Once Percy got over the fact that his Latin teacher was a horse, they had a nice tour, though he was careful not to walk behind him. Percy'd done pooper-scooper patrol in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade a few times, and, he's sorry, he did not trust Chiron's back end the way he trusted his front.
They passed the volleyball pit. Several of the campers nudged each other. One pointed to the minotaur horn Percy was carrying. Another said, "That's him."
Way to make a guy feel welcomed.
Most of the campers were older than him. Their satyr friends were bigger than Grover, all of them trotting around in orange CAMP HALF-BLOOD T-shirts, with nothing else to cover their bare shaggy hindquarters. Percy wasn't normally shy, but the way they stared at him made him uncomfortable. He felt like they were expecting him to do a flip or something.
He looked back at the farmhouse. It was a lot bigger than he'd realized-four stories tall, sky blue with white trim, like an upscale seaside resort. He was checking out the brass eagle weathervane on top when something caught his eye, a shadow in the uppermost window of the attic gable. Something had moved the curtain, just for a second, and Percy got the distinct impression he was being watched.
"What's up there?" he asked Chiron.
The centuar looked where the boy was pointing, and his smile faded. "Just the attic."
"Somebody lives there?"
"No," he said with finality. "Not a single living thing."
Percy was also sure something had moved that curtain, but he got the feeling Chiron was being truthful, whilst also somehow lying.
It was something that Pez was expert at doing.
"Come along, Percy," Chiron said, his light-hearted tone now a little forced. "Lots to see."
They walked through the strawberry fields, where campers were picking bushels of berries while a satyr played a tune on a reed pipe.
Chiron told Percy the camp grew a nice crop for export to New York restaurants and Mount Olympus. "It pays our expenses," he explained. "And the strawberries take almost no effort."
He said Mr. D had this effect on fruit-bearing plants: they just went crazy when he was around. It worked best with wine grapes, but Mr. D was restricted from growing those, so they grew strawberries instead.
Percy watched the satyr playing his pipe. His music was causing lines of bugs to leave the strawberry patch in every direction, like refugees fleeing a fire. He wondered if Grover could work that kind of magic with music. He wondered if he was still inside the farmhouse, getting chewed out by Mr. D.
"Grover won't get in too much trouble, will he?" Percy asked Chiron. "I mean . . . he was a good protector. Really."
Chiron sighed. He shed his tweed jacket and draped it over his horses back like a saddle. "Grover has big dreams, Percy. Perhaps bigger than are reasonable. To reach his goal, he must first demonstrate great courage by succeeding as a keeper, finding a new camper and bringing him safely to Half-Blood Hill."
"But he did that!"
"I might agree with you," Chiron said. "But it is not my place to judge. Dionysus and the Council of Cloven Elders must decide. I'm afraid they might not see this assignment as a success. After all, Grover lost you in New York. Then there's the unfortunate . . . ah . . . fate of your mother. And the fact that Grover was unconscious when you dragged him over the property line. The council might question whether this shows any courage on Grover's part."
Percy wanted to protest. None of what happened was Grover's fault. He also felt really, really guilty. If he hadn't given Grover the slip at the bus station, he might not have gotten in trouble.
"He'll get a second chance, won't he?"
Chiron winced. "I'm afraid that was Grover's second chance, Percy. The council was not anxious to give him another, either, after what happened the first time, five years ago. Olympus knows, I advised him to wait longer before trying again. He's still so small for his age. . ."
"How old is he?"
"Oh, twenty-eight."
"What! And he's in sixth grade?"
"Satyrs mature half as fast as humans, Percy. Grover has been the equivalent of a middle school student for the past six years."
"That's horrible."
"Quite," Chiron agreed. "At any rate, Grover is a late bloomer, even by satyr standards, and not yet very accomplished at woodland magic. Alas, he was anxious to pursue his dream. Perhaps now he will find some other career. . ."
"That's not fair," Percy protested. "What happened the first time? Was it really so bad?"
Chiron looked away quickly. "Let's move along, shall we?"
But Percy wasn't quite ready to let the subject drop. Something had occurred to him when Chiron talked about his mother's fate, as if he were intentionally avoiding the word death. The beginnings of an idea-a tiny, hopeful fire-started forming in the boy's mind.
"Chiron," he said. "If the gods and Olympus and all that are real ..."
"Yes, child?"
