Punktuality:
Percy Jackson is good.
He's punctual- always to class on time.
He's not good, but he's good. You know? He gets good grades, studies hard, dresses appropriately, and doesn't dare go to high school parties. There's an indulged curiosity with the whole concept, but he doesn't have the guts to even step across the threshold of his own bedroom door. Not that he's a wuss. He's just kind of afraid of what his strict father would do if he found out Percy was drinking or partying. It's illegal, too. And it's not like he has someone who makes fake ID's on speed dial. The entire things stupid, anyway. He'll have fun after he's gotten into a Ivy League college- after he's gotten a degree. That's smart. Sensible. Of course, he's naive and slightly stupid sometimes, (almost like he concentrates on one piece of the puzzle too much and misses the whole picture) and his dyslexia doesn't help much either. "Nothing studying can't fix," his father will tell him and send him back to work. He doesn't have much friends, but who needs friends anyway?
It's the beginning of senior year when he first sees her.
Her hair is curly and bounces with every step. The edges of the spirals are dyed a dark green, almost swampy like. It shouldn't look good, but it does, it really does. Her grey eyes are surrounded with eyeliner and dark makeup, making them look fierce. They're a steel colored grey, but mixed with emotions, like a hurricane or the way storm-clouds brew. It's the way she holds herself- that's what catches Percy's attention- shoulders back, head up, walking almost normal down the hallway, but with a little bounce to her step, and occasionally a black-lipped grin. Her lipstick is black and glossy and shiny. It's startles him how much he wants to kiss her. He's managed to keep his hormones at bay throughout the four years of high school, but seeing her, dressed all in black, tight jeans, a form-fitting leather jacket, has ignited something in him he's never felt before.
Okay, so he's seen her before. That's a slight cliché exaggeration. She's been going to Goode High for as long as he has. She's almost in all of his classes, but this is the first time she looks...Like this. He only knows her because they're kind of in a rivalry. They both have the top SAT scores; the exact same numbers. He didn't even know that was possible! She doesn't like Percy, she's made that quite clear the moment he stepped into her 'genius' turf, and was considered a possible threat for getting her own ride to college. They snark and argue and pick and prod and tease.
That was all last year. You know, the few months back when Annabeth wore pink cardigans and pink sneakers and pink lip-gloss and pink headbands. So much pink. When she wore black glasses on the top of her nose and when she was made fun of for idolizing Charles Dickens.
She looked good before. He's taken notice, but he's never thought of her...That way. Now he is. She's taller, too. Almost as tall as him. He remembers when she used to be the taller one, the girl that lingered in the corner with her nose in a book and her overly too big glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose. He remembers when she smirked smugly his way, and the braces that coated her crooked teeth. She was always pretty, despite her looks from previous years. She's even had a few boyfriends, none that Percy ever cares to remember. He doesn't particularly like Annabeth.
"She's the type of girl that makes you want to curl up into a corner and cry," his best friend Grover oh-so poetically put it last year.
She's walking down the hallway with Thalia Grace -the school Goth- and Nico di Angelo- the school's emo, who always scowls and looks like he's in some type of pain- chatting away with them. She excuses herself for a moment, strutting up to Percy, her black boots clanking off the shiny, newly-waxed floors. Annabeth looks like a rebellious student. The one that smokes and does drugs and shows up to classes late. Of course, the giant novel clasped tightly in her arms ruins that image, but still.
She looks...bad. And he's Mr. Goody-two-shoes.
She prods him the arm, smirking. "Hey, Jackson."
He can feel his cheeks flushing a deep shade of red. He opens the locker, shoving his face in, pretending to be busying himself with the process of organizing his locker. "H-hi."
He can hear her confusion. "What? No, 'get lost, Chase'? What's the matter with you?" She pokes him in the arm once more. Jesus fuck, God, mother of all Olympians (he's glad his father isn't a mind reader) she smells like lemons. Intoxicating and sweet.
