At the bottom, she wrote a P.S.: Percy, I've found a good private school here in the city. I've put a deposit down to hold you a spot, in case you want to enroll for seventh grade. You could live at home. But if you want to go year-round at HalfBlood Hill, I'll understand. I folded the note carefully and set it on my bedside table. Every night before I went to sleep, I read it again, and I tried to decide how to answer her.
On the Fourth of July, the whole camp gathered at the beach for a fireworks display by cabin nine. Being Hephaestus's kids, they weren't going to settle for a few lame red-white-and-blue explosions. They'd anchored a barge offshore and loaded it with rockets the size of Patriot missiles. According to Annabeth, who'd seen the show before, the blasts would be sequenced so tightly they'd look like frames of animation across the sky. The finale was supposed to be a couple of hundred-foot-tall Spartan warriors who would crackle to life above the ocean, fight a battle, then explode into a million colors.
As Annabeth and I were spreading a picnic blanket, Grover showed up to tell us good-bye. He was dressed in his usual jeans and T-shirt and sneakers, but in the last few weeks he'd started to look older, almost high-school age. His goatee had gotten thicker. He'd put on weight. His horns had grown at least an inch, so he now had to wear his rasta cap all the time to pass as human.
"I'm off," he said. "I just came to say ... well, you know." I tried to feel happy for him. After all, it wasn't every day a satyr got permission to go look for the great god Pan. But it was hard saying good-bye. I'd only known Grover a year, yet he was my oldest friend.
Annabeth gave him a hug. She told him to keep his fake feet on.
I asked him where he was going to search first.
"Kind of a secret," he said, looking embarrassed. "I wish you could come with me, guys, but humans and Pan ..."
"We understand," Annabeth said. "You got enough tin cans for the trip?"
"Yeah."
"And you remembered your reed pipes?"
"Jeez, Annabeth," he grumbled. "You're like an old mama goat." But he didn't really sound annoyed.
He gripped his walking stick and slung a backpack over his shoulder. He looked like any hitchhiker you might see on an American highway—nothing like the little runty boy I used to defend from bullies at Yancy Academy.
"Well," he said, "wish me luck."
He gave Annabeth another hug. He clapped me on the shoulder, then headed back through the dunes.
Fireworks exploded to life overhead: Hercules killing the Nemean lion, Artemis chasing the boar, George Washington (who, by the way, was a son of Athena) crossing the Delaware.
"Hey, Grover," I called.
He turned at the edge of the woods.
"Wherever you're going—I hope they make good enchiladas."
Grover grinned, and then he was gone, the trees closing around him.
"We'll see him again," Annabeth said.
I tried to believe it. The fact that no searcher had ever come back in two thousand years ... well, I decided not to think about that. Grover would be the first. He had to be. July passed.
I spent my days devising new strategies for capture-the-flag and making alliances with the other cabins to keep the banner out of Ares's hands. I got to the top of the climbing wall for the first time without getting scorched by lava.
From time to time, I'd walk past the Big House, glance up at the attic windows, and think about the Oracle. I tried to convince myself that its prophecy had come to completion. You shall go west, and face the god who has turned.
Been there, done that—even though the traitor god had turned out to be Ares rather than Hades.
You shall find what was stolen, and see it safe returned.
Check. One master bolt delivered. One helm of darkness back on Hades's oily head. You shall be betrayed by one who calls you a friend.
This line still bothered me. Ares had pretended to be my friend, then betrayed me. That must be what the Oracle meant....
And you shall fail to save what matters most, in the end.
I had failed to save my mom, but only because I'd let her save herself, and I knew that was the right thing.
So why was I still uneasy?
The last night of the summer session came all too quickly.
The campers had one last meal together. We burned part of our dinner for the gods. At the bonfire, the senior counselors awarded the end-of-summer beads.
I got my own leather necklace, and when I saw the bead for my first summer, I was glad the firelight covered my blushing. The design was pitch black, with a seagreen trident shimmering in the center.
"The choice was unanimous," Luke announced. "This bead commemorates the first Son of the Sea God at this camp, and the quest he undertook into the darkest part of the Underworld to stop a war!"
The entire camp got to their feet and cheered. Even Ares's cabin felt obliged to stand. Athena's cabin steered Annabeth to the front so she could share in the applause. I'm not sure I'd ever felt as happy or sad as I did at that moment. I'd finally found a family, people who cared about me and thought I'd done something right. And in the morning, most of them would be leaving for the year.
*
The next morning, I found a form letter on my bedside table.
I knew Dionysus must've filled it out, because he stubbornly insisted on getting my name wrong: