Black and White (Percy Jackson Fanfiction)

Chapter 1

My mother and I could not disagree more. Whether it was about what to eat for dinner or who should have won the last presidential election. She wants veggie pizza, I want Chinese. She wants to keep constitutional, I want gun control.

It's been like this ever since I could talk. When I was small, I would protest baths by putting on as many clothes as possible, making undressing me nearly possible. She would always say "if only your father was here...".

Not only do my mother and I differ personality wise, we're complete opposites physically. She's all-American with blond, curly hair, tan, but freckled skin, and large curves. On the other hand, I'm ghostly pale with faded black hair and shaped like a stick. I don't look or feel like her daughter.

"Ivory Ellison Tyler, get your butt down here!" my mom called from the kitchen. I groaned and trudged down the stairs, leaving the comfort of my room behind. Walking into the kitchen, I saw my mom holding a yellow piece of paper. "Do you know what this is?"

"A piece of paper?" I asked with a slightly annoyed tone.

"This," she said, "is your report card." I swallowed hard. My grades were never the best and I often ditched classes. "It's worse than usual."

"How bad?" I asked, wincing a little.

"Let's see," she said. "D in English, F in gym because you didn't show up-"

"Okay, well what's the point of gym anyway other than for the jocks to show off?" I interjected.

My mother ignored me, "D in math, D in biology, F in Spanish...and an A in history." she mumbled the last part.

"See?" I asked. "A in history there is hope!"

"Ivory, you and I both know history is your best subject by far. If only you would try as hard in your other classes as you did in history..." she said disappointed.

"Mom, history comes naturally to me; you know that." I tried soothing her.

"Yes but why can't you just apply yourself?" she whined. It was like this every semester. I'd let her down, she'd pretend to be disappointed. It's a routine.

"Mom, we both know I'm not going to be a fancy lawyer or doctor, so why are you still trying?" I asked, raising my voice slightly. "Wouldn't it be easier to accept you've got a failure as a daughter?"

My mother bit her lips, "You sound like your father."

I sighed hard. "You say that all the time, Mom. Listen, I'm nearly 17 now. I think I'm going to look him up, maybe have coffee with him?"

"No!" she shouted. "You can't."

"Why not? I'm moving out soon anyway!" I protested.

"He...died." she said, pausing a little. Died? He can't be dead; I haven't even met him yet. She chooses to tell me this now?

"You're bluffing." I decided.

"Ivory, you can never see your father." she said. It was vague enough to be seen as both 'your father is dead' and 'he isn't interested'. I wanted to know which one.

"Mom, I feel like I'm adopted half of the time." I saw her wince. Getting along hasn't been easy these 16 years.

My earliest memory of asking my mom about my father is when I was four years old. My preschool teacher had all of us bring in our dads one day and our moms the next. When I came home and explained my situation, my mother wrote to my father. He never wrote back. This is when I started to realize even if you hope and wish for something to come true, it won't ever happen.