A/N: I really didn't expect feedback, since I was very hesitant in the matter of writing the fanfic itself and I'm sorry if my grammar or anything else is bad, because I don't usually write in English, but I will do my best.

About the Gender benders, I will only do a few, like Annabeth, Luke and maybe Rachel. I can't do Thalia, since she is going to become a Huntress of Artemis nor Nico, since it would greatly disturb me. I will only try to change somethings, since I don't really want the plot to be completely different prom Percy Jackson, but I want at least the narration and some characters, since Percy as a female would change few things. I hope you enjoy the chapter.

I was used to the "occasional" weird (to not say something that could get me a visit from those nice men with big needles) experience, but usually they were over quickly. This twenty- four/seven hallucination was more than I could handle, and believe, I could take a lot of things. For the rest of the school year, the entire campus seemed to be on permanent April fool's day, which is totally unfair, because I rock on April fool's day (to all the pranksters out there: either be a girl or have a friend in the girl's dorm of your school, because there's nothing sweeter than the sound of three hundred girls screaming about "some weird jelly thing in their beds").

The students acted as if they were completely and totally convinced that Mrs. Kerr-a perky blond woman whom I'd never seen in my life until she got on our bus at the end of the field trip-had been our pre-algebra teacher since Christmas. Oh, come on, she couldn't even give Grover a breakdown! Every so often I would spring a Mrs. Dodds reference on somebody, just to see if I could trip them up, but they would stare at me like I was psycho (it doesn't matter what those psychologists said, I'm not a psycho, ok?).

It got so stressing that I almost believed that there was never a Mrs. Dodds and that the last five school psychologists I "scarred for life" were right.

Well, like I said, almost (I win, psychologists!).

But Grover couldn't fool me. When I mentioned the name Dodds to him, he would hesitate, then claim she didn't exist. But I knew he was lying. He really should give me some credit, after all, I'm his best friend and I have girl's intuition on my side, so he should know better than to lie to me. Oh, men, so naive.

Well, back to the topic (sorry, my ADHD kicking in), I know something happened at the museum.

I really didn't have time to think about it about the day with studying the best I could with dyslexia, protecting Grover and the usual school-day-surviving. But things were different at night. Dreams of Mrs. Dodds with talons and leathery wings would wake me up I night.

I hated it more than anything.

Every night, I woke up in cold sweat and teary eyes, but couldn't do more than harshly wipe my tears and gulp down my sobs, knowing that if I let one escape my dumbass of a roommate would wake up and yell at me and believe me, the last thing I needed was to have Nancy Bobofit see me in such a fragile state (why was she my roommate again?).

The freak weather continued, which didn't help my mood. One night, a thunderstorm blew out the windows in my dorm room. A few days later, the biggest tornado ever spotted in the Hudson Valley touched down only fifty miles from Yancy Academy. One of the current events we studied in social studies class was the unusual number of small planes that had gone down in sudden squalls in the Atlantic that year.

I didn't know why, but that me very uneasy, as if this was ready to strike me when I stopped watching my back.

I started feeling cranky and irritable most of the time. My grades slipped from Ds to Fs. I got into more fights with Nancy and her friends (and it didn't help I had to share a room with her). I was sent out into the hallway in almost every class, which was new, since it was usually on three or four classes per day.

Finally, when the English teacher, Mr. Nicoll (everyone just calls him Ms. Nicole anyway) asked me for the millionth time why I didn't study for the spelling tests, I snapped (but I lasted more than I thought I would). I called him a methomaniac old sot. I don't really know what that meant, but it felt good to tell him that.

The Headmaster sent my mom a letter the following wiki, making the inevitable official: I would not be invited next year to Yancy Academy.

It's fine. I told myself. Okay, just dandy.

I was homesick. I wanted to be with my mom in our little apartment on the Upper East Side, even if I had to go to public school and put up with my obnoxious stepfather and his stupid poker parties. The fact that I would be able to see mom everyday and talk to her every night made up for every bad thing that might happen.

