Bokelskere.no

Believe whatever lie your mom or dad told you about your birth, and try to lead a normal life.

My name is Percy Jackson.
I'm twelve years old. Until a few months ago, I was a boarding student at Yancy Academy, a private school for troubled kids in upstate New York.
Am I a trouble kid?
Yeah. You could say that.

Annabeth rettet seg opp. Med en dårlig etterligning av stemmen min sa hun: "Det er bare et bilde, Annabeth. Det kan vel ikke skade?"
"Glem det," sa jeg. "Du er håpløs."
"Du er uutholdelig."
"Du er ..."
"Hei!" avbrøt Grover. "Dere to gir meg migrene, og satyrer får ikke migrene engang. Hva skal vi gjøre med hodet?"

If my life is going to mean anything, I have to live it myself.

Hades raised an eyebrow. When he sat forward in his throne, shadowy faces appeared in the folds of his black robes, faces of torment, as if the garment was stitched of trapped souls from the Fields of Punishment, trying to get out. The ADHD part of me wondered, off-task, whether the rest of his clothes were made the same way. What horrible things would you have to do in your life to get woven into Hades' underwear?