A/N: Oh my gods, I'm not yet dead! I know. I was starting to question it, too. Yes, I'm alive. And I've updated twice in one day! Yes, after adding a new chapter to To Be a Tree, I decided to post this little oneshot I started writing a while ago. I tried to make it as gender neutral as possible so that the main character could be anyone. Even while I was writing, the main character kept switching between a boy and a girl. So, feel free to insert yourself into the story. In fact, I encourage this behavior! As always, enjoy!
You always thought your dad was just a deadbeat.
Yeah, your mom always tells you that he was a very important person and that he wanted to be a part of your life and that he really did love you. You never believe her, though. You love your mom. She is smart and pretty and funny and way too good to be your mother. You are the one who put her through hell, always trying to find an open spot at a boarding school over the weekend because you got kicked out of your last one on Friday or dealing with angry teachers or principles because you've done something stupid at school again. It isn't your fault, though, you swear. You can never pay attention in class and the classes are difficult and the words float off the page and people tease you for being a freak. And then there are the teachers.
Some are alright. Helpful, even. Kind and sweet who genuinely seem concerned for you. Those are few and far between, though. There are some who will go out of their way to make your life a living hell. Bait you into saying the wrong thing, taunt you about your struggles with your ADHD and dyslexia. And then you snap and start yelling or throw something at her or just storm out. A bad situation, the wrong fit, another expulsion.
That's what? The fifth time? Sixth? Who knows? You've lost count. All the schools blend together. You have no friends to remember. Only bad memories come from school.
So you figure that your struggling but wonderful mom deserves a kid much better than you. Blame it on your father. Obviously, nothing bad could have come from Mom's side. She's too good for your problems to be her fault. Everything must be his fault. He's the reason you can't make good grades or stay in one school for more than a year. He's the reason your mom has a stupid, troublemaking kid instead of a smart, honor roll kid.
Then something happens. You're not sure what's going on. These… creatures start attaching you. Then that strange teacher – a nicer one, but still weird – and some kid that's several grades older than you come out of nowhere. While the teacher is trying to tell you to run and not look back, you see the girl pull a hairclip out of her hair and watch as it magically turns into a shimmering bronze sword. Dodging the monster lightly, she finally finds an opening to skewer the thing on her blade. It turns into dust. The teacher is still trying to get you to move, but you stand transfixed on the girl, who is now bending over to pick up one of the monster's massive claws, which is the only thing that's left of it.
That's when they try to explain about everything. You're a demigod. Your father is one of the Greek gods. You're in terrible danger if you stay here any longer. You have to go to a special camp for the children of gods. You'll train there until the next school year starts, and then you'll have the option of going home to your mom or staying the rest of the year.
Of course you're freaked. This is a lot to take in. Does your mom know? Has she worried about this you entire life? Of course she has. Suddenly all the little things that have happened in your life come back, things that you had forgotten until this moment. A montage of memories plays in front of your eyes. In kindergarten, you almost drowned because a huge dog tried to pull you down. Everyone thought you'd just fallen in, but you hadn't. In second grade, a man with a million moving tattoos tried to take you, but you somehow got away, even though you were way too small to fight off a grown man. In fourth grade, just two years ago, and yet strangely fuzzy in your mind, an explosion happened at school, and of course you had been blamed for it. But right before it happened, you vaguely remembered seeing the wind outside form people. One of them smiled cruelly and then swooped down at the building. The second the figure made contact, the explosion occurred. No one was hurt, and everyone had a different explanation for what happened, but they all said that you were behind it.
Your mom was there for all of those things, and each time, she joked that she was going to have another gray hair and wrinkle because of the worry. She said it with a smile, but there was always something in her voice that made you wonder.
So now you're told you have half an hour to go home – with the teacher and girl escorting you, of course – to pack a bag for camp. Half an hour is all you get to gather everything that you hold near and dear in your heart, throw it into a duffle, kiss your mom – your sweet, sweet mom who is way too good for you – and go to camp.
The second you open the door, the teacher and girl push you inside and stand guard. Your mom is standing in the kitchen, reaching for a mug to make her daily cup of tea, when you walk in. She freezes for a second, not understanding. You're supposed to be at school, and who are these people in her house? But then something in her eyes lights in recognition and knowing, and while the teacher and girl push you towards your room – they're very pushy people, you think – they begin to explain what you can tell your mom already knows. You want to linger and listen to what they're telling her, but the girl shoots you a look and you retreat into your room.
You're numb. Your room, which has always been yours, no longer feels like yours. You dig around in the bottom of your closet for your duffle and begin throwing armfuls of clothes into it. Once you've cleared your drawers from all your clothes, you grab a pair of sturdy shoes and a jacket and sweater from your closet, and then, of course, the picture of you and your mom from your wall, the one from Christmas when you were five and the two of you are posing in front of the tree with Santa hats on, smiling like a couple of idiots for the camera. It's a cheesy picture, but you treasure it. You probably won't put it up anywhere at camp, but just having it will make you feel a little bit better.
