Hello, I've wanted for quite a long time to have a fanfiction of my own, so here it is.

I have always loved and idea of a fem!Percy and thought that Will Solace never was mentioned enough, so I thought why not make them a couple.

I have named the fem!Percy Cordelia because it means daughter/jewel of the sea.

This is my first fanfiction ever and English is not my first language, but I hope that I've done well.

Desclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson or any of the characters there. All right goes to Rick Riordan.

Enjoy this chapter of Cori Jackson and the Lightning Thief!

I didn't want to a half blood.

It just happened ya know?

If you possibly think you might be one, my advice is: close this book right now and throw it out of the window. Now that I'm thinking of it you can also put it in a really nice place, like the toilet for instance. But the best thing would be to burn it. Anyway off topic.

Believe whatever lie your dearest, innocent, but-not-so-innocent parents told you( like a big, bird left you at their door enternace because they so wanted a baby) and try to lead to a normal life.

Being a half-blood isn't all fluffys and unicorns and rainbows and stuff.

It's a life-or/and-death situation, where you have to fight to live for another misirble day.

Most of the time, being a half-blood, gets you killed in painful, nasty and creepy ways.

If you're reading this, because you think it's fiction, then great, read on. I envy you for being able to believe that none of this ever happened.

But, if while reading this, you feel something, anything strange stirring inside you, then stop reading immediately. You might be one of us and once you know that they'll sense it too, and believe me or not they'll find a way and come for you.

Okay now, confession time done. I have no responsibility of what will happen to you in the future.

Sooo, my name is Cordelia Melody Jackson.

Call my anything, but Cori and I will personally make sure that your face is rearranged or that you loose the ability to have kids. Trust me, I've got my ways.

I'm twelve years old and I go to a privet school for troubled kids at upstate New York.

Am I a troubled kid?

Hell, yeah.

You, know I'm just your avarage, everyday, adorable, but sneaky troublemaker.

You need just one look at me to think of that. My sea-green eyes are always sparkling with a mischievous glint thinking of the next prank. It doesn't take long, I'm a natural. I can't help it.

Anyways, as I was saying before, it all started one beautiful May day. See, all my classmates and I were going on a fiel trip to Manhattan. But I don't think it's a really good idea to put twenty-eight-mental-case kids together in a yellow school bus with two teachers, one of them constantly yelling and glaring at them. You would ask: where is this sixth great class of Yancy going, hmm? (Notice the sarcasm please). Well, we were actually going to visit the Metropolitan Museum of Art tosee Greek and Roman stuff.

I know and understand you very well my young and devilish fellows- it sounds like pure torture, and believe me when I say it- it is.

You see- bad things happen to me on field trips. In my fifth grade class we were visiting the Saratoga battlefield. The historian was speaking so slowly to us and in such a monotone tone, you would think we were five years old. So I snaped ( and I don't regret it) and called him an ugly slug. Needless to say I instantly felt better.

Not the same could be said for him. So, he literally kicked me out. Not like I really cared, though. There I saw a Revolutionar War canon. I knew that things wouldn't end really well if I came near it, so I decided to stay away.

Now, please be at least a bit understanding for the things that come afterwards. I have no fault of what's coming next. Blame the ADHD and the stupid historian.

I'm not telling how I got near the canon. I am only saying that it involved an annoying bird, a mental monkey and a flying banana. I swear I was aiming for the mental monkey and not the school bus, but of course I got expelled anyways.

While on my fourth grade...hehe. Long story short, we took a behind-the-scences tour of the Marine World shark pool. I sort of "accidentally" hit the wrong lever on the catwalk and our class took an unplanned swim inside the pool. Now, now the sharks weren't as bad as they made them sound. They were quite friendly...at least twards me. One thing I learned from that. Never, ever let kids near dangerous, shiny (especially) red buttons.

While before that... Well, you probably get the idea.

But this trip, unlike any other of them, I was convinced (mostly by Grover) to be good.

Well, as good as I could be. Because there's no way in hell I'm going to stand there like a golden Mary Sue. No-o.

But, I actually had hopes, because Mr. Brunner, our Latin teacher was leading the trip.

Mr. Brunner was this middle-aged guy in a motorized wheelchair. Really cool if you ask me. He had thinning hair and a scruffy beard and a frayed tweed jacket, which always smelled like coffe. You wouldn't think he'd be cool, but he told stories and jokes and let us play games in his class. He also had this awsome collection of Roman armour and weapons, so he was the only teacher whose class didn't put me to sleep, which was something.

