Chapter 3: In which Malcolm uses his social skills (Part 3/5)
Once Malcolm had dressed appropriately and returned to the dining pavilion, he immediately noticed how strange (and welcome) it was to see campers, normally with atrocious orange t-shirts, with better getup. What might have been normal for Valentina and others in the Aphrodite cabin wasn't so much for others. It looked almost odd to see Travis and Connor from the Hermes cabin with dress shirts and trousers, but both were looking extra handsome. Billie had also changed out of her overalls into a dress. Ainsleigh, too, made an effort to ensure the pink flowers in her braid stayed in place.
But with each additional dozen people arriving, Malcolm's apprehension grew.
This was going to be a looong night. It was only 6 PM. Sunset would be at 8:27, meaning the fireworks would only occur at 9:30 or something. And seeing as he was Annabeth's brother, he probably couldn't leave before 11.
As far as Malcolm knew, there were five tactics one could deploy to get by during a large social gathering.
Tactic #1, which required the most preparation, was to decide on some "problem" to solve (and to bring along a little notebook and a writing utensil). Be it drafting essays for homework in his former days or making to-do lists or thinking up ideas for the classes he now taught, there could always be something to ponder over. If one could activate the brain, one could remain productive and be too preoccupied to feel awkward.
Tactic #2 was to stick around people you know and like. One issue for this particular event was that the people he was closest to were the center of the party (and, thus, they had everyone else to converse with). A general issue was that his work buddies weren't at work; friendly acquaintances would also have their own people to hang with. But at least he was close to Leo, who tended to be mindful of introverts and engage them somehow.
To really kill time, Malcolm could also resort to tactics #3-5.
Tactic #3 was to look around and walk around. People-watching was one activity in this category, though it could get truly boring to observe people he frankly didn't care to know. But he could observe the decor and appreciate the fairy lights draping over and around wooden panels that were bound to look magical once sunset came. He could also study the buffet, count how many blue desserts and blue cocktails there were, evaluate every dish, and locate the specific dishes he wanted. He could also make rounds and plan out his meal. Twice. That would eat away a combined forty minutes, probably.
Proceed to tactic #4: Eat slowly and drink frequently. Spacing out food intake was key. More specifically, it helped to take a bit of food at a time, so as to be able to kill more time returning to the buffet to take more food. The drawback, however, was to have to return more dishes to be washed. That, of course, meant having to evaluate the unnecessary use of water and soap. (And how could anyone ever be desperate enough to be so wasteful?)
And if one could drink plenty of beverages, one could exploit the last of the low hanging fruits, tactic #5: Take bathroom breaks. There was, of course, a cap—perhaps four bathroom breaks at the very maximum (and this was for longer parties). The optimal number of visits, Malcolm thought, could probably be modeled by a linear relationship. On a graph of hours versus visits, the y-intercept could probably be 2 visits. For each additional hour, there could be—
A girl's squeal snapped him out of his daze.
"Oh my gods. Bae's here!" said a young teen camper.
"Where?!" said another.
Gasping and squealing, a gaggle of girls fawned over Bae's blinding smile, gorgeous eyes, exquisite bone structure, perfect eyebrows, well-defined abs...
Guy's got brains, too, Malcolm wanted to say. Worthy of MIT at that. (But sure. There was no denying such a man had the type of body and face that Polykleitos would've liked to sculpt.)
"From certain angles, you can actually see the shadow from his cheekbones. Ugh."
"Come. On," said a third girl.
"No seriously," said the first.
"Damn, Mika, why you so thirsty?"
The girl named Mika merely giggled.
"She's not wrong, though," said admirer #2 as she played with her hair.
"He's your teacher. He'd never date you."
"Doesn't mean I can't look at him!" Mika said. "Gods, every time the word 'curves' comes out of his mouth… Mmm."
"I know, right?" said the hair-twirling friend. "Like, seriously, in terms of hotness, he's, like, three standard deviations above the mean."
They continued gushing over the son of Mercury.
Little creeps.
'It is weird, but they're harmless,' Malcolm remembered Bae telling Chiara last week before one of their Stats Department meetings. 'And look. The class is over capacity. Everyone's been achieving the learning objectives, and now they know how to update priors and stuff. In the grand scheme of things…'
Malcolm shuffled along, sending a quick hey to Bae, who nodded up in response in the midst of a hearty exchange with his Roman pals.
