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Rick Riordan Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief. Rick Riordan - Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief Also known as

Rick Riordan Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief. Rick Riordan - Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief Also known as

Rick Riordan

"Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief"

Chapter first

Random disappearance of a math student

Look, I didn't want to be a half-breed.

Being a half-breed is dangerous. It's a terrible thing. The consciousness that you are like this is murderous, painful and disgusting.

If you're a regular guy and you're reading all this because you think it's fiction, great. Read on. I envy you if you believe that nothing like this has ever happened in your life.

But if you recognize yourself in these pages, if at least something touches your heart, stop reading now. You might be one of us. And as soon as you understand this, sooner or later they will smell it too and come for you. And don't say I didn't warn you.

My name is Percy Jackson.

I'm twelve. Until a few months ago, I attended Yancy, a private boarding high school for troubled teenagers in New York State.

So, am I difficult to educate?

Well, you can say that.

I could have started at any point in my short, pathetic life to prove this, but last May things really went awry. Anyway, our sixth grade class went on a field trip to Manhattan - twenty-eight retarded teenagers and two teachers on a yellow school bus that took us to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to look at ancient Roman and ancient Greek things.

I understand - it looks like real torture. Most excursions to Yancy were like this.

But this time the tour was led by our Latinist, Mr. Brunner, so I still hoped for something.

Mr. Brunner was one of those middle-aged guys who rode around in motorized wheelchairs. His hair was thin, his beard was unkempt, and he always appeared in a shabby tweed jacket that smelled of something like coffee. Of course, you couldn’t call him cool, but he told us different stories, laughed and allowed us to chase each other around the class. In addition, he had an amazing collection of Roman armor and weapons, so he was the only teacher whose lessons did not make me sleepy.

I hoped that the excursion would turn out okay. At least - that at least once, as an exception, I would not get into anything.

But, buddy, I was wrong.

You see, it’s on excursions that all sorts of nasty things happen to me. Take fifth grade, for example, when we went to inspect the battlefield at Saratoga and I had trouble with a rebel cannon. I had no intention of aiming at the school bus, but I was still kicked out of school. And even earlier, in the fourth grade, when we were taken to film in front of the world's largest shark pool, I pressed the wrong lever on the suspended scaffolding, and our entire class had to take a swim in an unplanned way. And even earlier... However, I think you understand me.

During this excursion I decided to play nice.

All the way into town, I dogged Nancy Bobofit, a freckled, red-haired girl with kleptomanic tendencies who shot leftover peanut butter and ketchup sandwiches into the back of my best friend Grover's head.

Grover was generally an easy target. A weakling, he cried when something didn't work out for him. It looked like he had been in the same class for several years, because his whole face was already covered in acne, and there was a sparse curly beard on his chin. In addition, Grover was disabled. He had a certificate that he was exempt from physical education for the rest of his life due to some kind of muscle disease in his legs. He walked funny, as if every step caused him terrible pain, but this was only to divert his eyes. You should see how he rushes as fast as he can to the cafeteria when they are baking enchiladas.

Anyway, Nancy Bobofit was throwing pieces of sandwich that got stuck in Grover's curly brown hair, knowing that I couldn't do anything to her because I was already on notice. The director threatened that I would disappear like a cork if something bad happened during this excursion, unforeseen difficulties arose, or I committed even the most innocent mischief.

“I’ll kill her,” I muttered.

“Everything is fine,” Grover tried to reassure me. - I like peanut butter.

He dodged another bite of Nancy's lunch.

“Okay, that’s it,” I began to get up from my seat, but Grover forcefully sat me down.

“You’re already on probation,” he reminded me. - You know who will bear all the blame if anything happens.

Looking back, I regret not nailing Nancy Bobofit right then. Even if I had been kicked out of school, it would not have mattered, because I soon fell into such insanity, in comparison with which everything else was nonsense.

