Rick Riordan

June chuckled. “All roads lead there, child. You should know that.”

“Detention?” Percy asked.

“Dude!” the centaur groaned, almost buckling under Tyson’s weight. “Do the words ‘low-carb diet’ mean anything to you?”

“Whoa. You said ‘you.’”

I shook his furry hip, thinking, No! Even if you are half barnyard animal, you’re my best friend and I don’t want you to die!

“Food!” Grover moaned, a little louder.

Annabeth’s face, her blond hair and gray eyes, the way she laughed, threw her arms around him, and gave him a kiss whenever he did something stupid.

She must have kissed me a lot, Percy thought.

He imagined holding hands with Annabeth at a café. Maybe when they were older, watching their own kid chase seagulls across the forum…

Gods of Olympus, she’s beautiful, Frank thought

“Can’t make it,” Briares huffed.

“Tyson is risking his life to help you!” I yelled at him. “You will make it.”

But rumour has it that Camp Half-Blood actually exists, and Rick spends his summers there recording the adventures of young demigods. Some believe that, to avoid a mass panic among the mortal population, he was forced to swear on the River Styx to present Percy Jackson’s story as fiction.