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

*A bionic arm works by picking up signals from a user's muscles. When a user puts on their bionic arm and flexes muscles in their residual limb just below their elbow; special sensors detect tiny naturally generated electric signals, and convert these into intuitive and proportional bionic hand movement.*

Chapter Two: Three Old Ladies Knit The Socks of Death

I was used to the occasional weird experience, but usually they were over quickly. This twenty-four/seven hallucination was more than I could handle. For the rest of the school year, the entire campus seemed to be playing some kind of trick on me. The students acted as if they were completely and totally convinced that Mrs. Kerr-a perky blond woman whom I'd never seen in my life until she got on our bus at the end of the field trip-had been our pre-algebra teacher since Christmas.

Every so often I would spring a Mrs. Dodds reference on somebody, just to see if I could trip them up, but they would stare at me like I was a psycho.

It got so I almost believed them-Mrs. Dodds had never existed.

Almost.
But Grover couldn't fool me. When I mentioned the name Dodds to him, he would hesitate, then claim she didn't exist. But I knew he was laying.

Something was going on. Something had happened at the museum. Atlanta was the only one to believe me.

I didn't have much time to think about it during the days, but at night, visions of Mrs. Dodds with talons and leathery wings would wake me up in a cold sweat.

The freak weather continued, which didn't help my bad mood. One night, a thunderstorm blew out the windows in my dorm room. A few days later, the biggest tornado ever spotted in the Hudson Valley touched down only fifty miles from Yancy Academy. One of the current events we studied in social studies class was the unusual number of small planes that gone down in sudden squalls in the Atlantic that year.

I started felling cranky and irritable most of the time. It was only because of Atlanta my grades stayed in the C range. I got into more fights with Nancy Bobofit and her friends. I was sent out into the hallway in almost every class.

Finally, when our English, Mr. Nicoll, asked me for the millionth time why I was too lazy to read any of his writing assignments, I snapped. I called him an old sot. I wasn't even sure what it meant, but it sounded good.

The headmaster sent my mom a letter the following week, making it official: I would not be invited back next year to Yancy Academy.

Fine, I told myself. Just fine.

I was home sick.

I wanted to be with my mom and Atlanta in our little apartment on the Upper East Side, even if I had to go to public school and put up with my obnoxious stepfather and his stupid poker parties.

And yet…there were things I'd miss at Yancy. The view of the woods out of my dorm window, the Hudson Rover in the distance, the smell of pine trees. I'd miss Grover, who'd been a good friend to both me and Atlanta, even if he was a little strange. I worried how he'd survive next year without us.

I'd miss Latin class, too-Mr. Brunner's crazy tournament days and his faith that I could do well.

As exam week got closer, Latin was the only test I studied for. I hadn't forgotten what Mr. Brunner had told me about this subject being life-and-death for me. I wasn't sure why, but I'd started to believe him.

The evening before my final, I got so frustrated I threw the Cambridge Guide to Greek Mythology across my dorm room. Words had started swimming off the page, circling my head, the letters doing one-eighties as if they were riding skateboards. There was no way I was going to remember the difference between Chiron and Charon, or Polydictes and Polydeuces. And conjugating those Latin verbs? Forget it.

I paced the room, feeling like ants were crawling around inside my shirt.

I remembered Mr. Brunner's series expression, his thousand-year-old eyes. I will accept only the best from you, Percy Jackson.

I took a deep breath. I picked up the mythology book. I'd never asked a teacher for help before, I've always asked Atlanta to help. She wouldn't judge. Maybe if I talked to Mr. Brunner, he could give me some pointers. At least I could apologize for the big fat F I was about to score on his exam. I didn't want to leave Yancy Academy with him thinking I hadn't tried.

