Rick Riordan
Rick Riordan
Richard Russell "Rick" Riordan, Jr. is an American author known for writing the Percy Jackson & the Olympians series, which is about a twelve-year-old who discovers he is a son of Poseidon. His books have been translated into 37 languages and sold more than 30 million copies in the US. Twentieth Century Fox has adapted the first two books of his Percy Jackson series as part of a series of films. His books have spawned related media, such as graphic novels...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionYoung Adult Author
Date of Birth5 June 1964
CountryUnited States of America
A Styrofoam egg carton caught his eye. He opened it and found a single silver orb with little blinking red lights. "This is cool, too!" He dropped it into his backpack. "Dan, no!" "What? They've got plenty of other stuff, and we need all the help we can get!" "It could be dangerous." "I hope so.
Sometimes it is better to have someone you mistrust close to you, so that you can keep an eye on him - Chiron
Charlie …" Silena’s eyes were a million miles away. "See Charlie.
The Cyclopes growled, "I don't see very well since the last hero poked my eye out, but you're... NO... LADY... CYCLOPES!
You..." The centaur's eyes flared like a cornered animal's. "You should be dead.
Set’s storm is gathering,” Amos said with a twinkle in his eyes. “Shall we drive into is?
Doughboy, we need to talk.” Doughboy opened his wax eyes. “Finally! You realize how stuffy it is in there? At last you’ve remembered that you need my brilliant guidance.” “Actually we need to become a coat.
I blinked the sleep out of my eyes and realized my head was in Khufu’s lap. The baboon was foraging my scalp for munchies. “Dude.” I sat up groggily. “Not cool.” “But he gave you a lovely hairdo,” Sadie said. “Agh-agh!” Khufu agreed.
Anubis frowned. He locked his very nice eyes with mine. “You’re not dead.” “No,” I said. “Though we’re trying awfully hard.
Hey, moose!” I screamed. The Set animal locked its glowing eyes one me. Well done! Horus said. Now we’ll both die with honor! Shut up, I thought.
With my sister perched on my arm, I walked to the elevator. A business man with a rolling suitcase was waiting by the doors. His eyes widened as he saw me. I must’ve looked pretty strange—a tall black kid in dirty, ragged Egyptian clothes, with a weird box tucked under one arm and a bird of prey perched on the other. “How’s it going?” I said. “I’ll take the stairs.” He hurried off.
Why didn’t you sleep with the headrest?” I shrugged. “It was uncomfortable.” I looked at Sadie for support. “You didn’t use it, did you?” Sadie rolled her eyes. “Well, of course I did. It was obviously there for a reason.
What about King Tut’s tomb?” I protested. “That boy king?” Zia rolled her eyes. “Boring. You should see some of the good tombs.
Wha-what?" Her eyes fluttered open. "Nothing," I shouted. "We're being followed by a slaying machine. Go back to sleep.