Life through the eyes of Penelope Andromeda Jackson

by Andrianna2016

Penelope Jackson always thought she held at least a slight sense of normality but that went out of the window when she discovered that the Greek Gods were real and she was the daughter of one of them. She just wanted to be a normal girl who was interested clothes, boys etc. but life never works that way. Combined with her never-ending bad luck things were about to get interesting.

Life through the eyes of Penelope Jackson.

A/n" Hi people. This is a fanfic in where Percy is a girl and Annabeth is a guy. And I can tell you it might not be Percabeth becoz i really don't want Girl Percy to be in a relationship with Male Annabeth in where M. Annabeth is smarter than her and acts like Original Annabeth. That's not my idea of a relationship. Hope you enjoy and tell me if Girl Percy is too powerful/ too non- flawed/ has too many good qualities/ or anything like that.

Enjoy.

Twelve Years Ago

Sally Jackson's apartment.

Inside the apartment of Ms. Jackson was a handsome guy staring at cute baby girl who had a small tuft of dark brown hair and the deepest of green eyes you'd ever see with awe and love in his eyes. He was Poseidon, the Greek God of the Sea and the woman standing next to him was Sally, the mother of the baby girl. Poseidon picked up the baby and cooed at her while saying "Penelope Jackson. You shall be the greatest out of all my children, my little Princess." Sally smiled at the scene and swore to protect her baby girl on the River Styx. Thunder boomed at the declaration. The God had a look of panic written all over his face.

"I have to go Sally. If Zeus catches wind of this it won't be safe. I'll support you in any way I can. Stay safe and protect our child. Saying that he kissed Penelope on her forehead and handed her over to Sally with one last kiss and left leaving the lingering scent of the ocean. Sally sighed, knowing it was inevitable and cooed at her daughter already planning on how to raise her with skills to protect herself, ensuring a larger chance of survival.

I Accidently Vaporize My Pre-Algebra Teacher.

Hi, nice to meet you. I'm Penelope Jackson, only daughter of Sally Jackson and currently ex-boarding student at Yancy Academy.

Now that that's out of the way let's clear some stuff up.

NEVER EVER call me 'Penny' or some other ridiculous name. It's PJ to all of you. Got it?

NEVER EVER mess with my family and don't even think about insulting my mom.

And finally, try NOT to betray me.

Moving on, I'll start with the day where it all went wrong. It was last May when our sixth-grade class took a field trip to Manhattan – 28 mental-case kids and two teachers on a yellow school bus, heading to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to look at ancient Greek and Roman stuff.

It sounds like fun, but most Yancy field trips were torture.

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

Mr. Brunner was this middle-aged guy in a motorized wheelchair. He had thinning hair and a scruffy beard and a frayed tweed jacket, which always smelled like coffee. You wouldn't think he'd be cool, but he told stories and jokes and let us play games in class. He also had this awesome collection of Roman armor and weapons, which was so cool.

I hoped the tip would be okay. At least, I hoped that for once I wouldn't get in trouble.

Boy was I wrong. I think this is why people say 'not' to tempt fate.

See, bad things happen to me on field trips. Like at my fifth-grade school, when we went to the Saratoga battlefield, I had this accident with a Revolutionary War Cannon. I was aiming for the Deputy Principal's car, but that's not important. Anyways I got expelled.

And before that, at my fourth-grade school, when we took a behind-the-scenes tour of the Marine World shark pool, I might have accidently hit the wrong lever on the catwalk when I slipped and fell, leading our class to take an unplanned swim. And I can definitely tell that I wasn't responsible for a shark ripping the pants off our supervising teacher, Mr. Macready revealing boxers endorsed with hearts. Let's just say, our class was scarred for life.

This trip I was determined to be good and cause no trouble, whether it be accidently or on purpose.

All the way into the city, I put up with Norman Bobofit, the freckly, redheaded kleptomaniac boy, hitting my best friend Grover in the back of the head with chunks of peanut butter-and-ketchup sandwich.