Halfway to the faculty office, I bumped into Atlanta carrying her mythology textbook.
Atlanta is my sister by adoption, but I ignore the adopted part. She was found wondering the streets of New York with no memories of anything. She has scars all over her body, but the electric burn across her chest, shoulders, neck, and face stood out the most. It was like she was stuck with a massive bolt of lightning. Atlanta was also missing her left arm, being cut off below the elbow. She had this prosthetic arm, but it was always fritzing out, and stop working completely.

Together we continued to the faculty offices. Most of them were dark and empty, but Mr. Brunner's door was ajar, light from his window stretching across the hallway floor.

We were three steps from the door handle when I heard voices inside the office. Mr. Brunner asked a question. A voice that was definitely Grover's said "…worried about Percy and Atlanta, sir."

Atlanta and I froze.

We're not usually eavesdroppers, but I dare you to try not listen if you hear your best friend talking about you to an adult.

we inched closer.

"…alone this summer." Grover was saying. "I mean, a Kindly One in the school! Now that we know for sure, and they know too-"

"We would only make matters worse by rushing them," Mr. Brunner said. "We need them to mature more."

"But they may not have time. The summer solstice deadline-"

"Will have to be resolved without them, Grover. Let them enjoy their ignorance while they can."

"Sir, Percy saw her and the Mist isn't effecting Atlanta at all."

"Their imagination," Mr. Brunner insisted. "The Mist over the students and staff will be enough to convince them of that."

"Sir, I…I can't fail in my duties again." Grover's voice was choked with emotion. "You know what that would mean."

"You haven't failed, Grover," Mr. Brunner said kindly. "I should have seen her for what she was. Now let's just worry about keeping Percy and Atlanta alive until next fall-"

The mythology book dropped out of mine and Atlanta's hands and hit the floor with a thud.

Mr. Brunner went silent.

My heart hammering, we picked up the books and backed down the hall.

A shadow slid across the lighted glass of Brunner's office door, the shadow of something much taller than our wheelchair-bound teacher, holding something that looked suspiciously like an archer's bow.

I opened the nearest door and we slipped inside.

A few seconds later we heard a clop-clop-clop, like muffled wood blocks, then a sound like an animal snuffling right outside our door. A large, dark shape paused in front of the glass, then moved on.

A bead of sweat trickled down my neck.

Somewhere in the hallway, Mr. Brunner spoke. "Nothing," he murmured. "My nerves haven't been right since the winter solstice."

"Mine neither," Grover said. "But I could have sworn…"

"Go back to the dorm," Mr. Brunner told him. "You've got a long day of exams tomorrow."

"Don't remind me."

The lights went out in Mr. Brunner's office.

We waited in the dark for what seemed like forever.

Finally, we slipped out into the hallway and made our separate ways back up to the dorm.

Grover was lying on his bed, studying his Latin exam notes like he'd been there all night.

"Hey," he said, bleary-eyed. "You going to be ready for this test?"

I didn't answer.

"You look awful." He frowned. "Is everything okay?"

"Just…tired."

I turned so he couldn't read my expression, and started getting ready for bed.

I didn't understand what Atlanta and I had heard downstairs. I wanted to believe we'd imagined the whole thing.

But one thing was clear: Grover and Mr. Brunner were talking about Atlanta and me behind our backs. They thought we were in some kind of danger.

The next afternoon, as Atlanta and I were leaving the three-hour Latin exam, my eyes swimming with all the Greek and Roman names I'd misspelled, Mr. Brunner called us back inside.

For a moment, I was worried he'd found out about our eavesdropping the night before, but that didn't seem to be the problem.

"Percy," he said. "Don't be discouraged about leaving Yancy. It's…it's for the best."

His tone was kind, but the words still embarrassed me. Even though he was speaking quietly, the other kids finishing the test could hear. Nancy Bobofit smirked at us and made sarcastic little kissing motions with her lips.

I mumbled, "Okay sir."

"I mean…" Mr. Brunner wheeled his chair back and forth, like he wasn't sure what to say. "This isn't the right place for you. It was only a matter of time."

