Chapter 49: Waking up.
Percy had weird dreams full of barnyard animals. Most of them wanted to kill him. The rest wanted food.
Percy must've woken up several times, but what he heard and saw made no sense, so he just passed out again. Percy remembered lying in a soft bed, being spoon-fed something that tasted like buttered popcorn, only it was pudding. The girl with curly blond hair hovered over him, smirking as she scraped drips off his chin with a spoon.
When she saw his eyes open, she asked, "What will happen at the summer solstice?"
He managed to croak, What?"
She looked around, as if afraid someone would overhear. "What's going on? What was stolen? We've only got a few weeks!"
He's sorry I told her for him.
"Who are you?" She asked. I told her I'm Percy's older brother James Jackson who might you be?"
Somebody knocked on the door, and the girl quickly filled my little brother's mouth with pudding.
The next time he woke up, the girl was gone.
A husky blond dude, like a surfer, stood in the corner of the bedroom keeping watch over my little brother. He had blue eyes-----at least a dozen of them-----on his cheeks, his forehead, the backs of his hands.
When my little brother finally came around for good, there was nothing weird about his surroundings, except that they were nicer than he was used to. He was sitting in a deck chair by his older brother on a huge porch, gazing across a meadow at green hills in the distance.
The breeze smelled like strawberries. There was a blanket over his legs, a pillow behind his neck. All that was great, but Percy's mouth tasted like a scorpion had been using it for a nest. Percy's tongue was dry and nasty.
On the table next to him was a tall drink. It looked like iced apple juice, with a green straw and a paper parasol stuck through a maraschino cherry.
His hands was so weak he almost dropped the glass once he got his fingers around it.
"Careful," two familiar voices said.
Grover and my older brother James was both leaning against the porch railing, looking like they both haven't slept in a week. Grover was wearing blue jeans, Converse hi-tops and a bright orange T-shirt that said CAMP HALF-BLOOD. Just plain old Grover. Not the goat boy.
While James was wearing blue jeans, a white muscle shirt and a black leather jacket with black shoes.
So maybe he had a nightmare. Maybe our mom was okay. We were still on vacation, and we'd stopped here at this big house for some reason. And . . .
You saved my life, Grover told James. He said it was nothing.
James said that he saved our mom before the Minotaur could kill her and he brought her back to New York.
His little brother was happy about that and James told him that this is the camp our dad wanted to send us to.
"I'm a failure. I'm-----im the worst satyr in the world". Grover said.
He moaned, stomping his foot so hard it came off. We mean, the Converse hi-top came off. The inside was filled with Styrofoam, except for a hoof-shaped hole.
"Oh, Styx!" he mumbled.
Thunder rolled across the clear sky.
As he struggled to get his hoof back in the fake foot, We thought, Well, that settles it.
Grover was a satyr. We were willing to bet that if we shaved his curly brown hair, we'd find tiny horns on his head.
Grover was still sniffling. The poor kid----poor goat, satyr, whatever-----looked as if he expected to be hit.
We said, "It wasn't your fault."
"Yes, it was. I was supposed to protect you both."
"Did our mother ask you to protect us?"
"No. But that's my job. I'm a keeper. At least . . . I was."
"But why . . ." Percy suddenly felt dizzy, his vision swimming.
"Don't strain yourself, James and Grover both said. "Here."
James helped his brother Percy hold his glass and put the straw to his lips.
Percy recoiled at the taste, because he was expecting apple juice. It wasn't that at all. It was chocolate-chip cookies.
Liquid cookies. And not just any cookies-----our mom's homemade blue chocolate-chip cookies, buttery and hot, with the chips melting. Drinking it, his whole body felt warm and good, full of energy. It felt as if our mom had just brushed her hand against our cheeks, given us a cookie the way she used to when we were small, and told us everything was going to be okay.
Before Percy knew it, he'd drained the glass. He stared into it, sure he'd just had a warm drink, but the ice cubes hadn't even melted.
"Was it good?" Grover asked.
Percy nodded.
"What did it taste like?" He sounded so wistful, Percy felt guilty.
"Sorry," he said. I should've let you taste."
His eyes got wide. "No!" That's not what I meant. I just . . . wondered."
"Chocolate-chip cookies," Percy said. "Our mom's. Homemade."
He sighed. "And how do you feel?"
"Like he could throw Nancy Bobofit a hundred yards" James said.
"That's good," he said. "That's good. I don't think you could risk drinking any more of that stuff."
"What do you mean?"
He took the empty glass from Percy gingerly, as if it were dynamite, and set it back on the table. "Come on. Chiron and Mr. D are waiting."
Chapter 50: Meeting Mr. D.
The porch wrapped all the way around the farmhouse.
Percy's legs felt wobbly, trying to walk that far.
As we came around the opposite end of the house, Percy caught his breath.
We must've been on the north shore of Long Island, because on this side of the house, the valley marched all the way up to the water, which glittered about a mile in the distance. Between here and there, Percy simply couldn't process everything he was seeing. The landscape was dotted with buildings that looked like ancient Greek architecture-----an open-air pavilion, an amphitheater, a circular arena----except that they all looked brand new, their white marble columns sparkling in the sun. In a nearby sandpit, a dozen high school-age kids and satyrs played volleyball. Canoes glided across a small lake. Kids in bright orange T-shirts like Grover's were chasing each other around a cluster of cabins nestled in the woods. Some shot targets at an archery range.
Others rode horses down a wooded trail, and, unless we was hallucinating, some of their horses had wings.
Down at the end of the porch, two men sat across from each other at a card table. The blond-haired girl who'd spoon-fed my little brother popcorn-flavored pudding was leaning on the porch rail next to them.
The man facing us was small, but porky. He had a red nose, big watery eyes, and curly hair so black it was almost purple. He looked like those paintings of baby angels-----what do you call them, hubbubs? No, cherubs. That's it. He looked like a cherub who'd turned middle-aged in a trailer park. He wore a tiger-pattern Hawaiian shirt, and he would've fit right in at one of Gabe's poker parties, except we got the feeling this guy could've out-gambled even our step-father.
"That's Mr. D," Grover murmured to us. "He's the camp director. Be polite. The girl, that's Annabeth Chase. She's just a camper, but she's been here longer than just about anybody. And you already know Chiron. . . ."
He pointed to the guy who's back was to us.
First, we realized he was sitting in the wheelchair. Then we recognized the tweed jacket, the thinning brown hair, the scraggly beard.
"Mr. Brunner!" We cried.
The Latin teacher turned and smiled at us. His eyes had that mischievous glint they sometimes got in class when he pulled a pop quiz and made all the multiple choice answers B.
James asked, if Mr. D can see his wife and he said no. Then he left calling me and Percy, Perry and Jameson.
I asked Chiron, "why can't he bring her here?"
He said that maybe he could do that and then left with us to tour the camp without his wheelchair. As he is a centaur.