Hey guys!
This is my first ever fanfiction. It just came up when I was listening to a remix of Lorde's Tennis Court. If you know the lyrics, you'll see where I'm getting at with the description. Hope you like it!
Enjoy!
- M
Silence.
That was all she wanted. Something so simple, yet so difficult to obtain. Of course, at this early hour of seven-oh-five, that was all she had. Her eyes, the colour of clouds heavy with tears, drilled holes into the surface of the pale wooden desk. Her jean clad legs were crossed and her long fingers splayed across her lap. She concentrated on keeping her sleep deprived eyelids from closing as she waited for the mindless teenage murmur to begin around her.
A middle aged woman sat, hunched, at the front of the class, looking over the list of names neatly printed on the paper in front of her, analysing each and every one as if she hadn't called on them repeatedly.
'Annabeth?'
Well at least she remembered her name.
Then again, who didn't?
Annabeth looked up from the table drowsily and attempted a smile.
'Yes, Miss Galivan?'
The advisory teacher trembled, as if she was afraid of the teen. Then again, somehow, those hollow eyes and perfect curls and smooth cheekbones were more intimidating than any street punk she'd ever seen. The woman shook her head and sucked in a breath.
'May I ask why you always come to school so early?'
Oh. A conversation.
'My parents have work. They drop me off early to get there,' she answered simply.
'Oh, really?' Miss Galivan continued. 'Where do they work?'
Too bad. She wasn't in the mood for this.
'You know exactly where, Miss Galivan.'
The woman immediately shut her mouth and looked back down to the paper. Silence covered them like a blanket until precisely twenty-two minutes later, when the rest of the students began to make way into the bland looking halls of the school. Just as she wanted.
And that is how all conversations with Annabeth Chase went.
Percy Jackson didn't particularly care as to what others thought of him.
His jeans didn't sag and his hoodie wasn't branded and his shoes weren't new but he was okay with that. His hair was a rat's nest and that didn't bother him. His awfully pasty skin did nothing to his self esteem, and he did some stupid things but hey, it's high school.
A few years from now, nobody would even remember who he was.
And that's the problem, Percy thought, as he attempted to walk the cold stone path to school without stepping on any cracks. Give it a few years' time, and he'll be less than nothing to them.
But they sure tried to make him remember them.
It wasn't that their words really hurt him. It was more about the fact that everybody believed them. It was annoying, having to watch everybody believe in the lies that a few made up. But that was how this school worked.
Maynard High, located in southern San Francisco, was a school for the elite. Located impossibly close to Silicon Valley, the school was pretty much a training ground for future leaders.
Most of which, for some reason, we're strangely good looking and aggravatingly big headed.
These were the children of Google managers, Apple software designers, programmers and innovators, mathematicians and scientists.
His sugar sweet mother, who worked as a cook in Google, hoped that dropping him into this hellhole she called a school would "open his mind to the world".
Instead, he learned just how horrible future leaders are as children.
So even though one day nobody would remember him, he would be sure that their faces would bring him hell for the rest of his minimum-waged little life.
The bell rang and Percy, despite knowing that he's late, didn't even flinch.
'This is high school,' he repeated to himself. He had to make sure that his reputation, as bad as it was now, didn't change for better or worse.
Let them think what they want to think.