𝐏𝐘𝐑𝐑𝐇𝐈𝐂 𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘, percy jackson ¹ ▷ pjo ✓

𝚒. 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐤.

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( 𝐏𝐘𝐇𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐂 𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 )
𝙸. Class Field Trips Suck!

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(𝑅𝑖𝑔𝑒𝑙!)

EVERY SINGLE DEMIGOD TO HAVE ever existed on this planet is different. I'm not talking about race or apperance, no. I'm talking about unique attributes that make us who we are. Generalizing us — half-bloods — is the most stupid thing anyone could ever do. We may all be half human and half god, but for some of us, that's probably the only thing we have in common with the rest.

          Some half-bloods have some really cool powers inherited from their immortal parents, some half-bloods inherit great skills from their godly side. Some half-bloods are born with good intentions, while others . . . not so much. The point is none of us are the same. We're all very, very different.

         You may be wondering what exactly makes me so differet. Well, if I'm being honest, I believe there are a lot of things that make me different from most demigods. But what makes me really different from the group is tha fact that I was blessed . . . with a curse.

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𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐘 . . .

          My name is Antonia Martínez. Call me Rigel.

          I'm a thirteen year old kid and up until a few months ago, I was your average half-blood just waiting for summer to happen. But like everything else in my life, that plan went up into flames. Instead, I was whisked from my abuela's couch and sent to aid my saytr friend, Grover Underwood, and help him befriend and protect some troubled kid named Perseus Jakckon.

          Is Percy a troubled kid?

          Yeah, you could say that.But in all honesty, aren't we all?

          Contrary to whatever people tell you, it wasn't that hard to befriend the blonde haired boy. It was actually quite simple: he said he could see things, I said I believed him. After some games of Mythomagic and a burnt down girls dormitary, Grover, Percy and I became fast friends.

          I could start this story at any point in that miserably long year, but things really started to get intersting last May, when our six-grade class took a field trip to the amazing Manhattan — twenty-nine mentally confused kids and two teachers on a yellow school bus, heading to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to look at ancient Greek and Roman artifacts.

          Sound like torture? Of course it does. Most Yancy field trips are like that.

          Don't get me wrong, I love my dad's side of the world. You know, the one with heroes, adventure, magic and stuff, but all I wanted that year was to kick back and relax before I had to make my way back to camp. But like always, I couldn't win at that.

          At least I could look forward to whatever trouble the mortals would get themselves into. It was always entertaining. At least, only if my curse didn't get in the way.