Reading the Books: Book 1

I Accidentally Vaporize My Pre-Algebra Teacher

Chaos pulled out the first book. "Okay! So, the first book is The Lightning Thief. Who's reading first?"

Athena raised her hand," I guess I will." Chaos passed the book over to Athena.

"Let's see, I Accidentally Vaporize My Pre-Algebra Teacher. That's, unfortunate. Also, what's pre-algebra?"

Chaos shrugged," It's math, but before it gets hard."

Athena shrugged," I don't think it could be that hard, just follow the formulas, but I am the wisdom goddess so, I'll give you that. Also, why make language mandatory? Demigods have language problems when trying to read languages other than Greek, and it makes it that much harder on my kids, or well, our kids. But, on to reading."

Look, I didn't want to be a half-blood.

"Why not? It's awesome, you are better than everyone else," Heracles protested.

If you're reading this because you think you might be one, my advice is: close this book right now. Believe whatever lie your mom or dad told you about your birth, and try to lead a normal life.

"Why would your mortal parent lie to a demigod about their birth? Why wouldn't a demigod be ecstatic to find out they are a child of the gods," Hercules questioned. The mortals didn't have the heart to tell him that mortals nowadays don't know about the gods.

Being a half-blood is dangerous. It's scary. Most of the time, it gets you killed in painful, nasty ways.

Hercules boasted," You only get killed if you are a weakling!" Ares agreed while Artemis rolled her eyes at their toxic masculinity.

If you're a normal kid, reading this because you think it's fiction, great. Read on. I envy you for being able to believe that none of this ever happened.

But if you recognize yourself in these pages - if you feel something stirring inside - stop reading immediately. You might be one of us. And once you know that, it's only a matter of time before they sense it too, and they'll come for you.

"Geez, he makes it sound like it's a gang," Tristan said.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

"You didn't warn me," Apollo and Hermes chorused.

My name is Percy Jackson. I'm twelve years old. Until a few months ago, I was a boarding student at Yancy Academy, a private school for troubled kids in upstate New York.

"Oh, I've heard about that school," Sally perked up.

Am I a troubled kid? Yeah. You could say that.

I could start at any point in my short miserable life to prove it, but things really started going bad last May, when our sixth-grade class took a field trip to Manhattan - twenty-eight mental-case kids and two teachers on a yellow school bus, heading to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to look at ancient Greek and Roman stuff.

"Roman? What's that," Persephone asked?

"It's an ancient civilization, at least, ancient to us. It probably has not happened yet, for you guys," Maria answered kindly.

I know - it sounds like torture. Most Yancy field trips were.

But Mr. Brunner, our Latin teacher, was leading this trip, so I had hopes. Mr. Brunner was this middle-aged guy in a motorized wheelchair. He had thinning hair and a scruffy beard and a frayed tweed jacket, which always smelled like coffee. You wouldn't think he'd be cool, but he told stories and jokes and let us play games in class. He also had this awesome collection of Roman armor and weapons, so he was the only teacher whose class didn't put me to sleep.