She slams the locker when he ignores her again. It nearly skins his face, if he hadn't jumped back in time. Okay, so he takes back calling her sweet. No, she has a backbone now, still sweet, but sour if you do the wrong thing. Kind of like Sourpatch Kids. Why is he thinking of candy at a time like this? When he finally looks at her - oh, God, that black lipstick- he finally notices that familiar, pestering glint in her eye and that crooked smile, and the curve of her nose, and realizes that just because her appearance changed didn't mean that she wasn't the same exact person she was last year. "Aw, poor pretty boy. Cat got your tongue because I scored higher than you?" She pokes him on the cheek, and he finally seems to come to life.
"Oh, please, Chase. We all know who got the higher score."
"Me? Why, thank you."
"Ha, ha, ha," he laughs sarcastically. "Aren't you the comedian?"
She tugs on the edge of her green curls, and they bounce upward when she releases them in swinging spirals. He longs to run his fingers through them, and wonders if they're as silky as they look. Her eyes narrow and she scowls, crossing her arms, scaring him, but her eyes give her new status away. They're smiling. "Good luck this year, Seaweed Brain." She holds out her hand like she does every other year, waiting for the traditional hand shake that starts off the competition for the top grade.
He shakes her hand, noticing black nail polish on her nails. His hands are sweaty. Why do hands even sweat anyway? He's sure he knows the answer, but his mind is too distracted to think straight. If Annabeth is disgusted by his sweaty palms, she doesn't show it. He holds it a moment too long, and Annabeth's eyebrows furrow at his flustered state. Don't blush. Don't kiss her. She's exactly the same.
He cracks a grin, nervous, but pushing the odd feeling away. He should glare daggers at her, but he can't bring himself to do so. She really needs to walk off that black lipstick. Like, as soon as possible. "Good luck, Wise Girl."
She chews on her black lip, nodding, poking him playfully in the ribs before jogging to catch up with Thalia and Nico.
"Annabeth?" He calls, mustering up all the courage he has.
She turns partway, eyeing him curiously. "Yes?"
"I love the new look," he mumbles, trying to sound playful and cocky, but it comes out tumbled and jumbled, like he's swallowed a fly. "By the way."
She stares at him oddly, trying to detect if he was being serious or sarcastic. When he doesn't say anything else, pink tints around the edges of her pale cheekbones. Annabeth's tan, so he guesses it's the makeup. She nods, her grey eyes on the floor as she stuffed her hands in her leather jacket pockets. "Thanks, I guess." She blushes harder. "We should, uh, catch up sometime." She pauses. "I like movies. And I don't think I'd be overly offended if you asked me to one."
He tries to say something back, but the only thing that escapes through his lips is incoherent gibberish.
She grins, glad to have that reaction, before turning on her heel and strutting away.
He doesn't remember how long he stood there, but his brain isn't working entirely. It feels like it just melted into mush.
"Did she just...did she just ask me out?" he ponders aloud.
No one replies. It's then that he realizes that the hallways of Goode are no longer crowded, and he is five minutes late to class.
Somehow, Percy doesn't mind that his perfect punctuality is tarnished. He also doesn't seem to mind the detention slip he gets because of being tardy. When he slides into his seat at the front (naturally) and he sees Annabeth smile his way, it makes up for everything.
Percy doesn't like punk girls.
But he guesses he can make an exception.
A/N: You know how I hate every single one of my stories? Well, I LOVE this one. I swear, it's the only thing I ever thought was good that I wrote. It turned out exactly how I imagined it in my head. My favorite one-shot that I wrote. I'm just so proud of it! I would make it longer than a one-shot, but I have so many other stories to finish already.
We all know Viria (or at least I hope we do- if not, she does amazing Percy Jackson fanart) drew a Percabeth picture where Percy's punk. I remember the buzz it made (and still is making) on Fanfiction. So I decided to change it up a bit and make Annabeth the punk one. Hopefully you enjoyed it, and feel free to drop in a review, follow&fav, or just simply read.