The museum tour was led by Mr. Brunner. He rode ahead in a wheelchair, leading us through large galleries that echoed with our footsteps, past marble statues and glass cases filled with real black-and-orange pottery.

The thought flashed through my mind that all this was already two or three thousand years old.

Mr. Brunner gathered us around a thirteen-foot stone column with a large sphinx on top and began to tell us that it was a tombstone, or stele, on the grave of a girl about our age. He explained to us about the drawings carved on the sides of the tombstone. I tried to listen to what he was saying because it was interesting, but everyone around me was talking, and every time I told them to shut up, the second teacher accompanying us, Mrs. Dodds, looked at me angrily.

Mrs. Dodds was some small fry, a math teacher from Georgia who, even at fifty, wore a black leather jacket. She had that amazing look: it seemed like she could drive a Harley right onto the school porch. She appeared in Yancy six months ago, when our former mathematician had a nervous breakdown.

From the very first day Mrs. Dodds loved Nancy Bobofit, and considered me the devil's spawn. She pointed her crooked finger at me and said tenderly, “So, honey,” and it became clear to me that I would have to hang around at school after school for another month.

One day, when she was asking me questions from some old math textbook until midnight, I told Grover that I didn’t think Mrs. Dodds was human. He looked at me absolutely seriously and replied: “You are absolutely right.”

Mr. Brunner continued to talk about Greek tombstones and art.

It ended with Nancy Bobofit making some joke about the naked boy on the stele, and turning to her, I snapped:

Maybe you'll shut up after all?

And he blurted it out louder than he expected.

Everyone laughed. Mr. Brunner had to pause.

Do you have any additions, Mr. Jackson? - he asked.

No, sir,” I replied, turning red as a tomato.

Maybe you can tell us what this image means? - he asked, pointing to one of the drawings.

I looked at the carved figure and felt a surge of relief because I actually remembered who it was.

This is Kronos devouring his children.

Yes,” Mr. Brunner said, clearly disappointed. - And he did it because...

Well... - I strained my memory. - Kronos was the supreme deity and...

Deity? - asked Mr. Brunner.

A Titan,” I corrected, “and he did not trust his children, who were gods. Hmm... well, Kronos ate them. But his wife hid the baby Zeus and gave Kronos a stone instead. And then, when Zeus grew up, he tricked his dad, Kronos, that is, into vomiting back his brothers and sisters...

Wow! - some girl behind spoke up.

“...well, a terrible fight arose between the gods and the titans,” I continued, “and the gods won.”

Muffled laughter was heard from the group of my classmates.

Raise your head and look at the night sky. The moon, comets, the radiance of Sirius - the brightest star in the sky. You can admire this forever, but suddenly something flies from space straight to Earth with a fiery red tail. You made a mistake if you thought it was a meteorite. Zeus came to visit Earth: he got bored on Olympus and flew to his beloved. Usually, if gods descend from heaven, they leave a “trace” - demigods: these are the children of earthlings and Olympians.
Naturally, the demigods remain on earth and live among us. Turn around and take a closer look: the archivist is studying historical documents - she is the daughter of the goddess of wisdom, Athena; in a cafe, the sommelier - the son of Dionysus - recognizes the best wine, and the happy fisherman, who caught a huge job, is the son of Poseidon. You may be a demigod yourself, but you don't know it. You think that these are lies, the inventions of some boy who has read science fiction, but I am not the only one who believes in them...
Uncover the secret world of half-breeds with Rick Riordan's Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief. This book completely captivates the reader. I loved it from the first book smell to the final barcode. As you already understand, the main character of the world bestseller, Percy Jackson, is a twelve-year-old boy suffering from dyslexia. It would seem like an ordinary plot, a transitional age, a story about overcoming one’s illness, but no matter how it is.
Events unfold in unexpected ways. Percy almost becomes the victim of his math teacher. The boy is saved by a ballpoint pen, which suddenly turned into a real sword and struck a mathematician from the world of Hades.
So, I took the pen that was lying nearby. I shook it several times and the sword did not appear. But I think I've deviated from the topic...
There was very little time left until the next appearance of a new monster: on the coast where the hero goes, he is attacked by the Minotaur. But who needed to kill Jackson? What did he do? Why did the gods take up arms against him? Perhaps he is a magician? Representative of the secret guard? Or is he...a demigod?
The desire to reveal all the intrigues leads to amazing thoughts - this is the value of the story about Percy Jackson. Writing sequels based on Rioradan's book can be an excellent source of income Write it down!
The hero also has his assistants. Percy's friend from school Grover, a satyr (a cheerful goat-footed creature) protected him from attacks by the “fiends of hell.” The main adventures begin when Percy and Grover get to Camp Half-Blood. There he meets Annabeth, his faithful companion in the search for lightning.
It seems that I managed to interest you. If you love to travel, then this is the book for you. You probably haven’t been able to visit the kingdom of Hades or Mount Olympus before. Antiquity in modernity is what attracts in the book.
We can say with confidence that Percy Jackson is a friend for many schoolchildren, and for me personally, he is an idol. Percy, like his father, is a kind, sincere, caring, thoughtful boy. Together with Percy, you can fight monsters, make important decisions, meet the mighty three gods of Olympus, and play in the casino.
Oh yeah! If you have forgotten ancient Greek myths, refresh your memory by reading this wonderful book.
I hope you meet a demigod. The main thing is to believe. They are close...

