Look, I really didn't want to be a half-blood, believe me, I didn't even know what a half-blood was until some time ago.

If you are reading this because you think you are one, then take my advice: close this book right now and throw it out of the window (try to aim it at someone you hate too or at hobos). Believe anything your parents tell you about you birth (it doesn't matter if they told you were born out of a flying magic unicorn, believe them) and try to live a normal life (minus if they really told you were born out of a magic unicorn, if it's the case, them take your parents to the nearest mental hospital).

Begin a half-blood is dangerous, scary and can get you killed in a nasty, painful ways. Ok, it may be cool sometimes, but the price is too high… Too high. So, if you are a normal kid, read on and I really envy you for thinking this isn't real, that this is all fiction… That everything you read didn't really happen.

If you can see yourself in this pages, if you can feel something inside you stirring… Then stop right now. You may be one of us, and when you find out, they will find out too and they will come for you.

Don't say I didn't warn you, because if you say so I will personally visit you and rearrange your face.

My name if Winry Jackson (if you laugh at my name, I swear to the gods I will…).

Am I a troubled kid?

Yeah. You could say that and ask anyone else. They will say that too.

I could start at any point in my short miserable life (seriously, everything started when I was born and the nurse dropped me…) to prove it, but things really started going bad last May, when our sixth grade class took a field trip to Manhattan-twenty-eight mental-case kids (you know, your average class of crazy kids) and two teachers (yeah, because two old teachers can control crazy twelve years olds) on a yellow school bus, heading to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to look at ancient Greek and Roman stuff.

I know, it sounds like torture. But, hey, if it wasn't torture, it isn't related to school.

But Mr. Brunner, our Latin teacher, was leading this trip, so I had hopes.

Mr. Brunner is a middle-aged man in a motorized wheel chair. He had thinning hair and a scruffy beard and a frayed tweed jacket, which always smelled like coffee (don't ask me how I know that). You wouldn't think he'd be cool, since normally people with his appearance weren't the definition of cool, but he told stories and jokes and let us play games in class (bevieve, in Yancy, he is the only teacher that does that). He also had this awesome collection of Roman armor and weapons that he used in class (Note to other teacher: if you want your students to do their homework, get a long bronze sword, that will make them do it), so he was the only teacher whose class didn't put me to sleep, and that was saying something.

I really hoped that the trip would be ok, because my record with fieldtrips isn't all rainbows, unicorns and sunshine.

See, bad things always happen to me on field trips. Like my school in fifth - grade, took us to the Saratoga battlefield, I had this accident with a revolutionary war cannon. I swear, I wasn't aiming for the school bus, but of course I was expelled anyway (I think they weren't that pissed off until the police came). Also, in fourth - grade we took a behind - the - scenes tour of the marine world shark pool, I accidentally hit this lever on the controls for the catwalk and ... let's just say that the class took an unplanned swim (I don't know why they didn't like it, the sharks were really pleasant! But I guess they really didn't like it when Mr. Sharky 1 and Mr. Sharky 2 tried to eat my, er, "very loved" classmates). And before that ... well you get the idea.

This trip, I was determined to be a good golden Mary-Sue. So, no sharks, no cannons, no basketballs, no cats, no Korean cake shops (don't ask…) and no bad Winry.

All the way to the city, I willed myself to not punch the lights out of Nancy Bobofit, the freckly, read-headed kleptomaniac girl that kept hitting my best friend, Grover, with chunks of her peanut butter and ketchup sandwich (yeah, she's that sick).

Grover was an easy target. He was scrawny. He cried when he got frustrated. He must've been held back several grades, because he was the only sixth grader with acne and the start of a wispy beard on his chin. On top of all that, he was crippled. He had a note excusing him from PE for the rest of his life (lucky guy, Couch Melissa was the devil reincarnated) because he had some kind of muscular disease in his legs. He walked funny, like every step hurt him, but don't let that fool you. You should've seen him run when it was enchilada day in the cafeteria. Translating everything: he is awesome. Grover is my best and only friend (I know, that's sad), but he is the only one who didn't try to act all high and mighty at school, so I had to protect him from the bullies, which I gladly do.