"Does that mean the Underworld is real, too?"
Chiron's expression darkened.
"Yes, child." He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. "There is a place where spirits go after death. But for now . . . until we know more . . . I would urge you to put that out of your mind."
"What do you mean, 'until we know more'?"
"Come, Percy. Let's see the woods."
As we got closer, Percy realized how huge the forest was. It took up at least a quarter of the valley, with trees so tall and thick, he could imagine nobody had been in there since the Native Americans.
Chiron said, "The woods are stocked, if you care to try your luck, but go armed."
"Stocked with what?" Percy asked. "Armed with what?"
"You'll see. Capture the flag is Friday night. Do you have your own sword and shield?"
"My own-?"
"No," Chiron said. "I don't suppose you do. I think a size five will do. I'll visit the armoury later."
Percy wanted to ask what kind of summer camp had an armoury, but there was too much else to think about, so the tour continued. They saw the archery range, the canoeing lake, the stables (which Chiron didn't seem to like very much), the javelin range, the sing-along amphitheatre, and the arena where Chiron said they held sword and spear fights.
"Sword and spear fights?" the boy asked.
"Cabin challenges and all that," he explained. "Not lethal. Usually. Oh, yes, and there's the mess hall."
Chiron pointed to an outdoor pavilion framed in white Grecian columns on a hill overlooking the sea. There were a dozen stone picnic tables. No roof. No walls.
"What do you do when it rains?" Percy asked.
Chiron looked at him as if I'd gone a little weird. "We still have to eat, don't we?" Percy decided to drop the subject.
Finally, the centaur showed him the cabins. There were twelve of them, nestled in the woods by the lake. They were arranged in a U, with two at the base and five in a row on either side. And they were without doubt the most bizarre collection of buildings Percy'd ever seen.
Except for the fact that each had a large brass number above the door (odds on the left side, evens on the right), they looked absolutely nothing alike. Number nine had smokestacks, like a tiny factory. Number four had tomato vines on the walls and a roof made out of real grass. Seven seemed to be made of solid gold, which gleamed so much in the sunlight it was almost impossible to look at. They all faced a commons area about the size of a soccer field, dot-ted with Greek statues, fountains, flower beds, and a couple of basketball hoops (which were more Percy's speed).
In the centre of the field was a huge stone-lined firepit. Even though it was a warm afternoon, the hearth smouldered. A girl about nine years old was tending the flames, poking the coals with a stick.
The pair of cabins at the head of the field, numbers one and two, looked like his-and-hers mausoleums, big white marble boxes with heavy columns in front. Cabin one was the biggest and bulkiest of the twelve. Its polished bronze doors shimmered like a hologram, so that from different angles lightning bolts seemed to streak across them. Cabin two was more graceful somehow, with slimmer columns garlanded with pomegranates and flowers. The walls were carved with images of peacocks.
"Zeus and Hera?" Percy guessed.
"Correct," Chiron said.
"Their cabins look empty."
"Several of the cabins are. That's true. No one ever stays in one or two."
Okay. So, each cabin had a different god, like a mascot. Twelve cabins for the twelve Olympians. But why would some be empty?
He stopped in front of the first cabin on the left, cabin three.
It wasn't high and mighty like cabin one, but long and low and solid. The outer walls were of rough grey stone studded with pieces of seashell and coral, as if the slabs had been hewn straight from the bottom of the ocean floor. He peeked inside the open doorway and Chiron said, "Oh, I wouldn't do that!"
Before he could pull the boy back, Percy caught the salty scent of the interior, like the wind on the shore at Montauk. The interior walls glowed like abalone. There were six empty bunk beds with silk sheets turned down. But there was no sign anyone had ever slept there. The place felt so sad and lonely, he was glad when Chiron put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Come along, Percy."
Most of the other cabins were crowded with campers.
Number five was bright red-a real nasty paint job, as if the colour had been splashed on with buckets and fists. The roof was lined with barbed wire. A stuffed wild boar's head hung over the doorway, and its eyes seemed to follow me. Inside he could see a bunch of mean-looking kids, both girls and boys, arm wrestling and arguing with each other while rock music blared. The loudest was a girl maybe thirteen or fourteen. She wore a size XXXLCAMP HALF-BLOODT-shirt under a camouflage jacket. She zeroed in on Percy and gave him an evil sneer. She reminded him of Nancy Bobofit, though the camper girl was much bigger and tougher looking, and her hair was long and stringy, and brown instead of red.
