I guess I shouldn't complain. I mean, I've been in plenty of fights before.
But this one was serious. I'd given Derek Gyson, a wannabe gangster with serious judgement issues, a black eye and three broken ribs.

What? It's not like I meant to.
...Okay. I meant to.

So as I sat there, listening to Dereks unruly statement about how I practically tried to murder him, I thought of actual ways that the unknown procedure could be carried out. Knife through his heart? Too nice. Too quick, and also not entertaining.

I'm kidding. Kind of.

I went home that day to a worried female demi-god - my mom, Annabeth Jackson. Or, Chase, as she likes to call herself. She hugged me but I could tell she was still slightly dissapointed with the lack of concentration I had at Withmoore. "It's just a phase," Colonel Key had said. "She'll get over it."

Colonel Key's actual name is Thomas Keane. He served in the army as some Gun Polisher, but the way he described his job sounded like he was leading the troopes himself, unarmed. I called him Colonel once, and he liked the title, so I just went along with it. He was six foot four, with a muscular body and enough money to buy us eight cars, each. He treated me and mom like princesses, always asking about our day, what we were up to. He took my mom to Prada once, and even though she never liked expensive clothing and glittery dresses, she was still awed by the fact that his Gold plated credit card never ran out. Tom was lovely.

And I hated him to the very core.

Hey, don't blame me. Blame him, and the amount of charm he can put in a single sentence. He somehow convinced me to throw away the old clothes my dad had bought me before he left, and he even tried to convince my mom to get rid of the Yankee's cap that was given to her by Athena- Not that she did, of course. She still has it, stashed under their double bed, collecting dust.

The moment he asked me to replace the picture of my father with his own, I knew he was trying to skim his way into our lives.

For good.

"Honey," Tom called, jogging down the stairs with a pair of pink trainers on. I raised an eyebrow.

"Nice look."

"I know," he smirked, and we both shared a look of amusement. "I might wear it on the Big Day."

The Big Day. He said it like it was nothing, like a proposal to my mom wasn't enough. I knew that he was only trying to keep it on a low profile, but still.

When I said nothing, he zipped up his hoodie and kissed my mom on the cheek. "I'll be gone for about an hour, mkay?"

She nodded. He winked at me. "Be good."

"No promises."

Tom and I got along fine. He was more like an Uncle to me than a soon to be stepfather, but I guess I can't really complain. He was the only thing I had close to a male role model.

"So," my mom started, as we both made our way into the kitchen. "Your birthday tommorow."

I groaned.

"Why the sad face?" she smiled. "What do you want to do, huh?"

Find him. I thought to myself. Find him and bring him home. "Nothing big."

"Trip to England?"

"Nah."

"Vegas?"

"Nope."

"Montauk."

There was a slight pause. My face softened at the thought of feeling the soft sand, wading through the luscious yet freezing waters of the beach. I thought about it. What if I went, just for one day? I'll be able to find him the next day, after leaving my mom and Tom a note. "Uh, no thanks."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "But you love going to Montauk."

"We've gone sixteen times this year, mom," I said, nervously trying to avoid eye contact. "Besides, turning sixteen isn't even a big deal anyway."

Lies.
Ever since I was eight, I told myself everyday that once I turned sixteen, I would go and find my dad. Maybe even convince him to come home, or even better, talk to my mom. Maybe once they see each other all problems will suddenly disappear, and Colonel Gun Polisher will be out of our lives, without leaving any trace of existence.

Well, he could leave his VIP Access Ticket to any upcoming band tour, but I doubted that he would.

I woke up to the sound of birds.

It wasn't even the nice kind. None of them went, "Hello, Good morning, how was your sleep?" No, these birds went, "Wake up you reckless idiot!".

Not exactly the type of greeting I wanted on the morning of my sixteenth birthday, but it would have to do.

I walked into the kitchen and got instantly got attacked by the smell of pancakes cooking on the stove. I smiled and sat on the counter, dangling my legs as Tom took a sip of black coffee. "Happy Birthday, sweetheart." he said, not even bothering to look up from his morning paper. Mom spun around and grinned.

"Happy Birthday, babygirl!"

I flinched. The last person to ever call me Babygirl was my dad, and that was in the minute he left.

Mom served me blue pancakes and blue lemonade, adding extra sugar and blue whipped cream. "Thanks, mom."

"No problem." she sat net to me and brushed the hair out of my face. "No matter how old you get, always remember that you'll still be my baby, and nothing will change that."

I smiled knowingly and watched as Tom frowned slightly at the newspaper, completely oblivious to what me and my mom were talking about.

I kissed her on the cheek and finished my breakfast, before hesitantly trudging back upstairs to pack. I stood on the top of the stairs and called out, "I love you, mom."

"Love you too."

That may be the last time you'll get to say that.

I walked into my room and started clearing out my wardrobe, deciding what a teenage girl would wear on the way to Tartarus or Olympus. While I folded my clothes and stuffed them into a purple duffle bag, I started having second thoughts.

What if he doesn't recognize me? You're being an idiot. He loves you.

That was eight years ago. So?

You are so stubborn! You mean we?

Are you seriously arguing with yourself? Shut up!

Oh my gods, what if he's in Tartarus? Then we'll go to Tartarus.

You're crazy! You mean we?!

Ugh, fine. But don't blame me when you get your hopes too high and end up coming back with three broken bones! I wouldn't blame myself!

I looked around for paper and a pen and started writing.

Mom,
Thanks for always being there for me. I don't know where I'm going, or what I'm going to do if things don't work out, but I'm off to find Dad.
I know he's somewhere in New York. And, if he's not, I'll look on the 600th floor of the Empire State Building. If he's in Tartarus, even better, because then I'll have a story to tell Bethany.
I'll come back home. I promise.
Love you,
Alexis. xx

I placed the paper on my bed, made sure that the door was wide open, and climbed out of the window.

Now, where in the world would a demigod be hiding?

Thanks for reading :)