All the way into the city I tried to put up with Nency Bobofit, the freckly, redhead kleptomaniac girl hitting on my best friend Grover in the back of the head with chunks os peanut butter-and-ketchup sandwich. Key word: tried.

Grover was an easy target. He was scrawny. He cried when he got frustrated. He must've been held back several grades, because he was the only sixth grader with acne and the start of a wispy beard on his chin. On the top of all that he was crippled. He had a note excusing him from PE for life because of a disease in his legs. He walked funny, like every step hurt him, but don't let him fool you. You should've seen him run when it was enchiladas day on the cafeteria. Jeez, I swear he could've won the Olympics like that.

Anyway, Nancy Bobofit was throwing wads of sandwich that stuck in his curly brown hair. I really tried to stay calm, because I was on probation, but luck wasn't on my side.

"I'm going to kill her" I mumbled.

Grover tried to calm me down "It's okay, I like peanut butter."

He dodged another piece of the-most-likely-person-to-be-pranked-next lunch.

"That's it." I started to get up, but Grover put me down back to my seat.

"You know who'll get blamed if anything happens." He reminded me.

"I don't care. I'm more than sure it'll be worth it." I said, but as he gave me a pointed look ( which looked remarkably funny on him)Then I added. " But this doesn't mean I won't prank her latter. I wonder how she'll react to having blue hair filled with peanut butter mixed with permanent glue." I smirked.

Grover must've realised that he couldn't do anything more and sighted. "Fine." He said, but then an identical smirk started forming on his face too. " But don't forget to make a video of her reaction, I'm sure other people around the world would want you to share it on YouTube. Now, now you should learn to be generous."

"I like the way you think Grover." But then realization came on my face. "Grover?"

"Yeah?" He asked unsure what to make out of my expression.

"I knew it!" I exclaimed. "I knew it, I would corrupt your one day."

He started laughing uncontrollibly. " Oh, no! The devil has possessed me! Help me please!"

"Oh, shut up! You know I'm awesome,"

"Arrogant much?" He asked.

Mr. Brunnet led the tour.

He rode up front in his wheelchair, guiding us through the big echoey galleries, past marble statues and glass cases full of old black-and-orange pottery.

It blew my mind that this stuff had survived for two thousand years, three thousand years.

He gathered us around a thirteen-foot-tall stone column with a big sphinx ob the too, and started telling us how it was a grever marker, a stele, for a girl around our age. He told us about the carvings on the sides. I was trying to listen what he had to say, because it was kind of interesting, but everybody was talking, and every time I told them to shut up, the other chaperone, Mrs. Dodds, would give me the evil eye.

Mrs. Dodds was a little math teacher from Georgia that always wore a black leather jacket, and looked mean enough to ride a Harley straight into your locker, no kidding. She came to Yancy, when our previous teacher had a nervous breakdown halfway through the year.

Since the first day here she figured that the red-freckled, annoying Nancy was an angel that fell from the sky (more like a gift from the devil if you ask me), and that I was the devil spawn. Honesty, I don't know what gave her the idea. In my opinion (and I think that I speak for all the poor students who have the horrid fate to be tought math by her) Mrs. Dodds is the She-Devil herself, or maybe a minion and that Nancy is somehow her child. Hey, you never know!

She would point he crooked finger at me and say, "Now honey" real sweet and I knew I was going to get after-school detention for a month. One time she had made me erase answers out of an old math book until midnight. And that was just because I pulled a prank on the school director. Hey! It's not my fault he is and old bat! I just...wanted to cheer him up a bit. Yeah, that's all!

Anyway, off topic, hehe. Stupid ADHD! That night I told Grover that I didn't think was human. He looked at me with a really serious expression stamped on his face and said, "You're absolutely right."

Mr. Bruner kept talking about Greek funeral art. Noisy Boobfit (as I decided to call her at the moment) snickered something about the naked guy on the stele, and I turned and said, "Will you shut up."

It came out louder than I meant it to.

The whole group laughed and Mr. Bruner stopped his story.

"Miss Jackson," he started, " did you have a comment?"

My face probabbly resembled a tomato. "No, sir"

Mr. Brunner pointed at one of the pictures on the stele. " Perhaps you'll tell us what this picture represents?"

I needed only one look on the picture to realize which it was. I mentally thanked my mom for telling me all those myths from Greek mythology. "That's Kronos eating his kids, right?"

"And he did this because...?" He continued obviously not satisfied with my answer.