Pez would've loved to torment this one, Percy thought wistfully. He felt no shame in admitting he missed her. He could really use some semblance normal, even if it came in the form of a hateful, pyromaniac teenage girl.
Percy kept walking, trying to stay clear of Chiron's hooves. "We haven't seen any other centaurs," he observed.
"No," said Chiron sadly. "My kinsmen are a wild and barbaric folk, I'm afraid. You might encounter them in the wilderness, or at major sporting events. But you won't see any here."
"You said your name was Chiron. Are you really . . ."
He smiled down at the boy. "The Chiron from the stories? Trainer of Hercules and all that? Yes, Percy, I am."
"But, shouldn't you be dead?"
Chiron paused, as if the question intrigued him. "I honestly don't know about should be. The truth is, I can't be dead. You see, eons ago the gods granted my wish. I could continue the work I loved. I could be a teacher of heroes as long as humanity needed me. I gained much from that wish . . . and I gave up much. But I'm still here, so I can only assume I'm still needed."
Percy thought about being a teacher for three thousand years. It wouldn't have made his Top Ten Things to Wish For list.
"Doesn't it ever get boring?"
"No, no," he said. "Horribly depressing, at times, but never boring."
"Why depressing?"
Chiron seemed to turn hard of hearing again. "Oh, look," he said. "Annabeth is waiting for us."
|0.1|
The blond girl he'd met at the Big House was reading a book in front of the last cabin on the left, number eleven.
When they reached her, she looked Percy over critically, like she was still thinking about how much he drooled.
He tried to see what she was reading, but he couldn't make out the title. He thought his dyslexia was acting up. Then he realized the title wasn't even English. The letters looked Greek to him. As in, literally Greek. There were pictures of temples and statues and different kinds of columns, like those in an architecture book.
"Annabeth," Chiron said, "I have masters' archery class at noon. Would you take Percy from here?"
"Yes, sir."
"Cabin eleven," Chiron told Percy, gesturing toward the doorway. "Make yourself at home."
Out of all the cabins, eleven looked the most like a regular old summer camp cabin, with the emphasis on old. The threshold was worn down, the brown paint peeling. Over the doorway was one of those doctor's symbols, a winged pole with two snakes wrapped around it. What did they call it . . . ? A caduceus.
Inside, it was packed with people, both boys and girls, way more than the number of bunk beds. Sleeping bags were spread all over on the floor. It looked like a gym where the Red Cross had set up an evacuation centre.
Chiron didn't go in. The door was too low for him. But when the campers saw him, they all stood and bowed respectfully.
"Well, then," Chiron said. "Good luck, Percy. I'll see you at dinner."
It was clearly a farewell, and Percy – and everyone else – fully expected him to leave. But curiously, he didn't.
Instead, a peculiar expression overtook his face and he leaned in slightly, his eyebrows furrowing ever-so-slightly, mouth open in preparation to speak.
"Actually, Percy . . ."
There was a strange hesitance in his voice, not entirely noticeable, but enough to be present. He beckoned Percy to come closer, just outside of the cabin and away from eager ears.
" . . . about your friend, Pez."
Percy couldn't control the way his hackles raised at the carefully maintained tone of light curiosity in his former teacher's voice.
"Yeah?" He swallowed, trying to force his voice to not give away the sudden sinking feeling in his stomach, a churning that put him on edge in A Very Bad Way.
This is Mr B- Chiron!Percy reprimanded himself. What are you so anxious about?
Unfortunately – or fortunately depending how you look at it – because of his relative newness to the world of gods and monsters, Percy wasn't aware of the sixth sense that all demigods possess. You know, the one that tells them 'That extremely sweet old lady over there is suspicious. She's plotting to kill you!' or 'Don't eat that pizza, it's actually a monster in disguise!'
Don't laugh.
It's happened.
Pizza monsters should not be taken lightly.
The Hermes cabin of '78 learned that the hard way.
Chiron continued speaking. "Grover tells me that she accompanied you most of the trip home and, well, I would hardly wish for something to have befallen her due to . . . proximity." There it was again, Percy thought, that brief hesitation that leads him to doubt the authenticity of Chiron's swords. No, you're being paranoid."Would you happen to know where she went, or a way to contact her? Just so we can send someone to confirm nothing happened?"
