A/N: Welcome to my new story! This is partly inspired by Perks of Being a Wallflower (brilliant book, but not recommended for under-fifteens, I think) and somewhat inspired by Melina Marchetta's books. If you have not read any of her books; then what are you doing?! Go pick one up right now.

Summary: He is desperate to talk to someone. She is there. He writes a letter, and places it in the abandoned locker 192. An unlikely friendship begins. What happens when these two strangers begin to fall for one another? Alternate Universe. Different to most high school stories, they are in character (hopefully) and it has an actual plot.

Rating: T for mild, offensive language. Don't worry; I don't swear a lot.

Disclaimer: All recognised characters belong to Rick Riordan, and I in no way own Percy Jackson and the Olympians.


Letter ONE

To whomever, he writes and crosses it out a moment later. "No," he mutters absentmindedly to himself. Dear whoever, he starts again. But that's not right either. He scrunches the bland paper in frustration and winces as the paper slides smoothly across his chlorinated skin, leaving a streak of stinging pain and dots of red. He winces and instinctively sucks on his wounded pinky finger. It tastes of a lingering chemical – pool chlorine, and his hasty breakfast at the Starbucks near school.

He sighs and tries to ignore the scraping of chalk on the blackboard; math was never his best subject. And he bends down over his table, tearing out a new piece of paper…


Dear complete and utter stranger who I've probably met before but most likely do not know,

Yes, that's a good beginning.*

You probably don't know who I am. That's okay because I probably don't know who you are either. Why am I writing this, you ask? I really don't know. I really do not know, but they say writing about it will help. And that's what I need. I just need someone to talk to. It's okay if you never reply; I don't expect you to, actually. I just need to know that someone's there.

I won't tell you who I am, I'm sorry but if this letter ever falls into the wrong hands…

Okay I'll stop hinting at things I can't say.

How are you? Wait, that's a stupid question 'cause you'll probably never reply.

I just need to talk, okay? Maybe you've already gone and ripped this up into a million teensy, little pieces or burned it into smoldering crisps or fed it to your dog. I don't know; maybe all this dark, blotchy ink is going to waste, but that's okay. I'm already feeling better. Even though my life is shit right now. Sorry. I don't normally swear.

Yesterday, something happened. I don't think I can tell you what. But it's big. It's really been building up for months now but it wasn't really 'til yesterday that… I really can't say anymore.

Are you frustrated with me? I bet you are (if you're still reading this, that is.)

You know what; maybe you'll be a little happier with me if I told you a bit about myself. But I can't give away too much. Okay, here goes:

1) I am male.

2) My absolute favorite color is blue; therefore:

3) I go out of my way to eat as much blue food as a possibly can. For instance, I had a doughnut with blue icing this morning, and my mother used to bake me blue, choc chip cookies No, that memory's too painful.

4) I've never met my father before. I don't know what he looks like and I don't even know what his name is. Sometimes, I wish he was, instead of my stepfather.

5) And finally… my favorite place in the entire world is the beach. I love the sound of the waves on the sand and the smell of brine and the wind in my hair. It helps that the only memories I have of feeling safe took place at the beach…

Okay. I hope you're satisfied for now. Because I really don't know what else to write. I felt like before I was just regurgitating (okay, that does not sound good, sorry) all my thoughts and now it's all suddenly stopped.

But thank you. Thank you for being here even though I haven't given you this letter yet and I have no idea how to give it to you surreptitiously (yes, I do try listen in English) and I have no idea where I'm going to leave it for you to find. But I'll figure it out. Even though you have not yet set eyes on this piece of hastily ripped out paper from my math book. The faint blue lines are pretty much filled up now. But who needs math, anyway?

Regards, (my mother always says to end a letter with 'regards' even though it sounds odd to me,)

A Friend

p.s. What does p.s. even stand for, anyway?


There, he thinks to himself. It's done. Written. Finished. The inky black scrawl stares up at him and the thin paper suddenly feels delicate and breakable under the pressure of his large hands. Everything is out on the smudged, untrimmed paper.

