"Judy, show the new recruit around," Cameron straightforwardly commands me. "Everyone else seems to be occupied."

Something you should know about Cameron: He isn't praetor anymore. He stepped down after the end of his second year, and no one protested. He was a good praetor, but he really did nothing important; think James Monroe, the Era of Good Feelings. What's that? You didn't listen in History class? I didn't either; Cameron made the comparison himself. He's kind of a nerd.

Anyway, you know what comes after the Era of Good Feelings? Some kind of panic era time-thing. (There was a real name for it, but I don't remember it.) After Cameron stepped down and Jason Grace, kid of some of end-of-the-world prophecy, came back from his first quest at age twelve, rumors floated around about Cronus (Titan father of the gods) rising to power. And then it was confirmed that Cronus and his Titan pals are going to try to take over the world. Oh joy. Every year, some kind of damage is done to our camp, and Jason Grace goes off to fix it. He's like Handyman Stan or something.

Currently, Jason Grace is a young, up-and-coming fourteen year-old kid, son of Jupiter. For some reason he ended up in the Fifth Cohort (I mean, honestly, if your dad was what your summer camp was named for, why are you placed in the lowest, least important sector?), but, like I said, he's already gone on a couple of quests and he's succeeded.

He's a nice kid, I guess. Not that I've spoken to him all that much, but whatever. He's off on a quest now for some reason or the other. Honestly, I don't like to listen when they talk about the End of the World. It's like listening to news radio and how global warming will kill everyone. Or politics, but it's all the same. For me, ignorance is bliss, you know?

"Judy," Cameron repeats, vaguely irritated, "I'd appreciate it if you would answer. Please don't daydream when people speak with you; it's rather rude."

"Daydreaming?" I scoff haughtily. "I was not daydreaming in the slightest! Simply… thinking over your offer."

"It was not an offer; it was a command."

"Well-" The kid standing next to Cameron catches my eye. He's confused and pathetic-looking. Pity instantly washes over me. "Alright, sure, leave the kid with me. I'll take care of him."

"I somewhat appreciate this. I would appreciate it more if you had stated it immediately, but nevertheless, I must be off." Cameron walks away, unknowingly leaving an awkward silence between me and the new recruit.

I look him over. He's wearing a blue tattered, grimy button-down t-shirt and black pants. His hair is disheveled and red, and his clear blue eyes peer into my soul. Or look pathetic, but whatever.

All in all, he's the prettiest boy I've ever seen.

"So," I say, "what's your name?"

He rubs the back of his neck as if I've asked the most embarrassing question in the world. "Taylor..."

Apparently I have. "Um, isn't that a girl's- whatever. So who's your parent? I'd bet ten bucks it's Venus. Am I right?"

"Yeah... And before you ask… I'm fourteen…" he says, quietly examining his dirty sneakers.

"You're old," I bluntly remark. Taylor looks up and raises his eyebrows questioningly. "Well, I mean, I'm sixteen, but I came here three years ago. You're pretty old for a new recruit, I'm just saying."

"I think they said something about my... scent? It's weak? I don't know what they're talking about here; Dad just told me, 'Taylor, go in the forest and look for wolves. If you find them, pretend you're tough. Don't give them your sass.' He said he had to or he wasn't going to let me-"

"Hold up. Sass?" I ask curiously. Aren't fathers supposed to at least vaguely know who their children are?

He looks at the ground and rubs his neck again. "Yeah..." A silence passes. "That's all I can really tell you about myself..."

I meet his eyes. "Listen, Taylor. You need to perk up. I am not going to kill you. Do you understand this? No one will kill you. I mean, unless we play that stupid war game, but I've got your back, alright?"

"O… kay!" he says, artificial perk coming off of him like gas from an engine.

"Well, not like that. A little more genuinely. Anyway, let me show you around."

"So I said, 'What the hell is up with that?' And then Susan goes, 'Your mom.' Seriously. What are we, frat boys?" I tell Taylor.

"It's not like only frat boys are the only people allowed to make 'your mom' jokes," Susan says from above me. Introductions are in order? Introductions are in order.

Susan Pearson is a girl from New Jersey who just happens to be my younger half-sister. She's kind of a giant hick. I mean this. She's from Hicksville. Hicksville. Take that in right there.

She regularly combats my insults toward her hometown with, "Billy Joel is from there!" and I'm like, "Who the hell is Billy Joel?" And then she says, "Your mom," because she's apparently ticked off that I don't know who her obscure singer is.

