All rights belong to Rick Riordan. I do not own any Percy Jackson-related content.
Isabelle yelped and dropped her phone on the granite countertop. It landed with a sharp clap as Isabelle put her head in her hands. After a second, she straightened up and threw her hands in the air.
"Well. It's official. The polar bears are extinct," she proclaimed. She must have been a little too loud, though, since her mother flinched at the exclamation. Slowly, Isabelle's mother turned to her daughter. Her mother's eyes had always been as expressive as most people's words; they were as green and lush as any leaf on a sweet potato vine. Her eyes could easily morph from pride to dejection and each look would elicit some emotion from Isabelle.
This time, it was disappointment that Isabelle saw in her mother's eyes. Isabelle looked down at the news headline on her phone; BREAKING: Ursus maritimus, the polar bear, is officially extinct: between climate change and humans, which is the biggest monster? Isabelle tasted bile at the back of her throat and slid her mother the phone. Her mother took a few seconds to crane her neck and read the headline. She then shook her head and turned away towards the counter.
After a few moments, she then turned back around and handed Isabelle a cup of tea. When Isabelle took the drink, she felt the warmth cascade through her palm and rush out to her fingers. Before long, though, that warmth turned scalding hot. Isabelle practically dropped the drink on the counter just as her mother said, "Careful. It's hot."
Mothers always seemed to have a gift for warning their children about hot foods and drinks a half second after the child burns themselves. Isabelle sighed and watched her mother put the teabags away. As the older woman moved, her long red hair rippled and shifted like a fire in slow motion. This was one of those times where Isabelle wished that she wasn't adopted. Her bland brown hair looked nothing like the beautiful fiery curls her mother had.
Isabelle avidly blew into the cup and could tell what flavor it was by the smell.
"Come on, Mom. Elderberry tea? You know I hate this stuff." Isabelle swore her mother did these things on purpose. Her mother walked around the counter and sat down on the other old orange stool in the kitchen. She laced her fingers as she studied Isabelle.
"You're just getting over your cold, Izzy. You have to keep treating your body with care even after you're feeling better. You're graduating from Humphrey's in less than a year; you need to learn how to take care of yourself."
Though her mother was the best person in the entire world, she seemed to be very nervous for Isabelle to graduate college. Her mother constantly called Isabelle the smartest person she ever knew, and she was confident that her daughter would get a job right upon graduation. Not just any job either; she was sure that Isabelle would start some prestigious career relevant to her Environmental Science degree. And even though her mother trusted Isabelle to save the world through sustainability, she did not trust Isabelle to remember to drink tea when she's sick.
Isabelle rhythmically tapped her chin. She caught a waft of cinnamon in the air; she made a mental note to tell her mother that she liked this essential oil. "Or…I could always just come to you and you would take care of me."
Her mother raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure I would let a grown woman into my home just so she can steal my money, my medicine, and my food?"
"Ten out of ten times."
Her mother's mouth twitched. "Mm. Do you know why you always hated elderberry tea?"
Isabelle hesitated and began to thumb her mood pendant. It shone a brilliant green. She remembered that that she hated elderberry tea because of something embarrassing, but she was not able to recall what actually happened.
Her mother smiled in anticipation. "You were nine years old. You were at Science Bowl practice with the rest of your group, and we were over at Dawn's house."
Isabelle's eyebrows furrowed. "Who's Dawn?"
Her mother continued as if she didn't hear the question. "But you were sick, and as always, I gave you some organic Echinacea Plus elderberry tea. You all were taking a break and were playing around with the television on in the background. A commercial came on for the exact thing you were drinking."
Isabelle's heart sunk. She remembered exactly what happened. "Thanks, Mom. I remember what happened. I don't need-"
"Let me finish."
"No, Mom, please, I-"
"Let me finish. So this boy you liked, Eugene Stratmath, saw on the commercial that the person was chasing a pair of berries all around the city. He followed them all the way to someone's apartment and watched as the berries went into a cup. He looked in the cup and it was just a pristine cup of tea. It was completely unrealistic, and it's just another example of how commercials are used to set and enforce expectations among the suspecting community-"
"Mom."
"Oh, yeah, sorry. Anyway, so the person who owned the apartment that the guy broke into comes out of her bedroom and says, 'Who are you? What are you doing in my apartment?' And the guy says, 'I saw these berries and I wanted to touch them.'"
