A/N: Hey It's been a while since I updated, I know. I got stuck. And then I got distracted. Anyway, here is chapter 3. It's a little longer than I thought it would be but I guess that's a good thing. Hope you enjoy.

The next morning was much the same as the last. As was the next. And the next. And the next. Every day was the same too. Get up, shake off nightmare, go to school, ignore the harsh words and glare at Mrs. Gilbert before going home for the day. Some days were more bearable than others, though. Those days were the ones when they would IM me. Annabeth would blow me a kiss while the others shouted their greetings from the background. We would then usually speak about our days. It sounds boring I know but it helped me keep my sanity. Of course, they weren't told about what happened at school, and I haven't cried since I came home after that day.

This boring and slightly painful routine lasted three months. Then something changed.

I got to school that morning the same as every other morning. I walked to my locker in the crowded, silent hallways and… hang on. Silent?

I couldn't hear any whispering. There were no harsh words. Nobody was greeting their friends in the jubilant manner that usually came with Friday mornings. They were all just staring at me. Creepily. When I got to my locker I found out why.

There, carved into the metal, were three words.

Retard was carved down the side, breaking in the middle to make way for my lock.

Bastard was carved diagonally in the far left corner.

And right in the centre, carved in bigger letters than the other two, was Murderer.

I stood there for a good 15 minutes, just staring. Mind you, most of that time was dedicated to figuring out what they had actually written. You'd think they would have more sense than carving words into the locker of someone with dyslexia. Or maybe that was the joke.

"Hey, Jackson," His obnoxious voice was booming in the silence as Mr. Quarterback rounded the corner, his grin like that of a overly excited, yet evil, bulldog. By this point, I'm sure my face was burning red, from embarrassment or anger, I don't know. Probably both.

"Whod'ya kill, Jackson?" Mr. Quarterback (I think his name is like, Dave, or something) laughed as he neared me. "I think everybody wants to know."

I ignored him, opening my locker quickly and grabbing my books. I shoved my way through his laughing friends and continued to walk to homeroom. Or, at least, I tried to.

My arm was yanked backwards and I found myself face to face with… Daniel? Yep, don't know.

"You gotta answer me retard." He spat in my face, gripping my upper arm so hard I knew there would be bruises.

Having had enough of Diablo, I stepped up closer to him, putting my face right in front of his and, loud enough for everyone in the hallway to hear, I said: "You're a dick."

Creative, I know.

In shock, he released my arm and looked around at the now sniggering audience. I turned on my heel and continued to walk down the hallway.

"You will regret that Percy Jackson!" Doug roared down the hallway. "You will regret ever crossing paths with Nicolas Schmit!"

Wow. I wasn't even close.

PJOPJOPJOPJOPJOPJOPJOPJOPJOPJOPJOPJOPJOPJOPJOPJOPJOPJOPJOPJOPJOPJOPJOPJOPJO

The rest of the day passed uneventfully until I got to English. You see, so far I have managed to weasel my way out of reading in class but today was obviously just not my day.

"Good afternoon class. Today we will be starting Wuthering Heights! Now this book…" I zoned out again, like I usually do in English, slouching down on my chair. I gazed out the window for I don't know how long until I was broken out of it by the shrill voice of Mrs. Gilbert who was now full on glaring at me.

"Sorry ma'am, could you repeat the question?" I asked, sitting up straighter.

"I said, Mr. Jackson, that it is your turn to read a chapter. You managed to weasel your way out of the last book but in no way are you getting out of this one!"

"But ma'am-"

"No buts Mr. Jackson. You are in this class, which means you have to take part."

Grumbling to myself, I opened the book slowly, glaring at her the entire time.

"I have just tun… returned from a sitvi… visit to the lond… landlord-"

"Percy Jackson, read properly! We don't want to hear mistakes every third word." Mrs. Gilbert cut in. Glancing around, I could see people silently laughing and I could feel my face heat up.

"Sorry ma'am." I muttered, looking back down at the book.

Before I could start, however, someone else piped up.

"Ma'am, maybe we should let him off the hook." The girl in the third row with long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail spoke up, catching the attention of Mrs. Gilbert.

Thank you! Someone is on my side.

"And why should we do that, Ms. Jones?" Mrs. Gilbert looked over her glasses with a frown.

