The Lightning Thief Read Free

realized I got my essay on Tom Sawyer from the Internet without ever reading the book and now they were going to take away my grade. Or worse, they were going to make me read the book.
    “Well?” she demanded.
    “Ma’am, I don’t . . .”
    “Your time is up,” she hissed.
    Then the weirdest thing happened. Her eyes began to glow like barbecue coals. Her fingers stretched, turning into talons. Her jacket melted into large, leathery wings. She wasn’t human. She was a shriveled hag with bat wings and claws and a mouth full of yellow fangs, and she was about to slice me to ribbons.
    Then things got even stranger.
    Mr. Brunner, who’d been out in front of the museum a minute before, wheeled his chair into the doorway of the gallery, holding a pen in his hand.
    “What ho, Percy!” he shouted, and tossed the pen through the air.
    Mrs. Dodds lunged at me.
    With a yelp, I dodged and felt talons slash the air next to my ear. I snatched the ballpoint pen out of the air, but when it hit my hand, it wasn’t a pen anymore. It was a sword—Mr. Brunner’s bronze sword, which he always used on tournament day.
    Mrs. Dodds spun toward me with a murderous look in her eyes.
    My knees were jelly. My hands were shaking so bad I almost dropped the sword.
    She snarled, “Die, honey!”
    And she flew straight at me.
    Absolute terror ran through my body. I did the only thing that came naturally: I swung the sword.
    The metal blade hit her shoulder and passed clean through her body as if she were made of water. Hisss!
    Mrs. Dodds was a sand castle in a power fan. She exploded into yellow powder, vaporized on the spot, leaving nothing but the smell of sulfur and a dying screech and a chill of evil in the air, as if those two glowing red eyes were still watching me.
    I was alone.
    There was a ballpoint pen in my hand.
    Mr. Brunner wasn’t there. Nobody was there but me.
    My hands were still trembling. My lunch must’ve been contaminated with magic mushrooms or something.
    Had I imagined the whole thing?
    I went back outside.
    It had started to rain.
    Grover was sitting by the fountain, a museum map tented over his head. Nancy Bobofit was still standing there, soaked from her swim in the fountain, grumbling to her ugly friends. When she saw me, she said, “I hope Mrs. Kerr whipped your butt.”
    I said, “Who?”
    “Our teacher . Duh!”
    I blinked. We had no teacher named Mrs. Kerr. I asked Nancy what she was talking about.
    She just rolled her eyes and turned away.
    I asked Grover where Mrs. Dodds was.
    He said, “Who?”
    But he paused first, and he wouldn’t look at me, so I thought he was messing with me.
    “Not funny, man,” I told him. “This is serious.”
    Thunder boomed overhead.
    I saw Mr. Brunner sitting under his red umbrella, reading his book, as if he’d never moved.
    I went over to him.
    He looked up, a little distracted. “Ah, that would be my pen. Please bring your own writing utensil in the future, Mr. Jackson.”
    I handed Mr. Brunner his pen. I hadn’t even realized I was still holding it.
    “Sir,” I said, “where’s Mrs. Dodds?”
    He stared at me blankly. “Who?”
    “The other chaperone. Mrs. Dodds. The pre-algebra teacher.”
    He frowned and sat forward, looking mildly concerned. “Percy, there is no Mrs. Dodds on this trip. As far as I know, there has never been a Mrs. Dodds at Yancy Academy. Are you feeling all right?”

THREE OLD LADIES KNIT THE SOCKS OF DEATH
    I was used to the occasional weird experience, but usually they were over quickly. This twenty-four/seven hallucination was more than I could handle. For the rest of the school year, the entire campus seemed to be playing some kind of trick on me. The students acted as if they were completely and totally convinced that Mrs. Kerr—a perky blond woman whom I’d never seen in my life until she got on our bus at the end of the field trip—had been our pre-algebra teacher since Christmas.
    Every so often I would spring a Mrs. Dodds