Percy Jackson belongs to Rick Riordan, not me. I only have the rights to Atlanta Jackson.

I'm making Chiron more fatherly and more involved with discipline with campers if they act out. I'm positive that many campers, if not all of them look at Chiron as a father and nothing can change my mind.

Chapter Six: I Become Supreme Lord of the Bathroom

Once I got over the fact that my Latin teacher was a horse, we had a nice tour, though I was careful to walk behind him. Atlanta and I done pooper-scooper patrol in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade a few times, and, I'm sorry, I did not trust Chiron's back end the way I trusted his front.

We passed the volleyball pit. Several of the campers nudged each other. One pointed to the minotaur horns Atlanta and I were carrying. Another said, "That's them."

Most of the campers were older then us. Their satyr friends were bigger than Grover, all of them trotting around in orange CAMP HALF-BLOOD T-shirts, with nothing else to cover their bare shaggy hindquarters. Atlanta and I weren't normally shy, but the way they stared at us made me uncomfortable. I felt like they were expecting us to do a flip or something.

I looked back at the farmhouse. It was a lot bigger than I'd realized-four stories tall, sky blue with white trim, like an upscale seaside resort. I was checking out the brass eagle weather vane on top when something caught my eye, a shadow in the uppermost window of the attic gable. Something had moved the curtain, just for a second, and I got the distinct impression we were being watched.

"What's up there?" I asked Chiron.

He looked where I was pointing, and his smile faded. "Just the attic."

"Somebody lives there?"

"No," he said finality. "Not a single living thing."

I got the feeling he was being truthful. But I was also sure something had moved the curtain.

"Come along, Percy," Chiron said, his lighthearted tone now a little forced. "Lots to see."

We walked through the strawberry fields, where campers were picking bushels of berries while a satyr played a tune on a reed pipe.

Chiron told us the camp grew a nice crop for export to New York restaurants and Mount Olympus. "It pays out expenses," he explained. "And the strawberries take almost no effort."

He said Mr. D had this effect on fruit-bearing plants: they just went crazy when he was around. It worked best with wine grapes, but Mr. D was restricted from growing those, so they grew strawberries instead. Atlanta was muttering about someone being a baby and taking it on his son. Not a hard guess on who she was talking about.

I watched the satyr playing his pipe. His music was causing lines of bugs to leave the strawberry patch in every direction, like refugees fleeing a fire. I wondered if Grover could work that kind of magic with music. I wondered if he was still inside the farmhouse, getting chewed out by Mr. D. I guess Atlanta was thinking the same thing.

"Grover won't get in too much trouble, will he?" Atlanta asked Chiron. "I mean…he was a good protector. Really."

Chiron signed. He shed his tweed jacket and draped it over his horse's back like a saddle. "Grover had big dreams, Atlanta. Perhaps bigger than are reasonable. To reach his goal, he must first demonstrate great courage by succeeding as a keeper, finding a new camper, and bringing him or her safely to Half-Blood Hill."

"But he did that," I said.

"I agree with you," Chiron said. "But it is not my place to judge. Dionysus and the Council of Cloven Elders must decide. I'm afraid they might not see this assignment as a success. After all, Grover lost you two in New York. And the fact he was unconscious when your mother brought him over the property line. The council might question whether this shows any courage on Grover's part."

I wanted to protest. None of what happened was Grover's fault. I also felt really, really guilty. If Atlanta and I hadn't given the slip at the bus station, he might not have gotten in trouble. A glance at Atlanta and I could tell she was just as guilt-ridden as me.

"He'll get a second chance, won't he?" Our mother asked.

Chiron winced. "I'm afraid that was Grover's second chance, Ms. Jackson. The council was not anxious to give him another, either, after what happened the first time, five years ago. Olympus know, I advise him to wait longer before trying again. He's still so small for his age…."

"How old is he?" Atlanta asked.

"Oh, twenty-eight."

"What! And he's in the sixth grade?" I asked.

"Satyrs mature half as fast as humans, Percy. Grover had been the equivalent of a middle school student for the past six years."
"That's horrible," our mother said.

"Quite," Chiron agreed. "At any rate, Grover is a late bloomer, even by satyr standards, and not yet very accomplished at woodland magic. Alas, he was anxious to pursue his dream. I hope this doesn't discourage him from that."

"That's not fair," Atlanta said.