"Because it's obvious he can't read ma'am. He's a retard." She finished with a smirk, rousing laughter from almost everybody in the room.

So much for on my side.

Mrs. Gilbert just looked at her. Surely a teacher should tell of a child that insulted another in their class.

As I watched, Mrs. Gilberts mouth twitched into a small smile as well and she turned to look at me.

"Very well, Ms. Jones. I guess there isn't much point in letting someone read who should never have graduated kindergarten, let alone be in this class."

If my face was heated before, it was now completely on fire as a few tears gathered in the corners of my eyes.

Slamming my books together, I got up and ran out the door, slamming it behind me as I did. As I got to my locker, the words seemed to stand out more so than in the morning and a few tears managed to escape before I got my locker open. Grabbing my bag, I made a mad dash to the front doors, rushing out only to run into someone on the other side.

Looking up, I barely had time to close my eyes before a fist connected with my face, forcing me to stumble backwards.

"That's what you get for running into me punk!" Internally I groaned. Looks like Saint Nick and his friends didn't like their last period class either.

"Oh, it's you, Jackson." Nicolas continued, obviously just realising who he punched in the face. For some reason, I didn't like the tone of his voice.

"Well, now that you're here, I guess we can start on your punishment." His grin grew more pronounced as his fist tried to connect to my stomach. Fortunately, my reflexes are about 20x faster than his and I was able to dodge around him and try to make a run for it. UNfortunately for me, he had about six friends who were willing to beat up anyone their 'boss' told them to.

Two of them grabbed my arms and dragged my back, slamming me against the wall of the school. They then held my arms there and two more came forward to help restrain me.

"Aww, can't you fight back, Jackson?" Nicolas taunted before pulling back his fist and letting it fly into my stomach. Twice.

"Can't handle it, retard?" He said as I thrashed against the boys holding me. With a laugh, Nicolas punched me in the face once more, forcing my head to snap back against the brick wall.

The others let me go and I fell to the ground, dazed and dizzy.

"I hope you learnt your lesson, boy." The tall, lean frame of Nicolas suddenly changed as he laughed, momentarily turning into a tall 200+ kilo man. As quickly as it came, it left, leaving me alone on the ground as the group of boys walked away.

Holding in the tears, I slowly got up, holding my stomach. I started to walk, then run, out of the school grounds and the opposite direction from my apartment. I don't know how long I ran, all I know is that I ended up on the ground in some secluded part of Central Park. Under the safety of the trees, I started crying. The flashes came again, this time with more malice.

Silena, Beckendorf, Michael, Bob, Bianca, dead, dead, dead, dead, you killed them, they're dead, murderer, murderer, murderer.

Slowly the voice turned into a chorus, like the student body on the first day of school.

I curled in on myself, protecting myself from both the bitter wind and the images continuously flipping through my head. Instantly I recoiled from the action, pain shooting up through my boddy, making it hard to breathe.

Blindly, I reached for my bag, hoping I had remembered to pack some ambrosia. Of course I hadn't. I also hadn't packed a jumper and the wind was turning colder. Above me rain clouds were gathering. That could be a blessing or a curse. On one hand, the water would heal my surely black eye and possibly bruised ribs, there-fore not scaring the wits out of my mother when I inevitably return home (what time that will be, I don't know). For that, though, I would have to let myself get wet. Getting wet combined with the wind was sure to get me sick.

Although if I'm sick, I can't go to school. Instead I would be home alone all day with nothing but my ever darkening thoughts and flashbacks. Yeah ok. Better not.

As I was thinking, the rain began. I also noticed that the sky had darkened and it was most definitely night time.

Slowly I stood, trying not to worry about how mum must be out of her mind. Willing myself to get wet, I slogged my way back to the apartment. By the time I got there I was shivering and regretting that decision.

Quietly unlocking the door, I stepped in and froze. There, on the couch, was my mum. But it wasn't only her. Annabeth was curled up in the arm chair with Hazel and Frank was on the floor leaning against it. Jason and Leo were leaning against the other arm chair where Piper was reclining. They were all asleep.

Suddenly I was glad I chose the rain instead of the bruises.

Sneaking past them was easy enough and I got to my room quickly, shoving a piece of ambrosia in my mouth just in case. I changed out of my now dry clothes, jumped into bed, pulled covers all the way over my head and once again fell into an uneasy sleep.