Chapter 1
This is my first story. Ever. Thanks so much for reading this story. I hope you like it.
What happened before Travis and Conner Stoll came to camp Half-Blood? Who was their mother? Why do they stay at Camp year-round? Who were the other children in the Hermes cabin? There were no answers in the books for my questions, so I wrote my own…
Disclaimer- I do not own the Percy Jackson series. Even though I want to.
"But it was mine!" Travis Stoll yelled from his seat at the dinner table. His brother, Conner gave him a look that said plainly, 'Don't. You'll just make it worse'' Travis ignored his younger brother and continued arguing with his mother. "He stole it! It wasn't my fault! It was my twenty dollars! He-"
His mother cut him off. "Travis, enough. No," she ignored his angry protests," how could you know that it wasn't his twenty dollars? You stole them, and you know it."
"Mom, I know it's my twenty dollars, I didn't steal! I could tell for some reason that the twenty dollars in Mark Whetstones locker were mine! He stole from me!"
Conner broke the silence. "Somebody stole from a Stoll? How's that possible?" That was Connor for you. Always trying to make light of things.
Anger boiled inside Travis. Mark Whetstones was one of the biggest bullies on the planet, and who did he have to pick on, when there were more than three hundred students in the seventh grade? Travis, of course. His only friend was a scrawny weird kid named Jonas who could hardly walk correctly, but could still run pretty quickly. The only reason he stayed by Jonas's side was to protect the poor kid from the dumb bullies at school. Nobody else seemed to want to talk to him. Even the teachers ignored him. Travis had never done well in school, and his highest grade ever was a lousy seventy-five. The teachers despised him for that. Weird things always happened to him. His locker (And other people's) burst open at the simplest touch of his fingers. He saw strange things- the silhouette of a lady flying overhead as he was looking at the stars when he was in third grade, even though that was impossible, a man with a big hat and just one eye staring down at him while he was at the grocery store buying milk when he was twelve years old. The man on the horse who had streaked by Travis's bus so quickly, he had thought the man and the horse were one, smoothly grafted together. Whenever he pointed one of these strange occurrences out to Jonas, his friend sounded worried, asked if he was okay or if he'd had enough sleep that night. Everybody at school except Jonas and Mr. Stonewall, his math teacher, ignored him and was mean. Now even his mom was angry at him, which usually never happened. Always Travis. Never anybody else. Nobody had as bad luck as he always did Mrs. Stoll got up from her place at the table. "Enough of this," she said impatiently, "Come on, boys. Post office.
Conner groaned. "Why? Why do we always go to the post office?"
"We're sending a letter to your father. You should know that by now. We go every week."
"Yes, our dad, the moron who left for California, left you with barely enough money to survive, two baby boys, and has never replied to even one of your letters," Travis muttered under his breath," Yes, how could I forget."
If his mother had heard, she didn't say a single word.