He folds it in half. Twice. A sense of finality settles on him and he lets out a breath he's been holding in subconsciously.

And then the bell rings.


But where to place it? He ponders as he walks down the bustling, icy-blue halls.

He flashes a half-hearted smile at everyone who says 'hi' in the halls. He is by no means the most popular guy in school, far from it, actually, but he is known for being friendly to everyone, and is in return, liked and respected.

A sudden flash to his right stalls him. It is the tarnished silver keyhole of an old, abandoned locker. Locker 192. As long as really anyone could remember, Locker 192 had never been occupied; it just swung pathetically on its unoiled hinges whenever there was a breeze. It was the perfect place to hide his note. Hopefully, isn't so remote that no one would actually find it.

Percy subtly trails behind his friends, and they are too animated in their conversation to notice him lagging behind. It has been around five minutes since the beginning of the lunch period and all stragglers have reached their final destinations, leaving him quite free to lodge his folded fragment of his thoughts (i.e. that piece of torn notebook paper) into the cobwebbed cracks of the lonely gloom.

He swings the door shut with a resounding finality. There. It is done.


He rejoins his friends, Thalia and Nico, (who are, incidentally, also his cousins). Neither of them knew their fathers as well; they only knew that their fathers had been brothers. His other friends, Silena, Beckendorf, the Stoll brothers (Connor and Travis), Katie, Chris and Clarisse are there too. Although Clarisse had attempted to dump his head into the girl's toilet back in freshman year, the two of them had formed some form of bond – perhaps frenemies would be the right word.

"Where've you been?" Thalia asks, half a fry sticking out of her mouth.

"Uh… my locker," he answers lamely and hopes no one would see through his blatant and bad lying.

"But you never go to your locker," Nico protests. Damn that nosy little kid.

Percy just shrugs and drops into his seat.

"Well," Thalia rises and slings her pitch black bag over one shoulder. "If you're going to be so unresponsive and boring today, I'm going to go sit with Annie."

'Annie' is Annabeth Chase; the smartest girl in the school; beautiful, cold and an absolute freaking genius, even though she has dyslexia and ADHD. Only Thalia is allowed to call her Annie. Percy remembers that one time in freshman year; he was trying to be friendly and had called her that. Before he'd known what was happening, she'd judo-flipped him, had one knee pressed hard against his stomach, and her forearm cutting off his air supply at his neck.

Her dark gray eyes had flashed dangerously as she'd whispered threateningly into his ear: don't you ever call me that again. He'd never heard the end of hit, and it was the last time he'd ever spoken to her.

"Percy? Percy!" a voice says.

"I'm sorry?"

"You were out of it for a while. Are you all right?" It was Katie. She gives him a soft, warm smile.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just tired." The truth is: he hadn't gotten any sleep the night before. He rubs his eyes and stands to leave. "I'm not hungry," he decides.

And he leaves without another word, leaving his friends staring worriedly at his retreating back. He heads to the pool. He knows he's not meant to be there without adult supervision, but as captain of the school swimming team, he's sure the coach won't mind. The water (even though it's heavily doused with chemicals) is the only place he can think.

On his way there, he passes Locker 192 and he can't resist the urge to check if it's still here. It is. The slip of paper is mostly hidden – besides the one peeping corner. He passes Annabeth Chase. Her blonde curls are left down today, and bounce with each step she takes. Percy nods at her politely and somewhere in the back of his mind, wonders why she's there – wasn't Thalia hanging out with her? She doesn't nod back, only stares at him with her usual unnerving intensity.

He shakes it off. He's at the gym now and into the boy's locker room, which perpetually smells of sweat and must. A minute later, he's changed and sprinting out.

He runs up and launches himself off the edge, breaking the smooth, flat surface of the water.


*Italics in the letter mean his thoughts while writing it.


Thank you so much for reading! Please tell me what you thought (i.e. review). :D