Chapter Two
~Percy Jackson~
A high pitched beeping woke me, the shrill screams of the arai fresh in my mind. I almost pulled out Riptide before I realized it was just the screeching of my alarm clock. I stood from my chair slowly and stretched, trying to get the cricks out of my neck and back from falling asleep on my desk.
I looked at the still beeping alarm. It was five-thirty (damn you, camp routine), plenty of time to get ready. After shutting off the noise, I got dressed into jeans and a faded band shirt. Gathering my homework from the desk, I made sure Riptide was in my pocket and that my bead necklace was on before I headed to the kitchen.
I made some coffee for myself - though I still think it tastes disgusting (even when loaded with sugar), it wakes me up - and grabbed some toast. Before I knew it, the coffee and toast were done and I was headed out the door.
I checked that my phone was in my pocket, then pulled on my hoodie and shoes. Grabbing my skateboard from the closet, I walked out, shouldering my bag.
I skateboarded to Goode High School, which was a few blocks away from my apartment, one earbud in and blasting Green Day. As usual, I was early, seeing as I'm probably the only teenager on the planet who would ever even think about waking up at five in the morning when it was unnecessary. But that was alright, I guess. I got in before the other students, so I wasn't jostled in the halls, and I sometimes scared the schist out of some late teachers that walked into their supposedly empty, somehow unlocked classrooms (so maybe my time in the Hermes cabin wasn't totally useless).
I waited in homeroom as all the kids trickled in, having put away my unneeded things in my locker long ago. I didn't have to wait long before my friend Peter sat down next to me.
"Dude, how did you beat me here again? Or more importantly why? I actually have a reason to be here before school starts, but you? It's like you live here, I swear!" he exclaimed.
I only shrugged in response, pushing the anti-dyslexia glasses up the bridge of my nose. The truth was, I was quite used to waking up early, because, although camp was pretty lax, the training and schedules were similar to a boot camp, even more so with the Romans around so often.
Peter Parker was in a few of my classes this year - math, AP tech, english, AP history - but we really only got to know each other because our lockers are only a few away from one another. We quickly became close friends, even though he lived quite far away from where I was.
Peter shook his head at me.
"Fine, whatever. Just remember we gotta meet up later for that history project. It's due in, like, three days." He told me.
"Got it," I replied. "So, this isn't just some diabolical plan to get junk food?"
"C'mon, man! Aunt May just adores you, and therefore, orders pizza, and I want pizza right now."
I chuckle. "I'll walk home with you, then."
Before we could continue, the teacher began taking attendance.
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The school bell finally rang, signalling the end of the day. I sighed in relief, because even though my dyslexia was gone, I still had trouble with English. It was as if it wasn't my first language. In fact, I had so much trouble with it, that I actually ended up telling people that it wasn't. It apparently seemed believable, as I did have a bit of an accent from constantly speaking Greek at camp. Most of us do it without even realizing and we only really found out after Rachel came and couldn't understand a word we were saying.
I realized my ADHD had distracted me again, and I got up and grabbed my stuff, heading out towards my locker. I did the lock's combination and stuffed my homework into my backpack.
Within a few moments, Peter appeared next to me and put away his things as well, slinging his bag over his shoulders. We started on our way down the hall. We passed Ned, Peter's best friend, who also seemed to be working on some partner project. He waved at us as we walked by, before continuing on his own way. Peter's other sort-of-friend (from what I heard she mostly just insulted them and made sarcastic comments [sounds like Thalia]) Michelle, was standing to the side of the hall, seemingly waiting for the rushes of people to die down so she could get through the halls unjostled.
I tugged on the upper sleeve of his jacket, bringing him back to Earth, and we continued down the hallway.
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"You know, like, everything about the pagans. Seriously, get a hobby!" Peter exclaimed, disbelief clear in his voice. We were sitting on the floor of his room, papers spread out around us.
"This is my hobby," I replied, amusedly and pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose. "And it's the only reason you'll pass this unit."
Peter shrugged.
"Hey, so I didn't pay attention in any of the mythology units. I got extra credits for being the school photographer. And I still get extra credits for it." He told me. "Anyway, what did Hercules do?"
"Heracles," I corrected, my inner Annabeth coming out as I spoke, "Hercules is his Roman form. And he most famously completed twelve labours, including the retrieval of an Apple of Immortality from the Garden of the Hesperides near the middle of Mount Osiris, the mountain on which Atlas stands and holds up the sky. The tree the Apples grow from is Hera's and is guarded by four nymphs - previously five, daughters of Atlas - and a massive hundred-headed dragon called Ladon, whose sole duty is to prevent anyone from taking the fruits of the tree. It was Heracles' eleventh labour - which is the one this project is about - , and although he did complete it, he didn't do it alone... Not that anyone knew that..." I added as an afterthought, trying to hide my sadness at the memory of Zoë Nightshade.
Peter looked at me funny for a minute, before scribbling down some notes on what I'd just said. At first, I thought he'd noticed the sorrow in my voice at the end, before I realized I'd said most of my monologue in present tense. Oops.
I shook it off and pretended not to have noticed, hoping he'd let it slide. It seemed like he did, although I could never be sure with him.
I was saved from any potentially dangerous questions when Aunt May's voice could be heard from downstairs.
"Boys! Your pizza's here!" she called up to us.
We grinned at each other before darting to our feet and racing down the stairs. The smell of hot pizza was overwhelming as we reached the bottom of the stairs and looking into the kitchen revealed Aunt May and two large pizzas, one cheese and one pepperoni.
Aunt May handed us each a plate, telling us we were free to eat upstairs so we could work on our assignment. Snatching a few slices from the box and tossing them onto our plates, we quickly thanked her and sprinted back up the stairs.
As we sat in his room a few moments later, eating and writing, Peter looked up for a moment, frowning slightly.
"Hey, just a question, how come you never let anyone over to your house?" He asked, tilting his head to one side.
Now, I didn't generally like to lie, especially to close friends like Peter, but how exactly was I supposed to tell him the truth?
'Sorry, my parents are in an indefinite coma and I constantly have bleeding half-gods in my apartment. My residence is partially destroyed, despite the fact that I apparently stress-clean, and I have weird symbols painted on the walls and windows in rather questionable substances to ward off some creepy shit as well as signify protection for some almost equally creepy shit. Not to mention I have a giant demon hound and creepy, stick-thin, emo friend that sporadically show up from the shadows and sometimes these crazy man-hating girls appear to get supplies and information from me. Also, I occasionally get kidnapped by secret government organizations because we like to have friendly chats in interrogation rooms and even though I'm like eighty percent sure you aren't exactly who you say you are, I can't take any chances and have you mixed up in all that, now can I?'
Yeah, no. Not gonna do that. I settled for a half-truth.
"Ehm..." I hesitated, building the story in my mind. "My mum is really ill. Not enough so that we have to take her to the hospital, but she's currently bedridden and I feel bad if I bring people over 'cause she always feels the need to entertain guests but she can't really now and I just-" I realized I was rambling, and trailed off, looking away from my friend. It was less of a truth than I wanted it to be, but now I'd said it and I'd have to remember and maintain the tale before it was forgotten or twisted.
Peter looked at me sympathetically.
"Hey, hey. It's alright, you don't have to, uh, you don't have to keep going..." He trailed off, looking a little guilty. "Besides, we gotta get on with this project if I wanna pass history."
I smiled lightly and went back to colouring the title page of our project.
Once again, thank you all for reading and please let me know of any mistakes! Also, just letting you guys know that I am writing this during summative/exam season so I'm not sure how often updates will be, nor how regularly they might occur. Thanks! <3