1.

I tend not to notice when someone is calling me, wether I'm ignoring them or I am honest-to-god done with the crap I have to deal with for them. Naturally, I chose to snap only when it was Annabeth Chase that was tapping on the back of my shoulder. "What do you want?" I exclaimed frustratedly, turning around to face the most beautiful girl in my high school. She only smiled slightly, holding out my fallen pencil. "You dropped this, I think," she said. I took my pencil, and she went back to inspecting the floor for what I assumed was more fallen stationery.

"Thank you," I mumbled, but she didn't hear me. I thought Teddy was sitting behind me. Class ended, and a new one begun. Mr Dionysus, our literature (ahem) teacher handed out twenty-three copies of Charles Dickens' Great Expectations, announcing our next book report, worth thirty percent of our grades, was based on this book. These copies were battered; borrowed from the school library each year. My copy had dents on the bottom of the yellowing cover page, but otherwise it was fine.

"Great Expectations, sir?" Annabeth asked, raising her hand slightly. Mr Dionysus nodded, this glasses wobbling slightly as he did so. "Is there a problem, Ms, ah, Chase?" he asked, and I silently urged Annabeth to keep her mouth shut. She didn't, which was another piece of the piling evidence I don't have superpowers. "You don't think that's beneath our level?" Her voice was slow and clear.

"I do not believe Charles Dickens is beneath your level, Ms Chase. Do be quiet."

"Sir, you've assigned us this book for two years in a row now. Isn't that right, sir?" she pressed. A bit more and Mr Dionysus would fail her. I knew that. The rest of the class knew that. But she did not. I made a split-second decision to intervene. Damn it.

I stood up, flashing Annabeth a sharp look. "What she means to say, Mr Dionysus, is that perhaps we could do something more elaborate? Shakespeare, perhaps?" there was a murmur of agreement. Mr Dionysus pondered this, before turning to the blackboard. That's right—we still use blackboards.

"Well, Mr Jackson, if you and Ms Chase are so desperate to defend each other like this-" he started, disregarding Annabeth's "I didn't defend him!". "You may, if you please, work together on this project," he told us, glaring through his glasses. I understood immediately: work together or fail together. Annabeth, however, had taken to stare at Mr Dionysus with her mouth agape.

"Sir," she said earnestly, looking between Mr Dionysus and I. Help me Jackson. "You can't pair us on something worth 30 percent of our grades!"

"I can and I did, Ms Chase. Please behave yourself and sit down," he said, before turning away from us again. And that was how I got Annabeth Chase as my partner for an assignment that didn't require partners. I should have just kept my head down. Annabeth was beautiful, sure, but I, alas, was not. Nothing good could come from someone high up on the social rankings of a mundane society of today's future "fraternising" with someone like me.

After class, Annabeth caught me by my locker. She looked—get this—pissed. "What was that for?" she demanded, slamming my locker shut. I said nothing, before taking her bony wrist between my index finger and thumb, and gently pushing it off my locker. I opened it again, stashing my books inside. "Jackson!" she exclaimed, her neck reddening slightly.

"I just saved 30 percent of your grades, Chase," I told her, putting on the straps of my bags. I continued before my confidence wavered. "Dionysus would've had your head hung. And I sort of don't want to see your head hung!" I said hotly, before adding, "I don't want anybody's head hung!"

She seemed to think about this, before shaking her head slightly. "You're going to regret ever 'saving' me. Let's get this over with then. I'll see you tonight."