I would just like to point out I am as lost as hell over here. XD This is my first fanfic and I feel like I don't know what I am doing… So don't be too harsh on me : )

Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson… sadly.

I pace back and forth around my room. It is a small room, barely big enough to fit all my possessions but I still find room for a "thinking pace". I have to come up with a good lie. But not just any good lie. THE BEST GOOD LIE. It has to be well thought of and so big, no one could even imagine anyone would be able to develop such a tale. Yet, it has to be realistic and believable. Nothing too drastic that would give me away. It has to be detailed, detailed to the last full stop. And most important of all, I have to believe it. The first rule about lying is you have to lie to yourself first. The only way you make others believe in you is if you believe in yourself first. I will have to believe in this lie so much, I will forget it is a lie, so when I speak it, it wouldn't be a lie at all. Luckily, I have been gifted with the talent of telling people what I wish was true instead of what really is. And I must say I am the best at it. The problem is my mum is already used to my constant lies, making all of this even a bigger challenge.

From my unmade bed, the close to finished drawing of Percy Jackson stares back at me. His dark hair, his lips, chin, cheekbones, nose, all so realistic it could really have been him eyeing me from the paper of the sketchbook. But there is one thing I never get right no matter how hard I try; his eyes. They are either too big or too small. Too wide or too slim. There is always something wrong about the way I draw them. They do not glimmer the same way. There is something missing in the way the black lead traces the cheap paper. I normally just give up after a few hopeless tries at drawing it right. I am not exactly the patient kind of person.

Even though the eyes I drew did not look like Percy's, it still gazes at me with how I assume Percy would if he was here with me. A look of impatient, boredom and misbelief all in one. This makes a small smile flash on my lips which quickly dissolve into oblivion. As I stride I seem to lose track of time. Just as I am in the middle of a very good introduction for my lie, my mother knocks at the door and comes in. I jump onto my bed American football player style, grasping for my sketchbook that I allow no one to look at. My mum just rolls her eyes.

"You're not drawing on that little book of yours again, are you?" she asks a look of disbelief splattered on her face.

"Maybe," I reply.

"Sweetie, I think you are becoming a little obsessed with drawing, I mean, you haven't left your room in days other than to eat and all you have been doing is sitting on that bed of yours, either drawing or looking at your computer screen."

For my defense, it is the end of December; this is what people do at this time. Right?

"I just like doing this, okay? It's what keeps me going. It's…" I fail to find a good adjective.

"You know I just want what's best for you. And I am very curious about your drawings. You never showed me any of them."

And probably never will because you will think I am psycho again and send me to therapy. Drawing Greek monsters and gathering all information possible of them is not considered a normal behavior of a fifteen-year-old lately. But what I really tell her is:

"You have to have patience, woman. One day you will see them. When they are ready."

"As long as they get ready," she says as she leaves my room. I sigh. Still sitting in bed, I open the book and look at all the scribbled pages. Do I have enough information there? What if I am missing something important? Something that could save my life? Am I really ready for this proposed challenge? I had to be. I am.

I wake up the next morning uneasy. I get out of bed and still in my pink bunny pajamas I am so ashamed of, I creep to the living room and press a button that makes the telephone ring. I run into my room and quickly run out pretending I had just gotten out of bed at that instant. I "pick up the phone" and have a fake conversation I knew by heart with my supposed father.

"Who is it?" my mother asks, walking out of her room. Her hair is a tangled mess of black curls, her dark eyes still red from sleep.

"Dad," I lie. I go back to "talking" to him and turn the phone "off".

"What did he want at this time of hour?"

"He says he's going to travel for work and won't be able to have me over for a while. He wants me to go to his house today and spend time with him. Apparently he is going to be a way for a long time, so he wants to have me for Christmas and New Year," the more I talk the more I try to believe my words. By the look on my mum's face, my believing is great.

"Alright…" she says a little hesitantly. Christmas was our thing and I wasn't sure she would agree to this. "Where is he going to?"

"Norway," I reply, being it the first thing that comes to my head.

"For how long?"

"Probably two years he said but with a high chance of more than that."

"I had made so many plans for Christmas… I am glad for him. Norway is a lovely place. Yet I am so reluctant of letting you go just like that. I know it's selfish but we always spend Christmas together." She seems so upset I nearly give up.

"But I guess he deserves to have you around, especially since he won't see you for such a long time," she points out. She is still drugged with sleep which favorites me. One thing about my mum is she decides things as quickly as possible. When she was tired, she managed to make up her mind even faster. "What time is he picking you up?"

"He said he'll send a cab to get me. Probably around two," I reply maybe a little too fast.

"Then you should get packing. Off you go, young lady!" I am soon being pushed into my room and a backpack is shoved at me. As I stand behind the door I whisper to myself, "The perks of having divorced parents."

The next thing I know is I have no idea what I am supposed to pack. I stare into my closet wide eyed and confused. I decide to take a few changes of clothes, truth brush, hairbrush, the essentials. I lift up my mattress and grab the little pig I keep all the money I managed to save in my entire life, which was more than I expected. Then, I carefully reach even deeper into the maze of wood my bed is made of and right from the middle of an especially hard place to fit a hand, I pull out a small dagger I have kept with me for so long. The proof I am not nuts. I take the sheath of the dagger and stare at the bronze metal it is made of. My reflection stares back at me and I feel braver than when I had woken up. I can really do this. I stick it into my backpack and I am soon ready to go.

I eat lunch with my mother, feeling guilty the whole time. I wish I did not have to lie to her. After lunch, I dress in my usual black clothes and put on my black boots, emo gothic style. I circle my eye with eyeliner and I am good to go. I stare at my reflection. My dark rebel hair that stuck out from weird angles, matched my clothes and my style. I look kind of daring and that pleased me more than it should.

"Let the monsters come to me!" I say and for a moment I really mean it. I quickly get my phone and call a cab. It's five to two and my heart is racing like Harry on a freaking firebolt. I walk out of my room, backpack on, and go say goodbye to my mum. I hug her and it feels of betrayal, I am not sure she will forgive me for this but I had to do it. She kisses my forehead and tears threaten to decorate my face. I look one last time at my mum and my house, open the door and step outside, the door shutting behind me. Here we go.