07.27.14

This is officially an edited document. If you choose to read on from this point, the rest of the story will not make sense as the binding between the end of this chapter and the beginning of the next chapter is not mended. I repeat: the rest of the story will not make sense from this point forward.

I hope you enjoy the new chapter, and I will have the next chapter properly edited and up soon! At the end of this page, I will give an explanation as to what I am doing with this story so as to solve any confusion.

If you are a newcomer to Masquerade, you can skip over the author's note at the end. However, I repeat once more: do not read the next chapter until you see a date at the top, signalling that the newly edited chapter is up. This goes for every chapter here on forward.

I hope you enjoy it! I only own the plot; the characters do and always will belong to the one and only Rick Riordan.

"So tonight, we're gonna party like the sun won't come up again,

"Like the sun won't come up again, no, we can let out all the happy, all the pain we'd been forced to contain, we're gonna party like the sun won't come up again."

Finishing with a deep breath, I glanced up at Mike. His hands moved in a clapping motion, but I couldn't hear a whisper thanks to the sound-proof booth I was in.

He came around the corner and opened the door. "Great job today, Jez. You never fail to impress me."

He handed me a water bottle. I unscrewed the cap and drank greedily, quenching my desert of a mouth. "Thanks, Mike," I said, using the back of my hand to wipe the water off from my lips. "What else do I need to make happen today?"

"Actually, you can take the day off early," he said. "I told my seven-year-old that I'd go to his school to have lunch with him. You go get something to eat, too, and we can pick up on Friday where we left off."

"Sounds like a plan," I said, grateful I could have an extra two days than normal before I stepped foot in this stuffy box again.

Mike had started to walk off when a light bulb went off above his head and he spun on his heel to face me. "Oh, before I forget. You have a photo-shoot to do on Thursday at 7:00. Don't be late. And, please, don't bring the dog."

I laughed a little, remembering his past experience with Skip. The only reason I'd brought him to my last photo-shoot was because he gave me the cutest puppy eyes ever; there was no way Satan could even say no to him.

The thing was, he was a wild pup. It was like he was even more ADHD than I was; he tore down half the lights and backdrops before he'd been in there for twenty full minutes. He would never stay off the set, because he followed me around like he was lost. Mike had attempted to tie Skip's leash to the corner of his chair, but Skip had other ideas. He'd pulled the chair right out from under Mike in a matter of seconds.

To sum things up, Mike had indignantly ended the photo-shoot an hour-and-a-half early and rescheduled it to another day for me to finish.

"Come on, I know you love Skip," I teased. Mike rolled his eyes.

"If you bring that damned dog onto my set again, you are going to have to work overtime without extra pay."

I sighed. "Okay, okay. I won't bring Skip," I said grudgingly. "But let it rest on your conscience that he's going to be all alone."

Mike snorted. "What conscience?"

I rolled my eyes, but decided to stay silent as we made our way out of the studio.

When we made it to the main exit door, Mike turned to me, looking grieve. "Jez. . . Try to stay out of the tabloids. I don't know if you've been keeping up with the stories that are floating around New York, but quite a lot of them are nasty regards to you. They are twisting you life into something ugly, Jez. You know I'm your friend, but I'm also just a colleague- I have to keep my business running. If the paps' stories start getting worse. . . I'm afraid you'll have to find yourself another producer."

Before that could sink in, he strode out the door, not giving me a chance to react. Find a new producer? Ugly stories? That can't be right, just the other day I read an article about how I was about to create a fashion show (with the help of my good friend and stylist, Silena) and how her and I were going to get fifty disabled girls to star in it. We were going to call "Flawless", to highlight the fact that their imperfections were what made them utterly perfect.

But every time I bring up the topic of publicity, Thalia -my manager- gets quiet and is quick to change the subject, always reassuring me that everything was 'fine'.

Clearly, everything was not 'fine'.

I barged through the door, causing a pair heads to snap up and face me. I gave them my best 'you better explain shit right now' look.

Silena's violet eyes bulged. "Thalia told me not to tell you!" She quickly exclaimed, catching onto my mood rather fast. My brows shot up, gaze turned to my manager.

The electricity in her blue orbs sparked with worry. "I wanted to tell you, but I couldn't distract you from your work! I'm your manager, therefore I handle the publicity issues. You just need to smile for all the cameras and stay out of trouble. Leave the rest to me."

I heaved a sigh and collapsed into the chair next to me, rubbing my temples. "You could have told me. I would have been more careful around the paps, and gave sugar-coated answers to all their bizarre questions."

When I say 'bizarre', I'm not exaggerating; I've had one of them ask me if I preferred 'Charmin Ultra Soft' or 'Cottonelle Gentle Care' toilet paper better.

Tabloids the next day: "Superstar Jez Falcon- against Cottonelle Gentle Care? Or does she just have a thing for Charmin? ;) Tune in to get the scoop on this juicy news on our Favorite Falcon!"

Jaguar Tempo was bursting with new subscribers that day. It's amazing, how many people care about what type of toilet paper I think is better.

"I know, but I didn't need you stressing out about anything. Just trust that I will take care of it. Okay?" Thalia said, trying to convince me.

I sighed, but nodded reluctantly. "Fine. Whatever. I'm hungry. You guys up for China Place?" I said, truly famished.

"I could do some Chinese," Thals said, and Silena nodded eagerly.

The twelve-o'clock air in New York was cold and crisp. Even on the last edges of summer, the city was already at a chilled and windy 40 degrees. I gripped the side of my jacket and hugged it around my torso.