Anyway, Nancy Bobofit was throwing wads of sandwich that stuck in his curly brown hair, and she knew I couldn't do anything back to her because I was already on probation because of something that happened in the last field trip (stupid Korean cake shop!). The headmaster had threatened me with death by in-school suspension if anything bad, embarrassing, or even mildly entertaining happened on this trip. I don't really know why he was so mad, I brought cake last time!

"I'm going to kill this girl." I mumbled, glaring at the red-headed demon.

Grover tried to calm me down. "It's ok, I actually like peanut butter." He almost did calm me down.

He dodged another piece of Nancy's lunch. Well, almost.

"Ok, that's it!" I said, getting up, but Grover grasped my arm and pulled me back.

"You're already on probation." He reminded me quietly. "You know that you will get blamed if someone's Starbuck's coffee spilled." I couldn't help but smile. Grover had his own ways of protecting me, I guess this is a best friends thing.

But now that I look back, I wished I had thrown Nancy out of the bus window. It would have saved me a lot of trouble and would have been fun.

Mr. Brunner was leading the museum tour.

He rode up front in his wheelchair, guiding us through the big echoey galleries, past beautifully-sculpted marble statues and glass cases full of really old and delicate-looking black-and-orange pottery. It was really pretty for things that survived at least two thousand years or so.

He gathered us around a thirteen-foot-tall stone column with a big sphinx on the top, and started telling us how it was a grave marker, a stele, for a girl about our age. He told us about the carvings on the sides. I was trying to listen to what he had to say, because it was very interesting and Mr. Brunner is a really good teacher, so he explained so well that even an ADHD girl could pay attention. Everyone around me was talking, completely ignoring our Latin teacher, so of course I had to scream for them to shut up (Was I really the one with ADHD?), but Mrs. Dodds, the other chaperone, glared at me every time I did.

Mrs. Dodds was this old and evil Witch we all poor souls had to call "our math teacher". She was always wearing a leather black jacket, like she was a gangster or something, which only she could pull off with her evil fifty-years-old look. She came to Yancy halfway through the year when our other teacher had a nervous breakdown and, although she was the math teacher, her personal job was to make us have nervous breakdowns.

The woman simply loved Nancy Bobofit and thought I was the devil's spawn since the first day. I guess she didn't like when that pony followed me to class on her first day, but, hey, it's not my fault that she came right after our trip to a circus (the headmaster did anything he could to get us out of the school). It's not my fault that ponies love me (and I swear that one was talking, but after that time when I was six and told my teacher Lord Goldfish was talking to me and she made me go to the psychologist, I never talk about this things anymore)!

So, back at Mrs. Dodds, one time, after she'd made me erase answers out of old math workbooks until midnight (just because I was sleeping in class, come on, who wasn't?), I told Grover I didn't think Mrs. Dodds was human. He looked at me, real serious, and said, "You're absolutely right." If her students think like that, I pity poor Mr. Dodds.

Mr. Brunner was talking about the art of the Greek funeral. Finally, Nancy snickered about some naked guy on the stele and I felt my face flush in anger. I didn't know why, but I felt hugely disrespected since she was snickering about naked guys when we are talking about Greek Funerals. I turned around and screamed. "Will you shut up?"

I guess it was louder than I thought it would.

Everyone laughed and Mr. Brunner stopped his history, turning around to face me.

"Ms. Jackson, do you have a comment?" He asked calmly and I could feel my cheeks turning a violent shade of crimson.

"No Mr. Brunner, I'm sorry for interrupting." What? I really respect the guy!

"Maybe you could tell us what this picture represents?" He asked, pointing to a stele.

I did a little dance on my head as I looked at the stele and recognized the picture. "That's Chronos eating his kid, right?"

"Yes." Mr. Brunner didn't look satisfied. "And he did that because…"

"Oh, well…" I wished I had payed a little more attention to the story, but since my ADHD didn't completely distract me on the class, I cold remember a bit of the story. "Well, Chronos, the king god-"

"God?" Mr. Brunner asked.