My eyes stung. Atlanta's blue-green eyes were misty.

Here was our favorite teacher, in front of the class, telling me I couldn't handle it. After saying he believed in me all year, now he was telling me I was destined to get kicked out.

"Right," Atlanta said, trembling.

"No, no," Mr. Brunner said. "Oh, confound it all. What I'm trying to say…you're not normal, Percy, Atlanta. That's nothing to be-"

"Thanks," I blurted. "Thanks a lot, sir, for reminding us."

"Percy, Atlanta-"

But we were already gone.

On the last day of the term, I shoved my clothes into my suitcase.

The other guys were joking around, talking about their vacation plans. One of them was going on a hiking trip to Switzerland. Another was cruising the Caribbean for a month. They were juvenile delinquents, like me, but they were rich delinquents. Their daddies were executives, or ambassadors, or celebrities. Atlanta and I were nobodies from a family of nobodies.

They asked us what we'd be doing this summer and we told them we were going back to the city.

What we didn't tell them was that we'd have to get a summer job walking dogs or selling magazine subscriptions, and spend my free time worrying about where we'd go to school in the fall.

"Oh," one of the guys said. "That's cool."

They went back to their conversation as if we'd never existed.

The only person we dreaded saying good-bye to was Grover, but as it turned out, we didn't have to. He'd booked a ticket to Manhattan on the same Greyhound as we had, so there we were, together again, heading into the city.

During the whole bus ride, Grover kept glancing nervously down the aisle, watching the other passengers. It occurred to me that he'd always acted nervous and fidgety when we left Yancy, as if he expected something bad to happen. Before I'd always assumed he was worried about getting teased. But there was nobody to tease him on the Greyhound.

Finally Atlanta and I couldn't stand it anymore.

Atlanta turned around, resting on her knees, her arms resting by the headrest. "looking for Kindly Ones?"

Grover nearly jumped out of his seat. "Wha-what do you mean?"

Atlanta and I confessed about eavesdropping on him and Mr. Brunner the night before the exam.

Grover's eye twitched. "How much did you guys hear?"

"Oh…not much," Atlanta said.

"What's the summer solstice deadline?" I asked.

He winced. "Look, Percy, Atlanta…I was just worried for you two, see? I mean, hallucinating about demon math teachers…"

"Grover-" I said.

"And I was telling Mr. Brunner that maybe you both were overstressed or something, because there was no such person as Mrs. Dodds, and…"

"Grover, you're a really, really bad liar," Atlanta said.

His ears turned pink. From his shirt pocket, he fished out a grubby business card. "Just take this, okay? In case you need me this summer."

Atlanta took the card, reading it real quick before handing it to me. The card was in fancy script, which was murder on my dyslexic eyes, but I finally made out something like:

Grover Underwood

Keeper

Half-Blood Hill
Long Island, New York
(800) 009-0009

"What's Half-" I asked.

"Don't say it aloud!" he yelped. "That's my, um…summer address."

My heart sank. Grover had a summer home. I'd never considered that his family might be as rich as the others at Yancy.

"Okay," Atlanta said. "So, like, if we wanted to come visit your mansion."

He nodded. "Or…or if you guys need me."

"Why would we need you?" I asked.

It came out harsher than I meant to. Atlanta reached over and punched me in the arm.

Grover blushed right down to his Adam's apple. "Look, Percy, Atlanta, the truth is, I-I kind of have to protect you."

We stared at him.

All year long, we'd gotten in fights, keeping bullies away from him. I'd lost asleep worrying that he'd get beaten up next year without me. And here he was acting like he was the one who defended us.

"Grover," I said. "What exactly are you protecting us from?"

There was a huge grinding noise under our feet. Black smoke poured from the dashboard and the whole bus filled with a smell like rotten eggs. The drover cursed and limped the Greyhound over to the side of the highway.