Once you've finished packing everything you could possibly need or want for camp, you look at your room for a minute, at the light blue walls, at the movie posters and playbills, at the random little pictures tacked here and there, at the pencil marks next to the door where your mom tracked your growth from infantry to now, at the messy desk covered in papers, at the bed that you'd forgotten to make. Everything had seemed so normal just an hour ago and now your life has been turned on its head, and you still don't understand exactly is going on.
When your feel your eyes start to sting, you tear your gaze away from your room and head out into the living room, where your mom is sitting with the girl and teacher. She looks upset, but she is trying to hide it. She wants to be strong for you, but you know you have to be strong for her, not the other way around. She's too good for you. You have to make up for being a bad kid by being a strong one.
She smiles at me sadly. "You'll have a fun time at camp," she promises. "There's a lot of kids just like you. You'll make so many new friends. And they have a lot of fun activities, like archery and arts and crafts and rowing. It sounds like a great time. They've been telling me all about it."
"Will you get to visit me?" you ask, and want to cringe when her face falls.
"I'm… I'm not allowed darling. But you can come back at the end of the summer. I'm sure you won't even miss me, you'll be having such a good time. You always wanted to go to summer camp."
"Yeah… a good time," you say, looking away to that she can't see the conflicted look in your eyes. You don't want to go. You don't want to leave your mother. You don't want to be a demigod.
The girl and the teacher look at each other, as if communicating without words.
"Time is almost up," the girl says, looking almost as conflicted as you feel. Maybe she once stood in another house with another mother with another girl and teacher telling her that she had to leave everything she knew for a life she never planned for.
You feel like crying, but you know that you have to stay strong. Crying won't do anything but hurt everyone. So instead, you lean in and give your mom a hug. "I love you, Mom. I'll see you at the end of summer."
"I love you, too, Sweetie," she says, her voice catching. You hate when she calls you Sweetie, but you don't dare correct her when you know it will be so long before you see her again.
"I'll miss you," you whisper back to her and pull away. Through the window next to the front door, you see a van pull up. The windows are tinted, but you can vaguely see the driver, who is covered in tattoos. When you blink, the tattoos start to move, but then flicker back to normal. The girl and teacher coax you towards the door and you let them. You look back at your mom and wave with a smile. She does the same, dabbing the tears that are pooling in her eyes. When you turn away, you're crying, too.
The teacher sits in the front while you and the girl sit in the back. Once the door is closed, you look at the driver's tattoos, which aren't tattoos at all. Instead, they're blue eyes that cover all of his exposed flesh, from his head to his arms and legs. The eyes blink randomly. It freaks you out, but, really, after the day you've had, does it matter? You don't want to be a demigod. You just want to pass the sixth grade.
The ride to the camp is quiet. Everyone probably wants to give you a little more time to get used to the idea of being what you are. The drive doesn't take too long. You get onto the bridge that takes you onto Long Island and go through some of the crazy city. Though you've lived here your whole life, you've rarely ever been inside New York City. You always wished that you could spend the day there with your mom. Everyone at the various schools you've been sent to talks about how awesome it is. But now that you're looking at it, it doesn't seem so special. Now without your mom.
The van keeps driving, eventually leaving the urban jungle of the city and into a quieter, more rural area. It's pretty, but you can't appreciate it. After a few more minutes, you see a huge pine atop a hill. The road snakes up the hill, and when you reach the top, you're shocked by what you see.
There is a huge field that stretches off to the left, beyond a creek that leads to a lake, which has another creek that leads off to the ocean. It is filled with rows of green plants. Several figures are walking through the rows, tending the plants. An assortment of different buildings are scattered across the land. Closest to the hill, there is a volleyball court and a huge house that has three or four stories. You can even see the frothy ocean from here. Everything is so beautiful that you almost can't believe it even exists.
The van stops, and you and the girl and teacher get out. You watch as the van drives away, and you're whisked down the hill and into the arms of the many campers waiting below.
You're welcomed with open arms and pats on the back from kids and teenagers in orange shirts. A man who looks like he's riding a horse – which, upon further inspection, is actually the lower half of his body – greets you warmly and tells you that you will have a great time at Camp Half-Blood.
Suddenly, a flash of light appears above your head, and all the campers gasp. When you look up, you see the symbol floating inches above your hair, a hologram projected from nowhere. After a few seconds, it disappears.
All is silent for a second, and then there is an eruption of cheers from a group of campers who all look a little alike, and who all look a little like you.
"Welcome to the family!" one of your new siblings shouts, and you're swarmed with hugs.
Maybe it wouldn't be so bad here after all.
A/N: So, that was my first ever attempt at writing in the second person. I hope you all liked it. Tell me what you think in a review! It only takes a couple minutes and it makes me a very happy writer!