know."

We walked to the door. Outside, Clarisse and her friends were sprawled in the mud, and a swarm of other campers had gathered around to stare and laugh. Clarisse's dark hair was flattened across her face. Her camouflage jacket was sopping and she smelled like sewage. I couldn't imagine I smelled much better, though, so maybe it wasn't my place to comment.

She gave Percy a look of absolute hatred —— more than usual. "You are dead, new boy. You are totally dead."

Percy bit back, "You want to gargle with toilet water again, Clarisse? Close your mouth."

Her friends had to hold her back. They dragged her toward Cabin Five, while the other campers made way to avoid her flailing feet. I made eye contact with Travis Stoll, who shot me a look of surprise that teetered on grudging respect. I was sure I mirrored it.

Annabeth stared at the new boy for a long time, considering.

"What?" he asked, "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking," she declared, "that I want you on my team for capture the flag."

"Oh, what, and you didn't want me and Luke on it already?" I retorted.

Annabeth scoffed. "Can you do that?"

I paused, reluctant. "No, but there aren't any toilets in the forest."

Annabeth laughed, as if that was a stupid thing to say. Percy frowned, and I took him by the wrist, leading him towards the armoury. Annabeth was left to read her book, which she seemed glad about.

He was, as I'd suspected, a size three. And also pretty poor at swordsmanship. I told him Luke would get round to teaching him when it was on his schedule. I showed him a few more places —— the metal shop, where people (mainly Hephaestus kids) would forge their swords, the arts and craft room where satyrs were making a marble statue, and the climbing wall. Finally, we reached the canoe lake.

"I've got training soon," I eventually decided, "Dinner's at half seven. You have to sit at the Cabin Eleven table —— don't worry, there's enough seats."

It was getting close, though. Any more campers, and we'd probably be sitting on the floor. I wondered if someone would do something then. Probably not.

"Vikas, I'm sorry about the toilets. It wasn't my fault."

I looked at the taller boy sceptically. It was his fault, really. He didn't want to get his head stuck in the toilet, so somehow he'd made the valves burst. A fair reaction, in complete honesty, but not something I'd ever seen in my five years at camp.

"You should probably talk to the Oracle," I decided.

Luke would hate me for saying that. He despised the Oracle, despised prophecies, despised quests. I couldn't blame him, but the Oracle undoubtedly had her uses. Even if she did give me the heebie-jeebies.