chapter seven: help you sleep
2005 arrives and crashes over Percy like a flood that threatens to submerge his head. He's okay, though. He's learned to depend on Annabeth, Piper and Leo a little more, to remain present and visible within their tight-knit group rather than shutting himself away when things get rough. But, God, things can get rough. Percy sometimes can't stop scrutinising himself with a careful eye, searching for the reason behind Gabe's indifference that could swing brutally to contempt at any time. What's wrong with him? Some nights, Percy lies awake and yearns for a family like Annabeth's so badly that he can barely breathe.
School is monotonous—there's no other way to describe it. Still, walking into class every morning and seeing Annabeth is the highlight of his day, no matter how tired he is. Every week, he helps her and Piper with their photography projects. Annabeth's pretty good at it, which is surprising.
Piper mainly does it for fun, but he can tell Annabeth's starting to take it seriously. She often talks about submitting her work for various competitions when she gets good enough. Percy can't completely understand her drive—often, her excitement just washes over him. Still, he supposes it's kind of like his job at the machine shop. He desperately wants to understand cars so Lucy can sign him on as a real mechanic when he's old enough. It's a hopeless thought, but by the time he hits high school he dreams he might have enough money to move out of the trailer and into some shitty apartment in town.
Percy's present sometimes seems so bleak that thinking about the future is all that keeps him going.
It's a quiet Thursday in early April, and Percy's lying on the floor in Piper's room, holding one of her prints up above him. He squints at it, turning the photo this way and that. "What's this meant to be?" he asks, mostly thinking out loud.
Piper turns around from her desk, Converse flying out from her spinning-chair. In her hand is a pair of scissors, which she's using to cut up and collage her prints. "Oh, that. It's a reflection in a puddle. Mr Lee wanted me to try something a bit more abstract. I dunno—I had a vision. It didn't come true."
"Yeah, I can tell," he mutters. He drops the print by his head, heaving a sigh. "I'm so bored."
"Same," Piper agrees. "Wanna do something?"
"Like what?"
She shrugs. "We could go into town. Get something to eat."
Percy doesn't have any better ideas. "Yeah, okay."
It's hot outside, so neither of them take a jacket. Percy's on his skateboard, and he skates in circles around Piper as she walks along. The rough, cracked concrete below Percy sends vibrations up through his ankles, threatening to topple him, but he's used to these streets. He knows he won't fall.
Suddenly, Piper grabs his sleeve with urgency. "Hey, watch it!' he protests, only just regaining his balance.
With a grin, Piper points at the ice-cream van across the road. "I've got some change. You want one?"
Percy tries not to salivate. He hasn't eaten today and an ice-cream sounds amazing right now. "Okay. I'll pay you back tomorrow."
Piper rolls her eyes. "Percy, they're like a dollar each. Don't worry about it."
"You sure?" Piper doesn't bother with a reply to the question, already striding towards the van. Percy glides after her, kicking his board up into his hands when they reach the window.
The lady inside gives them a beaming smile. "Well, hey. What can I do for you?"
Piper squints up the sign. "Can I get a Solero?"
She nods. "And for the gentleman?"
"A bubblegum popsicle, please," Percy says.
"Of course, love." Piper pays her, and she hands over the change. Soon, a bubblegum popsicle is pressed into Percy's hand.
They sit on a bench in the square to unwrap their prizes, letting the sun wash over them. A busker is standing in the middle of the square, crooning into a microphone as her hands wander over the keyboard in front of her. Her black hair is twisted into dreadlocks and her softly moving lips are painted with red lipstick. Piper and Percy listen, entranced. "I wish I could perform like that," she says wistfully.
"Maybe you can."
"What?"
"Well, you're not gonna know unless you try. Besides, we already know you're a good singer." They lapse into silence again. Percy starts on his popsicle.
"I'm gonna go up to her," Piper decides out of nowhere.
"What? Why?"
"I'm gonna ask how I can learn to perform like her." Standing up, Piper hands him her half-eaten Solero. "Stay here. I'll be back in a sec."
"Wait—" Percy starts, but Piper's already gone. He watches with interest as she walks over. She stands by the woman until she finishes her song, then steps forward. The woman smiles at her and says something Percy can't quite make out. Piper replies, gesturing. Their conversation lasts for a few minutes. Soon, the woman returns to her keyboard, this time coaxing out a simple instrumental.
Piper walks back over to Percy, grinning. "That was so cool!"
Percy hands back her Solero, which is now mostly melted. "What did she say?"
"All sorts of stuff. She suggested I find a music group or try out a singing tutor. I should learn an instrument, too—she said the guitar is pretty easy to learn and it compliments vocals nicely."
Piper's excitement is contagious, and Percy finds himself mirroring her smile. "Reckon this could be your calling?" he asks.