"What happen the first time?" I asked. "Was it really so bad?"

Chiron looked away quickly. "Let's move along, shall we?"

But I wasn't quite ready to let the subject drop. Something occurred to me from when we were coming here, when our mom kept saying she wasn't able to pass the border line.

"Chiron," I said. "Mom kept saying she wouldn't be able to pass the border line. Are mortals allowed inside?"

"No. Mortals are not able to come inside, or even able to see most of the camp."

"Since she's here," Atlanta said. "Does that mean she's like us?"

Chiron's expression turned to a thoughtful one.

"It is possible." He paused, as if thinking more on this. "She could have be unclaimed her entire life without knowing. She could also be a daughter of nymph."

I smiled. I had no issue staying here if it means our mom can too, and never have to go back to Smelly Gabe ever again.

"Come, Jackson family. Let's see the woods."

As we got closer, I realized how huge the forest was. It took up at least a quarter of the valley, with trees so tall and thick, you could imagine nobody had been in there since the Native Americans.

Chiron said, "The woods are stocked, if you care to try your luck, but go armed and only after several lessons. Please."
"Stocked with what?" I asked. "Armed with what?"

"Monsters of course, lower leveled ones. And we need to set up with your own sword and shield as well."

"Our own-"

"Sword and shield," Chron said. "Some come with their own when they arrive. I think size five will do. I'll visit the armory later."

I wanted to ask what kind of summer camp had an armory, but there was too much else to think about, so the tour continued. We saw the archery range, the canoeing like, the stables (which Chiron didn't seem to like very much), the javelin range, the sing-along amphitheater, and the arena where Chiron said they held sword and spear fights.

"Sword and spear fights?" Atlanta asked.

"Cabin challenged and all that," he explained. "Not lethal. Oh, yes and there's the mess hall."

Chiron pointed to an outdoor pavilion framed in white Grecian columns on a hill overlooking the sea. There were a dozen stone picnic tables. No roof. No walls.

"What do you do when it rains?" I asked.

Chiron looked at me as if I'd gone a little weird. "We still have to eat, don't we?" I decided to drop the subject.

Finally, he showed me the cabins. There were twelve of them, nestled in the woods by the lake. They were arranged in a U, with two at the base and five in a row on either side. And they were without doubt the most bizarre collection of buildings I'd ever seen.

Except for the fact that each had a large brass number above the door (odds in the left side, evens on the right), they looked absolutely nothing alike. Number nine had smokestacks, like a tiny factory. Number four had tomato vines on the walls and a roof made out of real grass. Seven seemed to be made of solid gold, which gleamed so much in the sunlight it was almost impossible to look at. They all faced a commons area about the size if a soccer field, dotted with Greek statues, fountains, flower beds, and a couple of basketball hoops (which were more my speed).

In the center of the field was a huge stone-lined firepit. Even though it was a warm afternoon, the hearth smoldered. A girl about nine years old was tending the flames, poking the coals with a stick. Atlanta and I waved, but I guess the little girl didn't see us, because she continued to tend the fire.

The pair of cabins at the head of the field, numbers one and two, looked like his-and-hers mausoleums, big white marble boxes with heavy columns in front. Cabin one was biggest and bulkiest of the twelve. Its polished bronze doors shimmered like a hologram, so that from different angles lightning bolts seemed to streak across them. Cabin two was more grateful somehow, with slimmer columns garlanded with pomegranates and flowers. The walls were carved with images of peacocks.

"Zeus and Hera?" I guessed.

"Correct," Chiron said.

"Their cabins looked empty."

"Several of the cabins are. That's true. No one ever stays in one or two."

Okay. So each cabin had a different god, like a mascot. Twelve cabins for the twelve Olympians. But why would some be empty?

Atlanta and I stopped in front of the first cabin on the left, cabin three.

It wasn't high and mighty like cabin one, but long and low and solid. The outer walls were rough gray stone studded with pieced of seashell and coral, as if the slabs had been hewn straight from the bottom of the ocean floor. Atlanta and I peeked inside the open doorway and Chiron said, "Oh, I wouldn't do that!"

Before he could pull us back, I caught the salty scent of the interior, like the wind on the shore at Montauk. The interior walls glowed like abalone. There were six empty bunk beds with silk sheets turned down. But there was no sign anyone had ever slept there. The place felt so sad and lonely, I was glad when Chiron put his hand on mine and Atlanta's shoulder and said, "Come along, Percy, Atlanta."

