The leash jangled as Annabeth's German Shepherd paused to sniff a mailbox. Annabeth slowed to a stop and waited patiently. The late summer breeze kicked up freshly mowed grass clippings from the sidewalk, the blades tickling her bare ankles as they passed by. The sun was out, warm as ever, and it threw the sky into a contrastingly sharp blue; she tilted her chin towards it then closed her eyes. The sun left an imprint behind her eyelids, making her blink a dark blot into existence when she reopened them.

It had been only a few months since Annabeth had left Bolt Academy, but enough time had passed for her hair to start growing back - still short but just long enough to tuck behind her ears. Having come home to her father, standing on the doorstep, racked with shame and guilt and having to explain everything to him was beyond excruciating, and reliving the truth to tell the tale was doubly so. At the time, she felt like he was going to ground her, which he did - swiftly and unblinkingly - yet she knew he knew he could have been harder on her. Maybe he sensed that she was punishing herself, more than he ever could. Being grounded didn't seem to hold a candle anymore in comparison.

Annabeth's time at Bolt felt like a dream. Or rather, the time after Bolt felt like the nightmare, one she was hoping to wake up from to find herself back in her bed, back in Percy's arms. Columbia, graduation, Percy - they had slipped right through her fingers. And she was the one who let go. Luckily, news of her trespass hadn't made it to the papers. It was likely that Bolt didn't want the negative publicity. A girl, in their elite midst? The audacity.

Her time spent in San Francisco with her father all summer felt like a prison sentence. Her father's leniency, perhaps feeling an amount of guilt or sympathy on his own part, had allowed her to do everything she would have done anyway during the summer, but she rarely took up the opportunity.

Usually she could be found in the library choosing a book to read on the beach later that day, or taking a jog around the hills, or working seemingly endless shifts at the local cafe, saving up for college…. college that would never come. She didn't even have a high school diploma. So Annabeth had retreated into herself since coming home. She no longer wanted to do any of those things. She barely left the house anymore, even if her father ever so subtly asked if she wanted to go to a movie, or to tag along for grocery shopping, a ploy to get her simply to change out of pajamas for once.

Food lost its appeal, sleep became a burden, showers were an excuse to drown out her thoughts and watch them spin down the drain. It became awfully quiet inside Annabeth's head. It was hard to believe that it was ever anything different. Once bursting with ideas and inspiration, her inner voice had gone mute. She didn't do much thinking in the days that passed. Time had little meaning. She just simply existed in a body.

She finally left the house after the dog kept giving her longing glances, silent pleas to go for a walk. It became a little routine, a time when she could wander without having to suffocate within the walls of her father's home. Her feet would follow the dog and her mind would drift untethered. She'd circle the neighborhood, taking cursory inventory of the world moving beyond her. Children would often play in the sprinklers, elderly couples would garden together, dogs would bark to greet the one on the end of her leash, and she'd never feel like a part of it. She was a distant outsider, someone watching from behind her own eyes. People out in their yards would do the neighborly thing and wave to her as she passed, and she'd wave back, but she felt like she was trespassing. She didn't belong here.

She had grown up here, her history hadn't changed. She knew the street names, knew the smells and sounds, knew the houses whose design was worth admiration - but she felt like she was no longer welcome.

She had rooted herself deep into the soil at Bolt. She had tricked herself into actually thinking she was supposed to be there. She missed it so terribly much. She missed the late-night pizzas, the early-morning breakfasts. She missed loitering at FEST to chat with Leo, and playing foosball with Frank in the rec room. She missed laundry days spent with Nico, and card games with Jason. She missed Piper, so much so that she physically ached to think about her. She could only hope that Piper would understand. She didn't expect forgiveness for bailing on her performance.

She missed the strawberry gardens at Bolt, its library, the spiral staircases, the sloping hallways, the expansive green lawn - the good and bad that happened there, and she wanted to do it all again. She'd give anything to start over. Maybe she could then find a way to do something different instead of subjecting herself to self-induced chains.

She sighed in the afternoon heat and gently tugged on the leash.

"Come on, Hilde," she said. "Let's go." The dog snapped to attention and trotted onward. Annabeth followed solemnly behind, barely registering that the dog had brought her back to the street she needed to be on. She stopped. Hilde tugged on the leash, but Annabeth was preoccupied by the presence of an unfamiliar black Lincoln parked in front of her house. It snapped her out of her daze. She checked the address on the house - this was undoubtedly her home. Whose car was this?

