A/N: Yeah, it's my first fanfic, and I'm using this story to help develop my writing. If the story sucks in your guys' views, feel free to put in constructive criticism, and I can only hope that through my experience on fan fiction, I will be able to write and tell stories in better quality than the one that you see right before you.

By the way, I don't own any rights to Percy Jackson and the Olympians, Rick Riordan does. I just own the idea and stuff.

I stared at the computer screen, just waiting for new ideas to flow into my mind. I had a serious case of writer's block; I couldn't think nor brainstorm any plots or characters that I could use for my book. Why can't I think of at least one measly idea? I thought in frustration.

That's one of the toughest things about being an author; your career depends on what your mind can conjure up from the plot to character development.

My name is Percy Jackson, and as of the moment, I am attempting to write a story, a story so amazing, that it would blow the minds of billions around the globe. However, as I have mentioned before, the most significant barrier that exists in the way of doing that, is thinking up of a good story.

How does my mom do it? My mother, by the way, is Sally Jackson, the most amazing woman in the world who you will ever meet in your life. She struggled through so many hardships in her life trying to raise money, and to raise me to become the man I am today. I suppose another reason why her life was so hard was because my dad left us the moment he knew that my mom was pregnant. My mom seemed really understanding about it though, as if she knew that him leaving was for the best. She didn't seem angry, just sad whenever the subject of my dad came up.

Things turned for the better eventually though; my mom found this great guy named Paul Blofis (he turned out to be my English teacher in high school, but that's another story) who treated my mom with the proper amount of respect and care that she deserved; that is to say, a queen. They were really happy together and always compromised and fought through the obstacles in life that they had by working together and communicating properly. The kind of love that they share is one-of-a-kind, and I could only hope of attaining that kind of love one day.

Not only did her love life improve, her writing career took off as well. My mother always wanted to be an author, and would tell me unique, and fantastic stories that would always put me on the edge of my seat (or bed, sofa, whatever) and beg for more. She's been a huge role model and inspiration for me, which I guess explains why I'm also dragged into the writing business.

I've just graduated from NYU majoring in writing and am just wandering around, waiting for inspiration to hit me, but unfortunately, have made no progress.

Fortunately, I have a well-paying job as a swimming and fencing instructor at a really cool and awesome camp called Camp-Half-Blood that helps pay for my apartment. I also do a bunch of other odd jobs such as filing letters and papers for Chiron, the camp activities-director. The job is the greatest ever, I guarantee you! The kids are so fun to play with, that is except when the Poseidon Cabin (the camp is based on Greek mythology if you haven't noticed, by the way) is throwing water balloons at you, the Hermes Cabin is stealing from your stuff, or when the Demeter Cabin constantly tries to force feed you cereal. I swear, if I hear the words, "Honey-Nut Cheerios" one more time, I will drown myself in the lake. All of the diabolical schemes aside, it was really fun working with the kids. It's practically like being paid (it's good money considering what the job involves) to have fun.

Actually, I've attended that camp myself when I was younger, and met a lot of my friends over there such as Grover Underwood, Nico DiAngelo (who turned out to be my cousin, according to my mom), Charles Beckendorf, Silena Beauregard, Piper McLean, and Rachel Elizabeth Dare.

Being fed up with my getting nowhere, I decided to play some guitar in Central Park. Playing music usually amps my creativity and relaxes me. Plus, if people like my music, then I get some cash from pedestrians. So it's a win-win situation for me.

I got my case and headed out of my apartment. I stepped into the elevator and listened to the Beatles' song, "Somebody" as I traveled down floor after floor until I finally arrived at the lobby. I stepped out into the New York air and inhaled deeply, only to end up coughing later. There's no place like home.

I made the trek to Central Park and found my usual spot on the bench directly in front of the Enchilada vendor. I stopped by first to see my best friend Grover, who happened to run the Enchilada vendor.

He's the shyest and most pleasant guy you'll ever meet, and wouldn't hurt a fly. He was sort of lanky, and had the poofiest Afro that I had ever seen. Fortunately, after years of me staring at the ginger-colored fizz bob up and down while he spoke excitedly, he got the message and decided to get a Rasta cap to cover the unruly mess of hair. It probably would've been better if he chose to trim it a little more.