Fortunately – or unfortunately depending on who you ask – Percy decided that maybe it was about time he acted out on his paranoia. Afterall, as Pez always said;
"Better paranoid than dead, Jackson."
Slightly morbid, a bit exaggerated, but the meaning is still roughly the same.
"Sorry, sir. I don't know." Percy told him. "Pez . . . well, she doesn't really like sharing personal stuff with anyone."
Now, by principle, unless he desperately needed to be, Percy was a bad liar. But not to fear, because that was not a lie, not necessarily. An equivocation, Pez would tell him. Percy really didn't know where she had disappeared to. Pez really doesn't like being personal with people.
But, admittedly, he does have her phone number.
Besides, Percy rationalised as he watched Chiron disguise his disappointment and gallop away toward the archery range. He had the strangest feeling that Pez would have somehow find out he had given a teacher - adult, centaur, whatever – the means to personally contact her.
He would be dead before he could think of fleeing.
She's a good friend like that.
He stood in the doorway, looking at the kids. They weren't bowing anymore. They were staring at me, sizing me up. I knew this routine. I'd gone through it at enough schools.
"Well?" Annabeth prompted. "Go on."
So naturally he tripped coming in the door and made a total fool of himself. There were some snickers from the campers, but none of them said anything.
Annabeth announced, "Percy Jackson, meet cabin eleven."
"Regular or undetermined?" somebody asked.
Percy didn't know what to say, but Annabeth said, "Undetermined."
Everybody groaned.
A guy who was a little older than the rest came forward. "Now, now, campers. That's what we're here for. Welcome, Percy. You can have that spot on the floor, right over there."
The guy was about nineteen, and he looked pretty cool. He was tall and muscular, with short-cropped sandy hair and a friendly smile. He wore an orange tank top, cut-offs, sandals, and a leather necklace with five different-coloured clay beads. The only thing unsettling about his appearance was a thick white scar that ran from just beneath his right eye to his jaw, like an old knife slash.
"This is Luke," Annabeth said, and her voice sounded different somehow. Percy glanced over and could've sworn she was blushing. She saw him looking, and her expression hardened again. "He's your counsellor for now."
"For now?" Percy asked.
"You're undetermined," Luke explained patiently. "They don't know what cabin to put you in, so you're here. Cabin eleven takes all newcomers, all visitors. Naturally, we would. Hermes, our patron, is the god of travellers."
He looked at the tiny section of floor they'd given him. He had nothing to put there to mark it as his own, no luggage, no clothes, no sleeping bag. Just the Minotaur's horn. He thought about setting that down, but then he remembered that Hermes was also the god of thieves.
Paranoia, thou name art Percy,he thought absently.
He looked around at the campers' faces, some sullen and suspicious, some grinning stupidly, some eyeing him as if they were waiting for a chance to pick his pockets.
"How long will I be here?" Percy asked.
"Good question," Luke said. "Until you're determined."
"How long will that take?"
The campers all laughed.
"Come on," Annabeth told the boy. "I'll show you the volleyball court."
"I've already seen it."
"Come on." She grabbed his wrist and dragged him outside. He could hear the kids of cabin eleven laughing behind him.
When they were a few feet away, Annabeth said, "Jackson, you have to do better than that."
The familiar tone of irritation combined with 'Jackson' sent a pang through Percy, making him wish now more than ever to go home.
"What?"
She rolled her eyes and mumbled under her breath, "I can't believe I thought you were the one."
"What's your problem?" He was getting angry now. "All I know is, I kill some bull guy-"
"Don't talk like that!" Annabeth told him. "You know how many kids at this camp wish they'd had your chance?"
"To get killed?"
"To fight the Minotaur! What do you think we train for?"
Percy shook his head. "Look, if the thing I fought really was the Minotaur, the same one in the stories . . ."
"Yes."
"Then there's only one."
"Yes."
"And he died, like, a gajillion years ago, right? Theseus killed him in the labyrinth. So . . ."
"Monsters don't die, Percy. They can be killed. But they don't die."
"Oh, thanks. That clears it up."
"They don't have souls, like you and me. You can dispel them for a while, maybe even for a whole lifetime if you're lucky. But they are primal forces. Chiron calls them arche-types. Eventually, they re- form."
He thought about Mrs. Dodds. "You mean if I killed one, accidentally, with a sword-"
"The Fur . . . I mean, your math teacher. That's right. She's still out there. You just made her very, very mad."
