AN: DUN, DUN, DUN! I'm not dead! I've just been dormant for ten days. No need to worry, guys.

Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson or any other product I mention. Title was taken from Paramore's crushcrushcrush.

All his life, Percy was taught not to get angry at people.

They might have good reasons, his mother always says. You just have to look for them.

And that's what he's always done. Tried to look at the deeper meaning of people's actions. The only times he's gotten angry were at his stepfather Smelly Gabe, whom had no reason to hit his mom, and the bullies at school picking on smaller kids.

But today…Today, at the age of eighteen, Percy is just about to lose it. He woke up too early in the morning and spilled coffee on his shirt, which caused him to be late to the first of his all-day classes. Next were, of course, the all-day classes, then he got a call from his friend Leo, who told him he was dying, and Percy believed him, because it sounded like he actually got shot and dragged into an alleyway to die. But what truly happened was that Leo was sobbing over Zayn leaving One Direction.

And–the cherry on top–while Percy was gone for five minutes getting his coffee from Starbucks, some–some jerkbutt chained their bike to his.

Now he's sitting on the cold cement of the sidewalk at nine 'o' clock pm, rattling the chains, trying to free his bike. He probably looks like he's trying to steal it. It's a wonder nobody's called the cops on him.

"Ugh," he groans, throwing his head back, and then he wishes he didn't. An overcast floats overhead, threatening rain at any minute.

"Hey, man, you okay?"

And he feels like dying of mortal embarrassment because he recognizes the voice. Of course the one person that he doesn't want to see him like this, does.

He quickly scrambles to his feet to look Annabeth Chase in the eye.

She's wearing the usual–black combat boots, black jeans, black leather jacket. Her lip and eyebrow rings match her steely grey eyes, and the tips of her curly blond hair are dyed a swampy green. She's got a couple large books in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other, and a pair of headphones probably connected to something playing rock music dangle around her neck.

Yeah, she's a punker. And the girl that Percy's completely and hopelessly in love with.

They share the same English class, and he clearly remembers every little detail of the first lesson. He walked in and sat down, greeting his desk-neighbors, one of which being Annabeth. He gave her a passing glance, remembering what his stepdad (the good one, Paul) had warned him about punks. He said they were nothing but trouble.

It was hard, because she's pretty and dark and mysterious; a puzzle for Percy to solve, and, being an up-and-coming psychology major, he usually likes to do that sort of thing. He also likes making friends. But, keeping Paul's advice, he tried not to think about her.

Then Annabeth had answered every single one of the professor's questions correctly until the point where he had to ask her to stop, let someone else have a turn. Percy knew, at that moment, he was a goner.

He's been watching her from afar (not in a creep stalker-ish way…He hopes), admiring, sometimes saying hi or hey, but never starting an actual conversation. She's so far out of his league it's not even funny.

And now here she is, and this time she's staring at him. Though, she's looking on in more of an expectant way, not the love-struck gaze that his friends have caught him doing too many times to count. (It's only the first semester, too. That's how hopeless he is.)

"I, uh, yes!" Percy manages out. "I'm fine. Just–you know, having a bad day."

She nods. Then draws together her eyebrows and bites her black-painted lip and–oh sweet Jesus a lip ring is not allowed to look that pretty and hot at the same time. "Wait. I know you." She pauses for a moment. "Perry–Percy, right? Percy Jackson?"

"Yep. That's me. Percy. Me. Yep." He snaps and clicks his tongue, trying to look casual and cool. In all reality, he's probably sweating more than a pig stranded in the desert. "And you–you're Annabeth Chase."

"That's me," she agrees, and he wants to punch himself in the face. He sounded way too desperate. He should've done what she did; mess up her name, then get it right to seem less like a loser.

Maybe he should've let Jason teach him some of his ways. They haven't failed yet. He and his girlfriend Piper are two years and still going strong.

"So," Annabeth says, taking him out of his musings, "what did the universe do to make today a bad day?"

