Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson and the Olympian. Rick Riordan does, and I'm not going to make a cool disclaimer comment thing about wanting to own PJO.
Chapter 1
The Trash Clubhouse
He leaned against the cold metal lockers, his eyes closed. He tried to ignore those that passed by, the hard lump of the combination lock pressing into his back. And in turn, the students walking through the myriad of twisting hallways in another public middle school in New York ignored him. They chattered, not looking at him, even as they passed. So they were deliberately avoiding eye contact.
The bell rang, and the students who had not found their classrooms walked faster, trying to reach their destination without being late. But he just leaned against the lockers, his hands in his pockets, and not a care in the world. Not even for tardiness and class cutting or school or education.
The bell rang again, the last bell. This was the signal that the students who had not reported for class were late. And he ignored all of it.
Movement down the hallway.
He turned his head, an imperceptibly small movement. And walking down the paper strewn hall was a girl.
She looked flustered, and her hands were unfolding a piece of crumpled paper. She had a full pack of books on her back, and black hair fell over her face in untidy streams.
She walked past him, hoisting the bag on her back, and adjusting the strap that was digging into her shoulder. And then she was past him, heading down the hallway.
But then she turned around, as if just realizing that he was there. She headed toward him.
He looked at her, a frown of annoyance on his face. She smiled hesitantly.
"Hello…um, excuse me….I'm Thalia, and I'm new to this school. So, I was wondering where the office is. It's all a bit confusing…and…"
She trailed off, staring at him. She noted the fine strands of blonde hair that almost reached his eyes, but not quite. And his hazel eyes. They were very pretty, very pretty, indeed.
He saw that she was watching him. And so she looked away, a flush of embarrassment on her face. She stared at something invisible next to his shoulder, not meeting his eyes.
"It's down the hallway. Take the right turn. Here, I'll show you," he said, finding a path through the discarded books, sheets of paper, and loose paper scattered across the hall. "Do you need any help with those books?"
"No, I can handle it."
"You don't look like you can."
"You don't know me."
He led her past the classroom doors and late students, to the glass doored office. He opened the door for her, and she muttered a quick, quiet word of thanks, shifting the heavy pack to a more comfortable position.
But then she looked back at him, behind the glass door. She pulled it open.
"You never told me your name."
"I'm pretty sure I did," he answered, lying. He had a very convincing face, he was told.
"No, you didn't. I told you mine, so it's only fair."
Damn. She was observant, this new girl, this Thalia.
"It's Luke."
He strode off, late for class. But he had a valid excuse. He had helped the new girl, Thalia find the office. And she saw him, the office workers and secretary saw him. So he was safe.
And if he was late, but had an excuse, why not have some fun at it?
He entered the boys' bathroom, eyes flicking past the graffittied stalls and urinals to the windows. They were small, but he could slip through.
He pushed the windows open. They squeaked, rust coating the hinges, and white paint flaked off the frame. But he could fit. Luke was slim and so he pushed himself out, into the street. No one saw him.
He jogged through the busy streets and grease covered pavements littered with cigarette butts and trash thrown out the windows of passing cars. Past the hobo man on the corner, the cigarette smoking hooker leaning against the grimy store window of a pawn shop.
He reached his hideout. It was behind the row of Dumpsters next to a Chinese takeout shop, a small lean to made of cardboard boxes and plastic garbage bags and spare plywood sheets.
He lay against a dirt specked sofa cushion salvaged from a moving couple's trash cans. His eyes closed, and he thought about the girl, Thalia. She'd never like him, he knew. She was decent, and he was trash. Poor as hell, no education, nothing. No parents, no rules, no money.
He sometimes hated his mother. She had good family, but she left when she was sixteen. She was probably disowned, so that meant no inheritance. And his father? Never knew him. He wished that his mother had gotten an abortion instead of condemning a child to a life like this. A life of crack smoking, stealing, car boosting, jail, and then eventual death.
"Hey, man."
Luke's eyes flicked open, and he turned to see a boy his age join him. It was Chris Rodriguez, a fellow member of the Trash Clubhouse.
"Chris. Hey, man."
"Luke! So, what's been happening?"
"Not much. There was a new girl at school today. Thalia." He kept emotion out of his voice. But he knew Chris could tell that he was hiding something.
"You like her?" he asked, picking at the frayed stitching of the cushion, pulling the foam stuffing out of the hole that he had made.
"Maybe."
"She's not one of us, I'm guessing."
"No. She's not."
"Well, tough luck."
"Yeah. Bad luck."
They stared at the cardboard and plywood roof, thinking their individual thoughts. Luke thought about Thalia and school and being a nothing for the rest of his life. Chris thought about his mother, wanting something more for her son. And how he'd let her down, once again.
Rain pattered on the roof, but the Trash Clubhouse didn't leak. It had layers of plastic bags as insulation and the rain just dripped right off.
"We should go now, Chris." Luke picked himself up, pushing the plastic bag flap open. "The rain's only going to come down harder."
"Yeah. See ya, man. And good luck with the Thalia chick."
Luke knew that Chris only wanted to be polite. Chris knew that there'd never be anything between Luke and Thalia.
"Thanks, man."
And they went their separate ways, Luke going back to his school, and Chris going who knows where.
Luke pounded past the hobos with blankets over their heads, the buses spraying water over pedestrians. The manholes and grates in the road vented a foul smelling steam.
He reached the school before the rain got too hard.
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Author's Note: This is my first story in a while. Yeah. Sorry about that. Luke is messed up.