Free Percy Jackson and the Olympians: the lightning thief by Rick Riordan Page A

She zeroed in on me and gave me an evil sneer. She reminded me of Nancy Bobofit, though the camper girl was much bigger and tougher looking, and her hair was long and stringy, and brown instead of red.
    I kept walking, trying to stay clear of Chiron's hooves. "We haven't seen any other centaurs," I observed.
    "No," said Chiron sadly. "My kinsmen are a wild and barbaric folk, I'm afraid. You might encounter them in the wilderness, or at major sporting events. But you won't see any here."
    "You said your name was Chiron. Are you really ..."
    He smiled down at me. "The Chiron from the stories? Trainer of Hercules and all that? Yes, Percy, I am."
    "But, shouldn't you be dead?"
    Chiron paused, as if the question intrigued him. "I honestly don't know about should be. The truth is, I can't be dead. You see, eons ago the gods granted my wish. I could continue the work I loved. I could be a teacher of heroes as long as humanity needed me. I gained much from that wish ... and I gave up much. But I'm still here, so I can only assume I'm still needed." I thought about being a teacher for three thousand years. It wouldn't have made my Top Ten Things to Wish For list.
    "Doesn't it ever get boring?"
    "No, no," he said. "Horribly depressing, at times, but never boring."
    "Why depressing?"
    Chiron seemed to turn hard of hearing again.
    "Oh, look," he said. "Annabeth is waiting for us."

    * * *
    The blond girl I'd met at the Big House was reading a book in front of the last cabin on the left, number eleven.
    When we reached her, she looked me over critically, like she was still thinking about how much I drooled.
    I tried to see what she was reading, but I couldn't make out the title. I thought my dyslexia was acting up. Then I realized the title wasn't even English. The letters looked Greek to me. I mean, literally Greek. There were pictures of temples and statues and different kinds of columns, like those in an architecture book.
    "Annabeth," Chiron said, "I have masters' archery class at noon. Would you take Percy from here?"
    "Yes, sir."
    "Cabin eleven," Chiron told me, gesturing toward the doorway. "Make yourself at home." Out of all the cabins, eleven looked the most like a regular old summer camp cabin, with the emphasis on old. The threshold was worn down, the brown paint peeling. Over the doorway was one of those doctor's symbols, a winged pole with two snakes wrapped around it. What did they call it... ? A caduceus.
    Inside, it was packed with people, both boys and girls, way more than the number of bunk beds. Sleeping bags were spread all over on the floor. It looked like a gym where the Red Cross had set up an evacuation center.
    Chiron didn't go in. The door was too low for him. But when the campers saw him they all stood and bowed respectfully.
    "Well, then," Chiron said. "Good luck, Percy. I'll see you at dinner." He galloped away toward the archery range.
    I stood in the doorway, looking at the kids. They weren't bowing anymore. They were staring at me, sizing me up. I knew this routine. I'd gone through it at enough schools.
    "Well?" Annabeth prompted. "Go on."
    So naturally I tripped coming in the door and made a total fool of myself. There were some snickers from the campers, but none of them said anything.
    Annabeth announced, "Percy Jackson, meet cabin eleven.
    "Regular or undetermined?" somebody asked.
    I didn't know what to say, but Annabeth said, "Undetermined." Everybody groaned.
    A guy who was a little older than the rest came forward. "Now, now, campers. That's what we're here for. Welcome, Percy. You can have that spot on the floor, right over there." The guy was about nineteen, and he looked pretty cool. He was tall and muscular, with shortcropped sandy hair and a friendly smile. He wore an orange tank top, cutoffs, sandals, and a leather necklace with five different-colored clay beads. The only thing unsettling about his appearance was a thick white scar that ran from just beneath his right eye to his jaw, like an