Coach Hedge grunted like he was pleased to have an excuse. He unclipped the megaphone from his belt and continued giving directions, but his voice came out like Darth Vader's. The kids cracked up. The coach tried again, but this time the megaphone blared: "The cow says moo!

Mr. D," Grover asked timidly, "if you're not going to eat it, could I have your Diet Coke can?

Ma’at demands a leader.” “Yeah so I’ve heard.

The meeting was like a war council with donuts. Then again, back at Camp Half-Blood they used to have their most serious discussions around the Ping-Pong table in the rec room with crackers and Cheez Whiz, so Percy felt right at home.

Apollo?” I guessed… He put a finger to his lips. “I’m incognito. Call me Fred.” A god named Fred?

But she wondered why beautiful things had to be wrapped up with evil history. Or was it the other way around? Maybe the evil history made it necessary to build beautiful things, to mask the darker aspects.

I was a fight to the death, and I felt great.