We scurried to Silena's cherry red Sedan. After a good thirty seconds (felt like thirty minutes) of her fumbling in her purse for her keys, the car finally bleeped!, signaling the freedom to enter the car without having to feel the temptation of breaking and entering through a window.

We took off to China Place as soon as Silena turned up the heating in the car to get Thalia and I to stop complaining (it was like, twenty degrees in that car. That's cold for a Cali girl). About ten minutes of Katy Perry, One Direction and Olly Murs later, we were pulling into the parking lot.

Thank gods for tinted windows, I thought, as I glanced at a couple walking by that were looking towards our car.

I reached between the front seats and pulled the latch that opened the console, searching through the forest of beauty products; hair ties, two scarves buried in the bottom, a beanie squished to the side, a few pairs of sunglasses, a brush, pallets of eye shadow, eyeliner pencils, lip gloss, lip balm, foundation, pocket mirrors- the list was endless, really.

I threw my blonde mess into a loose side pony tail and threw on some white sunglasses. Then I slid the dark beanie, which came out of the console grudgingly, onto my head.

We all headed inside after Silena grabbed a pair of sunglasses, too. I stared at my feet, playing the best card I had at the moment to hide my face. My brown Oxfords clicked next to Silena's white-lace Aperlai heels, then Thalia's dark combat boots.

A stranger whistled at us, holding open the door. Thalia strode through with a straight face- I followed suit, only noticing a slight change in his demeanor when he saw me, but it was immediately diminished when Silena gave him a small 'thanks' and a flirty wink.

A Chinese waiter greeted us before leading us to our table. I stumbled on the corner of a chair; the restaurant was poorly lit, and my glasses were preventing me from seeing most of where my feet were going. Thalia snickered softly.

I glared at the back of her head, praying that Apollo would loan me just enough heat ray vision to burn a hole through her skull.

We finally got settled into a corner booth. Silena and I were facing the window behind Thalia's head, and she the rest of the restaurant. A petite little Chinese lady came to order our drinks as soon as we settled into our seats. I hid my face behind a menu and kept my voice low and foreign when she turned to me. Keeping my head down, I waited for the waitress to leave before I glanced at Thalia. "Everything clear?"

She gave the diner a once-over. "Looks good to me."

I carefully slid the glasses off of my face, as if they would break at the slightest waver of a muscle. Everything was temporarily blinding. It took a few seconds, but then it was as if someone turned down the brightness of the room, and then my eyesight wasn't strained anymore.

"So, what's the news?"

Thalia looked at me, shocked. "Why do you assume that there is news?" She asked innocently.

I rolled my eyes. "Come on, Thalia. You've been acting like a tight bubble that's ready to burst. I know you want to tell me something, you're just waiting for the right time. Well, I have created that 'right time' for you right here to save you the trouble. So, what is it?"

She sighed. "I don't know why I bother. I never could keep anything from you."

I waited expectantly. She drew a deep breath.

"You know that show that broadcasts a bunch of huge stars? 'The Square Hit'?" She asked.

I nodded, a whirlwind starting in my stomach.

"I might have pulled a few strings to get you on the show- but," she said, just as the whirlwind started to become a hurricane. "There's a catch."

"Which is. . . ?" I asked impatiently. If I got on The Square Hit, I wouldn't just be known vaguely across the country; the entire world would know my name.

Thalia huffed. "They want you to stay low. Keep away from the paparazzi. Stay out of the tabloids, because frankly, they're making up some nasty stories about you."

"Like what?" I couldn't help but ask.

"Like saying that all your donations were a bluff, and you cheat on children, and you hate elderlies, and ditch out on your concerts," she said, naming a few on her fingers. "The list could go on."

I groaned. It was worse than I thought. "And those donations all went straight to homeless shelters! And I just visited a nursing home two weeks ago! And I have never ditched out on any concert! There was one where I had to leave early, but that was because my mom died. And I especially do not cheat-"

"I know! I know," Thalia said, cutting me off and throwing her hands up in mock surrender. "All I'm saying is that that's what they're making up about you."

I sighed, rubbing my temples. Why do people have to be so frustrating?

"They want you to play 'School Girl' until the showing, which is in December," Thalia said. "Three months of sugar-coating, three months of no paparazzi, and three months of high school."

Alright guys, so here's the explanation for the year-long-wait, why I technically still haven't updated, and what I am currently up to.

This story was completely at it's edge. There was no way I could build the bridge to updating it. I couldn't work with the material I had written, and while many of you have told me otherwise (for which I will always be grateful), I have to write for me before I can write for an audience, and there was no way I was capable of doing that with what I had already written. So, my solution is this:

Completely edit the book.

The reason I haven't updated was because whenever I thought back to the fact that I needed to update, the thought always arose in my head as a chore, and I am such a procrastinator when it comes to those things. If I edit the book, I'll be more pleased with what I have written and therefore can put my heart into the story and enjoy writing it.

I'm so sorry. I know this is long overdue, and I'm also sorry that yes, this does mean you will have to read the story over (if you still want to read it, anyways) in order to continue to the point where we left off.

To answer a few possible questions:

Yes, the story will be different from what I had originally planned, but the bulk of the plot will still be the same; Annabeth is still going to Goode in disguise, Percy is still an arrogant ass that Annabeth is going to fix-up.

Yes, I am back into the flow of writing, and for that I am very excited.

No, I don't expect you to believe the above statement, but I'll prove it to you with more updates.

If you have any more questions or concerns, feel free to write them in a review or PM me!

Thanks to all of you who have inspired me to keep writing this story!

~LadyMischief98