Isabelle made a face. She did not remember the commercials being so disgusting back then.
"And so Eugene turns to you and says, 'Isabelle, can I touch your berries?' You snorted all your elderberry tea out of your nose and you ran to the bathroom. Needless to say, we had a talk with Eugene and his parents about why his actions were inappropriate, but you were mortified."
Isabelle rubbed her nose tenderly and muttered, "Thanks for that."
Her mother started to smile, but the smile wavered and morphed into a frown. The emotion in her eyes shifted to irritation. Her mother broke eye contact and started to pull at her red and black flannel.
Without making eye contact, she said, "I'm sorry, Izzy. I know polar bears were one of your favorite animals. You used to write short stories detailing the chronicles of Violet, the purple polar bear."
Isabelle smiled sadly; she remembered those stories. They helped her express herself. Her mother expressed herself through painting. She could even paint with her feet. The small log house was strewn with paintings of characters, adventures, conflicts, and new colors. Instead of a television in the living room, there was a large canvas that served as the main artistic "event". Isabelle's mother would always wake up early and paint a new piece every day. On good days, these paintings, along with the sunlight and the collection of vibrant foliage around the house, made the house look heavenly.
Isabelle, however, was definitely not born with the painting gene; she had trouble trying to paint without getting any in her eyes. Writing, though, was much easier for her. She loved to write short stories, creating weird characters that did not meet the conventional standards of "cool." She'd show her mother and would beam as her mother talked about her favorite parts, the parts that had her gripping the edge of her seat, and her favorite characters. For Isabelle's eighteenth birthday, her mother had sewn her a black sweater with a purple polar bear on it.
She loved that sweater. And she loved her mom.
Her mother sighed. "Humans seem to see nature as something that was made for them as opposed as seeing themselves as the products of nature. We are a part of this world, and yet we are destroying it."
Isabelle nodded. "People think it's easier to act like it doesn't exist than confront what we are doing. And politics nowadays is so full of people demonizing and villainizing the other party that they don't seem to realize that we're all on the same team."
Her mother stood and kissed Isabelle on the forehead. "Never change, Izzy. Remember that nature will give you the same nourishment that you give it. And you're late, young lady."
Isabelle's heart jumped. She looked at the clock. She cursed and ran out of the kitchen. She grabbed a gray sweater, struggled into a pair of blue chino pants, and put on a pair of running shoes. As she ran out her room, she snatched her computer bag and her keys. She was nearly at the front door when her mother said, "Izzy!"
Isabelle turned to see a bagel flying through the air. Isabelle had been late enough times that she's had practice with this. She caught the bagel with two fingers and blew a kiss to her mother as she stepped out the door.
The summer day illuminated the forest around Isabelle. Though it was only August, the leaves on the trees were starting to glow red, orange, and yellow. The leaves on the ground were so prominent that if Isabelle looked down, she'd think she was riding on a bed of green leaves. She looked around and found her bicycle leaning on the right side of the house. She mounted the bicycle, wedged the bagel in between her teeth, lifted herself up so she was practically standing on the pedals, and started to pedal while trying to use her fingers to comb through her hair. She bit down a bit harder on the bagel so it wouldn't break off and fall onto the ground. She tasted that it was blueberry-flavored.
Acceptable.
It was uncomfortably warm outside. Isabelle found herself sweating within minutes. However, she was someone who cycled semi-competitively for years; she was no stranger to sweat. She started to pedal harder and harder until her legs were just a circular blur of force and speed. The wind blew past her face at high speeds, prompting adrenaline and endorphins to pump through her body. Her mood began to lift as she sped out of the forest and into the town. Isabelle felt like whooping, but she would never risk losing the bagel.
Never.
Isabelle finally reached the Stockton-San Joaquin County Public Library. She locked her bike up at the rack, engulfed the bagel in two massive bites, and stepped into the library.
Her work day was filled with more of the usual. Some teenagers skipping school came in and huddled in the teen section, laughing about how cool they thought they were. Many older residents of the neighborhood visited the library, but it seemed more like a social move than a journey to find the right book to check out. The amount of gossip that Isabelle heard about how Mary's son and his marijuana problem was unbearably high.