She has extremely long black hair that goes down to her hips, brown, murky, unexceptional eyes (We're friends!) and an angular face, like Pocahontas, except that she's not Native American in the slightest. She always wears the purple Camp Jupiter t-shirt and any pants she finds lying around (in her closet. She always stresses this. It's because I like to accuse her of stealing my pants). Often, these are bad combinations. That is the situation now.

Taylor looks her over and instantly says, "What's wrong with your pants?" He then promptly clasps a hand over his mouth and removes it. "I mean…"

"Huh?" Susan asks, quickly glancing at her legs. She's wearing these ugly gray jogging pants that she can't rock in any way at all. "There's nothing wrong with my pants! Are there holes in the back or something?" She circles around and plops next to me and Taylor.

"He's talking about how ugly they are!" (He really is.) "Seriously, what convinced you that you should buy jogging pants and wear them at times when you are not jogging?" I ask her.

"Oh, shut up, Judy. No one asked you. Okay, I asked you, but shut up." She twirls a strand of ebony (and iiivoryyy… is that the only reason I used the word "ebony"? Yes, yes it is.) hair between her fingers. "Well, at least I'm not some pretentious Venus kid who cares about coordinating every single outfit. And get off my back about the 'your mom' jokes. It's funny. Even if I'm not some fourteen year-old boy."

Obviously someone is feeling a little vitriolic today. I don't say anything for fear of angering her. I look at Taylor, who is avoiding eye contact while staring at the ground awkwardly, and break into laughter. "Way to insult the new kid, Susan. Where did you get the 'fourteen year-old' boy thing from, anyway? Meet Taylor- Hey, Taylor, what's your last name?"

Taylor lifts his head and takes a moment to think. "Shea."

"Taylor Shea, son of Venus and fourteen year-old boy." I burst into a fit of laughter.

"Oh crap, Taylor, no offense," Susan hurriedly says. "I didn't really mean it. Anyway, my name's Susan. I'm this insane girl's sister." She offers her hand, and Taylor shakes it.

"I resent that," I say. "I'm completely normal, douche."

"Completely."

"Shut up."

"Judy," I hear a voice say. I spin around to see a familiar legacy of Apollo.

"Hey, Octavian," I say. "What's up?"

Octavian No-Last-Name is this blond kid with icy blue eyes that really do peer into your soul. He always wears jeans and some random solid-color t-shirt, unless he wears the Camp Jupiter tee, in which case he wears a solid-color t-shirt that has the words Camp Jupiter emblazoned on it.

"I hate to bother you, but would you do me a favor?" he asks me.

It isn't often that he asks things of other people, let alone me, so I reply, "Sure, why not?"

"Perfect," he says. "Could you… borrow me a few of stuffed animals? I seem to have run out."

"Um…" The answer is no, but I'm trying to think of a way to say it so I won't offend him. See, Octavian is one of the first people I've spoken to at Camp Jupiter, and honestly, I really treasure our friendship.

That last part was something of a joke, but I really don't like pissing people off. Also, Octavian is a nice kid. He gave me a stuffed animal… two years ago.

"How to put this… See, Octavian, I don't advocate the widespread slaughter of stuffed animals that could easily cheer up homeless children. And belong to other people," I explain. "Also, my mother hates it when I steal. My dad does, too. 'Only when you have to,' they tell me."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, though I probably am not, but isn't your father the god of thieves?"

"Um… No. …Oh. You mean my father father. Yeah. But my mortal father isn't. He's just a guy." I intelligently word my explanation.

Octavian nods. "Well, I don't mean to offend you, but don't you owe me?" he asks.

I raise my eyebrows. "What do you mean? I don't really speak to you that often, which I regret, so I don't really ask you for favors that much either."

"It was a few years ago. I'd have hoped you remembered," he says, sighing.

"You mean Squishy?" He almost imperceptibly nods. "You gave that to me. And it was only one, Octavian, so you can't really say that to persuade me to get you a bunch," I aptly reason with him.

"Think of it as… interest."

I can't help myself; I chuckle and roll my eyes. I mean, the kid is acting like we're in a gang war movie and he's trying to blackmail me into joining his drug-dealing mafia. "Face it, Octavian: Your argument sucks and I'm not going to do this for you. What happened to 'favor,' anyway?" He doesn't reply and thinks for a second. If he planned to say something, I cut him off. "Okay, look. I'll do anything else that you need me to. You know, that doesn't involving stealing and aiding in homicide."

A young passing recruit I don't recognize stops and gives me and Octavian a curious look, and then scurries away. Yeah, kid. I find Octavian intimidating, too. Actually, I don't, but… go away. Just go away.

