"Just write a book" they said. "It'll be easy," they said, "Everyone gets published these days." Yeah, well, it's a little harder when your editors are gods that will turn you into a gecko and use you as a ping pong ball if you don't write them exac...
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IF YOU'RE READING THIS, I'M ASSUMING YOU ALREADY KNOW THE DEAL. I mean, the title is literally "Demigod Survival Guide," and Chiron promised this would only be sold in the camp store. What I'm saying is, you're probably one of us, and you already know it.
But maybe you're not. Maybe someone got a little lazy and left this book lying around, and now you're reading it because you think it's just a fun little story. If that's the case, fine. Read on. None of this will mean anything to you, and maybe my endless suffering will bring you amusement. It'd be one of the better things to come out of it.
I mean, it's not like I'm getting paid.
A quick warning, though. If you recognize anything in here? If it "just feels right" and suddenly things start making sense? Put the book down. Right now. Burn it, bury it, get it as far away as you can and try to forget. That's not some "ah ha!" moment, that's a threat on your life.
Once you know the truth, you become like a magnet. Your only choice is to write a letter to your loved ones, buy a one way ticket to Long Island Sound, and pray to whatever god you believe in you don't die one the way there.
Hey, maybe this book will help. Or maybe it will just make you want to feed yourself to the first monster to come across. Who can say?
Oh. Wait. Me.
♆
I WAS TWELVE AND MY LIFE WAS TOTALLY NORMAL. As normal as my life could be, anyway. My brother and I had almost finished a year of our incarceration in Yancy Academy. It wasn't actually a prison, but man, it might as well have been. A private school for "troubled" kids, the teachers acted like we were all hardened criminals instead of bored-to-death-sixth graders.
Except when they decided to pile twenty eight of us onto a bus drive us to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. With only two teachers. Genius work, everyone. I can't see how this would go wrong.
To be fair to our teachers, it probably would have gone totally fine. Maybe someone would stick gum on one of the Greek statues we were forced to stare at, at worst.
Except they had decided to bring Percy and me. Which means this field trip was basically doomed to fail.
I don't think I've ever had a good field trip in my life. Normally it was Percy's fault. He has this really bad habit of almost getting us killed. Like the time he dropped the entire class into a shark pool. Or the one he blew up the school bus with a Revolutionary War cannon.