After a few minutes clanking around in the engine compartment, the driver announced that we'd all have to get off.

Grover, Atlanta, and I filed outside with everybody else.

We were on a stretch of country road-no place you'd notice if you didn't break down there. On our side of the highway was nothing but maple trees and litter from passing cars. On the other side, across the four lanes of asphalt shimmering with afternoon heat, was an old-fashioned fruit stand.

The stuff on sale looked really good: heaping boxed of bloodred cherries and apples, walnuts and apricots, jugs of cider in a claw-foot tube full of ice. There were no customers, just three old ladies sitting in rocking chairs in the shade of a maple tree, knitting the biggest pair of socks I'd ever seen.

I mean these socks were the size of sweaters, but they were clearly socks. The lady on the right knitted one of them. The lady on the left knitted the other. The lady in the middle held an enormous basket of electric-blue yarn.

All three of the women looked ancient, with pale faces wrinkled like fruit leather, silver hair tied back in white bandannas, bony arms sticking out of bleached cotton dresses.

The weirdest thing was, they seemed to be looking right at Atlanta and me.

I looked over at Grover to say something about this and saw that the blood had drained from his face. His nose was twitching.

"Grover?" Atlanta said. "Hey, dude-"

"Tell me they're not looking at you and Percy. They are, aren't they?"

"Yeah. Weird, huh? You think those socks would fit me?" I asked.

"Not funny, Percy. Not funny at all," Grover said.

The old lady in the middle took out a huge pair of scissors-gold and silver, long-bladed, like shears. I heard Grover catch his breath.
"We're getting on the bus," he told us. "Come on."

"What?" I asked.

"It's a thousand degrees in there.," Atlanta complained.

"Come on!" He pried open the door and climbed inside, but Atlanta and I stayed back.

Across the road, the old ladies were still watching us. The middle one cut the yarn, and I swear I could hear that snip across four lanes of traffic. Her two friends balled up the electric-blue socks, leaving me wonder who they could possibly be for-Sasquatch or Godzilla.

At the rear of the bus, the driver wrenched a big chunk of smoke metal out of the engine compartment. The bus shuddered, and the engine roared back to life.

The passengers cheered,

"Darn right!" yelled the driver. He slapped the bus with his hat. "Everybody back on board!"

Once we got going, I started feeling feverish, as if I'd caught the flu. Atlanta looked just as bad, pale with her curly black hair sticking to her forehead.

Grover didn't look much better. He was shivering and his teeth were chattering.

"Grover?" I asked.

"Yeah?"

"What are you not telling us?" Atlanta asked.

He dabbed his forehead with his shirt sleeve. "Percy, Atlanta, what did you see back at the fruit stand?"

"You mean the old ladies? What is it about them dude?" Atlanta asked.

"They're not like…Mrs. Dodds, are they?" I asked.

His expression was hard to read, but I got the feeling that the fruit-stand ladies were something much, much worse than Mrs. Dodds. He said, "Just tell me what you guys saw."

"The middle one took out her scissors, and she cut the yarn." Atlanta said.

He closed his eyes and made a gesture with his fingers that might've been crossing himself, but it wasn't. It was something else, something almost-older.

He said, "You saw her snip the cord."

"Yeah. So?" But even as I said it, I knew it was a big deal.
"This is not happening," Grover mumbled. He started chewing at his thumb. "I don't want this to be like the last time."

"What last time?" Atlanta asked.

"Always sixth grade. They never get past sixth."

"Grover," I said, because he was really starting to scare us. "What are you talking about?"

"Let me walk you guys home from the bus station. Promise me."

This seemed like a strange request to me, but Atlanta and I promised he could.

"Is this like a superstition or something?" I asked.

No answer.

"Grover- that snipping of the yarn. Does that mean somebody is going to die?" Atlanta asked.

He looked at us mournfully, like he was already picking the kind of flowers we'd like best on our coffin.