Dear______ Peter Johnson_______ ,
If you intend to stay at Camp HalfBlood year-round, you must inform the Big House by noon today. If you do not announce your intentions, we will assume you have vacated your cabin or died a horrible death. Cleaning harpies will begin work at sundown. They will be authorized to eat any unregistered campers. All personal articles left behind will be incinerated in the lava pit.
Have a nice day!
Mr. D (Dionysus)
Camp Director, Olympian Council #12
That's another thing about ADHD. Deadlines just aren't real to me until I'm staring one in the face. Summer was over, and I still hadn't answered my mother, or the camp, about whether I'd be staying. Now I had only a few hours to decide.
The decision should have been easy. I mean, nine months of hero training or nine months of sitting in a classroom—duh.
But there was my mom to consider. For the first time, I had the chance to live with her for a whole year, without Gabe. I had a chance be at home and knock around the city in my free time. I remembered what Annabeth had said so long ago on our quest: The real world is where the monsters are. That's where you learn whether you're any good or not. I thought about the fate of Thalia, daughter of Zeus. I wondered how many monsters would attack me if I left HalfBlood Hill. If I stayed in one place for a whole school year, without Chiron or my friends around to help me, would my mother and I even survive until the next summer? That was assuming the spelling tests and five-paragraph essays didn't kill me. I decided I'd go down to the arena and do some sword practice. Maybe that would clear my head. The campgrounds were mostly deserted, shimmering in the August heat. All the campers were in their cabins packing up, or running around with brooms and mops, getting ready for final inspection. Argus was helping some of the Aphrodite kids haul their Gucci suitcases and makeup kits over the hill, where the camp's shuttle bus would be waiting to take them to the airport. Don't think about leaving yet, I told myself. Just train.
I got to the sword-fighters arena and found that Luke had had the same idea. His gym bag was plopped at the edge of the stage. He was working solo, whaling on battle dummies with a sword I'd never seen before. It must've been a regular steel blade, because he was slashing the dummies' heads right off, stabbing through their straw-stuffed guts. His orange counselor's shirt was dripping with sweat. His expression was so intense, his life might've really been in danger. I watched, fascinated, as he disemboweled the whole row of dummies, hacking off limbs and basically reducing them to a pile of straw and armor.
They were only dummies, but I still couldn't help being awed by Luke's skill. The guy was an incredible fighter. It made me wonder, again, how he possibly could've failed at his quest. Finally, he saw me, and stopped mid-swing. "Percy."
"Um, sorry," I said, embarrassed. "I just—"
"It's okay," he said, lowering his sword. "Just doing some last-minute practice."
"Those dummies won't be bothering anybody anymore."
Luke shrugged. "We build new ones every summer."
Now that his sword wasn't swirling around, I could see something odd about it. The blade was two different types of metal—one edge bronze, the other steel.
Luke noticed me looking at it. "Oh, this? New toy. This is Backbiter."
"Backbiter?"
Luke turned the blade in the light so it glinted wickedly. "One side is celestial bronze. The other is tempered steel. Works on mortals and immortals both."
I thought about what Chiron had told me when I started my quest—that a hero should never harm mortals unless absolutely necessary.
"I didn't know they could make weapons like that."
"They probably can't," Luke agreed. "It's one of a kind." He gave me a tiny smile, then slid the sword into its scabbard. "Listen, I was going to come looking for you. What do you say we go down to the woods one last time, look for something to fight?"
I don't know why I hesitated. I should've felt relieved that Luke was being so friendly. Ever since I'd gotten back from the quest, he'd been acting a little distant. I was afraid he might resent me for all the attention I'd gotten.
"You think it's a good idea?" I asked. "I mean—"
"Aw, come on." He rummaged in his gym bag and pulled out a six-pack of Cokes. "Drinks are on me."
I stared at the Cokes, wondering where the heck he'd gotten them. There were no regular mortal sodas at the camp store. No way to smuggle them in unless you talked to a satyr, maybe. Of course, the magic dinner goblets would fill with anything you want, but it just didn't taste the same as a real Coke, straight out of the can.
Sugar and caffeine. My willpower crumbled.