Naturally, Malcolm found himself on the sides of the pavilion, enjoying the light breeze with a plate of olives (thinking he really should've gotten a bowl).
"Oh, hi, Malcolm. Again," said Ainsleigh, looking at his clothes. "You look nice," she added as she fixed her brown hair behind her ear.
"Thanks, you too." He nodded towards her. "Nice flowers."
"Oh," she laughed. "Thank you. It's my attempt at looking fancy. Parties aren't really my thing. You don't seem like you like parties either."
"Is it that obvious?"
"It takes one to know one, I guess," she said. "And, well, you didn't go to the Fourth of July party."
"I prefer P and Q," he decided to reply. "Did you go?"
He wondered if they could exchange party-coping tactics.
Nah, that'd be too weird and personal.
Ainsleigh told him she had attended the event with her sisters, Billie and Cabin Four head Miranda Gardiner. Both Ainslegh and Malcolm uh-huh-ed and asked questions when appropriate. Malcolm had to be thankful at least that she made it easy to do small talk. She even kindly offered Alicia another opportunity to go berry picking. (Already being productive. How lovely.)
A good four minutes in, Malcolm heard his name being called out, syllables pronounced slowly and intentionally, followed by a wolf-whistle and the presence of a swaggering, impish figure whose face had always been more adorable than hot.
Malcolm returned the favor (not the whistle—because he couldn't whistle). "Damn, Leo," he said, looking him up and down. "Look at you. You're even cuter out of those cargos." He winked.
"And I see you're out of your sweatpants." Leo nodded. "Button undone, sleeves rolled up, that bit of scruff. I'd want to climb you like a tree." Leo waggled his eyebrows. "I'd just take these damn shoes off first. Seriously, these shoes are killing me."
"At least take your socks off, too," Malcolm said.
"Of course," said Leo. "I'd take everything off for you."
Malcolm laughed and gave him a hug.
"Oh! I never knew— Are you… a thing?" asked Ainsleigh.
The men shared a look. "Didn't you know?" Leo said.
"Oh?" she said.
In thirty years. Twenty. Fifteen. There could be patents and papers. Leo had suggested….
"Nah," Malcolm said with an arm on Leo's shoulder. "It's just, if you think your boy looks nice, say so." He faced Leo. "You look very nice." And he did.
Leo sent a pucker and a wink his way. "Thanks, baby."
Malcolm winced on the inside but let that slide. Only Nana had the right to call him that, but he would let that ruin his and Leo's thing.
"So, this is a strong bromance," Ainsleigh surmised, observing them with a calculating gaze.
"Except neither of us are really romantic," Malcolm said.
" Well. So, about six, seven years ago," Leo said, "we started off building our ship—"
"I thought it was your ship," Malcolm muttered, flattered.
"—and two weeks ago, we started laying a lot of pipe," Leo deadpanned, nodding.
Okay, now that finally got Malcolm to blush. "He's talking about New Athens infrastructure projects," he told Ainsleigh. "The water and sewage systems."
"Oh, yeah. No, I got that," said Ainsleigh grinning broadly until she laughed.
Of course. How else would she really have taken Leo's words to mean?
"Or was I?" said Leo next to his ear.
Malcolm pushed him away. "Excuse him. He thinks he's funny."
Ainsleigh apparently thought so, too, which Malcolm knew would make Leo proud. It was impossible not to smile.
"Have I added you on socials?" Leo asked her. "I don't think so."
It took nearly two minutes for Leo to correctly spell "Ainsleigh Callanach" on his phone. (All the better. That was another two minutes gone by.)
"Pray for us demigods with names like that," she said.
Malcolm wondered which of her parents was so thoughtless to have named their dyslexic child with that many unnecessary letters.
When the trio sat themselves at one of the tables Malcolm had set up, he remembered his earlier vow, he faced Leo. "Hey, man. Thanks again for spending time with Alicia. I know you don't have to. She really enjoys it."
"Don't even think about it," said Leo, gripping Malcolm's shoulder. "Uncle Leo's always here. By the way," he scoffed a laugh, "so, she's still using German words for tools. Dude, I still don't understand what she's saying. Schraubenzieher! Schrauben schlüssel!" He shook his head.