And yet... There were things I'd miss at Yancy. The view of the woods out my dorm window, the Hudson River in the distance, the smell of pine trees (I like pines). I'd miss Grover, who'd been a very good friend and the only one that wasn't draw away by my strangeness, maybe because he is little strange himself. We were the best freak friends then. I worried how he'd survive next year without me; he isn't exactly the bravest guy in school.

I'd miss Latin class, too- Mr. Brunner's crazy tournament days and his faith that I could do well. Like I said, he was the only teacher that thought I could do actually well, even better than the others. I would really miss that.

As exam week got closer, Latin was the only test I studied for. I hadn't forgotten what Mr. Brunner had told me about this subject being life-and-death for me. I wasn't sure why, but I'd started to believe him. Maybe it was the look his eyes had in the museum; it was so intense that I could still feel it.

The evening before my final, I got so frustrated I threw the Cambridge Guide to Greek Mythology across my dorm room. Words had started swimming off the page, circling my head, the letters doing one- eighties as if they were riding skateboards (it's sad when words can ride skateboards better than you). There was no way I was going to remember the difference between Chiron and Charon, or Polydictes and Polydeuces. And conjugating those Latin verbs? Forget it. Who wanted troubled kids studying Latin anyway?

I paced the room, feeling like ants were crawling around inside my shirt, a feeling that I know from experience (have I ever told how much I hate begin roommates with Nancy Bobofit?)

I remembered Mr. Brunner's serious expression, his thousand-year-old eyes. I will accept only the best from you, Winry Jackson. I knew what I had to do next.

Taking a deep breath, I picked up the mythology book, wiping the dirty from Nancy's side of the room, where it landed.

I never really asked a teacher for help after my kindergarten teacher refused to help me and I began to cry. After that, some pipe on the ceiling broke and she had water all over her, I think it was karma, since you can't just tell a three-years-old little girl to suck it up after some baby jerk broke her favorite crayon (it was blue!). But, I knew Mr. Brunner wouldn't tell me to suck it. Maybe he could even give me some pointers or I could at least apologize for the bit F (nothing new) that I was about to score. I didn't want to leave Yancy Academy with the only teacher I ever like thinking I hadn't tried.

I walked downstairs to the faculty offices. Most of them were dark and empty, but Mr. Brunner's door was ajar, light from his window stretching across the hallway floor.

I was three steps from the door handle when I heard voices inside the office. Mr. Brunner asked a question. A voice that was definitely Grover's said "... Worried about Winry, sir. "

I froze.

I'm not usually an eavesdropper, but I dare you to try not listening if you hear your best friend talking about you to an adult.

I inched closer.

"... Alone this summer, " Grover was saying. "I mean, a Kindly One in the school! Now that we know for sure, and they know too-"

"We would only make matters worse by rushing her, " Mr. Brunner said. "We need the girl to mature more. " I winced, digging my nails harder into the book I was holding (I don't even remember starting).

"But she may not have time. The summer solstice dead-line- "

"Will have to be resolved without her, Grover. Let her enjoy her ignorance whiles he still can. "

"Sir, she saw her... "

"Her imagination," Mr. Brunner insisted."The Mist over the students and staff will be enough to convince her of that. "

"Sir, I ... I can't fail in my duties again. " Grover's voice was choked with emotion. "You know what that would mean. "

"You haven't failed, Grover," Mr. Brunner said kindly. "I should have seen her for what she was. Now let's just worry about keeping Winry alive until next fall-"

I hissed loudly, feeling a sharp pain on my right hand. Looking down at my fingers, where the pain was coming from, I noticed that I had dug my long nails (I often forgot to cut them when they became too long, like my hair) on the book so hard that they broke, taking at least half of it and leaving my fingers bleeding.

Only when I heard silence as a reply for my own, I noticed I had been too loud.

My heart hammering, I picked up the book and backed down the hall.

A shadow slid across the lighted glass of Brunner's office door, the shadow of something much taller than my wheelchair-bound teacher, holding something that looked suspiciously like an archer's bow.

