Percy POV

Beep! Beep! Beep!

I roll over and blearily glance at my alarm clock as it alerts me to the beginning of my day. Gods, who even gets up at six in the morning anymore? I haven't been up this early since I graduated high school. I throw a fist at the stupid machine in hopes I'd turn it off. Of course, no such luck, even after several attempts. With a sigh, I reach over and unplug it from the wall socket. Some people call me lazy; I call it working smarter, not harder. Although my friends probably wouldn't call me smart in even the loosest sense, unless it comes to music. Then I'm unstoppable.

Let me catch you up real fast: My name is Perseus Jackson, although nobody ever calls me that. I usually go by Percy. I'm a twenty-three year old musician extraordinaire, frontman of Camp Half Blood, the band my best friends, Grover Underwood and Nico DiAngelo, and I established our freshman year in high school. We started out in Nico's basement with some of his dad's old synthesizers from the eighties. Me, being a pianist, instantly started spitting out some sick tunes on the old dinosaurs. Grover had quit piano lessons a long time beforehand, but still remembered enough to be proficient. Nico had no interest in them, preferring to jam on his ragtag imitation of a drum set. He had enough to get us going, though, and it was a done deal from there. We haven't exactly taken off yet, but in the last four years, we've managed to get some stuff on iTunes. So that's pretty sweet.

We all live in the apartment Nico's dad bought for him here in New York City. His dad used to be in a band himself (we call him "Hades," as that was his stage name back in the day) and is our most avid supporter. He's helped us out a lot, from new instruments and technology to pulling strings at recording studios. You could say he's well known and definitely well off. However, I suspect one of the biggest reasons he's supported Nico so much is because of Nico's sister's death a few years back. Bianca was in a terrible car accident on her way to an art exposition in early January. Hades (who wasn't as chill of a guy back then) had forbidden her from entering her own work into the contest, but she did it anyway. He was livid when he found out she went behind his back and explicitly grounded her from going to that expo, event though her work had won and was being featured in it. Needless to say, they got into a very heated argument, where she claimed he never supported anything she was passionate about and to just let her have this one chance at happiness. She left, slamming the door behind her, and drove to the expo. And you know what happened next. Of course, her death rocked the DiAngelo household pretty hard, and Hades blamed himself. Since then, he's been almost too supportive of everything Nico's done, from school Christmas concerts to our band. Not that I'm complaining or anything.

So that's where I'm at, as I sit up in bed and rub my hand over my face to help wake myself up and wipe drool off my face. Still partially sleepy, I trudge over to the bathroom to see if I can make myself presentable at six in the effing morning. When I get to the bathroom, I flick on the lights and immediately regret it. "OH GODS!" I shout as I slap a hand over my eyes and fumble for light switch again. "OH GODS IT'S TOO DAMN BRIGHT!" I finally feel the switch and flip it to the off position. I wait a little bit and turn the lights back on now that I'm better prepared for the brightness. I squint as I look in the mirror over the sink. Is that really how my face looks? "This is why I can't do mornings," I mumble as I squirt some toothpaste on my toothbrush. As I brush my teeth, I belatedly wonder if I woke Grover and Nico up with my shouting. Meh, they can go back to sleep. I finish brushing my teeth and opt for a shower to calm my unruly shaggy jet black hair. I briefly consider making my shower cold to wake myself up, then decide it's too early for that shit.

Ten minutes later, I'm redressed in my favorite pair of grey sweatpants, black Nike socks, an old long sleeved T-shirt from high school and my official CHB pullover. I grab one of the blue chocolate chip muffins that my mom baked for me (blue's my all-time favorite color) from the counter in our kitchenette, slip on my kicks and walk out the door.

