Being eight years old again was terrifying. The idea that I might have to go through all those years again . . . I felt tears welling in my eyes. I wanted my mommy. I pushed down the sense of panic as best I could. The exit. Just find the exit.
No one tried to stop us. No one had chained the doors. We simply stepped back into the afternoon sunlight of Times Square. . . .
And we were still little kids.
I grabbed Grover’s arm to keep him from head-butting a street performer in a Mickey Mouse costume.
“So, what now?” Annabeth asked, her voice tight. “We can’t just . . . go home like this.”
When Annabeth asks for advice, I know things are bad. She’s always the one with the plan. Also, home for her was a dorm room at SODNYC. She couldn’t exactly show up nine years younger.
“It’ll be okay,” I said.
She scowled at me. “You think so? Then you’re a dummy!”
She put her palms to her temples. “Sorry, Percy . . . I—I can’t think straight. I think Hebe changed more than just how we look.”
I knew what she meant. I hadn’t felt this panicky in a long time—it was like I’d eaten a combination of sugar and glass, and I would either get cut to pieces or shake apart from the inside.
“I’m not doing nine years over again,” I said. “Let’s go back in and find Hebe.”
“And then what?” Grover bleated. “She might turn us into babies!”
“Stop it!” Annabeth said.
“No, you stop it. Meanie!”
“Am not!”
“Are too!”
“Guys!” I grabbed their arms and held them apart. “We can figure this out. Back inside.”
I was trying to be the reasonable one. Definitely a sign of the apocalypse. I led them back into Hebe Jeebies, which was the last place I wanted to be.
Almost immediately, we ran into Sparky, who looked much more cheerful without her wheel o’ prize tickets.
“Hi, welcome to Hebe Jeebies!” she said. “Do you know your way around?”
“We were just here,” I said. “Except older.”
“That doesn’t narrow it down. . . .” She looked us over more carefully. “How much older? Fifty? Eighty?”
“Seriously?” Annabeth said.
“We asked you where Hebe was,” Grover offered. “You pointed us to the karaoke bar?”
“Oh, right,” Sparky said. “You three. Okay, then, have a good time.”
“Wait!” Grover said. “We need to see Hebe again!”
Sparky arched her eyebrows. “What, you want to be even younger? When Hebe blesses you, you shouldn’t get greedy. I’m sixty-five myself. It took me months of working here to get this young again!”
Of course. Sparky was another boomer—just a nine-year-old boomer.
“We don’t want to get any younger,” I said. “We want Hebe to put us back the way we were.”
Sparky scowled. “Hold on. . . . Are you lodging an age-based complaint?”
I didn’t like the way this manager kid/boomer was looking at me, like she was going to bury me in two-for-one pizza coupons. “Well, it’s just . . . I think there’s been a misunderstanding. We’d like—”
“You’d like to complain.” Sparky pulled a bullhorn off her belt and announced to the entire arcade, “We have an age-based complaint!”
The crowd erupted in cheers, hoots, and jeers. Many of them grinned at us in a malicious way, like they expected a good show.
“Um . . .” I said.
“Unleash the predators!” Sparky screamed. “Let the chase begin!”
Bells clanged. Money changed hands. A few customers speculated as to who would fall first: me, Annabeth, or Grover. It didn’t look like the odds were in my favor.
My pulse pounded, but scanning the room, I couldn’t see any bloodthirsty predators.
“We just want to talk to Hebe!” I insisted.
Sparky pointed her megaphone right in my face and nearly blasted my eyebrows off.
“Maybe you will, if you survive the race. Have fun!” She lowered her bullhorn and strolled off.
In the depths of the arcade, someone screamed. A chair went flying. A pinball machine toppled over.
Annabeth drew her knife, which looked bigger in her small hand.
Grover yelped. “Here they come! I can smell them!”
“Smell what?” I demanded. “I don’t see—”
Then I did. The chickens from the henhouse were rampaging through the arcade. Normally, I wouldn’t use the word rampage to describe poultry behavior, but these birds were pure feathered chaos. Dozens swarmed over the game cabinets and knocked over furniture, ripping the upholstery with their claws and beaks. Some flew over the heads of the customers, strafing their hairdos. Others snapped hot dogs out of people’s hands.