"Well, Kronos was the King Titan and he didn't trust his kids, because of a curse his father Ouranos had placed on him. So, he ate them, but his wife, Rhea, hid baby Zeus and gave him a rock instead. When Zeus was old enough he tricked his father into barfing up his brothers and sisters. They called themselves the gods and won the war between the gods and Titans."

Some snickers from the group.

Behind me guess-who-said-it mumbled to a friend. "Like we're going to need why Kronos ate his kids. It's not like there'll be a question in our job application 'Please explain why Kronos ate his kids'."

"And why, Miss Jackson" Brunner said," to paraphrase Miss Bobofit's excellent question, does this matter in real life?"

"Busted." Grover muttered.

"Shut up." Noisy B. hissed, her face even redder than her hair.

At least Nancy got packed too. Mr. Brunner was the only one who ever caught her saying anything wrong. He had radar ears.

I thought about his question and shrugged, "I don't know sir."

"I see," Mr. Brunner looked disappointed. " Well half credit Miss Jackson. Zeus did indeed feed his father a mixture of mustard and wine, which made him disgorge his other five children, who, of course, being immortal gods, had been living and growing up completely undigested in the Titan's stomach. The gods defeated their father, sliced him to pieces with his own scythe, and scattered his remains in Tartarus, the darkest part of the Underworld. On that happy note it's time for lunch. Mrs. Dodds would you lead us back outside?"

The class drifted off, the girls holding their stomachs, the guys pushing each other around like doofuses.

Grover and I were about to follow when Mr. Brunner said, "Miss Jackson."

I knew that was coming.

I told Grover to keep going. Then I turned toward Mr. Brunner, "Sir?"

Mr. Brunner had this look that couldn't let you go- intense brown eyes that could've been a thousand years old and had seen everything.

"You must learn the answer of my question," Mr. Bruner told me.

"About the Titans?"

"About real life. And how your studies apply to it."

"Oh," was my oh-so-smart answer.

"What you learn from me," he said, " is vitally important. I expect you to treat it as such. I will accept only the best from you Cori Jackson."

I wanted to get angry, This guy pushed me so hard.

I mean, sure, it was kind of cool on tournament days when he dressed up in a suit of Roman armor and shouted: "What ho!" And challenged us, sword-point against chalk to run to the board and name every Greek and Roman person who ever lived, and their mother, and what God they worshipped. But Mr. Bruner expected me to be as good as everyone else, despite the fact that I had dyslexia and ADHD and I have never made above C- in my life. No- he didn't expect me to be as good; he expected me to be better. And I just couldn't learn all those names and facts and much less spell them correctly.

I mumbled something about trying harder, while Mr. Bruner took one long look at the stele, like he'd been at this girl's funeral.

He told me to go outside and eat my lunch.

The class gathered on the front steps of the museum, where we could watch the foot traffic along Fifth Avenue.

Overheard a huge storm was brewing, with clouds blacker than I'd ever seen on the city. I figured many it was global warming or something, because the weather all across New York State had been weird since Christmas. We'd had massive snow storms, flooding, wildfires from lightning strikes. I wouldn't be surprised if this was a hurricane blowing in.

Surprisingly, nobody else seemed to notice. Some of the guys were pelting pigeons with Lunchables crackers. Nancy Bobofitwas trying to pickpocket something from a lady's purse, (Even I could do better than that. She just made it soooo obvious) and, of course, Mrs. Dodds wasn't seeing a thing.

Now, like every school, ours too had different groups of students. Three of them are most common.

The first group contains 'the popular students' ( TPS). The richly idiots that never study , think that school was their property and worry if they have or haven't put enough makeup. I swear if see one more girl dressed up like a Barbie doll making out with some football player in a corner, I'm going to vomit.

The second contains the TPS's minions. The ones that do the dirty jobs and go after them like lost puppies.

The third are the nerdies. Honestly, I feel a bit bad for them. They don't do anything wrong and still are made fun of. There's nothing I hate more than bullies.

And here is where I kick in ( Yeah, me the hero). No matter what people believe, I do have a nobel side. That's mostly why I started to prank. I hated that bullies made fun of people, so I thought 'why not make fun of them?'

I'm not saying that it's not fun, 'cuz it actually is, and I love it. If it wasn't for pranking, I would have never, ever opened a math or chemistry book in my life. I sometimes need those things that are said there to make my pranks work. It's not that I'm not smart, I'm very intelligent in fact, but the ADHD and dyslexia make my life a living hell. I'm more than sure I could've lived without it, thank you very much.