Grover was an easy target. He was scrawny and cried when he was frustrated. He must have 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 because he had some kind of a muscular disease in his leg. He walked funny, like every step hurt him, but don't let that fool you. You should have seen him run when it was enchilada day in the Cafeteria.

Anyway, Norman Bobofit was throwing wads of sandwich that stuck in his curly brown hair, and he knew I couldn't do anything back to him because I was already on probation. The headmaster had threatened me with death in-school suspension if anything bad, embarrassing or even mildly entertaining happened during this trip.

"I going to kill him," I mumbled. "Or sock him where it hurts."

Grover winced, knowing I would do it since I had already proven it twice. He tried to calm me down. "It's okay. I like peanut butter."

"In your hair?"

He dodged another piece of Norman's lunch.

"That's it." I started to get up, but Grover pulled me back to my seat.

"You're already on probation," he reminded me. "You know who'll get blamed if anything happens.

"Looking back on it, I wish I'd socked Norman Bobofit right them and there. In school suspension would've been nothing compared to the mess I was about to get into.

He rode up front in his wheelchair, guiding us through the big echoey galleries, past marble statues and glass cases full of really old black-and-orange pottery.

It blew my mind that this stuff had survived for two thousand, three thousand years.

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 interesting, but everybody around me was talking, and every time I told them to shut up, the other teacher chaperone, Mrs. Dodds, would give me the evil eye.

Mrs. Dodds was this little math teacher from Georgia who always wore a black leather jacket, even though she was fifty years old. She looked mean enough to ride a Harley right into your locker. She had come to Yancy halfway through the year, when our last math teacher had a nervous breakdown. Probably at the sight of her.

From her first day, Mrs. Dodds loved Norman Bobofit and figured I was the devil's spawn. She would point her crooked finger at me and say, "Now, honey" real sweet, and I knew I was going to get after-school detention for a month.

One time, after she'd made me erase answers out of old math workbooks until midnight, I told Grover I didn't think Mrs. Dodds was human. He looked at me, real serious, and said, "You're absolutely right."

Mr. Brunner kept talking about Greek funeral art.

Finally, Norman Bobofit snickered something about the naked guy on the stele, and I turned around and said, "Will you shut up?"

It came out louder than I meant it to.

The whole group laughed.

Mr. Brunner stopped his story.

"Miss Jackson, "he said, "did you have a comment?"

My face was totally red. I said, "No, sir."

Mr. Brunner pointed to one of the pictures on the stele. "Perhaps you'll tell us what this picture represents?"

I looked at the carving, and felt a flush of relief, because I actually recognized it, me being obsessed with Greek and Roman Mythology and all.

"That's Kronos, the Titan of time eating his children: Zeus, Hera, Poseidon, Hades, Hestia, Demeter, because he didn't trust his children due to Uranus's curse. So he ate them but his wife, Rhea hid baby Zeus and gave Kronos a rock to eat instead. Does it mean that Zeus resembled a rock because I'm sure Kronos wasn't stupid to be easily fooled like that?" Thunder boomed ominously and I noticed Mr. Brunner and Grover looked up at the ceiling, nervous. Strange.

I continued, "And later when Zeus grew up, he tricked his dad, Kronos, into barfing up his brothers and sisters-"

"Eeew!" said one of the girls behind me.

"- when he fed him a mixture of mustard and wine and his siblings, being immortal gods, had been living and growing up completely undigested in the Titan's stomach. Then 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.

"Full credit Miss Jackson" Mr. Brunner said, obviously satisfied.

Some snickers from the group.

Behind me, Norman 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 Kronos ate his kids. '"

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

"Busted," Grover muttered.

"Shut up," Norman hissed his face even brighter red than his hair.

"Because the Greek and Roman civilizations have influenced the society and the gods are still believed to be in existence.

"