She shrugs. "Like you said, I won't know until I try."
They finish their popsicles. Piper won't stop making fun of Percy's blue-stained tongue, but he doesn't mind. As they walk away from the square, Percy catches Piper glancing back at the busker, something akin to longing in her gaze.
For the next month, Piper is determination incarnate. She makes Percy, Annabeth or Leo sit with her while she practices guitar, listening to her dissonant chords that slowly turn into something a little more coherent. She rarely sings in front of any of them, though. Percy can't make sense of this, at first, until Piper tells him it's because singing reminds her too much of her dead Grandpa Tom who'd first introduced her to music. Still, Piper works through it with the same headstrong ferocity she applies to all her endeavours.
At the same time, Percy knuckles down on his work at the machine shop. Lucy is surprised at how fast he progresses. Her praise spurs Percy on, and he works even harder. By the time June rolls around, Percy's starting to do real work on cars. "I'm reluctant to let you do this," she tells him once on the way out of her workshop, "but you've got more passion than any of my employees. When you're old enough, I'll be more than willing to offer you a job as a real mechanic."
Her words elevate Percy to cloud nine. "Thank you, ma'am," he tells her stiffly, trying not to let his elation bleed through into his voice.
Lucy notices. She smiles, patting him on the shoulder. "You deserve it, Percy. Now, go lock up. It's late." Her appreciation is addictive. Percy thinks this must be what it's like to have a parent who's proud of you.
As usual, summer brings a unique atmosphere of happiness unlike any other. As he's so often working outside in the machine shop courtyard, Percy's skin tans more quickly than usual. In contrast, Annabeth's blonde hair lightens, gaining streaks of flaxen white.
Even when Gabe's spite becomes physical, he feels beautifully detached from it. The good things in his life are enough. Stuff that happens in the trailer can't pollute the rest of his life so easily anymore. It's the main reason he never lets any of the others come back to the trailer park. Denial works, and it often seems like the only way forward. The whole summer passes in this manner, rolling by inoffensively. For Annabeth's birthday, Percy saves up and buys a new charm for her necklace: a small silver camera. Annabeth loves it.
Turning twelve is weird. In a year he'll be a teenager, but he feels as young and naive as ever. It doesn't help that Annabeth is taller than him—he thinks when he has a growth spurt will be when he finally feels old. For his birthday, she gives him a charm, too: a sleek blue bead that glitters with tiny rhinestones. Percy slides it onto his bracelet alongside the silver P. He wears it with reverence, terrified of losing it. When he's in the trailer, he always tucks the bracelet into his sleeve. The idea of Gabe seeing it and ripping it off him is sickening.
When November arrives, Percy is unexpectedly and painfully wrenched out of the false sense of security he's been lulled into. He's gotten cocky, started being less careful about hiding his job at the machine shop from his stepdad. Gabe confronts him one day after school with a scowl, slamming a hand down on the table. Percy jolts, his pencil skidding across his math homework. "I was talking to a friend at work today," Gabe says. "He told me that he always sees you going in and out of the machine shop in town." There's a long, sickening pause. "You wanna tell me why that is?"
Percy shrinks. "I uh—I got a job."
"Are you a fucking retard? Speak up!"
Holding tight onto the pencil in his hand, Percy forces himself to meet Gabe's suffocating gaze. "I got a job," he repeats, bracing himself.
Gabe leans in close. He stinks of cigarette smoke. "I'd like to know why the fuck you didn't mention it. Bet you wanted to keep all the money for yourself, hm?" He smiles, slow and unhurried. Instantly, a cold sort of anxiety washes into Percy's stomach; smiling always turns out worse than shouting. "I'll be speaking to your employer tomorrow. Lucy, isn't it? I'll find out how much you earn, and you'd best believe it's all going toward the bills. You do live under my roof, don't you?"
Percy can't look him in the eyes anymore. "Yes, sir."
"You're a little ungrateful shit, aren't you? How much cash have you got hidden away?" Gabe jabs a finger into Percy's chest, and his smile turns ugly. "You better go get it for me, or I'll turn your room upside down myself."
Percy's hands are shaking. As he stands up, he curls them tightly into fists in an effort to still them. The few steps it takes to reach his room feels like a lifetime. He opens his door, feeling his vision tilt. Kneeling down, he takes the mason jar out from under his bed and hands it to Gabe.
Two years worth of earnings, gone. His chances of moving out when he hits high school diminish right in front of his eyes. He wants to kick and scream, to argue back, but his body isn't his own anymore. It belongs to the iron fist that has settled around his ribcage. Percy feels himself fade away, tune out the barrage of shouting Gabe plunges into. The universe around him moves like mercury through a thermometer as time slows down. He feels Gabe slap him across the face, and as he staggers his hearing returns like a blast of cold air. "—dumb kid! What the hell do you have to say for yourself?"
