After the incident with Clarisse I was kind of over Camp Half-Wit. But I knew that if the camp was like other overnight camps, you weren’t allowed to just leave. I decided to ask Luke about it to see if I could get more information.
“So Luke, let’s just say, hypothetically speaking, someone besides me wanted to leave here before the end of the summer,” I said. “A completely hypothetical person who is definitely not me. How would that work?”
“Well I’ve never actually seen somebody leave before the end of summer,” Luke said. “But I assume if someone had a good excuse, like if they were sick or something, the camp would consider it.”
I started coughing loudly. “Don’t stand too close!” I said. “I think I have bird flu.”
“Gnarly,” said Luke. “I should add, however, that for certain campers the rules about leaving are different. Campers like you and me can never leave, even when summer’s over.”
“What?” I said “Never? Why not?”
“Once monsters identify you as a Half-Wit, it’s too dangerous to be in the outside world,” said Luke. “Clearly, since you were attacked by both Mrs. Dodds and the minotaur, they’ve figured out you’re a Half-Wit.”
“So I can never leave? There’s absolutely no way possible?”
Luke hesitated.
“Well there is technically one way,” he said. “You could go on a quest.”
“Sounds good to me!” I said. “Where can I apply?”
“You don’t apply, they just choose you,” he said. “But even if you could apply, I’m not sure you’d want to. A quest involves being sent into the outside world to perform some really dangerous mission. And I do mean really dangerous. Nobody’s ever completed a quest and made it back alive.”
It was clear that this was the standard speech given to any camper who asked about leaving. The camp didn’t want campers to leave, because then the camp would have to refund their camp fees. So they just told campers it was “too dangerous” to leave, and the campers then inevitably decided to stay.
I wanted to ask Luke more about leaving, but a horn blew in the distance. “Cabin 11, line up for dinner!” said Luke. All the kids got into a single-file line and we headed out to the mess hall pavilion.
The pavilion consisted of a large number of picnic tables surrounding a central fire. I sat down next to Grover, and a parade of servers brought us platters of amazing food: cheeseburgers, strawberries, fried chicken, shrimp, steak, hot fudge sundaes, and everything else one could possibly want. The servers then gave everyone an empty glass and walked away. I waited for them to return and pour something in the glass, but no one came.
“You guys got something against beverages?” I asked Grover.
“Speak to it,” said Grover, pointing at the glass. “Whatever you want, as long as it’s nonalcoholic.”
“Cherry Coke,” I said.
The glass filled with Cherry Coke. I wasn’t sure how they were pulling off this trick, but I wasn’t complaining.
Then I had an idea.
“Pineapple Coke.” I didn’t think such a thing existed, but I figured I’d take a shot. The Coke turned yellow and I tasted it. Perfect pineapple Coke!
But then I had an even better idea.
“Half-pineapple Coke, half-blueberry Coke.” The liquid transformed so that it had alternating yellow and blue stripes. I took a sip. Wow! An amazing mix of pineapple and blueberry Cokey goodness!
But was this really the best choice? I had another idea. “35 percent chocolate Coke, 10 percent pineapple Sprite, and 55 percent Sunny Delight. No wait—make that 8 percent pineapple Sprite and 57 percent Sunny Delight.”
The liquid seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then mixed itself up and transformed into a multicolored mix. I tasted it. Omg! It tasted just like you’d imagine a mix of chocolate Coke, pineapple Sprite, and Sunny Delight would taste!
But then I realized there was an even better option. “Five percent pineapple Coke, five percent pineapple Pepsi, 10 percent chocolate Sunny Delight, five percent Coke-flavored Mr. Pibb, 10 percent half-root beer half-orange soda, five percent—”
“Hey Percy, you coming or what?” said Grover. I looked up to realize the entire camp had lined up at the fire with their plates of food.
I took my plate and got into line behind Grover. “Um, what are we doing?” I said.
“We’re making a sacrifice to the gods,” he said. I then saw what he meant: all the campers were dumping their entire plate of food into the fire.
“Wait, if we dump all the food in there, then what do we eat?” I said.
“Satyr cheese, silly!” said Grover. “Tonight it’s the batch that was made from my milk!” I noticed the servers placing a single large plate of cheese on each table.
I quickly stuck my finger into my mashed potatoes. “Oops, I accidentally touched my food,” I said. “I’m sure the gods won’t want it now. I’ll just go and eat it so it doesn’t go to waste.” I sat down again and got ready to dig in, but just as I was about to take my first bite there was a huge roar of thunder, and the entire camp looked at me angrily.
“Can I at least taste the lasagna?” I asked.
A few minutes later, I was still trying to force myself to take my first bite of satyr cheese when Chiron pounded his hoof to get everyone’s attention, and Mr. D stood up. “Hello campers, hope you’re enjoying your wine-free meal,” said Mr. D. “I’m sure the atmosphere is just as fun, lively, and festive as it would be with wine. Just wanted to remind you that the big capture the flag game is on Friday. I’d offer to make a toast to something, but there’s no wine.” He sat down.
Capture the flag? What was this, 1960? The only time I’d ever heard of capture the flag was in YA novels, when the middle-aged author needed a cool activity that involved all the characters, but was so out of touch that all he or she could come up with was capture the flag.
Dinner ended and we walked back to our cabins. My first day at Camp Half-Wit had worn me out, so I headed straight for my sleeping bag and quickly fell asleep. My sleep wasn’t restful, however, because I began having this nightmare in which I was imprisoned by a bunch of crazy people.
Oh wait, that wasn’t a nightmare. It was actually happening.