________________________________
Don't forget to add the first letters of each paragraph. Well, did it work?

Rick Riordan

Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief

Haley, who first heard the story

Also known as

Lord of Heaven

Lord of Mount Olympus

One of the Big Three

Place of residence

Mount Olympus

(now located on the 600th floor of the Empire State Building)

Weapon of choice

Rod that shoots lightning

Also known as

God of the Seas

One of the Big Three

Percy's father

Place of residence

Sea Depths

Weapon of choice

Trident

Also known as

Goddess of Wisdom and War

Annabeth's mother

Place of Birth

The head of Zeus, from where it appeared in full battle gear

Weapon of choice

Strategy, cunning and whatever comes to hand

Also known as

God of War

Clarissa's father

Place of residence

Mount Olympus

(although on the bumper of his motorcycle it is written: “I was not born in Sparta, but I rushed here at full speed”)

Weapon of choice

Name anything - he will use it

Also known as

Demigod, son of Poseidon

Fish Brains

Place of residence

New York, New York

Weapon of choice

Riptide

Also known as

Demigod, daughter of Athena

Smart girl

Place of residence

San Francisco, California

Weapon of choice

Magic Yankees Cap That Makes It Invisible

Celestial Bronze Dagger

Also known as

Kid

Percy's best friend

Place of residence

Forest near Camp Half-Blood

Preferred Weapon

Reed pipe

Also known as

Mr. Brunner

Immortal teacher of heroes

Deputy Director of Camp Half-Blood

Place of residence

Camp Half-Blood, Long Island, New York

Weapon of choice

Bow and arrows

Chapter first

Random disappearance of a math student

Look, I didn't want to be a half-breed.

Being a half-breed is dangerous. It's a terrible thing. The consciousness that you are like this is murderous, painful and disgusting.

If you're a regular guy and you're reading all this because you think it's fiction, great. Read on. I envy you if you believe that nothing like this has ever happened in your life.

And don't say I didn't warn you.

My name is Percy Jackson.

I'm twelve. Until a few months ago, I attended Yancy, a private boarding high school for troubled teenagers in New York State.

So, am I difficult to educate?

Well, you can say that.

I understand - it looks like real torture. Most excursions to Yancy were like this.

But this time the tour was led by our Latinist, Mr. Brunner, so I still hoped for something.

I hoped that the excursion would be okay. At least - that at least once, as an exception, I won’t get into anything.

But, buddy, I was wrong.

During this excursion I decided to play nice.

“I’ll kill her,” I muttered.