He had always been there for me no matter what, from Camp, to high school, and even to NYU. He's still in the process of getting his master's degree in Environmental Engineering though, since that's what he really wants to be; you know, helping the wild and nature and all that fun stuff. Since he needed a job to help pay for college and his apartment, he decided to get involved with one of his most favorite things in life: Enchiladas.

"Peeercy!" Grover bleated in my direction. I couldn't help but laugh at his goat-like nature. It was too amusing.

"Hey Grover! How are you doing? And how's the business holding up?" I asked.

"Great! Ever since you've been playing here, more people have been stopping by to get some of my enchiladas, with the occasional question as to when you would be coming by. You my friend, have a lot of fans in this park", he said earnestly.

"Nah man," I said modestly "They just come by to get some of your tasty vegetarian enchiladas. They're healthy and tasty! Seriously man, what's your secret ingredient?"

"Percy, if I said that I wasn't going to tell you the answer to that question the previous nine times that you've relentlessly asked me, then I'm pretty sure that I'm going to refuse to tell you this time as well" Grover answered while rolling his eyes.

"Eh" I shrugged, "It was worth a shot. Hey, I'm going to set up here. When I'm done, let's catch up later with Nico at Starbucks, ok?"

"Yeah, sure. Just let me know when you're done. I'll just be over here serving vegetarian meals that will save the lives of animals around the world!" he said with passion in his voice.

I went on to sit on the bench and pulled out my guitar, while leaving the case open for any folks who felt generous enough to put some money in there. I started to play one of my earlier compositions. It didn't have a title, or any lyrics, but is just a series of chords that I thought went pretty well together. The notes and chords were all there; it just needed some finishing touches. Oh well, maybe I'll would come up with something later.

As I played, people started to congregate at my general location, to stop and stare at my flying fingers and entrancing strums. In the corner of my eye, I could see Grover handing out a lot of enchiladas to people who stopped to listen to me.

Once I finished, people started to applaud. Am I really that good? I wondered. I must've been because everyone started to drop money in my case. Bills, coins, and even boxes of raisins got into my case. A little girl no older than seven approached me and dropped two quarters inside. How cute.

I continued to play some songs on the guitar such as Payphone, It Will Rain, and a bunch of other popular songs on the radio. After about thirty minutes of jamming, I took a look at my watch and decided to call Nico to meet us up and grab Grover to go to Starbucks together.

"Hey man, great performance, these people love you. Enchilada?" Grover offered once he came up to me.

"Thanks Grover," I said grabbing the enchilada, "I'll call up Nico while you close your vendor, and then we'll go ok?"

"Yeah, sure" and he waved me off.

I got out my phone and punch in Nico's number. The phone rang repetitively, and the phone picked up.

"Hello?" croaked a sleepy voice on the other end.

I rolled my eyes and just said, "Death Breath, are you flipping kidding me? It's literally 10:30 right now! What have you been doing that caused you to sleep so late? Don't bother lying, I've been your cousin for so long, I can always tell when you're lying"

Nico is my cousin and one of my best friends. He had jet-black hair like mine, and the darkest brown eyes that you will ever see in your life. His (almost) black eyes could really stare through your soul and intimidate you. He freaked me out when we first met, rambling on about death and dead people whenever I decided to sit next to him. Fortunately, he wasn't as emo or creepy as he made himself to be. He showed his true colors and turned out to be a really fun guy to hang out with, and not to mention really energetic. The guy can hold grudges though, so don't mess with him if you ever stumble upon him, or you'll end up regretting it for the rest of your life.

"Stuff" he stated simply, "now, what do you want?"

"Grover and I were thinking about going to Starbucks to get something and to just chat, want to come?" I asked.