Leo proceeded to tell Ainsleigh about Alicia's new project. Pride bloomed in Malcolm as it did every time other people were impressed by his sister. (But not too impressed to think her accomplishments were so unbelievable. There was a delicate balance.)
Just as Leo began to describe Alicia's sound engineering explorations, he got quiet. "I should… say hi, shouldn't I?" he said, staring into the distance.
Malcolm followed his gaze and saw Leo's ex. So she was here, too. The nerve. But they'd all made their peace, so it was best to let go of the matter. (In theory.)
"Calypso!" Leo called out. "Hey."
The former titanness approached them slowly. "Hi, Leo. Malcolm." She looked twice from Leo to Ainsleigh, who introduced herself.
Malcolm gave Calypso the look he'd given her for six years—the one that said, I know what you did. He knew she knew he knew, and that—that he knew she knew he knew—he had known for ages, but he did it anyway.
Of course he knew. It hadn't been difficult to figure out in those endless nights (and days) of hearing his sister's cries of ' Why did you leave me?'
After her father's neglect… after Thalia's sacrifice… after Luke's betrayal… the person she completely trusted—whom even Athena could trust—to never abandon her joined the list she had doubted would stay.
Then add that to the living nightmare that was Tartarus: 'I keep seeing him dead,' Annabeth had cried to him. 'And I did nothing. I couldn't do anything.'
Of course, this had nothing to do with Malcolm. He had no right. After all these years, he still didn't even know Calypso personally. She's nice, they all said.
Oh, she's nice, sure. How about we switch the genders. How would that have looked?
'Sorry, dude, I'm leaving you because I gotta save the world. Plus, I'm not exactly emotionally available anyway because I sort of have these feelings for my best friend. You know, whom I've known for years, in contrast to how I only just met you. However—fast forward two years, during which I was busy fighting battles in a huge war I was a major part of—I'm such a lovely lady that I still thought about you and made the gods swear on the Styx to get you out of your prison, though none of it was my fault.'
'But the gods didn't keep that promise and I'm blaming you' was the response. 'You were so awful you didn't give me a second thought. I'm cursing you, bitch. No, actually, let me curse the guy you really liked. He should know what it feels like to be abandoned the way you and so many others left me. Forget that I don't have a fucking clue what that guy's already been through. He might already be dealing with abandonment issues already for all I care. Forget that he did absolutely nothing to me. Forget that his only crime was to exist and be so outstanding a person that you wanted to be his best friend and potentially something more. Forget that you did actually think about me and tried to help me. Forget that my freedom was one of the demands you made in exchange for your immortality. Forget that you didn't do me any wrong. Forget that it was well within your right to leave me, even if you didn't have a crush on someone else. Forget that no matter how much I loved you, you are an independent woman and I am not entitled to you. Forget all that. I'm cursing your boyfriend anyway.'
What did that look like? Like toxic masculinity, that's what. Some incel lunacy.
But, yeah, she's nice. What a strong woman ….
Malcolm unclenched his jaw. "How are you, Calypso?" he said in just a bit of a tone—not for Leo nor Ainsleigh to know, and not a threat in the least, but a reminder. I know what you did.
Calypso ignored him and took Leo's offered seat.
Malcolm tuned them out and instead talked to Ainsleigh, who wondered what else he and Leo and Alicia had been building. In turn, he asked about the official food guide she was working on with other Demeter and Apollo kids and other health experts. Ainsleigh ranted that the federal government had succumbed to Big Dairy's lobbying efforts to add a glass of milk (or whatever serving of dairy) to the US's dietary guidelines. She assured him that she'd already removed it for New Athens's guide. Based on her team's research, which she said had zero input from lobbying groups and which also made considerations for environmental impact, New Athens's recommended food guide would also use the plate analogy, but would split the plate in just three portions (half fruits and veg, a quarter protein, and a quarter grains).
Malcolm also got to hear about her farmer siblings' joys and frustrations about having entered the avocado industry. He now wondered if regulatory capture was an issue here, but she made no mentions of whether they'd asked for subsidies, and he figured he'd probably consider doing her siblings a favour anyway when the topic moved to Mexican drug cartels that had turned to avocado to make their pesos. The Demeter farmers hoped their much pricier avos could be deemed valuable enough if marketed as American and free from extortions, kidnappings, and murder.
