I am so sorry it took me so long to update this. I've been really busy with school and I've had play rehearsal every night until 6:00. But, hopefully this extra-long chapter will make up for it. Sorry for the super uncreative chapter title. I couldn't think of anything better. Please review!
Loves chipmunks: Oh my god(s), that is one of the nicest reviews I've ever gotten. Which is not an easy feat, because all of you are so nice with your reviews. I'm so glad you enjoy the stories, and thank you so so so so much for sharing them with your friends!
Unknown: Are you kidding? Team Peeta 100%. As Apollo said, "Even Katniss is on Team Peeta." Thanks so much for the review!
Guest: I'm going to try to update as much as I can, but I've been really busy lately. Hopefully I won't take this long again, sorry about that!
Hermes
It takes Aristaeus a day to ditch Hebe and I and join the football team. My roommate is part of the competition team, and immediately informed me that we are not friends. In fact, we're anything but. And I shouldn't talk to any of his friends that came into our room. If anyone asks, I'm mute. When I pointed out that if someone asks, and supposedly I'm mute, then I won't be able to answer, he told me to learn sign language and fuck off. So one thing Brightwood has taught me, is that no matter where you go, there's a Theseus. It may not be Theseus, but there's still a Theseus. Just not the Theseus. A Theseus.
Wow I just confused myself.
Another thing that I learn from Brightwood is that everyone is really, really, really good at one thing. It's a school of dressage prodigies who can't jump to save their lives, and speed racers with no idea how to perform a lateral movement. At Ashwood, Crystal made sure we were all fairly well-rounded. Cross country is my forte, but I can still show jump and I'm not the worst at dressage. That's not how it is at Brightwood. You're the absolute best at one thing and completely incompetent at everything else. Otherwise, you're weird.
In short, I'm weird.
Of course, on my student file, it says I do cross country. And that means I can't do anything else, by Brightwood standards. So, on the first day of school, Lancelot and I find ourselves in Show Jumping Basics, being laughed at by the pretentious show jumpers from the competition team. I'm with a few nervous-looking dressage riders, excited speed racers, and bored cross country students.
"Now," Our teacher says, "for those of you in cross country, you may think this is going to be redundant and boring. But it's not. In cross country, you go for speed. In show jumping, you go for technique. You want to make it look easy and effortless, not fast. We're going to start off by jumping a simple horizontal rail, just to see what you guys can do. Okay? Line up." The speed racers, eager to start jumping things, push to the front. The dressage riders head for the back, and the cross country students fall somewhere in the middle. Lancelot waits patiently for his turn, watching the others with interest. They're beautiful horses, a shiny array of flashy chestnuts and majestic palominos and gorgeous bays. Lancelot, I'm proud to say, fits right in.
The riders take the jump one by one, the speed racers overshooting it terribly. The first cross country rider does okay, but our teacher is clearly not impressed. Then it's our turn. I stir Lancelot into a nice canter and turn him towards the jump. He takes three, even strides, then pushes off with his powerful hind legs. I stand up in two point, and Lance pulls up his knees and pricks his ears. He lands soundly and I pull him down to a stop, halting a few feet away from the jump. The teacher doesn't look pleased. He looks confused.
"You're in cross country," He says.
"Yeah, I am," I reply, confused as to why he's telling me this.
"Well, did you do show jumping in a former life, or something?" He asks.
"I took show jumping classes at the barn where I used to ride," I explain, "we took classes in everything."
"Oh," He says, "well, then I guess you don't need Show Jumping Basics. So, you can just, um, leave, if you want."
"Okay." The other students glare at me as I ride Lancelot out of the arena. Two important-looking Brightwood teachers watch me, clipboards in hand. In total, it's a very uncomfortable experience. I feel their eyes upon me as I lead Lance toward Barn D (Brightwood has barns all the way up to Q). I pass Hebe's dressage crash course, and she waves at me excitedly from the back of Candy, her pretty piebald pony. The other sixth graders roll their eyes and give her weird looks, and I smile back at her, wondering if she'll ever realize how much of a loser she is. Maybe she knows, and she just doesn't care. How great would that be?