“Everything is fine,” Grover tried to reassure me. - I like peanut butter.

He dodged another bite of Nancy's lunch.

So, that's it. “I started to get up from my seat, but Grover forced me back down.

“You’re already on probation,” he reminded me. - You know who will bear all the blame if anything happens.

The thought flashed through my mind that all this was already two or three thousand years old.

Mr. Brunner continued to talk about Greek tombstones and art.

It ended with Nancy Bobofit making some joke about the naked boy on the stele, and turning to her, I snapped:

Maybe you'll shut up after all?

And he blurted it out louder than he expected.

Everyone laughed. Mr. Brunner had to pause.

Do you have any additions, Mr. Jackson? - he asked.

No, sir,” I replied, turning red as a tomato.

Maybe you can tell us what this image means? - he asked, pointing to one of the drawings.

I looked at the carved figure and felt a surge of relief because I actually remembered who it was.

This is Kronos devouring his children.

Yes,” Mr. Brunner said, clearly disappointed. - And he did it because...

Well... - I strained my memory. - Kronos was the supreme deity and...

Deity? - asked Mr. Brunner.

Wow! - some girl behind spoke up.

“...well, a terrible fight arose between the gods and the titans,” I continued, “and the gods won.”

Muffled laughter was heard from the group of my classmates.

It looks like this will be very useful to us in life,” Nancy Bobofit, who was standing behind me, muttered to her friend. - Imagine, you come to apply for a job, and they say to you: “Please explain why Kronos swallowed his children.”

Well, Mr. Jackson,” said Brunner, “what does all this have to do with reality, to paraphrase Miss Bobofit’s excellent question?”

Did you eat it? Grover muttered.

Shut up,” Nancy hissed, her face flushed even brighter than her hair.

Finally, Nancy also sat in a puddle. Mr. Brunner was the only one who did not miss a single extraneous word spoken in his lesson. He doesn't have ears, but radars.

I thought about his question and shrugged.

I don't know, sir.

It's clear. - Mr. Brunner was a little upset. - We'll have to cut your grade in half, Mr. Jackson. Zeus actually persuaded Kronos to taste a mixture of wine and mustard, which forced the latter to expel the remaining five children, who, of course, being immortal gods, lived and grew undigested in the womb of the titan. Having defeated his father, the gods cut him into small pieces with his own sickle and scattered his remains throughout Tartarus, the darkest part of the underworld. On that optimistic note, let me announce that it is time for lunch. Will you take us back, Mrs. Dodds?

The class spilled out of the hall, the girls were giggling, the boys were jostling and fooling around.

Grover and I were about to follow them when Mr. Brunner said to me:

Mr. Jackson.

I understood what would happen now.

And I told Grover not to wait for me. Then he turned to Mr. Brunner.

Mr. Brunner had such a look... it’s clear, he won’t just get off me... His brown eyes looked so intently and piercingly, as if he was already a thousand years old and had seen everything in the world.

You should know the answer to my question,” said Mr. Brunner.

About the titans?

About real life. And how is your study related to it?

What I teach you,” Mr. Brunner continued, “is vitally important. And I expect you to take this with full responsibility. Only the best will pass the test, Percy Jackson.

I almost got angry, the blow was painful.

Of course, it was great in the days of the so-called tournaments, when, dressed in Roman armor, Mr. Brunner exclaimed: “Long live Caesar! heroes, who their mothers were, and what gods they worshiped. But Mr. Brunner, it turns out, expected me to keep up with the others, even though I suffered from dyslexia and attention disorder and had never received another “C” in my life. No - he expected me not only to keep up; he hoped that I would be better! But I simply could not learn all these names and facts, much less write them correctly.

I muttered that I would try, and Mr. Brunner looked at the stele for a long time and sadly, as if he was personally present at the funeral of this girl.

And then he told me to go to lunch with the others.

The class sat on the steps in front of the museum, from where we could see the crowd of pedestrians on Fifth Avenue.