Octavian doesn't notice the kid; he just stares at me, either lost in thought or spontaneously realizing my absorbing attractiveness. He then sighs. "Forgive me. It was quite pathetic of me to attempt to use a two year-old stuffed animal as leverage over you. I also regret trying to force you to do something for me; that was rather rude and we do have a relatively friendly history. However, I'm afraid I don't need your help in other ways, so... Would you please do me this?"

"Why do you need to steal stuffed animals anyway? You're our camp's prophesier; don't they give you money to buy the stuff?"

Octavian sighs again. He really should find other ways to express his discontent. "I'm given a sufficient amount of money, but earlier this year I sent someone to buy the sacrifices for me and he came back with a pile of Pillow Pets. 'I'm supporting a company that produces useful and logical inventions,' he says. That's very well; I am trying to help save the world from disaster. Please buy more numerous, cheaper sacrifices. Alas, he had used the entire budget, and I had to make do with a mere ten Pillow Pets."

Briefly, I wonder when the hell Octavian started talking like that. I mean, I have spoken to him somewhat recently, but not long enough for him to go off on a tangent in fancy-speak. The last actual conversation I had with the guy was a year and half ago, and back then, he spoke like a normal person.

Well, to an extent.

…Actually, in retrospect, he didn't. But he wasn't so… showy about it. He talks like a politician now! I think. I'm not into politics. I'm not into watching the news, remember?

"The gods also enjoy giving me useless and vague information. It's as if they laugh at my dilemma from the heavens." He tsks. "So… would you do this for me?" Octavian asks.

I brush my hair behind my ear and think. "Octavian… I don't steal. Not big things, anyway. And, like I said, I don't really approve of this mass stuffed animal cruelty. I know it's saving the world and all that… Like, I eat meat, but I'm not willing to be a butcher, you know?" I explain oh-so-eloquently.

"You are aware that they are made of cotton, correct?" Octavian asks, just a little exasperatedly. I open and close my mouth like a fish, ultimately choosing not to say anything. He continues, "Well, I suppose it is sentimentality." He clicks his tongue. "Judy, I came to you for a reason - no, that reason was not that I thought I had leverage over you. Well, not only - but you seem to be strongly against it. It will be difficult to find another Mercury child I can trust, but I must make do." He sighs again, and says, "I should go," and then turns around and starts to walk away. As I look at his back, I think, Well, what the hell, right? Why not? I mean, for old times' sake!

So you're wondering about what kind of relationship I had with this guy that warranted a "for old times' sake" but still made it possible for me to stop talking to him for a year and a half. Well, see, I was the one propelling the friendship, talking to him while he was reading, talking to him while he was contemplating life or doing whatever Octavians do sitting under trees, talking to him while he was being harassed by fauns. I gradually stopped hanging out with him when I found out that he liked to cut up stuffed animals, but it's not like I hung him out to dry or anything; he didn't seem to enjoy my presence all that much, and he didn't say anything when I stopped coming up to him. There wasn't a fight or anything, and I talked to him sometimes, so all was sort of good.

There was an actual reason I initiated the friendship, but it's a little embarrassing to get into, so I'll save you - well, myself, really - that.

"Wait, Octavian," I say, not yell, because he's not actually that far away (apparently Octavian is a mega-slow walker) and I've already tarnished my reputation with a random kid I don't know; I don't want a bunch of other random people to think I'm weird.

Octavian turns around instantly and asks, not the least bit annoyed, "What?"

"So I'll... I'll do this for you, okay?"

His pale lips curve into a smile and he says, "You will?"

"Well..." I rub the back of my neck. "Just this once, alright? I mean, I still don't support this, but..."

He thanks me profusely. "Thank you, Judy. I don't have a specific number for you to bring me - that would be asking a bit too much - so please, just bring however many you believe to be best. Again, you have my gratitude."

"It's no problem, Octavian. Well, it sort of is, but you don't need to thank me so much…"

"On the contrary, Judy. Well, I do need to go. I'll be seeing you." With that, he turns and leaves.

As I stare at his retreating back, I begin to wonder what persuaded me to say yes.

Well.

Too late now, right?

"Sam, go away. I have nothing to give you."

"My name's Mr. Tumnus, Susan. Now listen. I will die if I don't get any money. I will starve. Do you want me to starve and die?" Susan rolls her eyes. "Lucy doesn't like this at all, Susan. Aslan does not appre-"

"Sam. Stop making pop-culture references and leave. I'm busy. Don't you see this arrow? I'm trying to make it hit that small circle over there. If you want, I can make it hit you. You're a much larger target."

