I do not own Percy Jackson or any of the characters I'm writing about except my own.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIII'M BACK. _ This is the rewrite so I hope you enjoyyyyy

"Omma?" My knife is still poised above the carrots I was supposed to be chopping. "Did you ever get to meet my birth parents?"

My mom, who was placing the pan of ribs into the oven, faltered. The ribs clattered safely within their target and I winced as she shut the door. Maybe I should've waited until she wasn't within 2 inches away from hot steel to startle her with my questions. I wasn't paying attention as always, my mind too focused on the carrots, birth parents, and the smell of the ribs. They said it was because I had ADHD; my siblings think it's because I lack situational awareness.

Omma, which is what I call my mom in Korean, grasps the chopping knife and cutting board away from me and deftly begins to chop the carrots. I steal a few orange coins, savoring the crunchy sweetness of the vegetable as my mom thinks about her answer.

"I never really got to meet them." She responded in Korean. Crunch went the poor carrot coin between my teeth. "They had already left the hospital when I arrived. But I guess you could call the adoption agency and ask them. I don't really know how to do that myself. Uncle Oh might know. He helped us a lot."

"Hmmm..." I hummed as I considered this information. "I'll ask Uncle Oh later."

My parents, first generation Koreans, had relied on my godfather to translate the necessary adoption paper. Uncle Oh had been one of the oldest friends of my parents. My parents had chosen my Korean name and Uncle Oh chose the English spelling of it. I'm grateful for it; without him, my Korean name, which meant sound, would have been written in English as Sorry. Instead, he chose the name Soli.

Ai, music for the win.

Mother finished chopping the six carrots and slid the slices onto the steel mixing bowl on the table. I grabbed the cutting board and knife and turned on the sink faucet. Mom poured olive oil into the bowl and paused.

"Why do you want to know? Do you want to contact them?"

I shook my head as I added dish soap to the sponge. "I just wanted to know my family history. I don't think I'd want to see them. But with everything, I wanted to know if I had cancer or something in my genes."

My mom's laugh, bright with a hint of relief, filled the small kitchen. I smiled.

"You never get sick anyways." She teased. "Why? Is our little airhead getting a cold?"

I rolled my eyes as I turned off the faucet, dishes complete. I rarely got sick, even compared to my siblings and parents. Rarely, as in never. My older brother, Jason, and my younger sister, Joyce joked about my super genes.

"Nah," I responded, knocking the knuckles of my fist on the wooden table. "Still healthy as a horse. I've got holy genes."

If only I knew how right I was.