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Annabeth and Marlowe were waiting for Percy and Tyson in an alley down Church Street. They pulled the two boys off the sidewalk just as a fire truck screamed past, heading for Meriwether Prep.
"Where'd you find him?" Annabeth demanded, pointing at Tyson.
Percy's first glance was quick. He didn't want to look at Annabeth for too long when she was mad...he had learned that the hard way.
But his second glance towards Marlowe, a much longer one, hurt way more. He winced under her harsh gaze, immediately feeling the anger radiating off her body.
He knew he was to blame, too. The situation would have been much easier to handle if he had just said goodbye. Like a real friend.
No, instead he wimped out for some reason that he still couldn't understand. The way he felt around Marlowe was different than any other girl, but he didn't know if it was good or bad.
He trusted her, but with her tense green eyes boring a hole within his soul, Percy took a hesitant step back.
"He's my friend," he told Annabeth, trying to appear taller while stealing glances at Marlowe.
"Is he homeless?" Annabeth inquired. She narrowed her eyes between Percy and Marlowe, immediately catching on to the tension hanging in the air. Not the right time, dumbasses.
"What does that have to do with anything? He can hear you, you know. Why don't you ask him?"
She looked surprised. "He can talk?"
"I talk," Tyson admitted. "You are pretty."
"Ah! Gross!" Annabeth stepped away from him.
"Tyson," Percy said in disbelief. "Your hands aren't even burned."
"Of course not," Annabeth muttered. "I'm surprised the Laistrygonians had the guts to attack you with him around."
Since Annabeth made it nearly impossible to be near, Tyson focused his attention on Marlowe's blonde hair. He reached for her ponytail, and she didn't even make an effort to move.
The sudden distraction allowed Marlowe to relax her muscles and take her gaze off of Percy. She glanced up at Tyson and gave him a friendly smile, which he returned.
"Annabeth," Percy said, "what are you talking about? Laistry—what?"
"Laistrygonians. The monsters in the gym. They're a race of giant cannibals who live in the far north. Odysseus ran into them once, but I've never seen them as far south as New York before."
"Laistry—I can't even say that. What would you call them in English?"
Marlowe sighed. "Canadians," she said. Then she muttered, "Sorry, Frank."
Annabeth hit Marlowe's shoulder and nodded her head behind them. She already started walking backwards, saying, "Come on, we have to get out of here."
