Little sister!" Apollo called. If his teeth were any whiter he could've blinded us without the sun car. "What's up? You never call. You never write. I was getting worried!"
Artemis sighed. "I'm fine, Apollo. And I am not your little sister."
"Hey, I was born first."
"We're twins! How many millennia do we have to argue—

Brother,” Artemis chided. “You do not help my Hunters. You do not look at, talk to, or flirt with my Hunters. And you do not call them sweetheart.

Tell me again, exactly what Dr. Thorn said."
"Um, I hate middle school dances."
"No,no. After that.

Different elevator music was playing since my last visit-that old disco song "Stayin' Alive." A terrifying image flashed through my mind of Apollo in bell-bottom pants and a slinky silk shirt.

I gotta say"—Apollo broke the silence—"these kids did okay." He cleared his throat and began to recite: "Heroes win laurels—"

Um, yes, first class," Hermes interrupted, like he was anxious to avoid Apollo's poetry.

You must forgive my Hunters if they do not welcome you," Artemis said. "It is very rare that we would have boys in this camp. Boys are usually forbidden to have any contact with the Hunters. The last one to see this camp…" She looked at Zoe. "Which one was it?"

That boy in Colorado," Zoe said. "You turned him into a jackalope."

Ah, yes." Artemis nodded, satisfied. "I enjoy making jackalopes.