"How did you know about Mrs. Dodds?"
"You talk in your sleep."
"You almost called her something. A Fury? They're Hades' torturers, right?"
Annabeth glanced nervously at the ground, as if she expected it to open up and swallow her. "You shouldn't call them by name, even here. We call them the Kindly Ones, if we have to speak of them at all."
"Look, is there anything we can say without it thundering?" He sounded whiny, even to himself, but right then he didn't care. "Why do I have to stay in cabin eleven, anyway? Why is everybody so crowded together? There are plenty of empty bunks right over there."
He pointed to the first few cabins, and Annabeth turned pale. "You don't just choose a cabin, Percy. It depends on who your parents are. Or . . . your parent."
She stared at him, waiting for him to get it.
"My mom is Sally Jackson," Percy said. "She works at the candy store in Grand Central Station. At least, she used to."
"I'm sorry about your mom, Percy. But that's not what I mean. I'm talking about your other parent. Your dad."
"He's dead. I never knew him."
Annabeth sighed. Clearly, she'd had this conversation before with other kids. "Your father's not dead, Percy."
"How can you say that? You know him?"
"No, of course not."
"Then how can you say-"
"Because I know you. You wouldn't be here if you weren't one of us."
"You don't know anything about me."
"No?" She raised an eyebrow. "I bet you moved around from school to school. I bet you were kicked out of a lot of them."
"How-"
"Diagnosed with dyslexia. Probably ADHD, too."
For those wondering, yes, Pez was still spying on Jackson. Yes, she had heard – and seen – everything that had said and done, and let's just say, she was not a 'happy camper'. So far Mr. D was a dick, the Centaur was pushy, and Scar Dude was suspiciously nice. Blondie, however, was just a bitch.
Even Pez had more tact than Little Miss Princess.
. . . She had also called him 'Jackson'.
Only Pez can call Jackson 'Jackson' with that much contempt.
Bitch.
Percy tried to swallow his embarrassment. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"Taken together, it's almost a sure sign. The letters float off the page when you read, right? That's because your mind is hardwired for ancient Greek. And the ADHD – you're impulsive, can't sit still in the classroom. That's your battle-field reflexes. In a real fight, they'd keep you alive. As for the attention problems, that's because you see too much, Percy, not too little. Your senses are better than a regular mortal's. Of course the teachers want you medicated. Most of them are monsters. They don't want you seeing them for what they are."
Something shifted in Percy's mind, a seed of an idea.
"You sound like . . . you went through the same thing?"
"Most of the kids here did. If you weren't like us, you couldn't have survived the Minotaur, much less the ambrosia and nectar."
'Most of the kids here did',Percy thought. Does that mean . .
"Ambrosia and nectar." He asked, forcing himself to focus again.
"The food and drink we were giving you to make you better. That stuff would've killed a normal kid. It would've turned your blood to fire and your bones to sand and you'd be dead. Face it. You're a half- blood."
A half-blood.
Percy was reeling with so many questions he didn't know where to start.
Then a husky voice yelled, "Well! A newbie!"
He looked over. The big girl from the ugly red cabin was sauntering toward them. She had three other girls behind her, all big and ugly and mean looking like her, all wearing camo jackets.
"Clarisse," Annabeth sighed. "Why don't you go polish your spear or something?"
"Sure, Miss Princess," the big girl said.
Pez snorted.
Percy's ear twitched.
"So I can run you through with it Friday night," the big girl continued to taunt.
''Erre es korakas!" Annabeth said, which Percy somehow under-stood was Greek for 'Go to the crows!' though he had a feeling it was a worse curse than it sounded. "You don't stand a chance."
"We'll pulverize you," Clarisse said, but her eye twitched. Perhaps she wasn't sure she could follow through on the threat. She turned toward Percy. "Who's this little runt?"
"Percy Jackson," Annabeth said, "meet Clarisse, Daughter of Ares."
He blinked. "Like . . . the war god?"
Clarisse sneered. "You got a problem with that?"
"No," Percy said, recovering his wits. "It explains the bad smell."
. . . halfwitmoronidiot.
Clarisse growled. "We got an initiation ceremony for newbies, Prissy."
"Percy."
"Whatever. Come on, I'll show you."
"Clarisse-" Annabeth tried to say.
