Look, I didn't want to be a half-blood nor the. Avatar.

If you're reading this because you think you might be one, my advice is: close this book right now.

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

Being a half-blood is dangerous. It's scary. Most of the time, it gets you killed in painful, nasty

ways.

If you're a normal kid, reading this because you think it's fiction, great. Read on. I envy you for

being able to believe that none of this ever happened.

But if you recognize yourself in these pages-if you feel something stirring inside-stop reading

immediately. You might be one of us. And once you know that, it's only a matter of time before they

sense it too, and they'll come for you.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

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 troubled kid?

Yeah. You could say that.

I could start at any point in my short miserable life to prove it, but things really started going bad

last May, when our sixth-grade class took a field trip to Manhattan- twenty-eight mental-case kids and

two teachers on a yellow school bus, heading to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to look at ancient

Greek and Roman stuff.

I know-it sounds like torture. Most Yancy field trips were.

But Mr. Brunner, our Latin teacher, was leading this trip, so I had hopes.

Mr. Brunner was this middle-aged guy in a motorized wheelchair. He had thinning hair and a

scruffy beard and a frayed tweed jacket, which always smelled like coffee. You wouldn't think he'd

be cool, but he told stories and jokes and let us play games in class. He also had this awesome

collection of Roman armor and weapons, so he was the only teacher whose class didn't put me to

sleep.

I hoped the trip would be okay. At least, I hoped that for once I wouldn't get in trouble.

Boy, was I wrong.

See, bad things happen to me on field trips. Like at my fifth-grade school, when we went to the

Saratoga battlefield, I had this accident with a Revolutionary War cannon. I wasn't aiming for the

school bus, but of course I got expelled anyway. And before that, at my fourth-grade school, when we

took a behind-the-scenes tour of the Marine World shark pool, I sort of hit the wrong lever on the

catwalk and our class took an unplanned swim. And the time before that… Well, you get the idea.

This trip, I was determined to be good.

All the way into the city, I put up with Nancy Bobofit, the freckly, redheaded kleptomaniac girl,

hitting my best friend Grover in the back of the head with chunks of peanut butter-and-ketchup

Grover was an very easy target. He was scrawny .he cried when he got frustrated.he must've been held back. Several grades.on top of all that he had note excuses him from pe.for rest of his life because some kind of nuclear disease in his legs. He walked funny like very step hurt him,but don't let that foal you . You should've see him run when it was enchilada day in the cafeteria.

Anyways Nany Bobofit was throwing wads of sandwich that stuck in his curly brown hair, and she knew I couldn't do anything back to her because I  was already on probation. The headmaster had threatened me  with the death by in school  if anything bad ,suspension, or even mildly entertaining happen on this trip

"I am so going to kill her" I mumble

'no you will not  '  said small voice but it felt light like it was sort of me  but not at  the same time.

Then I decoy I think'who there and why '

It replied ' I am you and you are me we are the avatar ' 'ok so I am definitely dreaming or  hallucinating ' needless to say I picked twh later of the two anyways I got up and because  we were there and I was Reddy to go  out of the. Buse and I go into the museum of greek and roman stuff

When we got in the history museum mr  Brunner said " alright  class who can tell me who was Theseus and why was he important to the old world of Greece "