Chapter 3

3. 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 reference on somebody, just to see

if I could trip them up, but they would stare at me like I was psycho.

It got so I almost believed them—Mrs. Dodds had never existed.

Almost.

But Grover couldn’t fool me. When I mentioned the name Dodds to him, he

would hesitate, then claim she didn’t exist. But I knew he was lying.

Something was going on. Something had happened at the museum.

I didn’t have much time to think about it during the days, but at night, visions

of Mrs. Dodds with talons and leathery wings would wake me up in a cold sweat.

The freak weather continued, which didn’t help my mood. One night, a

thunderstorm blew out the windows in my dorm room. A few days later, the biggest

tornado ever spotted in the Hudson Valley touched down only fifty miles from

Yancy Academy. One of the current events we studied in social studies class was the

unusual number of small planes that had gone down in sudden squalls in the Atlantic

that year.

I started feeling cranky and irritable most of the time. My grades slipped from

Ds to Fs. I got into more fights with Nancy Bobofit and her friends. I was sent out

into the hallway in almost every class.

Finally, when our English teacher, Mr. Nicoll, asked me for the millionth time

why I was too lazy to study for spelling tests, I snapped. I called him an old sot. I

wasn’t even sure what it meant, but it sounded good. The headmaster sent my mom a letter the following week, making it official: I

would not be invited back next year to Yancy Academy.

Fine, I told myself. Just fine.

I was homesick.

I wanted to be with my mom in our little apartment on the Upper East Side,

even if I had to go to public school and put up with my obnoxious stepfather and his

stupid poker parties.

And yet... there were things I’d miss at Yancy. The view of the woods out my

dorm window, the Hudson River in the distance, the smell of pine trees. I’d miss

Grover, who’d been a good friend, even if he was a little strange. I worried how he’d

survive next year without me.

I’d miss Latin class, too—Mr. Brunner’s crazy tournament days and his faith

that I could do well.

As exam week got closer, Latin was the only test I studied for. I hadn’t

forgotten what Mr.

Brunner had told me about this subject being life-and-death for me. I wasn’t

sure why, but I’d started to believe him.

The evening before my final, I got so frustrated I threw the Cambridge Guide

to Greek Mythology across my dorm room. Words had started swimming off the

page, circling my head, the letters doing one-eighties as if they were riding

skateboards. There was no way I was going to remember the difference between

Chiron and Charon, or Polydictes and Polydeuces. And conjugating those Latin

verbs? Forget it.

I paced the room, feeling like ants were crawling around inside my shirt.

I remembered Mr. Brunner’s serious expression, his thousand-year-old eyes. I

will accept only the best from you, Percy Jackson.

I took a deep breath. I picked up the mythology book.

I’d never asked a teacher for help before. Maybe if I talked to Mr. Brunner, he

could give me some pointers. At least I could apologize for the big fat F I was about

to score on his exam. I didn’t want to leave Yancy Academy with him thinking I

hadn’t tried.

I walked downstairs to the faculty offices. Most of them were dark and empty,

but Mr.

Brunner’s door was ajar, light from his window stretching across the hallway

floor.

I was three steps from the door handle when I heard voices inside the office.

Mr. Brunner asked a question. A voice that was definitely Grover’s said “... worried

about Percy, sir.”

I froze.

I’m not usually an eavesdropper, but I dare you to try not listening if you hear

your best friend talking about you to an adult.

I inched closer.

“... alone this summer,” Grover was saying. “I mean, a Kindly One in the

school! Now that we know for sure, and they know too—”

“We would only make matters worse by rushing him,” Mr. Brunner said. “We

need the boy to mature more.”

“But he may not have time. The summer solstice deadline— “

“Will have to be resolved without him, Grover. Let him enjoy his ignorance

while he still can.”

“Sir, he saw her... .”

“His imagination,” Mr. Brunner insisted. “The Mist over the students and staff

will be enough to convince him of that.”