"Titan." I corrected myself, feeling like I had insulted myself by calling Chronos a god."He didn't trust his kids, who were the gods, and ate them" Because nothing assures a child's obedience than eating her, I thought sarcastically, but didn't dare to say that out aloud. "But his wife hid baby Zeus and gave him a rock to eat instead." Was the guy really that dumb? How could he not know the difference between his baby and a rock? Again, I didn't say it. "And when Zeus grew up, he tricked him into barfing his brothers and sisters-"

"Ewww" The girls said behind me and I could sympathize with the gods, after all, begin barfed must not have been fun.

"-and there was this big fight with the gods and titans" I continued. "And the gods won."

The group of idiots behind me started snickering. I huffed, as if they could do any better.

Nancy Bobofit mumbled to a friend, "Like we're going to use this in real life. Like it's going to say on our job applications, 'Please explain why Chronos ate his kids. '"

"And why, Ms. Jackson, "Mr. Brunner said, "to paraphrase Miss Bobofit's excellent question, does this matter in real life?"

"Busted, "Grover muttered. And I would have high-fived him if I could at least answer Mr. Brunner's question.

"Shut up," Nancy hissed, her face even brighter red than her hair (and that was saying something).

At least Nancy got packed, too. Mr. Brunner was the only one who ever caught her saying anything wrong. He had radar ears, unlike the other teacher that were blind, deaf and mute when it comes to the other, but with me they have horse year, hawk eyes and all the words to complain to the headmaster.

I thought about his question, and shrugged. "I don't know, sir. "

"I see. " Mr. Brunner looked disappointed. "Well, half credit, Mr. Jackson. Zeus did indeed feed Chronos a mixture of mustard and wine, which made him disgorge his other five children, who, of course, being immortal gods, had been living and growing up completely undigested in the Titan's stomach." You could tell that he also didn't think that that was the ideal childhood "The gods defeated their father, sliced him to pieces with his own scythe, and scattered his remains in Tartarus, the darkest part of the Underworld. On that happy note, it's time for lunch. Mrs. Dodds, would you lead us back outside?" Was the guy bipolar or something?

Everyone went outside. The girls were holding their stomachs as if they were going to be sick, probably still thinking about Chronos's wonderful appetite. The guys were acting like doofuses (like always). Grover and I were about to go out too.

"Miss Jackson." Mr. Brunner said, stopping me.

I gave Grover a nod to keep going, he sent me a worried look and I just smiled, glad to know that he cared, then gave him a reassuring smile. The, I went to talk to Mr. Brunner. "Sir?"

Mr. Brunner had a really intense and ancient look in his yeas, like he had seen thousand years and will see a lot more. His intense brown eyes were burning into my sea-green ones.

"You must learn to answer my question." He told me.

"About the Titans?"

"About how your studies apply to real life."

"Oh." Was my oh-so-smart reply.

"What you learn from me, "he said, "is vitally important. I expect you to treat it as such. I will accept only the best from you, Winry Jackson. "

I wanted to get angry at him, he pushed me so hard! But, then, I knew he only wanted the best for me and couldn't really get angry at him, after all, Mr. Brunner was the only teacher that really cared.

I mean, sure, it was kind of cool on tournament days, when he dressed up in a suit of Roman armor and shouted: "What ho! (still don't know what that means)'" and challenged us, sword-point against chalk, to run to the board and name every Greek and Roman person who had ever lived, and their mother, and what god they worshipped and if we didn't, we all were really sure he knew how to use that and wasn't afraid to do so. But Mr. Brunner expected me to be as good as everybody else, despite the fact that I have dyslexia and attention deficit disorder and I had never made above a C- (other than when we had to swim in special classes for P.E) in my life. No- he didn't expect me to be like everyone else, he really expected me to be better than everyone else, which was the solid proof that he actually cared and, even if it was annoying, I couldn't help but feel proud he believed in me, since I'm certain that I don't.

I mumbled something about trying harder, looking at my feet. Mr. Brunner was the only teacher that made me feel ashamed by doing bad in class. When I looked up, I noticed he was taking a sad look at the girl's stele, as if he was in her funeral and I had the urge to put a hand on his shoulder to comfort him, but it didn't seem like my place.