"Oh, well, a lot of things." He kicks his bike. "But that right there is the latest. Some guy chained his bike to mine while I was in the Starbucks and he hasn't come back yet, the jerkbutt."

She was nodding in understanding up until the last word. Then she jerks, obviously holding back laughter.

"What?" he asks.

"Jerkbutt?" she manages to say, and he nearly loses his lunch until he hears the teasing tone. Then he relaxes. "Really?"

"Really," he states.

"What are you–a fourth-grader?"

"Third, actually," he corrects. "I would be in fourth, but then I got held back because of language. I just gave you a taste of what possibly destroyed my entire future." He has no idea where the wise cracks are coming from, but he hopes they don't stop, because Annabeth is pretty and oddly adorable when she's trying not to laugh. It'll probably be even cuter when he hopefully does get her to laugh.

"Sounds like quite the story," she remarks with a smirk that almost makes him swoon.

"Yeah. I was about to tell my mom all about it, but then, you know, the jerkbutt happened," Percy says. He looks down to glare at the offending chain, but he's actually stopping his expression from getting too love-struck.

"Hey, why don't I give you a ride?" she suggests.

"Oh no, I couldn't," he says quickly, then cringes. "Not that I don't want to ride with you–of course I want to ride with you–but it's already like, ten, at night, no less, and I don't want to keep you from going to bed–"

"It's fine, Percy; won't do me any harm to get some more fresh air. Planning on pulling an all-nighter anyway. A couple more minutes outside will do my sanity some good."

"But–"

"C'mon." She nods toward the closest corner. "My ride's just around the block. Then you and your roommate can come and pick your bike up tomorrow. Hopefully the jerkbutt will have unchained his bike by then."

He's about to decline, but then he sees the way she's cocking her head slightly to the side, and he's in love, so…yeah. Kind of hard not to accept. "Okay," he says.

She smirks at him. "Great. Let's go."

With one last wistful look at his bike, he follows her. They walk around the corner until they get to that part of the street of with parking meters. They go to the last one; the one with a jet-black Harley in front of it.

"You-you have a motorcycle," he states dumbly. Wow. She's more out of his league then he originally thought.

"Yeah." She shrugs, like it's no big deal, but he can hear the tinge of pride in her voice. She puts all her books in the saddlebag thingy. She places the keys in the ignition, the motor giving off a loud roar, slides on her helmet, and holds out her hand to give him the extra one. "My sidecar just went to the shop after losing the wheels–don't ask–so, you'll have to sit behind me."

He doesn't take the helmet. Just stares, dumbfounded.

"Oh, come on. I don't bite, and neither does my bike." Annabeth gives a wicked smile. "I've only robbed a bank on this once."

"What?!" he squeaks, because, what?

She bursts out laughing, and yeah, her laugh is beautiful. Amazing. Gorgeous. All the words in that group. She rests her forehead on her folded arms, shaking with laughter.

"Kidding! I'm kidding!" she exclaims.

Once he realizes it's a joke, Percy cracks up, too. "Good one," he admits, and if his smile is a little love-struck, sue him.

"Here," she says, a little breathy, and he wonders if she'd sound like that after he kisses the daylights out of her.

Naughty thoughts! Naughty thoughts, Percy! No! his brain yells at him, and he takes the helmet, buckling the strap securely around his head.

Hesitantly–since he's never ridden a motorcycle before in his life–he slides on behind her. He grasps the seat cushion behind him, and she shakes her head.

"You're going to fall off. Here." Reaching behind her, she grabs his arms–him nearly passing out at the contact–and slides them around her waist. Now he truly feels like passing out, because his arms are around her and he can clearly feel her washboard abs through her thin Fall Out Boy T-shirt. He gulps.

This is going to be a long ride.

She asks him what dorm he's in, and he almost fails in telling her, every molecule in his body sent to work on stopping him from requesting they stay parked so they can endeavor in his "surprisingly" new fantasy of kissing a girl on a motorcycle.

He's about to shake his head–dirty thoughts, Percy, no dirty thoughts–but then, with a roar, they're off.