Since her shift was quiet, she was able to begin looking up the classes and topics she was scheduled to start next semester. She also started to look up course material. Textbooks seemed ridiculously expensive, and to Isabelle, they were like lottery tickets. People pay for the chance to win something, whether it's money or college credit. Her friend Winston had once paid over $600 for textbooks, only to come down with mono in the beginning of the semester. He missed a month and a half of his classes and missed the add/drop period, so he couldn't get his money back.
Before she knew it, her shift was over. She began to put her laptop in her bag.
"No…no…no."
Isabelle looked up to see a child who looked to be about nine years old. He was in the comic book section and he had his hands pressed to his temples. Isabelle had to fight the urge to laugh; that child was too small to be so stressed out about something. He looked like a forty-year-old man struggling to figure out what to get his partner for Christmas. She left her post behind the desk and came up to the little guy. The kid had dirty blonde hair and looked up to her as she bent down beside him.
"What do we have here?"
The kid exhaled in exasperation. "I can't decide if I want a Superman or a Green Lantern comic book. It's the hardest decision I've ever made."
Isabelle took a shaky breath so she wouldn't chuckle. However, she looked at him and saw tears welling up in his eyes. It seemed like he had a long day today. She kneeled next to him and tried for the bravest smile she could put on.
"Okay. Let's do this. Who is more powerful between the two?"
"Well…I think Superman. But Green Lantern has a cool ring."
Isabelle pulled the Superman comic book. It was ripping at the seams, indicating that it was the more popular book. "What can Green Lantern do?"
The kid thought for a second. "He can make anything with his mind!"
Isabelle made her mouth into a perfect o. "Anything?! Can he make me some dinner? I'm hungry."
She rubbed her stomach and made a funny face. The kid laughed, making Isabelle's heart warm. "Okay. So, if Green Lantern can do anything, then why is this even a question? Choose Green Lantern!"
He didn't seem sold. He absent-mindedly rolled his gray shirt up from the bottom so his belly was exposed to the comic books. "Well, if Green Lantern can do anything, where's the conflict? That's what makes stories cool."
This time, Isabelle laughed. "Where's the conflict?! You sound like a comic book master! Would you rather be Superman or Green Lantern?"
"Hmmm…Superman!"
"I think you'd make a great Superman. Superman it is, then." Isabelle handed the kid the book with a smile. The kid smiled back, but then seemed to frown in confusion.
"Did you already know which one I was going to pick when you came up to me?"
Isabelle raised an eyebrow. This kid was way more insightful than she thought.
"Yeah, well…you're wearing a Superman shirt, so I imagined that's what you would pick."
Baffled, the kid looked down at his shirt and studied it as if he was seeing it for the first time. He then exploded into laughter. His laugh was infectious, bringing a grin onto Isabelle's face. She clapped her hands softly. "Okay, shall we check you out then?"
The kid gave a big nod and the two of them walked to the library desk. Isabelle checked out the book and told him that it would be due next Saturday. The kid nodded and skipped away. Isabelle grabbed her bag and got ready to leave when an older woman approached the counter. She looked to be about seventy years old, and yet she was wearing a suit that was perfectly fitted to her form. Isabelle eyed this character warily for a second, then brought out her customer service voice.
"Hi! Welcome to the Stockton-San Joaquin County public library! How may I help you?"
The woman stood in front of her for a second too long, and then stretched her face in an unnatural smile. "You can't."
Isabelle blinked. "Excuse me? May I help you?"
The woman maintained her smile and spoke through the grin, "No. That was very cute, what you did for that boy. I know you were just getting off your shift."
Isabelle exhaled. Her stomach was doing somersaults. "Well, he was a little cutie. And he just wanted someone to help him with that big decision of his. I love kids, so I'm always happy to help them. Even if it's at the end of my shift."
The woman kept her body still, but she seemed to glide closer to the counter. Isabelle backed up and kept her eyes on the woman. The strange non-customer cocked their head and said, "You look just like your father."
The hairs on Isabelle's arms stood up and the sweat on her palms started to accumulate. She tried for a confident smile. "Oh, unfortunately, my father passed away before I was born. I never knew him."
Isabelle didn't know why she was telling this woman this, but all she knew was that she may be in danger. The woman started to laugh gruesomely, with saliva spurting out her smile with each heave of laughter. Her eyes were no longer focused on anything in particular.
"Oh, sweetie," she crooned. "I'm glad he's dead."
Hope you all liked this chapter! Thank you for your time :)