A thunderstorm was gathering in the sky, the clouds were heavy, gloomy, blacker than I had ever seen. I thought maybe it was global warming because the weather all over New York State had been really weird since Christmas. We were hit by terrible snowstorms, flooded, and forest fires started from lightning strikes. I wouldn't be surprised if a tornado was heading towards us right now.

The others didn't seem to notice. The boys threw crackers at the pigeons. Nancy Bobofit was trying to pocket something from a certain lady's purse, and, of course, Mrs. Dodds pretended that nothing was happening.

Grover and I sat on the edge of the fountain, away from the others. We thought then no one would guess that we are from this schools are schools for crazy poor fellows who are destined to go down the same path anyway.

Did you tell me to stay after class? - Grover asked.

“Nope,” I replied. - So that Brunner?.. I just want him to leave me alone for a minute. That is, in the sense that I realized that I am not a genius.

Grover sat in silence for a moment. Then, just when I thought he was about to give me some deep philosophical remark to cheer me up, he said:

Can I have a bite of your apple?

I didn’t have much of an appetite, so I gave him the whole apple.

I watched the stream of taxis driving down Fifth Avenue and thought about my mother's apartment, which was further from the center, just a few steps from where we were sitting. I haven't seen my mom since Christmas. I really wanted to get into a taxi and go home. She would hug me tightly and be both happy and disappointed. She would immediately send me back to Yancy, reminding me to try, even though this was my sixth school in six years and I might get kicked out again. Eh, I couldn’t stand her sad look!

Mr. Brunner stopped in his wheelchair at the base of the handicapped ramp. He chewed celery while reading a paperback novel. A red umbrella stuck out over the back of his stroller, and it looked like a cafe table on wheels.

I was about to unwrap the sandwich when Nancy Bobofit appeared in front of me with her freak girlfriends - I think she was tired of ripping off tourists - and dumped her half-eaten lunch into Grover's lap.

Oops! “She grinned brazenly, looking at me and revealing her gap-toothed teeth. Her freckles were orange, like someone had stuck Cheetos crumbs on her face.

I don’t remember that I even touched her with a finger, but a moment later Nancy was sitting on her butt in the fountain and screaming:

It was Percy who pushed me!

Mrs. Dodds was already there.

The guys were whispering.

You've seen?..

-...it’s like someone dragged her into the water...

I didn't understand what they were talking about. I only understood that I was in trouble again.

After making sure that poor little Nancy was all right, and promising to buy her a new shirt in the gift department, etc., etc., Mrs. Dodds turned to me. Her gaze glowed with triumph, as if I had accomplished something she had been waiting for all semester.

So, darling...

I know,” I snapped. - Now I’ll have to pore over your troublesome tasks for a whole month.

Oh, I shouldn't have said that!

“Come with me,” said Mrs. Dodds.

Wait! Grover squealed. - It's me! I pushed her.

I looked at him in shock. I just couldn’t believe that he was trying to cover for me! Mrs. Dodds scared the crap out of Grover.

She cast such a withering glance at my friend that his little beard trembled.

“I don’t think so, Mr. Underwood,” she said.

You... will stay... here!

Grover looked at me in despair.

“It’s okay, buddy,” I responded. - Thanks for trying.

Darling,” Mrs. Dodds barked at me, “did you hear?”

Nancy Bobofit grinned smugly.

I gave her my signature now-you're-dead look. Then he turned to Mrs. Dodds, but she was no longer there. She stood at the entrance to the museum, at the top of the stairs and impatiently beckoned me with gestures.

How did she manage to get up so quickly?

I often had to experience something similar, when I seemed to fall asleep, and a moment later I saw that someone or something had disappeared, as if a piece had fallen out of the mysterious mosaic of the universe and now I could only stare at an empty place. The school teacher said that this was part of my diagnosis - attention disorder with hyperactivity. My brain was misinterpreting the phenomena.

I wasn't so sure about that.

But he went after Mrs. Dodds.

