So...first story on fanfiction. Yay!
Note: I have edited this recently, so hopefully all of the grammar and spelling errors are gone.
Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson or anything Rick Riordan has written. This was just an idea I had.
If, by any chance, you see a girl with red hair in a threadbare green jacket and blue jeans, and with a little of mud on her face walking around in Walmart, don't approach her. Don't even look at her. She doesn't want to be looked at, and she certainly doesn't want to be talked to. If you see her slip something into her pockets, she's not stealing. At least, she doesn't think she is. It's justified in her mind by the fact that she was starving, and didn't have the money. And if you spot the hunting knife concealed on her makeshift belt, don't worry. It's only for emergencies. Yet another reason why you should steer clear of her.
How do I know all of this, you ask?
Because I am that girl. And my name is Alex.
I glanced around the Walmart to make sure that no one was looking before slipping two packages of chips and bread inside my tattered jacket's pockets. And no, I was not stealing. I was...borrowing. Without permission. But who needs permission nowadays anyway?
At least, that's what I told myself. But even after steal—er, borrowing—for almost all of my life, the guilt still ate away at me. I hated doing this. Some might have thought it odd that I had a sense of morality, considering that I literally grew up on the streets.
I made my way down the aisle and wandered over to the shoe section of the store. The sneakers that I had were falling apart and did me no favors, so they needed to be replaced. Several women walked past me and gave me curious looks, but I paid them no attention. I needed to leave fast before someone realized what I was doing, and I could not run in these crap shoes. I speed-walked to the Converse section and quickly selected a pair of purple high-top sneakers. I sat down on a chair and slipped the pair of shoes onto my feet, using my hunting knife to cut the tie attaching them. I slipped my old pair and the Converse box under the chair and walked casually out the door and past the cash registers in a matter of seconds. Other than a few more odd looks, I don't think anyone suspected anything.
Overhead, a huge storm was brewing, with clouds blacker than any I've ever seen. The clouds were so far-reaching that they completely covered the moon. I figured maybe it was global warming or something, because the weather all across New York State had been weird since Christmas. We'd had massive snow storms, gigantic tides, and wildfires from lightning strikes. I wouldn't have been surprised if this was a hurricane blowing in or something. This had happened a few years ago, too.
Nobody else seemed to notice. Some guys were pelting pigeons with rocks. A girl was trying to pickpocket from a lady's purse, and, of course, the police weren't seeing a thing.
I guess I should explain myself. My name is Alex, I'm fifteen, and I am currently homeless.
Just to clarify, I do not sleep in the middle of the road or anything like that, but I don't live in an actual house. Not that I'm complaining, but my life hadn't exactly been all sunshine and rainbows up until this point.
I dashed down an alleyway or two to avoid being seen with stolen goods and slammed right into a brick wall. Lays Salt and Vinegar chips and bread flew out of my hands and over my head as I hit the wall and then the sidewalk as I fell.
"Oh," I moaned. "Ow."
Note to self: never run with groceries. Ever.
I picked myself up off the ground and sighed. The chips had busted open and the bread landed in a soggy gutter full of who-knows-what. No way was I touching either of those again. If I tried to eat them now, I'd get sick. Trust me, I know from experience. But I was also stuck without anything to eat for the night. Which meant I'd have to dig into my emergency supply. Which meant if I had to leave New York City, I'd have less food. Which would be bad.
So I trudged unhappily to Central Park and sat on a park bench.
Now I know what you're thinking: Why is she going to Central Park when it's night and about to rain? The answer is because I live here. In Central Park.
I have wondered myself several times why I had not been discovered and kicked off the property. I almost had been, several times. But there are places in the trees, little niches that people don't think to check. And those places are where I sleep, eat, live, and store my things. I had piled exactly six rocks in what I hoped had been a pyramid in front of the comfiest tree that had my blanket, knapsack, and food.
I stood and walked towards my tree when I was sure nobody was looking. It was a tall pine tree, with long and thick branches. It was dark, but I've never had trouble seeing in the dark, so I found it without too much problem. I looked around me to see if anyone was here for a second time. Nope. I scampered up the tree like a squirrel and reached my branch about halfway up. Another fun fact about me: I actually like living in a tree. I like the fact that I can leave whenever I want, nobody knows I'm here, and I love the smell of the tree and the outdoors. It was invigorating: the smell of the pine needles, the wind, the moonlight shining down on me. I guess what I'm trying to say was that it was peaceful.
For the most part.
x x x
I'd like to say that I slept well that night, but the truth was that I didn't. I kept thinking about the chips and bread in the alley, probably eaten by rats by now. And I got mad at myself, and my life, even at Walmart. I needed that food. Badly. Not only did I have to dig into my horde of food that I'd been saving, but I discovered that at least half of the things I've been carrying were covered in mold and were unfit to eat.
So I climbed down from my tree and grabbed all of my things: the knapsack filled halfway with food.
My knapsack consisted of several things: about $20 for emergencies, a needle and cloth for attempting to patch up my clothes, an extra pair of socks, a pad of paper and a pencil, and a silver watch that didn't work. I had considered selling the watch, but it wasn't worth much if it didn't work, and it was the only item I had from my mother.