But he and Ainsleigh were clearly running out of topics once they started discussing possible Scottish ancestry. (Apparently, both their names were Scottish.) The need to carry on conversation got Malcolm to add that his mortal brother's name was Irish. (The kid was most definitely not Irish.)
Once Malcolm's eyes caught a tall, chiseled, sandy-haired woman, he thanked the gods for giving him a way out and graciously excused himself—pointedly not looking at Calypso, who, for her part, did the same.
"La Rue!" he exclaimed. "You're not still mad about the game, are you?"
Clarisse swiveled around. Her towering figure cast shadows on him. "Oh, I am, you liar," she snapped.
"I didn't lie."
"No, you withheld information," she said before narrowing her eyes. "You fed Jackson the intel, didn't you?"
"I'm not just gonna reveal our secrets," Malcolm said.
"But you revealed ours? Some shit-ass partner you are," she said. "Remember this the next game Ares faces Athena."
"Well, gee, thanks for the warning. Super kind of you. Now I know I should be on the lookout."
Clarisse rolled her eyes at that.
"You fought well," he told her.
"Yeah," she said, "before my co-leader ditched my ass and betrayed me."
"And I'm a little sorry about that."
"We're supposed to be fighting Jackson together," Clarisse said.
There was a sober silence.
"Since they got back this summer," Clarisse said so quietly he almost didn't hear her, "has he asked for a match?"
"No," Malcolm replied in an equally low voice. "You?"
"No."
Their eyes found their way to the couple, who'd grown beyond the shadow of their former selves. The new kids—Alicia and others claimed over the past several years—had no idea what hell Percy and Annabeth went through. Even some older campers were unaware.
But now… there they were, wrapped up in each other, rambunctious with friends, exchanging whispers, bursting with laughter…. No need for an outlet to unleash any bitter wrath. No need to find safety in the arms of an older brother in the darkest of nights.
"They look well," Malcolm's voice caught on something in his throat, both pained for the past and grateful for the future.
"They look happy. Carefree." Clarisse sucked in a breath. It came out raggedly.
Malcolm wanted to face her. But Clarisse wouldn't be comfortable with that. Too late. He'd already moved too noticeable an amount for it to seem incidental.
The daughter of Ares fidgeted. "I won't tell anyone you did if you don't tell them I did," she said under her breath.
"I have emotions, Clarisse."
"That's not the reputation you have."
"Then people read poorly."
Or they just weren't paying enough attention. Really, who hadn't bawled upon finding out Annabeth and Percy were in Tartarus?
"Can you pass on an anonymous request to Ms. Architect?" Clarisse asked.
"Shoot."
"Chris and I have been in Long Island for a month, and I can't stand it," she said. "We need apartments ASAP."
Malcolm snorted, glad she moved on to a lighter topic.
"She knows," Malcolm said.
"Well, it's no secret she stays in Cabin Three, so, you know, I don't think she gets it," Clarisse said. "The sooner she's done, the sooner Nine can start building, the sooner we can get our apartments, make our celebratory avocado toasts, and have some privacy."
"She's already gotten those requests." (Demands more like. The Aphrodite kids were being very persistent.) "You know there's a schedule. The apartments won't be up until October."
"Dingy motels near camp can't seriously be the only affordable option," Clarisse said. "You wanna know how many times I've run into people doing the dirty here? Three. This week. And this abstinence rule is…." She groaned. "Dead bedrooms are not good for relationships," she declared. "And it was never healthy to begin with to have no personal space for this long. All these horny teenagers who can't get off anywhere but the shower…. Bleh. It's gross. The bathrooms aren't even private. So, for all those people who don't… deal with their raging hormones… well, that's spilling over. I'm starting to think this is unsafe for some people. O Zeu kai alloi theoi! Valentina's told me she and some other kids have gotten some disgusting messages. Turned out, it was a couple of the Romans."
"Which ones?"
"One o'clock," Clarisse said.
She faced her three, allowing him to catch a glance. Malcolm saw a couple guys getting drinks. He recognized one as one of the guys Rhode knocked out with her water horses.
"Add Scott MacDougal to the list," said Clarisse. "You know, ever since the Romans got here…"
"Maybe they're more likely to get caught?" Malcolm suggested. "They're not all like that."
"Bae's not like that," Clarisse said.
"Got that right," he said.