I still can't believe that my mom's boyfriend expects me to be up this early on a normal day. I mean, Paul's a nice guy, but he's nowhere near as young as I am and thus doesn't remember how much sleep I need. He called a few days ago and asked me to meet him at a small bistro a few blocks down the road from my old house, which is about a mile or two away from where I live now, at seven in the morning. I take a bite out of my muffin while I fumble in my pocket for the keys to my white Ford Ranger. My mom got it for me back in high school, and since it still runs fine, I don't see a reason to get rid of it. I unlock the door and slide in the driver's seat. "Oh shit, that's cold," I hiss when I feel the cold leather seat beneath me. I start up my truck and back out of the apartment complex's parking lot. I finish my muffin as I navigate through the streets of New York, looking for the Boxing Street Bistro. I finally get to it around 6:50, and pull into the lot next to Paul's Prius. I always wonder why he hasn't gotten a manlier car yet. Oh well, not my problem.

I stroll into the bistro, brushing the crumbs of my pre-breakfast snack off of myself. I find Paul reading a newspaper near a corner next to the front window and walk up to his table. He sees me when I'm about halfway there and smiles, beckoning me over. I pull out the chair opposite him and fold my tall frame into it as one of the waitresses, a sassy, middle-aged woman named Keesha, comes over to pour us coffee. "Actually, could I have hot chocolate?" I ask as she lifts my cup up. I've never had a taste for coffee.

She sets my cup back down and picks up Paul's as she says, "In all my days workin' here, you the only boy your age who don't ever want no coffee." She smiles at me and I return it. "You ain't changed none, have you?" she asks me. Mom used to bring me here all the time before school. Then, when I drove myself, I'd come by myself. Either way, Keesha would always be my waitress. "Oh, you know me, Keesh," I laugh as I tip back in my chair. She sets Paul's cup back down, picks mine up again, and then makes her way back over to the counter. I turn my attention over to Paul.

"Morning, Paul," I grin. He sets down his paper and easily smiles back. "G'morning, Percy. I hope this wasn't too early for you."

"Ah, nah, man. It's nothing," I shrug. He gives me a sideways look, and I cave. "Okay, yeah, it was a little early, but here I am." I pause as Keesha comes back with my hot chocolate. She winks at me as she sets it on the table. She hands us two menus and strides off again. I grab a spoon and poke at the extra whipped cream on the top of my drink.

"She's sweet on you," Paul observes as he opens his menu. I nod as another smile stretches across my face and grab the other menu. "Yeah, Keesh has been working here for gods know how long. When Mom first started bringing me here in the mornings, she would always demand to be our waitress. Since then, she's been taking care of us. She even remembers to put in a little blue tint to my food," I recall, perusing the list of food items. All were delicious, I might add. We're silent for a few minutes until Keesha comes back with her notepad.

"What can I getchyall?" she asks, her pen hovering over the paper. I motion for Paul to go first, and he orders a bearclaw. Keesha scribbles it down and turns to me. I decide on two chocolate chip pancakes and an extra glass of chocolate milk. Keesh smiles as she finishes taking our order and strolls off toward the counter again.

"Speaking of Mom," I continue, and Paul looks at me. "How are you two doing?" I had just talked to her last week, and things were "simply smashing," as she put it. Mom is crazy about him. Paul folds his hands. "Well, Percy, that's what I called you here about. I had planned to eat first then talk, but we'll cut to the chase." Suddenly my stomach feels like it has dropped out of me. Was she in an accident? No. Wait, surely Paul isn't dumping my mom? There's no way he can do that. As I jump to all the worst conclusions I can think of, Paul goes on, "Now, don't jump to all the worst conclusions you can think of. This should turn out well, hopefully. I simply wanted to ask you for your mother's hand in marriage."

Well that wasn't what I was expecting at all. My jaw drops as I stare at him. He wants to marry my mom! That's...this is...wow, Paul and Mom, wow. Okay. I realize that Paul is waiting for me to say something. His brows are furrowed as he tries to discern my reaction. My mouth opens and closes like a damn fish as I try to figure out what to say. "Oh gods, Paul, that's great!" I splutter, starting to grin, "Wow, she's going to be so surprised! That's great!" He visibly relaxes and a smile takes over his face. I'm surprised he asked me first, but I'm glad he did. We start to talk about the bigger details of a wedding as our food comes out. I give Keesha a grateful smile when I notice the hue of my pancakes. She winks at me again and says, "Now, if there's anything else I can getchyall, y'all just let me know, y'hear?" Paul and I both nod, smiles still plastered on both our faces.