Once out on Fifth Avenue, I spotted Grover at the end of the block, waving his sparkly Hula-Hoop at me.
“Lobby security let me off with a warning!” he said as he trotted up. “And did you— Ooh, a demi bag! Thanks!”
Grover dove in like a horse with a grain sack . . . which I mean in a completely complimentary and positive way.
“Yum,” he said. “You know what these pastries need?”
“Clotted cream?” I guessed.
He got a dreamy look on his face. “I was going to say strawberry jelly. But yeah . . . clotted cream. Anyway, tell me what happened!”
I gave him the rundown on my fabulous brunch experience.
“Llamas in Crete?” Grover frowned. “You sure they weren’t vicu?a or guanaco?”
“You know, I didn’t get the chance to ask while I was hiding under the pastry cart.”
“That’s a cliché. But you met Lucius the lion! I hear he tells hilarious jokes. . . .” Grover must’ve registered the blank look on my face. “Which of course you didn’t have time for. It sounds like everything worked out, though!”
“Yeah,” I said. “As long as Athena doesn’t report me to the Olympian border patrol. Or as long as Zeus doesn’t find out I sneaked into his brunch. I’ve decided not to mention this incident to anyone at camp.”
His goatee quivered. I worried I’d offended him somehow. Then he sniffled, and I realized he was on the verge of tears.
“I’ll be honest, Percy . . . the most scared I’ve ever been? It was probably in that Cyclops’s cave in the Sea of Monsters, when I was all alone. . . .” He wiped his nose, which made the Hula-Hoop sparkle cheerfully. （Because Hula-Hoops have no sense of propriety.）
“But today,” he continued, “when I watched you wrestling Gary . . . ? That was a close second. I really thought I was going to lose you.”
My heart felt like it was being filled with a particularly heavy Olympian beverage. “Ah, G-man . . . we came through it okay. We always do.”
Sniffle. “I know. But every time . . . I feel like we’re tempting fate. Like eventually our luck will run out. And if I lost you . . .”
“Hey,” I said. “I’m fine. Besides, you’ve been in a lot scarier spots than today. I mean, Medusa’s lair, the Underworld—”
“Nah,” he said. “Nothing is scarier than watching your friend struggle and not being able to help.”
I put a hand on his shoulder. “But you did help. You know how I was able to beat Gary?”
I told him about the daydream that got me through the wrestling match—of Annabeth and me and him, dozing in the sunshine at a cottage on the seashore.
He listened intently, like he was almost as hungry for the story as he was for the demi-bag goodies. “I had white ear hair?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“That makes sense. And what was cooking for lunch?”
I thought about it. “Probably enchiladas.”
He sighed with contentment. “Okay. That’s good. I can believe in enchiladas.”
He gave me a hug that reminded me how much my ribs hurt, but honestly, I didn’t mind. We probably looked strange standing there on Fifth Avenue, just two guys hugging it out with a Hula-Hoop between us. I didn’t mind that, either.
“I’m keeping you from school,” Grover said, releasing me from the satyr hug of steel. “Haven’t you already missed, like, two classes?”
Oh, right . . . school.
“Maybe I should find Annabeth first,” I said hopefully. “Tell her what happened. Return her hat.”
“I can do that,” Grover said. “You get to class!”
That’s the advantage of having a friend who does not attend school—he can do things for you while you’re stuck in lectures. The disadvantage is that you have one less excuse for skipping those lectures.
I readjusted the cap for Annabeth’s size and handed it to Grover. Then I gave him another hug.
“Thanks for everything, G-man,” I said. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Aww.” He blushed to the base of his horns. “Just make good grades! Otherwise . . . well, I’m sure you’ll do great.”
On that happy note, we headed in different directions—him downtown toward SODNYC, me to the subway for Queens.
I tried not to dwell on the fact that I was taking the F train to school. It seemed like a bad omen. Still, it felt weird being back in a mortal commute after my trip to Olympus. In the seat next to me, some guy was on his phone complaining about stock options. The lady across the aisle was rummaging through bags of produce, pulling out turnips and scowling at them. Meanwhile, up on Olympus, Zeus probably hadn’t even finished his llama story yet. I preferred hanging out with Stock Option Guy and Turnip Lady. They were more entertaining.