Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me. They belong to Rick Riordan.

A/N: I think my favourite part of the story is the title :D Paul's POV. I've forgotten Mrs Jackson's hair colour, so I guessed ¬_¬I'm not any real supporter of SallyXPaul, since it's already happened, but I felt like writing something about them, so here goes.

I shouldn't have stopped by that shop on the way to the seminar, but the tie on display had looked very inviting, so I succumbed to temptation and walked through the door. I spent several minutes that I could not have spared flipping over the tie, feeling the material, examining the print, and convincing myself to buy it. As I was about to carry it to the cashier, I caught sight of the price tag, saw many zeroes, and hurried out of the shop after that, cursing myself.

As it was, when I finally arrived at the hall, the seminar had already started with only three seats left. One was next to a big muscular man covered with tattoos, who looked as if he'd much rather be on a motorcycle cruising the deepest alleys of New York then here. One was next to a boring-looking old woman, sitting up straight, her eyes glaring haughtily at me for disturbing the peace. And the last one was next to a beautiful woman of about thirty-something, with long mahogany hair, her eyes focused determinedly on the speaker, her hands never stopping as she wrote each word down to the letter.

I opted for the latter, seeing as it was the most appealing, and as I sat down I continued to scrutinize my partner. She looked young and old at the same – her features still belonged to that of someone five years younger, yet the many lines at the crinkles of her eyes showed that she had carried a great burden most people her age had never come close to experiencing. Her hair was swept back into a loose ponytail, but a few stray strands curled away from it in rebellion. She was wearing an indigo sweater and gray pants, and as my eyes travelled down I noticed her notebook.

And good vocabulary words for the adjective, 'happy' would be: blessed, blissful, blife, cheerful

Hey, I'm a teacher. An English one, at that. I couldn't resist. So I leaned over, and muttered.

"It's b-l-i-t-h-e. Blithe."

She jumped, startled out of her reverie, before realizing that I was talking to her. She hurriedly crossed out the word, replaced it, and smiled at me.

"Thanks."

It was a dazzling smile, lighting up each of her features. I caught myself before I started staring stupidly with my mouth open. "It's no problem," I grinned. "I couldn't resist, actually, since I'm an English teacher. My name is Paul Blofis, by the way."

Inwardly, I cringed, anticipating the inevitable "h" that always accompanied the end of my last name. Man, I hated blowfish.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Blofis," she gave me another one of those smiles. "I'm Sally Jackson."

I was surprised. Most people heard wrongly, joked about it or sneered at it. I had given up almost entirely on it, not even repeating my last name anymore. Few had managed to get the word right on the first try, and I felt an unexpected warmth at the fact that this stranger had done it.

"So, Miss Jackson, what brings you to this thee seminar?" I said in a mock accent.(A/N I 'unno. It sounded good :D) She laughed, then turned serious.

"It was my childhood dream," Her eyes had a misty, faraway look. "I've always wanted to be a writer, ever since I was a young child."

"Then, why didn't you?" I questioned, feeling slightly self-conscious – the only reason why I was here was because I had thought it would have been good for my lessons. It felt like such a stupid reason now. "Become a writer, I mean."

She suddenly seemed fascinated at her sneakers. "My parents died in a plane accident, so I was raised by my uncle who didn't really care. Right after I saved up enough money to go on the writing course, he suddenly had cancer, so I had to use it for his treatment. He died anyway." She laughed mirthlessly, then looked up as if startled. "I'm sorry, am I boring you?"

"Uh – no, not at all," I felt speechless at suddenly having a stranger pour out her past on me. No wonder she had that world-weary look in her eyes. Time to change the subject. "So, you finally went back on track as a writer, huh?"

"Yes, with the help of my son," (A/N I meant as in giving her Medusa's head) She brightened unexpectedly at the mention of him.

I was taken aback. "You have a son?! So you're – married?"

"Nope," she laughed. "His father sailed away and never retuned, so I raised him up by myself. He's thirteen years old, by the way." Her eyes were shining as she spoke about him. I could see how much she doted on her son. It looked like it was going to be hard to stop her – she'd even forgotten about the seminar that had been going on.

Fifteen minutes later, I'd heard all about her son. He had dyslexia and ADHD, and had been kicked out of seven schools in seven years. He liked skateboarding and basketball. He'd gone off for summer camp. Personally, I didn't see what was so great about this kid but as I watched the nuances in her facial expressions as she described him I felt like I wanted to know her better, help to ease her pain as she raised her troubled child (that's that it sounded like to me, anyway). After a while she finally stopped talking, and looked a bit ashamed.

"I'm sorry. I talked too much –"

"No, it's okay," I assured her. Then I had an idea. "Still, you missed about half the seminar, so – why don't I come over to your house and help you?" I grinned. "Being an English teacher, and all."

She seemed relieved but stopped herself. "No, it's okay – it's my own fault I wasn't listening –"

"Nope, I'm coming over," I pulled out my own notebook that I had been meaning to use for the seminar, but had no chance to. "What's your address?"

A/N Thanks for reading the entire thing :D Another random fanfic I thought up of, so I decided to write it. But it'll be some time before I update my other fanfic, since I was writing this one. I'm sorry for any OOCness, because I don't own any of the PJO books so I can't use any reference.