Grover and I sat on the edge of the fountain, away from the others. We thought that maybe if we did that, everybody wouldn't know we were from that school- the school for loser freaks who couldn't make it elsewhere.

"Detention?" Grover asked.

"Nah," I said. "Not from Brunner. I just wish he'd lay off sometimes. I mean- I'm the troublemaker, not the freakin' genius."

Grover didn't say anything for a while. Then, when I thought he was going to give me some deep philosophical comment he said, "Can I have your apple?"

I didn't have much of an appetite, so I let him take it.

I watched the stream of cabs going down the Fifth Avenue, and thought about my mom's apartment, only a little ways uptown from where we sat. I hadn't seen her since Christmas. I wanted so bad to jump on a taxi and head home. She'd hug me and be glad to see me, but she'd be disappointed too. She'd sent me right back to Yancy, remind me that I had to try harder, even if this was my sixth school in six years and I was probably going to be kicked out again. I wouldn't be able to stand that sad look she'd give me.

Mr. Brunner parked his wheelchair at the base of the handicapped ramp. He ate celery while reading a paperback novel. A red umbrella stuck up at the back of his chair, making it look like a motorized café table. So cool!

I should've known that my luck wasn't going to last that long. I was about to unwrap my sandwitch when the psychopath appeared in front of me with her ugly friends- I guess she'd gotten tired of stealing from the tourists- and dumbed her half-eaten lunch on Grover's lap.

"Oops." She grinned at me with her crooked teeth. Her freckles were an ugly shade of orange as if somebody had spray-painted her face with liquid Cheetos. Can you say Yack?

I tried to stay cool. Key ward: tried. The school counselor had told me a million times, "Count to ten, get control of your temper." I didn't even reach two when my mind went blank. A wave roard in my ears.

I don't remember touching her, but the next thing I know, Nancy was sitting on her butt in the fountain, screaming, "Cori pushed me!"

Mrs. Dodds materialized next to us.

Some of the kids were whispering: "Did you see-"

"-the water-"

"- like it grabbed her-"

I didn't know what they were talking about. All I knew was that I was in trouble again.

As soon as Mrs. Dodds was sure poor little Nancy was okay, promising to get her a new shirt at the museum goft shop, etc., etc., Mrs. Dodds turned on me. There was a triumphant fire in her eyes, as if I'd done something she'd been waiting all semester. "Now, honey come with me."

"Wait!" Grover yelped. "It was me. I pushed her."

I stared at him, stunned. I couldn't believe he was trying to cover for me. Mrs. Dodds scared Grover to death.

She glared at him so hard his whiskery chin trembled.

"I don't think so Mr. Underwood," she said.

"But-"

"You-will-stay-here."

Grover looked at me desperately.

"It's okay, G-man," I told him while patting his back. "Thanks for trying."

"Honey," Mrs. Dodds barked at me. "Now"

Nancy Bobofit smirked.

I gave her my deluxe I'll-kill-and-prank-you-later stare. I felt better when I saw a terrified look on her face. Well, what can I say? My glare did that to people. That's why most of them didn't want to meet my bad side. Then I turned to face , but she wasn't there. She was standing at the museum enterance, way at the top of the steps, gesturing impatiently at me to come on.

How'd she get there so fast?

I have moments like that a lot, when my brain falls asleepor something, and the next thing I know I've missed something, as if puzzle piece fell out of the universe and left me staring at the blank place behind it. The school counselor told me this was part of the ADHD, my brain misinterpreting things.

I wasn't so sure.

I went after Mrs. Dodds.

Halfway up the steps, I glanced back at Grover. He was looking pale, his eyes cutting between me and Mr. Brunner, like he wanted Mr. Brunner to notice what was going on, but Mr. Brunner was absorbed in his novel.

I looked back up. Mrs. Dodds had disappeared again. She was now inside the building at the end of the enterance hall.

Okay, I thought. She's going to make me buy a new T-Shirt for poor, poor Nancy at the gift shop. Huh, thank god I took some money with me.

But, apparently that wasn"t the plan.

I followed her deeper into the museum. When I finally cought up to her, we were back at the Greek and Roman section.

Except for us, the gallery was empty.

Mrs. Dodds stood with her arms crossed in front of a big marble frieze of the Greek gods. She was making a weird noise in her throat, like growling. It sounded like a big, angry dog, and I speak from experience, believe me.