He told me to go out and eat my lunch, so I only nodded quietly and left him with his melancholic look.

Everyone was in front of the museum, where we all could watch the foot traffic along Fifth Avenue. Overhead, a huge storm was brewing, with clouds blacker than I'd ever seen over the city. I figured maybe it was global warming or something, because the weather all across New York State had been weird since Christmas. We'd had massive snow storms, flooding, and wildfires from lightning strikes. I wouldn't have been surprised if this was a hurricane blowing in. I didn't want to admit it, but the weather was really bothering me, as if something could strike me anytime.

Nobody seemed to mind it and I was the only on uneasy, so I decided to ignore the bad feeling that was growing in my chest. I never knew how idiotic that was of me. Some of the guys were pelting pigeons (poor little pigeons) with Lunchables crackers. Nancy Bobofit was trying to pickpocket something from a lady's purse, and, of course, Mrs. Dodds wasn't seeing a thing. A normal Yancy fieldtrip.

Grover and I sat by the edge of the fountain, trying to look like we weren't from the school of losers that couldn't make elsewhere. I dipped my hand on the cool water fountain and smiled as I felt the clear liquid run down my hand, strangely making me feel better. Water just had this affect on me.

"Detention?" Grover asked, snapping me out of my water-induced calmness.

"Not from Mr. Brunner."I answered, dipping my hand once again a speaking more quietly. "I just wished he would lay off me sometimes, not that I don't appreciate his concern, it's just that I'm not a genius."

Grover didn't say anything for a while. Then, when I thought he was going to give me some deep philosophical comment to make me feel better and that we would have a deep best friend-bonding moment, he said, "Can I have your apple?"

I wasn't very hungry and didn't even like apples (why did I have one again?), so I gave him it.

I watched the stream of cabs going down Fifth Avenue, and thought about my mom's apartment, only a little ways uptown from where we sat. I hadn't seen her since Christmas. I wanted so bad to jump in a taxi and head home. She'd hug me and be glad to see me, but she'd be disappointed, too. She'd send me right back to Yancy, sadly reminding me that I had to try harder, even if this was my sixth school in six years and I was probably going to be kicked out. Again. But I wouldn't be able to stand the sad look she would give me. The last thing I wanted to do in my life was to make my most important person to be sad.

Mr. Brunner parked his wheelchair at the base of the handicapped ramp. He ate celery while he read a paperback novel. He had a red umbrella on his chairm, making it look like a motorized coffee table.

I was about to unwrap my sandwich when Nancy Bobofit appeared in front of me with her ugly friends- I guess she'd gotten tired of stealing from the tourists-and dumped her half-eaten lunch on Grover's lap.

"Oops." She grinned at me with her crooked teeth. Her freckles were orange, as if somebody had spray- painted her ugly face with liquid Cheetos, trying to help us by making it look better. It really didn't really help, it only made her look more like a Witch (I wonder if she and Mrs. Dodds are in a secret Witch community? I wouldn't be really surprised.)

I tried to stay cool. The school counselor had told me a million times, "Count to ten, get control of your temper." But I was so mad my mind went blank and I lost count after five. A wave roared in my ears. Just another thing about me: don't mess with my friends and Grover is my only friend.

I don't remember touching her, if I did, I would still be washing my hand, but next thing I knew, Nancy was sitting on the fountain and she screaming like a banshee "Winry pushed me! Winry pushed me!"

Mrs. Dodds was beside me like a flash.

Some gossiping kids that didn't have anything else to do started to whisper "Did you see-"

"-the water-"

"-like it grabbed her-"

I didn't really know what they were talking about and relly didn't care. All I could see is that I was in trouble. Again. The glare Mrs. Dodds was giving me was very creep. I didn't know if she was mad at me for "pushing" Nancy or for making her scream (I think I went deaf for a while after her scream).

As soon as Mrs. Dodds was sure poor little Nancy was okay, promising to get her a new shirt at the museum gift shop (yeah, because that's everything a girl wants after begin dropped in a fountain), etc. , etc. , Mrs. Dodds turned on me. There was a triumphant fire in her eyes, as if I'd done something she'd been waiting for all semester. "Now, honey-"

"I know." I said looking down angrily. This is all Nancy's fault and there was nothing I wanted more than wiping the floor with her Cheetos-Freckled face. "A month erasing textbooks."