I opened the nearest door and slipped inside.

A few seconds later I heard a slow clop-clop-clop, like muffled wood blocks, then a sound like an animal snuffling right outside my door. A large, dark shape paused in front of the glass, then moved on.

A bead of sweat trickled down my neck and I was even more aware of the pulsing spaces where my nails used to be and the blood trickling down them.

Somewhere in the hallway, Mr. Brunner spoke. "Nothing," he murmured. "My nerves haven't been right since the winter solstice. "

"Mine neither," Grover said. "But I could have sworn ..."

"Go back to the dorm, "Mr. Brunner told him. "You've got a long day of exams tomorrow. "

"Don't remind me."

The lights went out in Mr. Brunner's office.

I waited in the dark for what seemed like forever.

Finally, I slipped out into the hallway and made my way back up to the dorm.

I cursed mentally as I entered my room, going straight to the bathroom, ignoring Nancy hissing and asking where I was. Setting the book near the sink, I put my hand beneath the water, feeling relieved about the cool water on my no longer pulsing hands and washing out the blood. I sighed, turning off the sink faucet and putting band-aids on my raw flesh.

After I changed and yelled at Nancy to shut up and turn off the lights, I lied on bed. I really didn't want to sleep, knowing that more nightmares would come, but I also didn't want to be awake to think about all this.

I couldn't understand what I had I heard downstairs and wanted to believe I had imagined the whole thing, but I knew that even I couldn't be that paranoiac about the only two nice people.

But one thing was clear: Grover and Mr. Brunner were talking about me behind my back. They thought I was in some kind of danger that even I didn't know of.

The next afternoon, as I was leaving the three-hour Latin exam, my eyes swimming with all the Greek and Roman names I'd misspelled, Mr. Brunner called me back inside.

For a moment, I was worried he'd found out about my eavesdropping the night before, but that didn't seem to be the problem.

"Winry, " he said. "Don't be discouraged about leaving Yancy. It's ... It's for the best. "

His tone was kind, but the words still embarrassed me. Even though he was speaking quietly, the other kids finishing the test could hear. Nancy Bobofit smirked at me and made sarcastic little kissing motions with her lips. Any other time, I would have gotten up and punched her (I have nothing to lose), but I felt… Sad.

I mumbled, "Okay, sir."

"I mean ..." Mr. Brunner wheeled his chair back and forth, like he wasn't sure what to say. "This isn't the right place for you. It was only a matter of time. "

My eyes stung and I swallowed the growing lump on my throat.

Here was my favorite teacher, in front of the class, telling me I couldn't handle it. After saying he believed in me all year, now he was telling me I was destined to get kicked out. Was he lying when he said he believed me? Did he really think I couldn't do well? He was just like that crayon hater!

"Right," I said, trembling.

"No, no, "Mr. Brunner said. "Oh, don't confound it all. What I'm trying to say ... You're not normal, Winry. That's nothing to be-"

"Thanks," I blurted. "Thanks a lot, sir, for reminding me.

"Winry-"

But I was already gone, wiping my face harshly, so they couldn't see the tears I was already shedding.

On the last day of the term, I shoved my clothes into my suitcase, along with the few candies I had and the other things that weren't ruined by Nancy.

The other girls were trading things like nail polish or sparkly fake jewels, all the while talking about their vacation plans. One of them was going on a hiking trip to Switzerland. Another was cruising the Caribbean for a month. Some others were going to Paris to a fashion show. They were juvenile delinquents, like me, but they were rich juvenile delinquents. Their daddies were executives, or ambassadors, or celebrities.

I was a nobody, from a family of nobodies. My ancestors were nobodies and my descendents will probably be too (sorry, descendents).

They asked me, with oblivious fake interest, what I was going to do this summer and I told them I would go back to the city.

What I didn't tell them was that I'd have to get a summer job walking dogs or selling magazine subscriptions, maybe even helping mom or Sue-Ling at the candy shop, and spend my free time worrying about where I'd go to school in the fall. After all, what school would be crazy enough to accept me now?

