Bes had indeed put on his ugly outfit. He climbed onto the roof of the limbo and stood there, legs planted, arms akimbo, like superman-exept with only the underwear. I wasn't sure what to say except: "Put some clothes on!" "These children are under my protection," Bes insisted. "I don't know you," I said, "I never met you before today." "Nonsense. You expressly asked for my attention." "I didn't ask for the Speedo Patrol!

He pinched the name tag and ran his fingers under the letters. "Can you read this, mate? It says C-H-A-R-O-N. Say it with me: CARE-ON." "Charon." "Amazing! Now: Mr. Charon." "Mr. Charon." "Well done.

About the prophecy that Rachel did at the end of "The Last Olympian," Percy Jackson will participate this prophecy, along with Annabeth? Sorry for spelling errors

You're Bes, I guess?" I said. "Yes," he said. "Your car's a mess," Liz muttered. "If one more person rhymes," Emma grumbled, "I'll throw up.

Laistry....I can't even say that. What would you call them in English?" "Canadians.

Deadlines just aren't real to me until I'm staring one in the face.

I try to craft books that are fun, that are sort of subversively educational so kids learn but they don't really feel like they're being lectured to, and I want kids to always finish one of my books and think, "That was great, where's the next one?"