Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Chalice of the Gods

‘And his mother is very proud of him,’ ” my mom chipped in, “ ‘though college would be a wonderful experience, as it might teach him to do his own laundry.’ ”

“You’re all terrible people,” I said. “Delete, delete.”

Well, crap,” I said.

Well, crap, wrote the fancy calligraphy.

“No! Delete!” I said.

I may have blushed. It’s one thing being called the son of Poseidon. Getting noticed for being anything like my mom, though . . . that’s a compliment.

pasta is like a best friend: you can’t stay mad at it forever.

Me: Yeah, I know.

Athena: I can’t believe my daughter is still dating you.

Me: Love is a mystery. Please don’t kill me?

Athena: . . . . . .

Me: . . . . . .

Rawwwwwr, said the lion.

Everyone around the table laughed.

“That’s right, Lucius!” Zeus agreed. “She roared! After that . . .”

I want to meet Annabeth Chase,” she said. “I want a selfie and an autograph.”

“I— Really?”

“She’s my hero!” Barbara said.

“No, I get that. She’s my hero, too.

Can’t miss him. He’s the one sweating—”

“Greek fire. Got it.

Because yes, even Mount Olympus has pigeons.)

Gary was laughing at me and reminiscing about how, when he was a kid, they ran barefoot uphill five miles to Olympus and they liked it.