"Oh" One of those girls said, obviously not interested. "That's very nice, Wendy."

Then, they went back to the conversation as if I never even existed. And, apparently, they really thought my name was Wendy (well, it's better than Winry, anyway, I don't really blame them). I didn't know if they were trying to lie or not, but if they were, they're almost as bad as Grover.

The only person I dreaded saying good-bye to was Grover, but as it turned out, I didn't have to. He'd booked a ticket to Manhattan on the same Greyhound as I had, so there we were, together again, heading into the city. I know he sounds like a stalker, but, hey, he is my friend (it was a scary time when I thought that he had a crush on me, well, that was creepy).

During the whole bus ride, Grover kept glancing nervously down the aisle, watching the other passengers. It occurred to me that he'd always acted nervous and fidgety when we left Yancy, as if he expected something bad to happen. Before, I'd always assumed he was worried about getting teased. But there was nobody to tease him on the Greyhound.

Finally I couldn't stand it anymore (hey, I did last a lot of time for me).

I said, "Looking for Kindly Ones?"

Grover nearly jumped out of his seat. "Wha-what do you mean?"

I confessed about eavesdropping on him and Mr. Brunner the night before the exam. I didn't mention anything about screaming like a little girl when I noticed my nails, since that was really humiliating.

Grover's eye twitched. "How much did you hear?"

"Oh ... Not much. What's the summer solstice dead-line?" I asked and couldn't keep the amusement out of my voice. After all the crazy experience they made me go throught, it was nice to see Grover begin the nervous (more the normally) one.

He winced. "Look, Winry ... I was just worried for you, see? I mean, hallucinating about demon math teachers ... "

"Grover-"

"And I was telling Mr. Brunner that maybe you were overstressed or something, because there was no such person as Mrs. Dodds, and ... "

"Grover, you're a really, really bad liar. " I told him what I waiting to tell since the first time he said that he didn't want that crazy aluminum Korean cake (I don't know how Grover's stomach works, really).

His ears turned pink.

From his shirt pocket, he fished out a grubby business card. "Just take this, okay? In case you need me this summer."

The card was in fancy script, which was murder on my dyslexic eyes, but I finally made out something like:

Grover Underwood

Keeper

Half-Blood Hill

Long Island, New York

(800) 009-0009

"What's Half-"

"Don't say it aloud!" he yelped. "That's my, um ... Sum-mer address. "

My heart sank. Grover had a summer home. I'd never considered that his family might be as rich as the others at Yancy. For me, he wasn't another rich kid, he was just… Grover, good and old Grover that cried like a girl, tripped over everything and was my best friend. The thought of him begin like the other gave my heart a twist.

"Okay, " I said glumly. "So, like, if I want to come visit your mansion. "

He nodded. "Or ... Or if you need me. "

"Why would I need you?"

It came out harsher than I meant it to. And I instantly felt very guilty. It wasn't Grover's fault that he was rich and at least he didn't act like the others. He was nice to me.

Grover blushed right down to his Adam's apple. "Look, Winry, the truth is, I-I kind of have to protect you. "

I stared at him.

All year long, I'd gotten in fights, keeping bullies away from him. I'd lost sleep worrying that he'd get beaten up next year without me. And here he was acting like he was the one who

defended me. But I couldn't help but smile a little at tha thought. Grover protecting me? Ha, as if!

"Grover," I said, trying to keep the amusement out of my voice "what exactly are you protecting me from?"

There was a huge grinding noise under our feet. Black smoke poured from the dashboard and the whole bus filled with a smell like rotten eggs. The driver cursed and limped the Greyhound over to the side of the highway.

After a few minutes clanking around in the engine compartment, the driver announced that we'd all have to get off. Great, that was just what I needed, begin stuck in the road with a bunch of people (and my nervous best friend). Grover and I filed outside with everybody else.

