At first, there was no question in my mind that they were playing some kind of practical joke on me. But when things got tense and I saw the looks on both of their faces, I was confused.
Surely, it was impossible. Mr. Farrell knows I'm adopted, so I don't even know who my parents are. He wouldn't be so cruel to make a joke of it though, would he? I hoped not. I desperately hoped not. However, when he started taking his pants off, I almost fainted. Underneath those long khaki slacks were a pair of fake, plastic legs and some fur coming out the top of them. He started stripping completely and under normal circumstances I would have been really embarrassed and freaked out.
I observed Mrs. Barley's reaction and she was acting completely natural as he took off his clothes. As if she expected this. Or she already knew that his legs weren't real.
I said, "What the heck are you? A faun?"
Mrs. Barley rolled her eyes, "No more Chronicles of Narnia for you. Think… Greek."
"Greek?" I had no idea what she was talking about. So, I decided that then was the opportune moment to faint.
I awoke and Mrs. Barley was hovering over me. I had no idea where we were. I looked around and I recognized I was in a car. An SUV to be specific. Was I being abducted by a duo of lunatics? A goat man and a stunningly gorgeous lady? This had to be a dream.
"Err…" I mumbled, feeling stupid as I sat up in the seat. "What's going on?"
"Luther and I are escorting you to Camp," Mrs. Barley said with a smile. I took note of how she put emphasis on "es" in "escorting" as if her "escorting me to Camp" was a big deal.
"Is anyone going to explain anything to me?" I said dramatically.
"Wait until we get there." I see Mr. Farrell turn around in the driver seat.
Suddenly I'm upset. "Who said you could order me around, half-goat man!" I called out to Mr. Farrell. I just see his brow crinkle and he lets out a soft goat noise.
"I do not respond to such treatment," he says, huffing.
"Ok," I say under my breath, shrugging my shoulders quickly. Who needs a goat explaining things anyway? Where are all the normal people?
For a while, all of us just sit in the car, slowly driving down a long winding road. We pass several farms and vineyards and strawberry fields. I recognize that I'm heading east on Long Island. My adoptive family lives in a town called Port Jefferson. During the summers, I used to come to this part of the Island and pick strawberries. This trip reminds me of some of my best memories. However, the last time I'd taken this ride, it was not with a crazy woman and goat man.
"We're here!" Mr. Farrell announces. He pulls over the SUV and Mrs. Barley steps out of the car immediately. I see her shoes land on the ground and I watch as, with every step she takes, the grass beneath her feet dies.
"Where are we?" I practically yell at Farrell. But for once, I don't need someone to answer something for me. I look up to see a sign hanging above my head and the sign reads: CAMP HALF BLOOD.