Note to self: Never guess you own punishment. Never.

"Come with me." The old and evil witch said.

"Wait!" Grover yelled. "I was me! I pushed her!"

I stared at him stunned. Mrs. Dodds scared Grover to death (just like she did with half of the students and teachers), so for Grover, the scared cat, to cover up for me, that was… Really brave. I couldn't help but smile a little. Grover really tried to protect me too.

She glared at him so hard that his chin trembled, but he held strong. I wanted to step in front of him, but decided against it. This was Grover's fight, for now.

"I don't think so, Mr. Underwood" She said.

"But-" He tried to say, but she glared even harder.

"You will stay her." Her voice showed finality and I decided to step up.

"It's okay, G-man." I said, smiling at him. He finally looked at me with pleading eyes. "Thanks for trying."

"Winry…" He said but I put my hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay."

"Honey, now!" Mrs. Dodds barked, ruining the best-friend-bonding moment I was waiting for.

Nancy smirked. I gave her a sickly sweet smile that meant I'll-kill-very-slowly-later. I was happy when I saw her flinch and look slight disturbed.

Then I turned to face Mrs. Dodds, but she wasn't there. She was standing at the museum entrance, way at the top of the steps, gesturing impatiently at me to come on.

How'd she get there so fast?

I have moments like that a lot, when my brain falls asleep or something, and the next thing I know I've missed something, as if a puzzle piece fell out of the universe and left me staring at the blank place behind it. The school counselor told me this was part of the ADHD, my brain misinterpreting things.

I wasn't so sure. It felt like a blanked was hiding something that my mind knew that was to be seen, but the blanket wouldn't let me see.

I went after Mrs. Dodds.

Halfway up the steps, I glanced back at Grover. He was looking pale, cutting his eyes between me and Mr. Brunner, like he wanted Mr. Brunner to notice what was going on, but Mr. Brunner was absorved in his novel.

I looked back up. Mrs. Dodds had disappeared again. She was now inside the building, at the end of the entrance hall.

Okay, I thought. She's going to make me buy a new shirt for Nancy at the gift shop (I'm lucky I brought money).

But apparently that wasn't the plan.

I followed her deeper into the museum. When I finally caught up to her, we were back in the Greek and Roman section.

Except for us, the gallery was empty.

Mrs. Dodds stood with her arms crossed in front of a big marble frieze of the Greek gods. She was making this weird noise in her throat, like growling. Normally, the thought of Mrs. Dodds acting like an animal was funny to me, but now it made very nervous, like she was the predator. And I was the hunted animal.

Even without the noise, I would've been nervous. It's weird being alone with a teacher, especially Mrs. Dodds. Something about the way she looked at the frieze, as if she wanted to pulverize it...

You've been giving us problems, honey, " she said.

I did the safe thing to do. I said, "Yes, ma'am. "

She tugged on the cuffs of her leather jacket. "Did you really think you would get away with it?"

The look in her eyes was beyond mad. It was evil. Like millions of tortured souls screaming in pain.

She's a teacher, I thought nervously, gulping down my dry throat. It's not like she's going to hurt me.

"I'll try harder, ma'am." I did everything I could to not stutter, but could not fight the shudder I felt when thunder shook the building.

It was as if the sky itself was angry.

"We are not fools, Winry Jackson, " Mrs. Dodds said. "It was only a matter of time before we found you out. Confess, and you will suffer less pain. " Was there a no pain option? I couldn't help but think.

I didn't know what she was talking about.

All I could think of was that the teachers must've found the illegal stash of candy I'd been selling out of my dorm room (Note to every secret illegal candy seller: Desperate kids pay double for any candy you may have). Or maybe they'd realized I got my essay on Tom Sawyer from the Internet without ever reading the book and now they were going to take away my grade. Or worse, they were going to make me read the book (give me a break! I'm dyslexic!).

"Well?" she demanded.