We were on a stretch of country road-no place you'd notice if you didn't break down there. On our side of the highway was nothing but green maple trees and litter from passing cars (I think Grover was in his Green-mood, since he was seething from the litter). On the other side, across four lanes of asphalt shimmering with afternoon heat, was an old-fashioned fruit stand.

The stuff on sale looked really good: heaping boxes of blood-red cherries and apples, walnuts and apricots, jugs of cider in a claw-foot tub full of ice. There were no customers, which was sad, since it was the best fruits I have ever seen, just three old ladies sitting in rocking chairs in the shade of a maple tree, knitting the biggest pair of socks I'd ever seen.

I mean these socks were the size of sweaters, but they were clearly socks. The lady on the right knitted one of them. The lady on the left knitted the other. The lady in the middle held an enormous basket of electric-blue yarn. I had to admit, the socks were pretty, as if holding something more than simple yarn.

All three women looked ancient, with pale faces wrinkled like fruit leather, silver hair tied back in white bandannas, bony arms sticking out of bleached cotton dresses. You know, like someone just threw an old tan blanket over bones.

The weirdest thing was, they seemed to be looking right at me.

I looked over at Grover to say something about this and saw that the blood had drained from his face. His nose was twitching.

"Grover?" I said. "Hey, G-man-"

"Tell me they're not looking at you. They are, aren't they?"

"Yeah. Weird, huh? You think those socks would fit me?" Then, I thought about osmehting else. "Do you think I should wave? You know, they are looking at me.'

"Not funny, Winry. Not funny at all. " Wow, and they call me impolite.

The old lady in the middle took out a huge pair of scissors-gold and silver, long-bladed, like shears. I heard Grover catch his breath.

"We're getting on the bus, " he told me. "Come on. "

"What?" I said. "It's a thousand degrees in there. "

"Come on!'" He pried open the door and climbed inside, but I stayed back.

Across the road, the old ladies were still watching me, so I did what every polite child would have done.

I waved.

They raised each an eyebrow (maybe they hadn't met a lot of polite children), but said nothing. The middle one cut the yarn, and I swear I could hear that snip across four lanes of traffic. Her two friends balled up the electric-blue socks, leaving me wondering who they could possibly be for-Sasquatch or Godzilla.

At the rear of the bus, the driver wrenched a big chunk of smoking metal out of the engine compartment. The bus shuddered, and the engine roared back to life (yay! Engine, you're back!)

The passengers cheered.

"Darn right!" yelled the driver. He slapped the bus with his hat. "Everybody back on board!"

Once we got going, I started feeling feverish, as if I'd caught the flu. Touching my cheeks and my forehead, I noticed that I was in cold sweat, feeling as if I would puke. What happened? I was fine minutes ago.

Grover didn't look much better. He was shivering and his teeth were chattering.

"Grover?"

"Yeah?"

"What are you not telling me?"

He dabbed his forehead with his shirt sleeve. "Winry, what did you see back at the fruit stand?"

"You mean the nice old ladies? What is it about them, man? They're not like ... Mrs. Dodds, are they?

His expression was hard to read, but I got the feeling that the fruit-stand ladies were something much, much worse than Mrs. Dodds. He said, "Just tell me what you saw. "

"The middle one took out her scissors, and she cut the yarn. "

He closed his eyes and made a gesture with his fingers that might've been crossing himself, but it wasn't. It was something else, something almost-older.

He said, "You saw her snip the cord. "

"Yeah. So?" But even as I said it, I knew it was a big deal. I felt like I was getting more and more numb.

"This is not happening, " Grover mumbled. He started chewing at his thumb. "I don't want this to be like the last time. "

"What last time?"

"Always sixth grade. They never get past sixth. "

"Grover," I said, because he was really starting to scare me."What are you talking about?"

Let me walk you home from the bus station. Promise me. "

This seemed like a strange request to me, but I promised he could.

"Is this like a superstition or something?" I asked.

No answer.

"Grover-that snipping of the yarn. Does that mean somebody is going to die?"

He looked at me mournfully, like he was already picking the kind of flowers I'd like best on my coffin (blue flag iris, please, they are beautiful).