"I'm sorry," is all Percy can manage. As he speaks, he feels hot blood drip into his mouth. His hand moves without his volition. When his fingers press against his top lip, they come away crimson. The colour is a shock to Percy's senses, a fracture in his sight. "I didn't mean—"
"Shut the fuck up," Gabe shouts. He shoves Percy against the doorframe, knocking the air out of his lungs. "Get out," he orders. "I don't wanna look at you for another goddamn second."
Percy scrambles to his feet, head spinning. He turns and walks away, knowing that if he runs then Gabe would just come after him. Instead, he steadily walks to the door and opens it, almost unable to unlock the latch. Like a zombie, he closes the door behind him and walks down the steps. Silent tears run down his face, mixing with the blood on his mouth. "God," he mumbles. He lifts the hem of his sleeve to his face and dabs at it, but the effort doesn't do much. He scrubs more viciously, suddenly wanting the blood off his face so badly that he wants to scream. "God. God." He sits down heavily on the bottom step of the trailer and stares into space. His body still won't associate with his mind, so he doesn't force it to.
Ten minutes pass until Percy stops shaking. He's not crying anymore. Willing himself not to fall over, he stands up. Where can he go? He looks left and right, a little dumbly. There. Rachel's trailer. He makes for it, almost tripping over his feet.
He knocks on the door once, then twice. Nothing. He does it again. This time, Rachel comes to the door. Her curly hair is loose and she's wearing pajamas. "Fuck you," she grumbles, rubbing her eyes. "I had to get out of bed and into my wheelchair to come open the stupid door." Then, her gaze latches onto Percy's bleeding face. She gapes. "Oh, wow. Are you okay? What happened?"
Percy doesn't answer her question. "Is your mom in?" he asks.
She shakes her head. "No—no, she's in town with a friend. Percy, seriously. What happened?"
Percy unclenches his hands, realising they're still curled into fists. "Fell down the steps of the trailer."
Rachel barks out a laugh. "Sure. That's why you've shown up here rather than just going home."
"Rachel, please…" Voice breaking, he squeezes his eyes shut. "Please don't."
Her expression softens. "Okay," she says. "Come inside. I'll help you wash that blood off your face."
True to Gabe's word, he goes and speaks to Lucy about Percy's paycheck the very next day. Percy's certain that she'll tell him, that he won't be able to save any money from his job. When he shows up for his shift, Lucy looks worried. "Jackson, you alright?" she asks. "Your dad dropped by this morning. He was mighty rude—shouted in my face and demanded to know exactly what you earn."
Percy grimaces. "Yeah, I thought he would. What'd you tell him?"
Crossing her brown forearms over her chest, Lucy arches a brow. "I told him you earn a quarter of what you really do, of course. What, you think I'd screw you over?" Percy exhales in relief, sagging slightly. She goes on, "Men like him always get what's coming to 'em. If he shows up here again, I'll have a bone to pick with him. Mark my words."
Hesitant, Percy smiles. "Thank you." In fleeting, uncertain ripples, hope begins to flow back into his chest. Three quarters…it might be enough. Especially if he manages to land a second job somewhere.
"Yeah, yeah," Lucy drones, waving away his gratitude. "I don't like anyone walking all over my employees, particularly if they're as much of an asshole as your dad." Turning to walk away, she calls over her shoulder, "Finish up with those receipts as quick as you can. I need help with an oil change."
The fact that Gabe has found out about his job is a vindictive nightmare with a dull silver lining. Though Percy no longer has to worry about keeping his job a secret, he now has to build his entire savings up from scratch. He starts taking more shifts to make up for the loss, something that Lucy only allows because she knows he's making less now. He also asks for a job in the diner—it pays far less than his gig at the machine shop. Due to his age, he receives less than half the minimum wage. A fraction of that, after taxes.
Still, he's grateful for it. The prospect of moving out in high school is a far-off fantasy, but it seems attainable again with every day that passes after the incident.
He has almost no free time, but he tries to make up for it by hanging out with Annabeth and the others as much as he can and always doing his homework at hers rather than at home. Whenever he talks about work, though, a concerned look crosses Annabeth's face. He already knows her opinion on the fact he works so much. He tries to explain by telling her that he's just saving for college, but it's clear she doesn't quite believe him.
It's a cold Thursday in January and Percy's sitting on Annabeth's soft carpet, trying to do his English homework. They're studying Macbeth, and hell if Percy isn't completely and utterly lost. It's due first thing in the morning—Percy hasn't been able to snatch a spare second earlier in the week to get it done. He absently chews on the cap of his fountain pen, reading the same passage in Macbeth over and over. He's supposed to write a twelve-mark essay on this scene—the Captain's speech—but none of it makes sense to him. To what extent does the Captain portray Macbeth as a quintessential hero? He scours his brain for an answer but comes up depressingly empty-handed.