When she entered the front door, and let Hilde bound inside for a well-deserved drink of water, Annabeth found that she had interrupted a meeting. Her father, upon seeing her, stood up from his position on the couch and crossed towards her. Sitting on a nearby loveseat was -

Her heart stopped.

Turning in his seat to regard her was none other than Mr. Grace, headmaster at Bolt Academy. He looked rightfully out of place. Seeing a teacher, or any sort of academic figure outside of school, was jarring. His expression was completely level, exactly like the last time she had seen him. It made Annabeth feel like she was sinking into the floor.

They had come for her, she thought. Mr. Grace had come to bring her in to the authorities. She was going to jail for sure. She took a hesitant step backward, ready to flee.

"Annabeth," her father said, gently, extending his hand like he was taming a wild animal. "Mister Grace from Bolt Aca-"

"How did you find me?" she interrupted, staring directly at the headmaster. She hadn't given her real address when enrolling.

Mr. Grace stood, slowly, and sighed while he straightened his sport coat. His shoes clacked deafeningly on the hardwood floor. From within his breast pocket, he produced a manila envelope and handed it to her. It was light. There wasn't much inside.

"What is this?" she asked, hesitant. She had expected a pair of handcuffs to drag her off to prison.

His blue eyes held her in suspended animation. "That, my dear, is your diploma."

Annabeth balked. She looked to her dad for help, but he was just as stunned.

"I'm…" she said, her brow twisted in confusion. "My diploma?"

"From Bolt Academy, yes. You were a student after all, despite the means."

She couldn't understand. It was like she was hearing him, but her head had been dunked underwater. She could have sworn that he said… "I'm graduated? From Bolt?"

"Officially, yes."

Mr. Grace's expression hardly changed. He seemed like he was broadcasting the weather.

"Inside the envelope, you'll also find a personalized letter of recommendation as well as the contact information for the dean of admission and the president of Columbia University, who just happen to be close personal friends of mine. I felt it necessary to deliver all of this to you face to face."

Annabeth's stomach could have rolled out onto her flipflops. "Why?" The word poured from her, less that elegantly.

"It seems that there was a mistake on the application. Where it said Andrew Chase, it was supposed to say Annabeth Chase. A simple clerical error, after all. Columbia will be lucky to have you."

"But Bolt… it's for boys."

"Very astute of you. But you of all people would know about our new Bridge Program, geared toward gender integration for specialty applicants. As an original member, have you forgotten already?"

Bridge Program? Since when? And then something clicked. The pieces were slowly coming together.

"I don't mean to sound ungrateful but…" Annabeth searched for the words while she chewed on her lip. "What made you change your mind?"

"A number of your peers have come forward on your behalf. I had no choice but to reflect on our last encounter. Your friends were very stubborn and very persuasive. A one, Nico di Angelo, camped outside of my office for two days to speak with me. Misters Frank Zhang and Leo Valdez ambushed me on my way to my car every afternoon. Even my own son demanded a word at all hours of the day. There was a surprisingly large group of protesters who refused to walk on graduation day in solidarity. My office was flooded with letters, some of which came from Herald Prep, a Ms. Piper McLean at the forefront."

Heat flourished on the back of Annabeth's neck. She stared at the envelope. Her friends - the best of friends - they had never given up on her. They could have just as easily forgotten about her, felt like she had violated their trust, and yet…

"Your performance at my school speaks for itself, but it would seem that your friends speak louder."

Annabeth could barely register what she was hearing. She stammered and came up empty. All she could muster was, "Th-Thank you."

"While I don't agree with your actions, I can't deny that it has influenced a number of opinions. My institution was created as a safe refuge for young men to study and grow without distractions. I never would have thought anyone - any woman - would go through such lengths to attend as a student."

He paused, opening up a space for Annabeth to explain herself. She answered. "I wanted the best. I wanted what I couldn't have. If I couldn't attend Bolt, I wanted to go all the more. It was wrong to lie, I know. But… I don't regret what I've done."

She swallowed. Perhaps it wasn't the right thing to say, but she meant it. She half-expected him to snatch the envelope from her hands and say "Good day," but he didn't. Instead, he smiled. Startlingly enough, it actually suited him. And then the smile disappeared. She almost thought she had been seeing things, it was like it had never been there.

"Your tenacity is admirable," he said, tipping his head. "Perseverance is a quality not many can claim to have. You've raised a fine young woman, Mr. Chase."

