Amos clapped his hands. “Khufu!” I thought he’d sneezed, because Khufu is a weird name, but then a little dude about three feet tall with gold fur and a purple shirt came clambering down the stairs. It took me a second to realize it was a baboon wearing an L.A. Lakers jersey.

I looked down at my clothes. They were slashed to pieces and full of bullet holes, but I was fine. Not a mark on me. Nico's mouth hung open. "You just . . . with a sword . . . you just—" "I think the river thing worked," I said. "Oh gee," he said sarcastically. "You think?

The most important thing whenever we're connecting kids to books, is that we try to match the book to the kid and make sure that reading is a fun, rewarding experience outside the classroom.

Agh-uhh!” the baboon grunted. He turned and waddled up the stairs. Unfortunately, the Lakers jersey didn’t completely cover his multicolored rear.

Glad you're back to normal. The makeup and the dress were a lot more intimidating than the dagger." "Get going, Sparky, before I skewer you." "Sparky?

I picked up Pandora's jar. The spirit of Hope fluttered inside, trying to warm the cold container. "Hestia," I said, "I give this to you as an offering." The goddess tilted her head. "I am the least of the gods. Why would you trust me with this?" "You're the last Olympian," I said. "And the most important." "And why is that, Percy Jackson?" "Because Hope survives best at the hearth," I said. "Guard it for me, and I won't be tempted to give up again."

So why are we practicing this, anyway?" Percy asked. "Do you guys spend a lot of time laying siege to fortified cities?