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Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson and the Olympians.

Annabeth looked across the stifling, tiny apartment that was filled with musty cardboard boxes. It was hard to see how much stuff you had until you moved out of your parent's house. About the only things that were unpacked were the iPod dock and the radio. Both were plugged in, ready to go; Annabeth needed music around her 24/7.

"Which one?" she wondered out loud. After deciding that she was sick of her iPod, she spent the better part of an hour finding a good radio station. Recognizing the song that was playing, she went at it, at first setting up the house, then putting all her things away, singing the whole time. Performing was her thing.

While setting up the desk and easel, she felt a pang. It had been a hard decision between architecture and modeling, but the offer from The Backbiter brand had tipped the scales. It was too good to refuse. Everyone knew that the biggest fashion designers—and hottest models—worked under the owner, Luke Castellan. It wasn't often that he contacted models personally. Actually, it was unheard of. But apparently, he'd made an exception for Annabeth, and everybody on the playing field was talking about it.

Even though she'd never met the guy, he had written to her. It wasn't a photocopied letter; it was handwritten, a neat, organized handwriting in blue ink that declared Annabeth was going to be the next showstopper. She pretty much had it made, and because of that, half the models she kept in contact with had stopped talking to her. The other half had become sickly sweet, hoping to win favor—and a bigger part, so to speak—with the next top model.

Annabeth tried to put it all out of her head, and succeeded…kind of. The dance lessons she'd taken since she was four were coming in handy. She knew how to focus exactly on what she was trying to do. In just a few hours, the apartment was clean. The TV and phone were set up, the bed was in place in the upstairs room, the sofa was facing the TV, and every little thing was in place.

Annabeth let out a sigh and headed for the kitchen. It was a high risk she was taking, cooking for herself. She had no idea how to make anything beyond toasting bread and coffee. Heading to the coffee maker, she decided to make herself a cup, and a few minutes later, she was pushing aside the white curtains and stepping onto the balcony.

She took a sip of the coffee…and promptly spit it out. "Ugh!" she sighed. It was disgusting. She tipped the rest of the liquid off of the balcony.

"Hey!" somebody yelled.

"Oh, damn," swore Annabeth softly. Leaning over the balcony, she saw a guy whose face was tilted up, trying to keep the hot liquid off his clothes. He looked…well, not happy. His eyes were green, but it was impossible to tell what color hair he had, because it was now covered with Annabeth's rejected coffee.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he yelled. "Can't you see that somebody's walking down here? And why are you dumping coffee around, anyway?"

"I am so sorry!" yelled Annabeth. "I'll be right down!" She spun around and ran into her apartment, sliding the balcony door behind her. She rushed out of the apartment, making sure to grab her keys before she did.

In another minute, she was right below her balcony, standing behind the poor guy who she'd spilled the coffee on. Another guy was there, laughing his head off.

"Shut up, Nico," growled Mr. Coffee. "Shut up!"

Nico, the one with black hair and black eyes, kept laughing. "You come out of the building and you see your cousin, his face covered in coffee, yelling at the sky, you'd be laughing too!"

Mr. Coffee frowned and his cheeks reddened. "I wasn't yelling at the sky, I was yelling at that girl! She spilled the stuff on me!" Nico just kept laughing.

"Um, hi?" started Annabeth. The two of them turned to the main door, where she was standing. Coffee head scowled. Nico grinned in delight.

"Well, hello," said Nico. Annabeth resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"Good day to you too! Wait, what too? I was having an excellent day till you dumped a bucket of coffee on my head—believe me, I'm having anything but a 'good' day now!"

"I'm really sorry! I didn't see you walking there. I—"

"Oh, sure; if it had fallen on my face, then you'd be 'very sorry'. If it had fallen on my suit," he gestured to his clothes, "then you'd be 'very very sorry!"

"Well, I am saying sorry, right?" said Annabeth. This guy was really annoying her. "It didn't fall on your clothes."

"It could have, very easily!"

"But it didn't, did it?" interjected Nico.

Annabeth pointed at him. "I like you."

"Oh good, now you can both ride off in the sunset to your pretty pink castle on your frickin' noble steed!" said Coffee head.

"Okay, look, man," said Nico. "It didn't fall on your oh-so-special suit, and it didn't cover your oh-so-handsome face. All it did was land on your hair, and that needed to be washed anyway. It was an accident. Besides, she did apologize, didn't she? So just let it go."

With a glare at her, Mr. Coffee allowed his cousin to lead him away. Annabeth turned and headed inside. She needed coffee. Preferably not coffee that she had made.

***

"Thalia?" Annabeth asked. Thalia was one of the models who had actually kept talking to Annabeth after she'd been 'hired'. With her black hair and electric blue eyes, she was a fierce contrast to Annabeth's angelic blonde hair and gray eyes. Still, she was one of the lead models with her strong, wild beauty.

They had actually met at the auditions, and kept in touch through e-mail. Thalia had moved to New York a couple of weeks ago.

"Yeah, Annabeth?"

"Thalia," said Annabeth into the phone while devouring a granola bar. "Do you know where the nearest Starbucks is?"

"I thought you could make coffee."

"I can. Unfortunately, the last of it is now on some poor guy's head."

After a pause, Thalia burst out laughing. "What? Okay, give me your apartment address. I'll be there in a minute."

Annabeth gave Thalia the address and then went to change. While brushing her hair, her eyes fell on the small white box on the dresser—color contacts. The modeling agency had asked her to wear brown colored contacts at all time she was in public, so that people wouldn't recognize her.

"But I don't start modeling till next month!" she'd protested.

"It's better that you get used to them now," answered the redhead behind the counter. She shoved a couple of boxes in her hands and said, "The Company will take care of the charges."

They'd also asked that she wear a wig, but she had refused bluntly. "I'm not going to have 24/7 bed head." At that, the middle aged lady sighed and allowed her to pass with just the lenses. Annabeth knew that she really shouldn't have turned down the wig, but come on! It was taking things to an extreme.

Now, she popped the lenses in, and looking at herself in the mirror, she admitted that they really did make a difference. Even though the color was a muddy brown, Annabeth looked completely different.

The knocker banged against the door downstairs, echoing against the bare walls of the apartment. "Coming," called Annabeth. She clattered down the steps into her living room and opened the door.

Thalia was wearing her contacts, too, her pretty eyes covered up with an ugly, neon-like brand of green. True to her goth self, she was wearing a black sweatshirt and black tights.

"Jeez, why are you so preppy?" asked Thalia, wrinkling her nose. "It makes me sick."

Annabeth looked down at her white sweater and blue jeans. "I'm not preppy, I'm normal. Ever heard of that?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. Somebody told me I was normal, once…I think it was on April Fools Day."

"Oh, gee, I wonder why." Annabeth's voice was dripping with sarcasm. "It's not like dressing in black on a daily basis is weird or anything."

"Whatever. Come on, café, remember?"

"Oh, right."

"And you have to tell me about this poor guy who's walking around with coffee on his head."

"Oh, joy."

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