Most of the other cabins were crowded with campers.

Number five was bright red-a real nasty paint job, as if the color had been splashed on with buckets and fists. The roof was lined with barbed wire. A stuffed wild boar's head hung over the doorway, and its eyes seemed to follow me. Inside I could see a bunch of mean-looking kids, both girls and boys, arm wrestling and arguing with each other. The loudest was a girl maybe thirteen or fourteen. She wore a size XXXL CAMP HALF-BLOOD T-shirt under a camouflage jacket. She zeroed in on Atlanta and me and gave us 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.

We 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…" Atlanta asked.

He smiled down at Atlanta. "The Chiron from the stories? Trainer of Hercules and all that? Yes, Atlanta, I am."

"But, shouldn't you be dead?" I asked.

"Percy," our mom scowled.

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?" Atlanta asked.

"No, no," he said. "Horribly depressing, at times, but never boring."

"Why depressing?" I asked.

Chiron seemed to turn hard of hearing again, while Atlanta gave me a look that said, 'You did not just ask that.'

"Oh, look," he said. "Annabeth is waiting for us."

The blond girl we'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 and Atlanta over critically, like she was still thinking about how much we 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 in 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 still have to get Ms. Jackson settled, before my masters' archery class at noon. Would you take Percy and Atlanta from here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Cabin eleven," Chiron told me and Atlanta, gesturing towards the doorway. "Make yourselves 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 doctors 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 say him they all stood and bowed respectfully.

"Well, then," Chiron said. "Good luck, Atlanta, Percy. I'll see you at dinner."

Our mom said she'll see us for dinner, and followed Chiron back towards the Big House.

Atlanta and I stood in the doorway, looking at the kids. They weren't bowing anymore. They were staring at us, sizing us up. Atlanta and I both knew this routine. We'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 snicker-one of them coming from Atlanta from the other campers, but none of them said anything.

Annabeth announced, "Percy and Atlanta 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, Atlanta. You two 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 short-cropped 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 eyes to his jaw, like an old knife slash.

"This is Luke," Annabeth said, and her voice sounded different somehow. I glanced over and could've sworn she was blushing. She saw me looking, and her expression hardened again. "He's your counselor for now."

"For now?" I asked.

"You're undetermined," Luke explained patiently. "They don't know what cabin to out you and your sister in, so you're here. Cabin eleven takes all newcomers, all visitors. Naturally, we would Hermes, our patron, is the god of travelers."

I looked at the tiny section of floor they'd given Atlanta and me. I had nothing to put there to mark it as our own, no luggage, no cloths, no sleeping bag. Just the Minotaur's horns. I thought about setting that down, but then I remembered that Hermes was also the god of thieves.

I looked around at the campers' faces, some sullen and suspicious, some grinning stupidly, some eyeing me and Atlanta as if they were waiting for a chance to pick our pickets.

"How long will Percy and I be here?" Atlanta asked.

"Good question," Luke said. "Until you're determined."

"How long will that take?"

The campers laughed.

"Come on," Annabeth told us. "I'll show you the volleyball court."

"We've already seen it," Atlanta said.

"Come on."

She grabbed mine and Atlanta's wrists and dragged us outside. I could hear the kids of cabin eleven laughing behind us.

When we were a few feet away, Annabeth said, "Jacksons, you have to do better than that."

"What?" Atlanta asked.

She rolled her eyes and mumbled under her breath, "I can't believe I thought you two were the ones."

"What's your problem?" I asked. I was getting angry and so was Atlanta. "All I know is, we killed some bull guy-"

"Don't talk like that!" Annabeth told us. "You know how many kids at this camp wish they'd had your chance?"

"To get killed? Oh sure," Atlanta cupped around her mouth yelling to camp. "Let's line up everyone, we're going to get ourselves killed!"

"To fight the Minotaur! What do you think we train for?"

"We didn't have training!"

I shook my head. "Look, if the thing we fought really was the Minotaur, the same one in the stories…"

"Yes."

"Then there's only one."

"Yes."

"And he died. Theseus killed him in the labyrinth. So on less you're telling me that some messed up person cloned them…"

Atlanta said.

"Monsters don't die, Atlanta. They can be killed. But they don't die."