I never knew my parents. My father, from what I understand, is dead, and my mother abandoned me at foster care in Pennsylvania when I was nine months old. The only thing I remember from her was this glow around her face and a warm smile as she looked down at me. But then I think this image couldn't match with her, because otherwise, why would she leave me with a whole bunch of buffoons who didn't remotely know how to take care of me at all?
But that's not the point. The point is that I wasn't going to sell the watch. Which was the main reason for why I had to steal. I just didn't have enough money to buy things like normal people.
But normal was boring anyways.
I walked out of the park, turned down a couple more streets, and walked into a store. (And when I say store, I mean a large supermarket filled with fresh fruit, valuable items, and a whole bunch of junk food.) Just the smell of the place made my mouth water, as if I were nostalgic for something that I had never known: a full stomach.
The place was full of people, mostly farmers and pawn shop owners, who didn't pay a dirty street rat like me much attention. This worked to my advantage, because I was able to steal fresh fruits from a couple stands, and a small portion of junk food. The junk food was not very valuable to me, because I had to focus on things that would keep me healthy, and not just things that would drag my health farther down then it already was. I decided that it had been a good idea to bring my knapsack, because it gave me the ability to store more stolen items that I normally would inside my jacket.
But the main reason that I was here was to check the missing children's posters. I knew they had been several months since my face has graced the board, but it never hurt to be too careful. I could not afford any more attention, otherwise I would probably be arrested and thrown into Juvy when caught stealing. Which would be very bad, because I've heard the things that happen in jail, and I would not survive them.
I pushed my way through the crowd and made my way towards a large wooden board filled with papers and posters. Most of them were none of my concern, and I therefore paid them no attention. I knew what I was there for and I normally don't let anything draw my attention away. But, I do have ADHD, so when I saw a picture of a boy with brown hair, green eyes, black square glasses, and a goofy grin plastered to his face holding a large trophy, I naturally got distracted.
LIAM BENTLEY WINS MEDIEVAL SWORD CONTEST!
Last week, the annual Renaissance fair came to New York city. And as always each year, they held a medieval sword competition. Grown men have practice all year to test their mettle in a grueling competition. Many people have come away with grave injuries, And it was considered several times that the practice should be disbanded. But for once something good has come out of the contest: the youngest winner ever.
Liam Bentley is a Sophomore at at Goode High School here in NY. His father was an apparent winner of the competition, though Bentley had never wielded a sword himself before. When he heard one of the older players insult his father, Bentley immediately signed up for the competition.
"I didn't really think about it at the time," Bentley said. "I was just really angry with that guy."
Little did he know, Bentley would come out on top of the heap, producing the youngest winner ever: 15 years old.
In other news, Mrs. Rudenheifer's cat has managed to trap itself in a tree yet again. Page B1.
I shook my head to refocus my attention. Children's Posters. That's what I'm here for. Focus.
I pulled my eyes away from the news and looked at the missing children's posters. I looked down the list in a rapid manner, especially aware of the fact that I had stolen items in my knapsack. At any moment someone could walk up to me and take a look at my knapsack because they thought I was stealing. I didn't want to take that risk, because once again, it would probably mean I would go to some form of jail. I continued to look down the list, but luckily didn't find any mention of me or anyone that looks remotely like me. Which meant nobody was looking for me. Which was a good thing I guess, but it was a bad thing because...well, it meant that no one was looking for me.
I have gotten used to being alone over the years, but it was getting pretty tiring. A part of me wanted to be found or caught, because it would mean that it would give me a chance to go back to the adoption homes or foster care and find a real family. But yet another part of me knew that this was impossible. I had been there for six years and nobody had wanted me. There comes a point in foster care when you're up for adoption and you get too old where nobody wants to adopt you anymore. It was in every story about some orphan living on the streets, but it was true.
"Hey! You with the knapsack and hoodie!"
That was me. I looked over my shoulder to find a vendor selling fruit standing behind a police officer. Where did he come from?
"Yeah?" I said, stupidly.
"You have this man's food sticking out of your bag," the officer said.
I glanced at the piece of bread sticking out and sighed inwardly. Here we go again.
I ran.
Dashing to the left, I shoved a couple out of the way and ran as fast as I could down a path between a row of vendors and bathrooms.
"Hey!" the police officer said. "Stop!"
Yeah right, I thought. Like that's gonna work.
I tried to find another exit, but people were massing around me and trying to grab my bag.
"Hey!" someone yelled.
"Stop her!" another person shouted.
"That's my pineapple!"
What?
As yet another person grabbed at me, I jumped onto a table full of arts and crafts and ran right over their heads.
I was three yards away from the door. I thought I was home free.
But as I jumped down from another table, I realized that I had completely forgotten about the police officer.
His arms slammed into my legs and I fell to the floor with a devastating THUD.
"Put your hands in the air!" the police officer said.
I did as he said.
He handcuffed me. Took me to his car and gave the vendors back their food. Took my bag as evidence. Made me seat buckle myself in. Started the car.
It was then that I realized this one fact:
I had been caught.
Please review! This HAS been edited, so hopefully the quality is better for this chapter.