There was a pause, and then he said, "Sure, can I bring Thalia and her friend? Her friend just moved here in the Big Apple from the West Coast, and we're trying to introduce her to more people" Thalia was Nico's girlfriend, and so far they looked really happy together. They first met at the police station where they both worked. They both told me that they had never liked each other from the beginning and would've gladly shot each other with their pistols. However, on one assignment, Nico saved Thalia's life by taking three bullets for her and passed out on top of her. When Nico woke up in the hospital, he and Thalia came on good terms. After that, well, you get the idea…

"Why not? The more the merrier"

"Ok then, see ya", and at that he hung up, leaving me waiting for Grover to finish up. It was taking a while, so inevitably, my ADHD started to act up. Although it's really slight, I still have the tendency to be easily distracted. Right now, I was just gazing at a tree. What a nice looking tree… I was so focused on the tree in front of me that I paid no heed to the accelerating blur that crashed into me.

"OW!" we both exclaimed at the same time. Me being the gentleman that my mother raised, I immediately went to the person who crashed into me.

"Oh my gosh, are you ok?" I asked in a concerned voice. I took a quick look at her. She had honey-blonde hair, which was waved into pretty princess-curls, and the most beautiful stormy gray eyes. When I gazed into her eyes, I couldn't help but think that she was already calculating the best way to take me down. I was snapped out of my thoughts when I heard her yell at me.

"What the hell is your problem?!" she fumed. My problem? She's the one who bumped into me. The mystery girl continued her outburst, while gesturing to her shirt, "Here I am just trying to get a nice jog around the neighborhood and go see my friend whom I have not seen for a long time, and then you just have to ruin it by smashing your enchilada into my shirt!" I looked at her and gazed at the huge vomitus-colored splotch on her abdomen area. It kind of seemed like a piece of art that Rachel would've loved…

"Hello? Are you listening to me? Now I'm going to look like a complete slob in front of some friends that I'm about to meet, and I don't have time to go back to my apartment and get a new shirt!"

"Apparently, you have the time to yell at me instead…" I mumbled with a hint of annoyance. Apparently, I wasn't quiet enough because she heard me.

"Listen mister, I don't need your sass. Now I don't want to make a bad first impression by showing up in front of new people looking like a slob and an inconsiderate and tardy bee-yatch, so I'll just get going" she said sardonically.

At that, she jogged away, ignoring the stares that she was receiving from people passing by, who were thinking that she just puked on her shirt.

"Hey man, I'm ready", said Grover, "Let's go"

I nodded my head in agreement, just wanting to forget those unsettling stormy grey eyes that left a burning impression in my head. Great, now I'll have nightmares… I then told Grover about Thalia and her mystery best friend tagging along, and he seemed cool with it.

We headed to West 57th Street, and went inside. I didn't see Nico, or Thalia, so Grover and I just headed to a table and grabbed some coffee. Well, I got a coffee, Grover got about three cups.

When we sat down, Nico and Thalia came inside, and headed straight towards us.

"Hey man! How are you guys doing?" I said greeting them as they sat down.

"Hey Percy, work's just killing me right now" Nico complained.

"Oh suck it up Nico!" Thalia said as she whacked him in the back of his head. I snickered, knowing that subliminally, she was really saying, 'I love you sweetie', or something of the sort.

Thalia was a girl who could kick your ass in at least 20 different ways in less than 5 seconds. Her obsidian black hair and electric blue eyes also kind of gave off the invisible message that she carried everywhere she went, "Mess with me, and you'll never see the light of day". What a great friend.

"Hey guys, when's your mystery friend showing up?" Grover inquired.

As if on cue, the door opened and then my worst nightmare entered the coffee-scented shop, with her piercing silver eyes scanning the crowd. Her gaze fell upon Thalia, and she approached her.

"Thalia!" she squealed, taking no notice of her table's other occupants.

"Annie!"

"Don't call me that!"

"This is Nico, my boyfriend, Grover Underwood, my boyfriend's friend, and Percy Jackson, the Kelp Head of the group." Thalia said introducing us, ignoring 'Annie's' earlier statement.

Annie, whatever her name was, looked straight at me, and narrowed her eyes in an accusatory fashion.

"You!"

Aw, damn. I'm screwed.

AN: Just so you know, I don't own Starbucks, the songs that I stated earlier, or any stuff like that, so don't sue me.