“Sir, I ... I can’t fail in my duties again.” Grover’s voice was choked with

emotion. “You know what that would mean.”

“You haven’t failed, Grover,” Mr. Brunner said kindly. “I should have seen

her for what she was. Now let’s just worry about keeping Percy alive until next fall—

”

The mythology book dropped out of my hand and hit the floor with a thud.

Mr. Brunner went silent.

My heart hammering, I picked up the book and backed down the hall.

A shadow slid across the lighted glass of Brunner’s office door, the shadow of

something much taller than my wheelchair-bound teacher, holding something that

looked suspiciously like an archer’s bow.

I opened the nearest door and slipped inside.

A few seconds later I heard a slow clop-clop-clop, like muffled wood blocks,

then a sound like an animal snuffling right outside my door. A large, dark shape

paused in front of the glass, then moved on.

A bead of sweat trickled down my neck.

Somewhere in the hallway, Mr. Brunner spoke. “Nothing,” he murmured. “My

nerves haven’t been right since the winter solstice.”

“Mine neither,” Grover said. “But I could have sworn ...”

“Go back to the dorm,” Mr. Brunner told him. “You’ve got a long day of

exams tomorrow.”

“Don’t remind me.”

The lights went out in Mr. Brunner’s office.

I waited in the dark for what seemed like forever.

Finally, I slipped out into the hallway and made my way back up to the dorm.

Grover was lying on his bed, studying his Latin exam notes like he’d been

there all night.

“Hey,” he said, bleary-eyed. “You going to be ready for this test?”

I didn’t answer.

“You look awful.” He frowned. “Is everything okay?”

“Just... tired.”

I turned so he couldn’t read my expression, and started getting ready for bed.

I didn’t understand what I’d heard downstairs. I wanted to believe I’d

imagined the whole thing.

But one thing was clear: Grover and Mr. Brunner were talking about me

behind my back.

They thought I was in some kind of danger.

The next afternoon, as I was leaving the three-hour Latin exam, my eyes

swimming with all the Greek and Roman names I’d misspelled, Mr. Brunner called

me back inside.

For a moment, I was worried he’d found out about my eavesdropping the night

before, but that didn’t seem to be the problem.

“Percy,” he said. “Don’t be discouraged about leaving Yancy. It’s ... it’s for

the best.”

His tone was kind, but the words still embarrassed me. Even though he was

speaking quietly, the other kids finishing the test could hear. Nancy Bobofit smirked

at me and made sarcastic little kissing motions with her lips.

I mumbled, “Okay, sir.”

“I mean ...” Mr. Brunner wheeled his chair back and forth, like he wasn’t sure

what to say.

“This isn’t the right place for you. It was only a matter of time.”

My eyes stung.

Here was my favorite teacher, in front of the class, telling me I couldn’t handle

it. After saying he believed in me all year, now he was telling me I was destined to

get kicked out.

“Right,” I said, trembling.

“No, no,” Mr. Brunner said. “Oh, confound it all. What I’m trying to say ...

you’re not normal, Percy. That’s nothing to be—”

“Thanks,” I blurted. “Thanks a lot, sir, for reminding me.

“Percy—”

But I was already gone.

On the last day of the term, I shoved my clothes into my suitcase.

The other guys were joking around, talking about their vacation plans. One of

them was going on a hiking trip to Switzerland. Another was cruising the Caribbean

for a month. They were juvenile delinquents, like me, but they were rich juvenile

delinquents. Their daddies were executives, or ambassadors, or celebrities. I was a

nobody, from a family of nobodies.

They asked me what I’d be doing this summer and I told them I was going

back to the city.

What I didn’t tell them was that I’d have to get a summer job walking dogs or

selling magazine subscriptions, and spend my free time worrying about where I’d go

to school in the fall.

“Oh,” one of the guys said. “That’s cool.”

They went back to their conversation as if I’d never existed.

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