Clarisse smiled amusedly. "I just meant the cabins are filling up even more. So, there's even less privacy now. Or—" She suddenly scoffed and shook her head. "Gods. See ten o'clock. Look at how they're looking at Rhode. Are they stupid? " She was nearly laughing. "She could easily turn them into a puddle of seawater."
Once again, he saw the princess graciously turn down a drink.
"That's the fourth time I've seen that," said Clarisse. "Anyway, seriously. Does Chiron even get it? I thought the Aphrodite kids already gave their presentation about how people with ADHD have a higher tendency to be hypersexual and blah, blah, blah."
"And his stance," said Malcolm, "is that the solution will be here in October. It's less than four months away. Understandably, no one wants to build a camp brothel. Especially when everyone's scrambling to build apartments and cabins. It's just four months."
"And in that time, what?" said Clarisse. "There'll be creeps here. And then who'll have to deal with the creeps? The head of security. And who's head of security?"
"You're head of security."
"I don't want to deal with any more creeps. Don't make me deal with the creeps. I'll bash their heads in and then I'll get in trouble. 'She was asking for it? Well, then so were you, dumbass,'" Clarisse spat.
"You're not going Jon Burge." It was a request. A reminder. A question.
"I am not going to violate UNCAT. Or anything Geneva-related. Holy Zeus," said Clarisse. Still, she shoved him—one of the select few she dared do that to. "We also don't have the budget for reparations."
Malcolm chuckled.
Between them, a comfortable silence passed as they people-watched. Hers was a different kind, he realized. Useful, too. It shamed him a little that he hadn't thought to do this before.
"I heard Rachel said something's going to come up about Afghanistan," Clarisse said.
"Does it matter? So long as we don't think the ICC has any jurisdiction—"
"Fuck you, Bush."
"—how are we gonna do anything but keep excusing war crimes?" Malcolm said. "Which… sounds like quite the oxymoron."
"Heavy emphasis on moron," Clarisse muttered. "Gods. How many more stupid corrections do we have to make here? What a fucking waste of time. We already have enough shit— Oh, Hades, did you hear about that case I was handed?"
"Which one?"
He knew there were several cases she was looking into of some asshat using unnecessary force in training sessions with inexperienced campers. It was fine if there was a genuine accident. It was also training. A few just didn't stop.
"You know the one. A man and a woman walk into a bar…" Clarisse started. "Or the Big House."
Ah. "Both get drunk, hook up, and accuse the other of rape."
Words were trapped in Clarrise's throat. "How do I even—?" she groaned before letting out a resigned sigh. "We'll figure out in time, I guess."
Clarisse returned to her sweep of her surroundings, lingering on her boyfriend Chris Rodriguez for a moment before she focused her attention to her two o'clock. Her eyes landed on Annabeth, Percy, Leo, Piper, Hazel, and Frank snapping some pics of themselves.
"Whoa!" Clarisse yelled. "Who are we?! The supporting cast?! Who do you think led the battles here while you were vacationing in Europe?"
Malcolm laughed.
"Then come here, drakon slayer!" Annabeth yelled back. "You, too, Malcolm!" They gathered Nico and Reyna.
Still gorgeous, still intimidating, maybe forever a bit of a crush, however much it had faded since she made herself totally off limits.
"We should get the Stolls and drop the lovebirds in the canoe lake again," Clarisse suggested to Malcolm as they made their way over.
"Wow, Clarisse. I didn't think you were that sentimental."
"Shut the fuck up, Pace. I'm not sentimental."
"Of course not. Which is why we're taking these group photos for you." Malcolm grinned, dodging the little jab he knew was coming.
"You're just asking for it," Clarisse said.
"For a missed swing?" He slid to Annabeth's other side.
Clarisse's next attempt caught Leo instead, who yelped.
"Sorry. That wasn't meant for you," Clarisse said as contritely as she could get in such a situation.
"Then I'll excuse that," Leo squeaked out.
"Okay, places, people!" Piper directed.
"Say cheese!"
"Where's that fucker?" Clarisse growled.
"Smile, Clarisse!" Leo said.
Then came a chorus of ohs. "He did not just..."
"You know, I guess you did deserve that after all."
"I didn't mean it like that!"
"Oh my gods. Can we take the damn picture already?"
Percy started to laugh.