I lead Lance into his stall and untack him, then sit down on a hay bale, wondering what I should do now. My next class isn't for another half an hour. I could go sit with the competition team and laugh at all the people in the beginner classes, but that doesn't sound particularly fun. Then again, neither is sitting on a hay bale wondering what I should do.
"What are you doing?"
"Are you just sitting on this hay bale?"
"So lame." I look up to see three, beautiful girls standing in front of me, their arms crossed. Nemesis, Eris, and Nyx. The most popular girls at Brightwood, co-captains of the competition team, and a mix between every boy's wildest dream and worst nightmare.
"I can't believe he's joining," Eris groans. I furrow my brow.
"Okay, idiot. Those people watching your class were scouts for the competition team. They saw that little stunt you pulled-"
"'Stunt'?" I echo, "It wasn't a stunt! I just jumped the rail, like I was told to! What's wrong with that?"
"Don't interrupt," Nyx hisses. "Anyway, they must've been hit with a brick or something, but they liked what they saw. Which means your probably going to be on the team, which means I'm probably going to have to learn to tolerate you."
"What ever shall you do?" I mutter.
"I'm sorry, did we say you could speak?" Nemesis hisses. Eris crosses her arms and glares at me.
"Listen, Herpes," She snaps, "if, by some miracle, you make it onto this team, there's one thing you should know: I'm in charge. Don't get in my way. C'mon, girls." With that, they storm out of the barn. Lance pokes his head over the half-wall and lips at my hair, bored.
"Wow," I mutter, "three Macey Malones." Suddenly, I hear loud braying coming from another stall. "What the...?" I mutter, getting to my feet. It comes again, followed by a pained squeal. I start walking down the hall towards the noise. When I reach the stall, I find a donkey, lying on her side, sweating and squealing. Without thinking, I let myself into the stall. "Easy, girl," I tell her, running my hands over her sweaty neck. That's when I notice how fat she is, and the two little feet poking out of her rear end. Oh my gods, she's giving birth. Okay, calm down, I tell myself, you've delivered foals before. I run out of the stall and into the tack room, grabbing some gauze to wrap her tail. I fill a bucket with water, then head back into the stall. A muzzle has appeared alongside the two front feet, which means the foal is facing the right direction. I quickly wrap her tail and pull it out of the way, and then I move away and sit by her head, knowing mares don't like to be disturbed if they don't need to be. I pat her neck throughout the process, trying to keep her calm. Her stomach expands and contracts wildly, pushing the foal out. She squeals with each contraction, and that's when I notice the foal doesn't seem to be moving. It's stuck.
Cursing, I scramble over to her rear and grasp the foal's fetlock. "Sorry, girl," I tell her, before pulling on the foal's legs. She squeals and her stomach contracts, and the foal's head comes fully out. "Good girl." I pat her haunches, hoping she can handle it on her own for now. No such luck. Groaning, I take a deep breath, and plunge my hands in. They fumble around blindly for a moment, before finding the foal's...well, for lack of better word, armpits, and pull. It's shoulders come through, and the donkey squeals and pushes. The foal starts sliding out, and within ten minutes, is completely out of the mare's stomach. She gets shakily to her feet, and I hold the bucket of water to her nose. Behind her, the little foal struggles onto it's spindly shaky legs. It falls down on it's first few tries, but eventually gets up and makes it's way over to it's mother.
"OMG, that's adorable!" A voice squeaks from behind me. I turn around to see Hebe, jumping up and down. Candy drops his head and makes a noise that sounds a lot like sighing at his owner's immaturity. "What's his name?"
"I don't know," I reply, stepping out of the stall, "he was just born. Literally, just born. Like, two minutes ago."
"What's on your hands?" Hebe asks, wrinkling her nose.