"Ma'am, I don't... "

"Your time is up, " she hissed. Oh god, now there was a time limit?

Then the weirdest thing happened. Her eyes began to glow like barbecue coals. Her fingers stretched, turning into talons. Her jacket melted into large, leathery wings. She wasn't human. She was a shriveled hag with bat wings and claws and a mouth full of yellow fangs, and she was about to slice me to ribbons. Oh, now I understand the suffering part.

Then things got even stranger (yes, it could get even stranger).

Mr. Brunner, who was outside a minute ago, did a teleport-thing and was in the dooway of the gallery, holding a silver ballpoint pen in his hand. "What ho, Winry!" He screamed and tossed the pen through the air.

Mrs. Dodds lunged at me.

With a yelp, I dodged and felt talons slash the air next to my ear.I rolled on the floor, the dirty ground against my dark blue coat and took a little impulse to jump. I snatched the ballpoint pen out of the air, but when it hit my hand, it wasn't a pen anymore. It was a sword- Mr. Brunner's bronze sword, which he always used on tournament day.

Mrs. Dodds spun toward me with a murderous look in her eyes.

My knees were jelly. My hands were shaking so bad I almost dropped the sword.

She snarled, "Die, honey!"

And she flew straight at me.

Absolute terror ran through my body. I did the only thing that came naturally: I swung the sword, using all of it's weight along with speed.

The metal blade hit her shoulder and passed clean through her body as if she were made of water. Hisss!

Mrs. Dodds was a sand castle in a power fan. She exploded into yellow powder, vaporized on the spot, leaving nothing but the smell of sulfur and a dying screech and a chill of evil in the air, as if those two glowing red eyes were still watching me. I coughed, my thoughts dulled, but I still hoped that Mrs. Dodds powder-thing didn't land on me or I would have more nightmares then I thought.

I was alone.

There was a simple silver ballpoint pen on my hand.

Mr. Brunner wasn't there. Nobody was there but me.

My hands were still trembling. My lunch must've been contaminated with magic mushrooms or some-thing. Maybe I had to much Korean Cake that Sue-Ling gave me?

Had I imagined the whole thing? I wasn't sure, I could still feel the fear and the adrenalin was slowly dissipating and I had to hold myself to not fall on my knees.

I went back outside.

It had started to rain. Instead of covering myself up I welcomed the cool water on my face, feeling slight soothed that something familiar was falling on me, washing out my stress, like the warm hand of a parent.

Grover was sitting by the fountain, a museum map tented over his head. Nancy Bobofit was still standing there, soaked from her swim in the fountain, grumbling to her ugly friends. When she saw me, she said, "I hope Mrs. Kerr whipped your butt. "

I said, "Who?"

"Our teacher. Duh!"

I blinked. We had no teacher named Mrs. Kerr. I asked Nancy what she was talking about.

She just rolled her eyes and turned away.

I asked Grover where Mrs. Dodds was.

He said, "Who?"

But he paused first, and he wouldn't look at me, so I thought he was messing with me.

"Not funny, G-man, " I told him. "This is serious. "

Thunder boomed overhead.

I saw Mr. Brunner sitting under his red umbrella, reading his book, now a little closer to the fountain than before, but other than that, it was normal.

He looked up, a little distracted. "Ah, that would be my pen. Please bring your own writing utensil in the future, Ms. Jackson. "

I handed Mr. Brunner his pen. I hadn't even realized I was still holding it.

"Sir, "I said, trembling a little, "where's Mrs. Dodds?"

He stared at me blankly. "Who?"

"The other chaperone. Mrs. Dodds. The pre-algebra teacher. " I said, trying to not sound crazy like everyone else thought I was.

He frowned and sat forward, looking mildly concerned. "Winy, there is no Mrs. Dodds on this trip. As far as I know, there has never been a Mrs. Dodds at Yancy Academy. Are you feeling alright?"

I stared blankly at him. " Yes, I am."

After that he nodded and I went to sit alone by the fountain. Grover and the others were in dry areas but I didn't want to go away from the water, not now. Looking at my reflection, I could only think of one thing while looking at my own sea-green eyes.

What was going on?