"And that's why you're not in The L-"

"Hey, Susan! Hey, Mr. Tumnus! Here's a Coke can," I say, handing the faun said can. He smiles at me.

"Thank you, Lucy. See, Su-"

"Actually, Mr. Tumnus, I have to talk to Susan alone. So, bye!"

Mr. Tumnus sighs. "I can tell when I'm not wanted. But thank you, Lucy." He quietly walks away.

"So why does he call you Lucy?" Susan asks me when he's out of earshot. She picks up an arrow.

"Beats me. Why do you call him Sam? I just don't know what he's saying half the time."

She shoots the arrow and misses the target by a mile. "Crap." She looks at me. "His name is Sam. You gotta stop leading him on, Judy. He's gonna start thinking you have money. You're always poor."

"Why do you care?" I ask. She shrugs and picks up another arrow. "Anyway, I've got cans! That's all the guy needs. Cans! He's half goat, it's fine!"

Susan snorts. "Yeah, where'd you get the Coke, anyway?"

"Some kid was eating lunch, left it unattended, so I took his Coke and finished it," I said. "Saved him calories. Real nice of me."

"You're gonna get mono or something, Judy. Watch out!" she sings childishly, holding the "out." She shoots and barely grazes the target.

"Nice," I say sarcastically.

"Yeah, like you can do better," she says, grabbing another arrow and preparing to shoot. "Okay, you can, but… Anyway, what'd you need to talk to me about? Should I be scared?"

"Hey, are you mad at me?" I ask her bluntly.

"Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?" she asks, skillfully avoiding my question.

"Well, no, but, you know, it seemed like you were."

"Why would I be mad at you?" She shoots again and misses the target. "This is hard."

"Surprise, surprise. And you were, no offense, a jerk when we were hanging out with Taylor yesterday. To me. You were a jerk to me," I inform her.

Her face, very slightly, goes pink. "O- Oh… that… Well, let's just say… nothing. At all."

"You're totally in love with him!" I accuse her happily. "It's okay, he's very pretty. You know, he might be gay. Gotta be prepared for that."

"Hey! I'm not in love with him!" Susan very convincingly tells me. "And I've only talked to him, like, once. If I did like him, it would be shallow feelings of infatuation. Mom says so. She knows everything. Anyway, I don't have shallow feelings of infatuation for Taylor."

"Totally."

"I'm mad at you now. You brought this on yourself."

"Hey, I was kidding!" I wasn't, but whatever. "I know for a fact that your feelings toward Taylor are completely - completely - platonic."

"Thank you, Judy. All is forgiven." She laughs and picks up another arrow. "So what did you need to talk to me about, anyway?"

"About that... Could you do me a favor?" I ask. "I need you to steal me a bunch of stuffed animals."

Susan lowers her bow and turns to me, giving me a peculiar look. "Why, exactly?"

"Well, Octavian asked me to, and I felt for the guy, you know?" I explain.

"Gods, Judy, not again." Susan raises her bow and finally hits the target. The edge of the target, anyway. She sighs and picks up another arrow.

"Hey, I can help a guy out without…" I don't finish my thought. "Anyway, I was thirteen. I just saw Titanic! I was young and naïve!"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm not helping you help Octavian. He's a douche." I don't argue with her on this, mainly because I can't. "Steal it yourself; you had no problem with the Coke. You're a Mercury kid, remember?" She shoots the target and misses. Apparently the last one was sheer luck.

"How about this: if I hit a bulls-eye, you help me," I cleverly bargain with her.

"Uh, Judy, I've known you for two years. I kind of know you're good at archery. I don't know why, but I know you are."

"C'mon. Please?" I ask.

Susan clicks her tongue. "Fine." She hands me her bow and an arrow.

I take them and get into stance, gripping the bow with my left hand and holding the arrow between my right middle and ring finger. I pull it back and aim, then let go. Dropping my stance, I say, "Ker-pow!"

"Nice, Judy. Nice," Susan says of my entirely appropriate sound effect. "Anyway, look, you were so close! But you failed."

I looked. The arrow's tip sat on the line between the bulls-eye and the surrounding ring. "That totally counts!" I reason.

"No, it doesn't," Susan says, quietly examining me. I know that look! Wait for it… "Fine, I'll help you anyway."

"Aw, Susan, you always come through!" I say, dropping the bow and arrow and hugging her.

Susan, despite appearances, is a very huggable person. She always hugs back. Always.

Yeah, that was a lie. "Stop hugging me," she says, and pulls away. "I'll help you later, okay?"

"Shake on it?" I ask, holding out my hand.

She shakes.

"And you were not the same after that."
- Ben Folds, "Not the Same"