"Stay out of it, wise girl."
Annabeth looked pained, but she did stay out of it, and Percy didn't really want her help. He was the new kid. He had to earn my own rep.
He handed Annabeth his minotaur horn and got ready to fight, but before he knew it, Clarisse had him by the neck and was dragging him toward a cinder-block building that he knew immediately was the bathroom.
Pez had to restrain herself from bursting forward pummelling the shit out the beefy girl, knowing that it wouldn't solve the problem for Jackson.
Damn it, you confrontational little shit, Pez thought.
Percy was kicking and punching. He'd been in plenty of fights before, but this big girl Clarisse had hands like iron. She dragged him into the girls' bathroom. There was a line of toilets on one side and a line of shower stalls down the other. It smelled just like any public bathroom, and he was thinking – as much as Percy could think with Clarisse ripping his hair out – that if this place belonged to the gods, they should've been able to afford classier johns.
Clarisse's friends were all laughing, and he was trying to find the strength he'd used to fight the Minotaur, but it just wasn't there.
"Like he's 'Big Three' material," Clarisse said as she pushed me toward one of the toilets. "Yeah, right. Minotaur probably fell over laughing, he was so stupid looking."
Her friends snickered.
Annabeth stood in the corner, watching through her fingers.
Clarisse bent him over on his knees and started pushing his head toward the toilet bowl. It reeked like rusted pipes and, well, like what goes into toilets. Percy strained to keep his head up. He was looking at the scummy water, thinking, I will not go into that. I won't.
Then something happened. He felt a tug in the pit of his stomach. He heard the plumbing rumble, the pipes shudder. Clarisse's grip on his hair loosened. Water shot out of the toilet, making an arc straight over his head, and the next thing he knew, he was sprawled on the bathroom tiles with Clarisse screaming behind him.
He turned just as water blasted out of the toilet again, hitting Clarisse straight in the face so hard it pushed her down onto her butt. The water stayed on her like the spray from a fire hose, pushing her backward into a shower stall.
She struggled, gasping, and her friends started coming toward her. But then the other toilets exploded, too, and six more streams of toilet water blasted them back. The showers acted up, too, and together all the fixtures sprayed the camouflage girls right out of the bathroom, spinning them around like pieces of garbage being washed away.
As soon as they were out the door, Percy felt the tug in his gut lessen, and the water shut off as quickly as it had started.
The entire bathroom was flooded. Annabeth hadn't been spared. She was dripping wet, but she hadn't been pushed out the door. She was standing in exactly the same place, staring at him in shock.
Percy looked down and realized he was sitting in the only dry spot in the whole room. There was a circle of dry floor around me. He didn't have one drop of water on his clothes.
Nothing.
He stood up, his legs shaky. Annabeth said, "How did you . . ."
"I don't know."
They walked to the door. Outside, Clarisse and her friends were sprawled in the mud, and a bunch of other campers had gathered around to gawk. Clarisse's hair was flattened across her face. Her camouflage jacket was sopping and she smelled like sewage. She gave Percy a look of absolute hatred. "You are dead, new boy. You are totally dead."
He probably should have let it go, but he said, "You want to gargle with toilet water again, Clarisse? Close your mouth."
Her friends had to hold her back. They dragged her toward cabin five, while the other campers made way to avoid her flailing feet.
Annabeth stared at him. He couldn't tell whether she was just grossed out or angry at him for dousing her. "What?" He demanded. "What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking," she said, "that I want you on my team for capture the flag."
Annabeth didn't say anything else, and instead started walking off, expecting him to follow. Percy turned and glanced one more time at the flooded bathroom, swearing that he saw a flash of movement, the same as the one he saw in the big house.
There.
Something glinted in the dark.
"Hurry up, Jackson!" Annabeth called. "I'm not going to wait around for you."
Percy concealed his smile, hope blooming in his chest for the first time that day.
"Coming!"
Pez grinned wickedly as she waited for Jackson to turn and ran after the blonde girl, before carefully pocketing her silver lighter from its place on the top of the toilet.
Of courseher best friend would somehow become the supreme lord of the bathroom.
A quick scan of the area and, as if she was able to dissolve into the very air itself and blow away with the breeze, the dark eyed girl was gone, content that Jackson would be – somewhat – safe with the drenched 'Princess of the Anally Retentive'.
yes, still a filler chapter. sorry not sorry :)