And it's about the most exhilarating thing ever. The wind whips at his clothes and the hair that sticks out of the helmet, the chilly feeling feeding his adrenaline. Annabeth's warm, and she keeps doing sharp turns that make the ride all the more awesome.

On one particularly low turn, he lets out a whoop of delight, startling some of the pedestrians on the sidewalks.

Annabeth laughs. "A lot of people seem to have that reaction," she remarks, and, before he can return with something, she reeves the engine and goes even faster. At the speed limit's prompting, of course.

She turns the last corner, pulling up to his dorm building, and parks in front of it.

The motorcycle probably woke up half the building, but he doesn't care. He gets off, unbuckling his helmet. "Thanks," he says, bouncing on his heels from the adrenaline. "That was great! …What are you doing?" he asks when he sees her taking off her own helmet and pocketing the keys.

"Walking you in, of course," she says, like it's obvious, swinging her leg over the side and standing up.

"Oh. Okay."

She follows him inside the door.

The man at the front desk mutters something about curfew and reckless college students, but he doesn't call them out. They walk in silence until they get to his dorm. He unlocks it and goes in, leaning on the door while she leans on the frame.

"Thank you," he says earnestly. "So much. I don't know how I'll ever repay you."

"How about dinner?" she suggests causally, and, oh look, there goes any intelligent thought from his brain. "I hope somewhere decent, too. All that Taco Bell and all those Hot Pockets are really starting to mess up my figure."

She rubs at her stomach, like she doesn't realize how shocked he is, or how good her figure is, or how much it tortures him when her shirt shifts up and reveals a small strip of perfectly tan skin.

"I, uh, yeah. Yes. Yes. Of course. I just. Uhhhhh..."

"Great," she says, as close to chirping as a punk can do. "Here. I'll give you my number…" She fishes her pockets for a pad and pencil, but comes up with nothing. So, she just uncaps her black lipstick and has him hold out his forearm. After pushing up his sleeve, she darts down her number on his skin. "There."

He stares at his forearm. "Thanks. Great. So, uh, I'll text you tomorrow? Or call. Whatever you want."

She shrugs and gives him a smirk. "It's just a text, Percy. Not going to offend me."

"R-right," he stutters. He really likes her smile.

"So, I'll pick you up tomorrow around seven?"

"I've got no classes then," he says, "so, yeah, sounds good. Where are we going?"

"You decide."

"O-kay!" he says, excitement catching up to him. He's finally going out with the girl he's been crushing on since the beginning of the semester. "So, it's a date?"

She grins, grabbing him by his shirt and yanking him down. She presses a kiss to his cheek, and his lips tingle in jealousy, while the rest of his body tingles in warmth. She pulls back, not letting go. Her breath fans out across his ear as she whispers, "It's a date, Jackson."

Then she's gone, walking down the hall. "See you tomorrow." She pauses before adding, "Jerkbutt."

He sputters for a moment, his face bright red, going for a retort, but then he catches sight of her easy smile and bright eyes, and what comes out of his mouth is a love-struck sigh.

Stepping inside his dorm, he shuts the door behind him, sliding down the wood. He buries his ridiculous, goofy grin in his hands.

He can't stop smiling for the entire night.

AN: So? Was Percy lucky (because of Annabeth), or unlucky (because of his entire day)? Did you guys like, or did you not? (So many questions.)

This was not beta'd, so all mistakes are mine. If there are errors, please inform me what they are so I may fix them.

To all you people who read my on-going story, Walking Out Into the Dark (Lead by Your Beating Heart): Yes, I'm still writing that. Not that this is an excuse or anything, but my family's going through a really hard time right now, and I haven't had a lot of time to write anything, really. So, thank you for not telling me to "hurry up and update." Really means a lot.

Fun fact: On page 252 of The Lightning Thief, Thalia, in Percy's first dream of her, is described to have stormy green eyes. I'm not sure if that was an error, or be her original design, but I just think it's a cool fact. *shrugs* Maybe you guys do too. (But probably not.)

Constructive criticism welcome, and reviews really do mean a lot to me!