"Oh thanks. That clears it up," I said.

"They don't have souls, like you and me. You can dispel them for a while, maybe even for a lifetime if you're lucky. But they are primal forces. Chiron calls them archetypes. Eventually, they re-form."

I thought about Mrs. Dodds. "You mean if I killed one, accidentally, with a sword-"

"The Fur…I mean, your math teacher. That's right. She's still out there. You just made her very, very mad."

"How do you know about Mrs. Dodds?" Atlanta asked.

"Percy talks in his sleep."

"You almost called her something. A Fury? They're Hades' torturers, right?"

Annabeth glanced nervously at the ground, as if she expected it to open and swallow her. "You shouldn't call them by name, even here. We call them the Kindly Ones, if we have to speak about them at all."

"Look, is there anything we can say without it thundering?" Atlanta sounded whiny, even to me, but right then I didn't care. "Why do we have to stay in cabin eleven, anyway? Why is everyone so crowed together? There are plenty of empty bunks right over there."

Atlanta pointed to the first few cabins, and Annabeth turned pale. "You don't choose a cabin, Atlanta. It depends on who your parents are. Or…your parent."

She stared at us, waiting for us to get it.

"Our mom is Sally Jackson," I said. She works at the candy store in Grand Central Station. She's currently here at camp with us."

"I'm not talking about your mom, I know she's here. But's not what I mean. I'm talking about your other parent. Yours and Atlanta's dad."

"He's dead. I never knew him."

Annabeth sighed. Clearly, she'd had this conversation before with other kids. "Yours and Atlanta's father's not dead, Percy."

"How do you say that? You know Percy's dad?" Atlanta asked.

"No, of course not."

"Then how can you say-"

"Because I know you two. You wouldn't be here if you weren't one of us."

"You don't know anything about Atlanta and me," I said.

"No?" She raised an eyebrow. "I bet you moved around from school to school. I bet you were kicked out of a lot of them."

"How-"

"Diagnosed with dyslexia. Probably ADHD, too."

I tried to swallow my embarrassment. Atlanta shook her head. She didn't have dyslexia or ADHD. She's only moved schools because mom didn't want to sperate us.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Atlanta asked.

"Taken together, it's almost a sure sign. The letters float off the page when you read right? That's because your mind is hardwired for ancient Greek. And the ADHD-you're impulsive, can't sit still in the classroom. That's your battlefield reflexes. In a real fight, they'd keep you alive. As for the attention problems, that's because you see too much, Atlanta, Percy, not too little. Your senses are betterer than a regular mortal's. Of course the teachers want you medicated. Most of them are monsters. They don't want you seeing them for what they are."

"You sound like…you went through the same thing?" I asked.

"Most of the kids here did. If you weren't like us, you couldn't have survived the Minotaur, much less the ambrosia and nectar."

"Ambrosia and nectar."

"The food and drink they were giving us better," Atlanta said. "I'm guessing that stuff would've killed a normal kid."

"It would've turned your blood to fire and your bones to sand and you'd be dead. Face it. You're both half-bloods."

A half-blood.

I was reeling with so many questions I didn't know where to start.

Then a husky voice yelled, "Well! A couple of newbies!"

I looked over. The big girl from the ugly red cabin was sauntering toward us. She had three other girls behind her, all big and mean looking like her, wearing camo jackets.

"Clarisse," Annabeth sighed. "Why don't you go polish your spear or something?"

"Sure, Miss Princess," the big girl said. "So I can run you through with it Friday night."

"Erre es koeakas!" Annabeth said, which I somehow understood was Greek for 'Go to the crows!' though I had a feeling it was a worse curse than it sounded. "You don't stand a chance."

"We'll pulverize you," Clarisse said, but her eye twitched. Perhaps she wasn't sure she could follow through on the threat. She turned toward me and Atlanta. "Who are these little runts?"

"Percy and Atlanta Jackson," Annabeth said, "meet Clarisse, Daughter of Ares."

I blinked. "Like…the war god?"

Clarisse sneered. "You got a problem with that?"

"No," Atlanta said, not missing a beat. "It explains the bed smell."

Clarisse growled. "We go an initiation ceremony for newbies, Tlanta."

"Atlanta."

"Whatever. Come on, I'll show you."

"Clarisse-" Annabeth tried to say.

"Stay out of it, wise girl."