"Percy? You okay?"
He jerks his head up to see Annabeth peering down at him from up on her bed. She's lying on her stomach, chin resting on her forearms. An endeared expression is on her face. Mouth dry, Percy asks, "Huh?"
"Are you okay? You haven't stopped staring at that one paragraph for the past five minutes."
He sighs, rubbing his eyes. "Sorry. Just feeling spacey." With a groan, he flops backwards. "I hate essays."
"When's it due?"
"Tomorrow."
Annabeth gets up off the bed and stretches, then sits down crossed-legged beside him. "Oh, is this that essay about the Captain's speech?"
"Yes," he mumbled.
"You know we've had a week to do it, right?"
"I know, shut up. Just haven't had any time."
Ignoring him, Annabeth picks up the extract sheet and a highlighter. "First of all, find some quotes relating to the essay question." Pointedly, she highlights brave Macbeth and bloody execution. "Alright, now think about it. Any others that could work?"
Percy thinks for a moment, then points uncertainly to a line. "Like valour's minion carved out his passage?"
Annabeth smiles, highlighting it. "Nice. Valour relates to the trope of a quintessential hero, and carved out holds connotations of savagery and violence, which causes Macbeth to seem…?" She gestures for Percy to follow on.
"Ruthless?"
She grins, which warms Percy to the core. "Right on. Okay, now jot that down as a bullet point."
They spend the next half an hour working on Percy's essay. By the end of it, they're left with the best response Percy's ever come up with. He hugs Annabeth, elated. "You're amazing."
Annabeth's ears go red. "Don't worry about it. You barely needed any help."
"No, seriously. I think I kinda understand English Lit now."
Annabeth laughs. "It's really just a matter of actually, like, following the structure they recommend and giving your opinion in a formal way."
Percy stares at her. "God, you're so smart," he says, and immediately wishes he could stuff the words right back in his mouth.
She shoves him lightly. "Whatever." Heaving a sigh, she flops down on her bed. "I'm so tired."
Percy lies next to her, gaze vacant as he stares up at the ceiling. "How come?" he asks absently.
"I haven't been sleeping well recently," she murmurs. "Helen thinks it's insomnia."
He shifts to look at her, frowning. Annabeth's got one arm cast over her face, covering her eyes. "What's insomnia?" he asks.
"Don't completely know. Just that my brain won't switch off even when I'm exhausted."
"I'll make your brain switch off for you." He reaches over and boops her on the forehead. "Beep, beep. Powering down," he drones, all robot-like.
Annabeth tries and fails not to laugh. "I really wish it worked like that."
Percy's silent for a moment. "If it'd help you sleep, I wish it did too."
Annabeth turns her head to look at him. In the dim light, her normally ash-grey eyes are darker than charcoal. "You must be tired as well," she tells him. "You work way too much. You must be breaking some sort of child labour law."
He nods. Luckily for him, Lucy and the old-fashioned couple who own the diner don't care too much about that kind of thing. "Well, at least I can fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow."
"Still." She raises her thumb nail to her teeth, chewing on her raw cuticle in that way she always does. "College is so far off," she muses. "I'm nowhere near as proactive as you, with your saving. Don't think I've ever even see you buy a milkshake when we go to the diner."
He doesn't say anything. After a moment of deliberation, he makes a rash decision. With a drawn-out wince, he says, "It's not all for college."
Annabeth looks confused. "What's it for, then?"
He sighs, already regretting saying anything. "Nothing. Don't worry."
She gives him a look. "Well, now I'm curious!"
He really, really doesn't want to tell her. "I said don't worry," he insists, voice harsh and grating without meaning to be.
Annabeth opens her mouth to speak, then closes it again a few heartbeats later. She nods slowly. Being prideful creatures, it's taken years of friendship to learn when not to push. They've been through countless episodes of painful trial and error that often end in arguments. Right now, Annabeth seems to get the sense that she should leave alone. "What time have you gotta be home?" she asks instead.
Percy glances up at the clock on Annabeth's wall. It's past ten, but he isn't worried. Gabe's probably still passed out drunk on the couch. "Not quite yet," he responds.
"Then…do you wanna go make some hot chocolate?"
"Sure." He pauses. "Are there any mini marshmallows left over from last time?"
She smiles, and Percy feels winded. In a good way, though. "There might be."
thanks for reading, and for all the lovely reviews on last chapter! let me know what you thought of this one. I kind of love the concept of annabeth helping percy out with his homework when he doesn't have time to get it done :,) as usual, the next chapter will be up on wednesday.