Even without the noise, I would've been nervous. It's weird being alone with a teacher, especially Mrs. Dodds. Something about the way she looked at the frieze, as if she wanted to pulverize it…

"You've been giving us problems, honey," she said.

I did the safe thing. I said, "Yes, ma'am."

She tugged on the cuffs of her leather jacket. "Did you really think you could get away withit?"

The look in her eyes was beyond mad. It was evil. If you looked carefully, you could also see pure torture in them, madness. Not a new thing, I thought. Only one look at her and everybody can see she's evil, right?

I said, "I'll try harder ma'am."

Thunder shook the building.

"We are no fools, Cordelia Jackson," Mrs. Dodds said. "It was only a matter of time before we found out. Confess, and you will suffer less pain."

I didn't know what she was talking about. And the fact that she used my full name didn't help the matters.

All I could think was that the teachers must've found out that it was me who pulled the prank at Dylan Stream. No, I thought. Susane was accused for that one. Oh, maybe she finally has enough evidence now that I stuck the gum on Mr. Bones shoes and that it was because of that he fell and broke his leg. Or maby they'd realized I got my essay on Tom Sawyer from the Internet without ever reading the book and now were going to take away my grade. Or worse, they were going to make me read the book. I gulped at the thought. Nobody can be that evil now, right? That's pure torture for a poor, adorable dyslexic kid.

"Well?" she demanded.

"Ma'am, I don't…"

"Your time is up," she hissed.

Then the weirdest thing happened. Her eyes began to glow like barbecue coals. Her fingers stretched, turning into talons. Her jacket melted into large, leathery wings. She wasn't human. She was a shriveled hag with bat wings and claws and a mouth full of yellow fangs, and she was about to slice me to ribbons.

Then things got even stranger.

Mr. Brunner, who'd been out in front of the museum a minute before, wheeled his chair into the doorway of the gallery, holding a pen in his hand.

"What ho, Cori!" he shouted, and tossed the pen through the air.

Mrs. Dodds lunged at me.

With a yelp, I dodged and felt talons slash the air next to my ear. I snatched the ballpoint pen out of the air, but when it hit my hand, it wasn't a pen anymore. It was a sword-Mr. Brunner's bronze sword, which he always used on tournament day.

Mrs. Dodds spun toward me with a murderous look in her eyes.

My knees were jelly, but I quickly pulled myself together. She snarled, "Die, honey!"

And she flew straight at me.

Absolute terror ran through my body. I did the only thing that came naturally: I swung the sword.

The metal blade hit her shoulder and passed clean through her body as if she were made of water. Hisss!

Mrs. Dodds was a sand castle in a power fan. She exploded into yellow powder, vaporized on the spot, leaving nothing but the smell of sulfur and a dying screech and a chill of evil in the air, as if those two glowing red eyes were still watching me.

I was alone.

There was a ballpoint pen in my hand.

Mr. Brunner wasn't there. Nobody was there but me.

Ookay, I thought. This was….strange.

Had I imagined the whole thing?

I don't know.

I went back outside.

It had started to rain.

Nancy Bobofit was still standing where I left her, soaked from her swim in the fountain, grumbling to her ugly friends. When she saw me, she said, "I hope Mrs. Kerr whipped your butt."

I said, "Who?"

"Our teacher. Duh!"

I blinked. We had no teacher named Mrs. Kerr. I asked Nancy what she was talking about.

She just rolled her eyes and walked away.

Thunder boomed overhead.

I saw Mr. Brunner sitting under his red umbrella, reading his book as if he'd never moved.

I went over to him.

He looked up, a little distracted. "Ah, that would be my pen. Please bring your own writing utensil in the future Miss Jackson."

I handed Mr. Brunner his pen. I hadn't even realized I was still holding it.

"Sir," I said, "where's Mrs. Dodds?"

He stared at me blankly. "Who?"

"The other chaperone. Mrs. Dodds. The pre-algebra teacher."

He frowned and sat forward, looking mildy concerned. "Cori, there is no Mrs. Doddson this trip. As far as I know, there has never been a Mrs. Dodds at Yancy Academy. Are you feeling all right?"

"Yeah," I said, "I'm fine. Just a bit tired from the trip." And I left without saying another word. I headed towards Grover.

I asked him where Mrs. Dodds was.

He said, "Who?"

But he paused first, and he wouldn't look at me. So, I knew he was lying. I just did.

The whole school could fool me with that, but Grover couldn't. Maby it was because he was a really bad liar or he was my best friend, but one thing was clear in my head: Something had happened inside the museum, and I'm going to find out what it was.