All We Can Do, Child, Is Follow

I Could Always See Myself Being A Teacher. I Remember Sitting In Class As A Kid, Listening To The Teacher And Thinking, You Know, I'm Pretty Sure I Could Explain That A Little Bit Better.

On A Basketball Court, Five Players Were In The Middle Of An Intense Game. They Wore Assortment Of Jerseys From Different American Teams, And They All Seemed Keen To Win—grunting And Snarling At Each Other, Stealing The Ball And Pushing. Oh…and The Players Were All Baboons.

I Woke To A Bucket Of Ice Water In My Face. “sadie! Get Up,” Zia Said. “god!” I Yelled. “was That Necessary?” “no,” Admitted Zia.

Jumping Out A Window Five Hundred Feet Above Ground Is Not Usually My Idea Of Fun. Especially When I'm Wearing Bronze Wings And Flapping My Arms Like A Duck.

I Picked Up Pandora's Jar. The Spirit Of Hope Fluttered Inside, Trying To Warm The Cold Container. "hestia," I Said, "i Give This To You As An Offering." The Goddess Tilted Her Head. "i Am The Least Of The Gods. Why Would You Trust Me With This?" "you're The Last Olympian," I Said. "and The Most Important." "and Why Is That, Percy Jackson?" "because Hope Survives Best At The Hearth," I Said. "guard It For Me, And I Won't Be Tempted To Give Up Again."