"Placenta," I answer simply. We lean on the half-wall for a moment and watch the foal suck milk from his mother. I've seen it plenty of times, but it'll always be one of the cutest things ever.
After riding practice, I head back to my dorm. And for the first time in a long time, I feel really, truly happy. I fit in here. I'm not "the suicidal kid" anymore. I'm just a normal student. And besides Nemesis, Nyx, and Eris, no one seems to hate me. Maybe, just maybe, things'll work out here.
Artemis
The following has been spell-checked for your safety:
Dear Fartemis,
How's high school? I hope it's fun. Brightwood is. On the first day, all the new kids had to jump off the roof into a pile of horse poop. It was awesome! I don't have so many friends yet, but I'll get there. I might be on the competition team, and then I'll have lots of friends. As Apollo would say, you have to look on the sunny side.
This morning, I delivered a baby donkey. He was 74 pounds and standing in an hour. Pretty good, if I do say so myself. And I do. So there. Hebe named him Sugar. Then he bit her. I don't think he appreciated the girly name, so that rules out the possibility of him being gay. Darn.
Classes are going okay. I'm meeting with a tutor, because of my dyslexia. I haven't been expelled yet, so it's probably working.
How is everyone? What are the teachers like? Is Theseus still a dickface? Anything cool happen lately? What have I missed?
See You Soon,
Hermes
It hits me then how much I miss him. I'd sort of just been pushing him out of my head, trying not to think about how things would be if he were here. But getting that letter drives a dagger into my chest. He really loves it there. They're making him better. He's not coming back. I guess, from the moment he said he was going to Brightwood, my inner devil had this tiny hope he would hate it and come back. But he likes it there. Sighing, I grab some paper and a pen and start my reply.
Dear Herpes,
High School is fun. On the first day, our sword-fighting teacher pulled Apollo, Athena, and I onto the football field and turned into Echidna. She'd joined forces with Prometheus. Our AP Math teacher (who, by the way, is a goat) thinks there's going to be a war, but I don't think we'll see much of Prometheus this year. He's building an army. And, knowing the amount of people Dad has offended, it'll be pretty easy.
We all miss you a ton. It's not the same without you. But it sounds like you're enjoying yourself, so that's good. Just don't get too rusty. I want a worthy opponent when I see you at training camp.
Jane's funeral is next week. Are you going to come? Your mom said you aren't, but I just thought I'd ask. I miss you.
Love,
Artemis
Was the "love" too much? Friends tell each other they love each other, right? But I don't want to be friends. I want to be more. I want what I can't have. I want love. I want his love.
"I just love chemistry," Athena babbles, "it's so fascinating! All you have to do is put two different chemicals together, and you can make a massive explosion. Isn't that awesome?"
"Yup," I reply boredly. I've learned to just let Athena talk when she gets like this.
"And of course, languages are amazing, too. Just think: all these words we use to communicate are really just sounds. But we gave them meaning, and they evolved into thousands and thousands of-ow!" Suddenly, she trips over her shoelace and falls, her books flying everywhere. I bend down to help her pick them up, but a tan, large hand gets there first.
"Here," The owner of the hand says, handing Athena her math textbook. Athena looks up and meets his eyes, her face burning. I have to admit, he is good-looking. Tall, muscular, perfect hair. Just a little too perfect, though.
"Thanks," Athena stammers, placing the book back in her bag. "I'm Athena."
"Hymen," The boy replies, "you're a freshman, right?"
"Yeah," Athena says, her face still as red as a brick wall.
"I'm a junior," He says, his eyes still locked on Athena's. Neither of them move, staring into each other's eyes. I cough awkwardly, knowing we're going to be late for powers if we don't hurry up. Neither Athena nor Hymen seems to notice.
"Kay, well, nice meeting you, Hymen!" I interrupt, grabbing Athena's arm and starting to pull her away, "We're going to be late. Bye!" With that, I turn and pull Athena down the hall and into the classroom.