Annabeth looked pained, but she did stay out of it, and Atlanta wouldn't want her help. She may not look like it, but she does know how to fight. She was always able to, not knowing where'd she learn it from. Atlanta handed me her minotaur horn and got ready for a fight. Clarisse went to grab her, and Atlanta sucked, sweeping her leg out, and knocking Clarisse clean off her feet. Clarisse looked up at her in shock, most likely thinking How did this little runt knock me down. One of the other girls came charging up, like a football quarterback to tackle Atlanta, but she side stepped her and stuck her foot out. The girl tripped and landed on the ground face-first t mine and Annabeth's feet.

The other two girl both came up to Atlanta, but she simply ducked again and they slammed into each other's heads. As they all laid on the ground in shock, Atlanta stared down at them with an emotionless face. She turned her back to them and Clarisse got over her shock, came up to her and went to grab her, but I shoved the minotaur horns into Annabeth's arms and got between Atlanta and Clarisse.

I raised my head to smack it against Clarisse's noise-like I've seen Atlanta do to a bully, but before I knew it Clarisse had me by the neck and was dragging me towards a cinder-block that I immediately knew was the bathroom.

I was kicking and punching. I'd been in plenty of fights before, but this big girl Clarisse had hands like iron. She dragged me into the girl's bathroom. There was a line of toilets on one side and a line of shower stalls down the other. It smelled just like any public bathroom, and I was thinking-as much as I could think with Clarisse ripping my hair out- that if this place belong to the gods, they should've been able to afford classier johns.

Clarisse's friends were all laughing-forgetting their butt kicking from moments ago- and I was trying to find the strength I'd use to fight the minotaur, but it just wasn't there.

"Like he's 'Big Three' material," Clarisse said as she pushed me toward one of the toilets. "Yeah, right. Minotaur probably fell over laughing, he was so stupid looking."

Her friends snickered.

Annabeth and Atlanta stood in the corner, watching through their fingers.

Clarisse bent me over on my knees and started pushing my head toward the toilet bowl. It reeked like rusted pipes and, well, like what goes into toilets. I strained to keep my head up. I was looking at the scummy water, thinking, I will not go into that. I won't.

Then something happened. I felt a tug in the pit of my stomach. I heard the plumbing rumble, the pipes shudder. Clarisse's grip on my hair loosened. Water shot of the toilet, making an arc straight over my head, and the next thing I knew, I was sprawled on the bathroom tiles with Clarisse screaming behind me.

I turned just as water blasted out of the toilet again, hitting Clarisse straight in the face so hard it pushed her down onto her butt. The water stayed on her like the spray from a fire hose, pushing her backward into a shower stall.

She struggled, gasping, and her friends started coming toward her. But then the other toilets exploded, too, and six more streams of toilet water blasted them back. The showers acted up too, and together all the fixtures sprayed the camouflage girls right out of the bathroom, spinning them around like pieces of garbage being washed away.

As soon as they were out the door, I felt the tug in my gut lessen, and the water shut off as quickly as it had started.

The entire bathroom was flooded. Annabeth and Atlanta hadn't been spared. They were dripping wet, but they hadn't been pushed out the door. They were standing exactly the same place, staring at me in shock.

I looked down and realized I was sitting in the only dry spot in the whole room. There was a circle of dry floor around me. I didn't have one drop of water on my clothes. Nothing.

I stood up, my legs shaky.

Annabeth said, "How did you…"

"I don't know."

We walked to the door. Outside, Clarisse and her friends were sprawled in the mud and a bunch of other campers had gathered around to gawk. Clarisse's hair was flattened across her face. Her camouflage jacket was sopping and she smelled like sewage. She gave me a look of absolute hatred. "You and your sister are dead, new boy. You are totally dead."

I probably should have let it go, but I said, "You want to gargle with toilet water again, Clarisse? Close your mouth."

Her friends had to hold her back. Atlanta made a move, like she was about to attack them, Clarisse's friends flinched as they scrambled up dragging Clarisse with them, bumping into a very disappointed Chiron. He pointed towards the cabins with the words "I will speak with you momently."

Annabeth and Atlanta stared at me. I couldn't tell whether they were just grossed our or angry at me for dousing them.
"What?" I demanded. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking," Annabeth said, as Atlanta punched me, "That I want you both on my team for capture the flag."