"She's her own person, Mr. Grace," Frederick replied. "I can't take all the credit."

Mr. Grace smiled again, but only just, and long enough for it to last.

"Perhaps," he said to Annabeth, "you can lend your tutoring services to students over the summer quarter who are struggling in their classes, making up poor grades. We'll call that a reasonable bargain for causing such a disturbance on my campus."

Annabeth gaped like a trout. "Uh, yes. Yes, I can do that. I'd be happy to."

"Excellent. Good luck at Columbia. Study hard. Do well," Mr. Grace said. With finality, he nodded to Annabeth's father and then saw himself out.

Annabeth continued staring at the envelope in her hands. Inside was her future, delivered to her in a crisp, cream package. It was so light, lighter than she imagined. She couldn't ever thank him enough.

Her senses had come back to her in time to rush out the door and catch Mr. Grace pulling into the street in his polished car, retreating back to his domain. She watched him go, a heap of something lodged deep in her throat. It felt suspiciously like joy.

And when her eyes followed Mr. Grace's car, she spotted another one parked nearby, a black Mustang. It was familiar in the way a passing stranger's face was recognizable, an assembly of parts that when put together looks like something known, but when inspected piece by piece became unfamiliar. She had seen this kind of car many times while at home, from the window of her room where she'd spend hours doing absolutely nothing at all. Sometimes it was the wrong color, sometimes it was the wrong year, sometimes it was driven by the wrong person.

But she remembered that car, how it smelled of leather and funky socks and chlorine, how it grumbled and growled when woken, how it shook under her fingers on the wheel. How many times had she imagined herself in that car, seated next to the only person she wanted to be with, driving off into the horizon?

She was so used to seeing the wrong car for all these months that when the door opened and a familiar figure emerged it took her a full second to realize that it wasn't the wrong car.

It was the right car.

There stood Percy.

She stared.

He stared.

Time seemed to hold its breath.

Percy's hand was braced on the roof, his eyes wide in surprise, like he couldn't believe his eyes either.

Annabeth's joy extinguished. It turned into something fiery, desperate, and urgent. Her body was moving before her brain told it to. Her feet pushed forward, through the grass. Percy crossed the street, leaving Blackjack's door open.

Annabeth's pace turned into a jog. Her flip flops fell off.

Percy ran toward her. He leapt over a low hedge.

At a full sprint, they collided into each other.

The world was spinning around them as Percy held her, squeezing so hard she thought she might break. He smelled of whipped wind - a product of the windows rolled down while driving - and Old Spice. Memories flung her about, like she was a sailboat in a storm. His t-shirt was soft against her cheek, and she could feel his heartbeat - rushing, tripping over itself - against her body. He said her name over and over again, his words hot in her ear, as he ran his fingers through her hair and breathed her in, gasping as if he had run a million miles. And then he sighed, shuddering, like Annabeth's arms wrapped around him were the only things keeping him together.

He pulled away just far enough to kiss her. It was warm and safe. His hands framed her face, grounding himself in his touch. Annabeth could barely breathe. All the words she wanted to say had wedged themselves in her throat, and she was choking on them. She saw him swim, she saw him win, and she wanted to tell him everything she couldn't, but she was so happy he was here, she didn't want to ruin it.

Thankfully, Percy pulled back and looked into her eyes. He used his thumbs to wipe away stray tears that had fallen onto her cheeks and his smile lifted her heart.

"You're so stupid," he said, not meaning it in the slightest. "You're so stupid, Annabeth."

"I know," she said. "I know."

He kissed her again, like he wasn't sure he had already. She didn't want to pull away either. He kissed her, she kissed back, over and over, as they held each other.

"How -" she said between kisses. "How did -?" Then she kissed him again, silencing herself with his lips.

"Didn't think you'd get rid of me so easily, did you?" he teased, his mouth puffy and red from all the contact.

Her vision blurred, eyes swimming with tears. She smiled through it.

"I followed Jason's dad here," he said, his face so close to hers, that she could only see one of his eyes. "You didn't hear it from me, but Thalia is terrible at directions."

Annabeth laughed, that breathy kind of laugh that comes just before a sob. She was so incredibly happy. He wiped her tears again and wiped away some of his own. His grin was toothy and wicked and oh so clever and Annabeth pressed her own smile into it.

She held onto her envelope tighter, squeezed Percy firmer, and laughed like she hadn't ever before.

"You're not getting away from me," he said, his forehead resting on hers. "Never again."

"Never again," she agreed.