When I reached the middle of the stairs, I looked back at Grover. He was pale and looked from me to Mr. Brunner, as if he wanted him to notice what was happening, but Mr. Brunner was immersed in his novel.

I looked up again. Mrs. Dodds has disappeared again. She was now inside the museum, at the far end of the lobby.

“Okay,” I thought. “She wants me to buy Nancy’s new shirt from the gift department.”

However, this was clearly not her plan.

I followed her deeper into the museum. Eventually, when I caught up with her, we found ourselves back in the Greco-Roman section.

There was no one in the gallery except us.

Mrs. Dodds stood with her arms crossed in front of a large marble frieze depicting the Greek gods. And she made this strange sound in her throat... like a growl.

There was a lot to be nervous about here. It's a strange thing being alone with a teacher, especially Mrs. Dodds. There was something in her gaze fixed on the frieze, as if she wanted to grind it into powder...

You're the reason we're in trouble, honey,” she said.

I tried to protect myself as much as possible and answered:

She tugged at the cuffs of her leather jacket.

Do you really think you can get away with this?

Mrs. Dodds was no longer looking at me like she was crazy. Just the epitome of evil.

“She’s a teacher,” I thought nervously. “It’s unlikely that she will dare to hit me.”

Rick Riordan

"Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief"

Chapter first

Random disappearance of a math student

Look, I didn't want to be a half-breed.

Being a half-breed is dangerous. It's a terrible thing. The consciousness that you are like this is murderous, painful and disgusting.

If you're a regular guy and you're reading all this because you think it's fiction, great. Read on. I envy you if you believe that nothing like this has ever happened in your life.

* * *

My name is Percy Jackson.

I'm twelve. Until a few months ago, I attended Yancy, a private boarding high school for troubled teenagers in New York State.

So, am I difficult to educate?

Well, you can say that.

I understand - it looks like real torture. Most excursions to Yancy were like this.

But this time the tour was led by our Latinist, Mr. Brunner, so I still hoped for something.

I hoped that the excursion would turn out okay. At least - that at least once, as an exception, I would not get into anything.

But, buddy, I was wrong.

During this excursion I decided to play nice.

“I’ll kill her,” I muttered.

“Everything is fine,” Grover tried to reassure me. - I like peanut butter.

He dodged another bite of Nancy's lunch.

“Okay, that’s it,” I began to get up from my seat, but Grover forcefully sat me down.

“You’re already on probation,” he reminded me. - You know who will bear all the blame if anything happens.

The thought flashed through my mind that all this was already two or three thousand years old.

Mr. Brunner continued to talk about Greek tombstones and art.

It ended with Nancy Bobofit making some joke about the naked boy on the stele, and turning to her, I snapped:

Maybe you'll shut up after all?

And he blurted it out louder than he expected.

Everyone laughed. Mr. Brunner had to pause.

Do you have any additions, Mr. Jackson? - he asked.

No, sir,” I replied, turning red as a tomato.

Maybe you can tell us what this image means? - he asked, pointing to one of the drawings.

I looked at the carved figure and felt a surge of relief because I actually remembered who it was.

This is Kronos devouring his children.

Yes,” Mr. Brunner said, clearly disappointed. - And he did it because...

Well... - I strained my memory. - Kronos was the supreme deity and...

Deity? - asked Mr. Brunner.

Wow! - some girl behind spoke up.

“...well, a terrible fight arose between the gods and the titans,” I continued, “and the gods won.”

Muffled laughter was heard from the group of my classmates.

Well, Mr. Jackson,” said Brunner, “what does all this have to do with reality, to paraphrase Miss Bobofit’s excellent question?”

Did you eat it? Grover muttered.

Shut up,” Nancy hissed, her face flushed even brighter than her hair.

Finally, Nancy also sat in a puddle. Mr. Brunner was the only one who did not miss a single extraneous word spoken in his lesson. He doesn't have ears, but radars.

I thought about his question and shrugged.

I don't know, sir.