"What was that for?" She demands, setting her things down next to mine, "He was gorgeous. And such a gentleman. I think I'm in love." I roll my eyes.
"You are not in love, you just met him. And we were going to be late," I explain. Athena sighs. "Besides, he was probably gay, anyway."
"Who's gay?" Dionysus asks, walking into the classroom right at that moment, Hephaestus trailing after him.
"Hymen," Athena answers, "and he was not gay."
"What did he look like?" Dionysus demands. Hephaestus rolls his eyes.
"He was perfect," Athena sighs dreamily, "tall, muscular, perfect hair, gorgeous blue eyes-"
"OMG, who?" Aphrodite squeals, running over to our table.
"Hymen," I answer, "this boy Athena met for five seconds when she dropped her books."
"Did he pick them up for you?" Aphrodite gushes. Athena nods. "Oh my gods, that is so romantic." I roll my eyes. Aphrodite glares at me. "Don't roll your eyes," She reprimands, "you can try to deny it, but you're still in love with Hermes."
"What?" I cry defensively, my face burning, "I am not."
"Please," Athena scoffs, "I saw that letter you wrote to him at study hall. 'I miss you a ton. It isn't the same without you.'"
"Shut up," I mutter, "he's my friend, okay? I miss him. Friends miss each other."
"Friends don't sign their letters 'love Artemis'," Athena shoots back. Just then, Ares and Apollo walk through the door.
"So, you're telling me the answer to all the world's problems is eliminating math?" Apollo says skeptically.
"It'll work! See, if there were no numbers, then no one would know how many people were in the world, and they wouldn't be so paranoid about world population," Ares explains.
"Your solution to the world population issue is ignoring it?" Athena scoffs.
"Everyone I don't like I either ignore or kill," Ares reasons, "and, so far, it's worked."
"So, what you're saying is, you like us?" Athena points out. Ares ignores her. Well played. The rest of the class continues to trickle in, the conversation going back and forth from Hymen to Ares's plans for world peace. Persephone trudges in, whining to Coral about her long-distance relationship with Jason, and how it's "killing her inside". By the time class starts, however, Hestia still hasn't shown up.
Hestia
High school is worse than training camp. "Cool" at training camp was being on level fifteen and winning survival. Being beautiful was an added bonus. "Cool" at high school is being tall and skinny and gorgeous and having six boyfriends at once. Being able to kill a man 147 ways with your bare hands isn't even an added bonus. It doesn't count for anything.
It takes me a day to hate myself again. To resent that I'm not skinny like Coral. To loathe that I'm not gorgeous like Aphrodite. And there's only one way to be thinner and prettier without starving myself.
So, on the second day of highschool, when I should be in class, I'm vomiting up everything I've eaten in the past few weeks. It burns my throat and I hate it, but I need it. Tears pour down my cheeks as I gag and cough, promising myself it's for the better. It's okay because you'll be prettier. And that's good, because I need to be prettier. I couldn't keep Ares's attention. I need to work harder to keep Apollo's.
"Hestia?" I'm so caught up in my actions that I don't hear the footsteps entering the room. Slowly, I push myself away from the toilet and into a sitting position.
"Apollo, you shouldn't be in the girls' bathroom," I tell him.
"You shouldn't be making yourself throw up," He replies, sitting down next to me. "Hestia, why? Why did you do this?" I sigh.
"I just want-" I stop myself. "I need to be skinnier."
"Why would you ever think that?" He cries, his outburst making me jump. "Hestia, how many times have I told you this? You're the most amazing, kind, empathetic, compassionate, beautiful girl I've ever met. You don't need to be the least bit skinnier. You're perfect." I smile softly, my eyes on the ground.
"I wish I could make myself believe that," I sigh.
"Have you tried looking in the mirror?" He suggests. I turn to face him and wrap my arms around his neck.
"I won't do it ever again," I tell him, "if you'll promise me one thing."
"What's that?" He asks.
"Don't ever leave me." He smiles.
"Never."