In which, Adira Lancaster falls in love with her rival, Percy Jackson
OR
he falls in love with her first, unknowingly.
She only seemed to think about a rivalry. Nothing else. Zilch. Nada. Zip.
-disclaimer- I do not own the Percy Jackson Books, or an...
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The war god was waiting for us in the diner parking lot.
"Well, well," he said. "You didn't get yourself killed."
"You knew it was a trap," Percy said.
Ares gave me a wicked grin. "Bet that crippled blacksmith was surprised when he netted a couple of stupid kids. You looked good on TV. Especially the couple." My hand balled into a fist.
Percy shoved his shield at him. "You're a asshole."
Grover caught his breath.
Ares grabbed the shield and spun it in the air like pizza dough. It changed form, melting into a bulletproof vest. He slung it across his back.
"See that truck over there?" He pointed to an eighteen-wheeler parked across the street from the diner. "That's your ride. Take you straight to L.A., with one stop in Vegas."
The eighteen-wheeler had a sign on the back, which I could read only because it was reverse-printed white on black, a good combination for dyslexia: KINDNESS INTERNATIONAL:HUMANE ZOO TRANSPORT. WARNING: LIVE WILD ANIMALS.
I scoffed, "You're kidding."
Ares snapped his fingers. The back door of the truck unlatched. "Free ride west, girlie. Stop complaining. And here's a little something for doing the job."
He slung a blue nylon backpack off his handlebars and tossed it to me. Inside were fresh clothes for all of us, twenty bucks in cash, a pouch full of golden drachmas, and a bag of Double Stuf Oreos.
Percy began, "I don't want your lousy—"
"Thank you, Lord Ares," Grover interrupted, giving Percy his best red-alert warning look. "Thanks a lot."
I gritted my teeth. It was probably a deadly insult to refuse something from a god, but I didn't want anything that Ares had touched. Reluctantly, Percy slung the backpack over his shoulder. My hand was sweaty from it being balled in a fist. I knew my anger was being caused by the war god's presence, but I was still itching to punch him in the nose. He reminded me of every bully I'd ever faced: Nancy Bobofit, Clarisse. The annoying ones.
I looked back at the diner, which had only a couple of customers now. The waitress who'd served us dinner was watching nervously out the window, like she was afraid Ares might've chopped us into pieces and stuck them in a jar.
She dragged the fry cook out from the kitchen to see. She said something to him. He nodded, held up a little disposable camera and snapped a picture of us.
