Part 1

I

Percy was that guy. The one who mostly keeps to himself, but if you mess with him, he would mess with you back. The guy who was polite, but could turn dirty in seconds. The guy who wasn't popular, but everyone knew him.

If you asked a stranger what they thought about Percy Jackson, everybody's answer would be different. Some would say a loner. Others, a nobody. One of the most popular kids in the school once said, "He's a delinquent. A person starved for attention."

Percy was many things, but the one thing he didn't want was attention.

But if we want to understand why Percy Jackson fears the spotlight, we're going to have to go back. Way back. Back when Percy was only 12 years old.

I was having one of those days. One of those days where you wake up feeling bad, and throughout the day it only gets worse. Like, late-for-bus, dog-chewed-homework, forgot-about-quiz-and-failed, kinda days.

Over the past couple of months, every morning, I have been greeted by terrible headaches. For the past 2 weeks or so, it has been getting even worse.

I woke up to the sound of vomiting. It took me a couple of seconds to realize I was the one vomiting. I shot out of bed, running into the hall towards the bathroom. I passed my mom's room, where she was still sleeping. I held my mouth closed to prevent myself from spilling my guts all over the carpet floors. My mom was always complaining that I made it a priority to mess up her clean apartment. I always objected, but maybe, just maybe, I did.

When I reached the toilet, I opened my mouth, and everything came spilling out. Have you ever seen that meme where the cat vomits rainbows? That's what I imagined I looked like at that moment. That thought didn't exactly boost my self-esteem.

I heard fast footsteps as my mom rushed in with a concerned look on her face. Apparently, my vomiting had woken her up.

"Are you okay Percy?"

I opened my mouth to answer when I felt more vomit creeping up my throat. I retched into the toilet, before whipping my mouth with my pajama sleeve. I noticed my mom's frow, but this was no time to be prioritizing laundry.

"Yeah, I'm okay," I managed.

Of course, I was lying. I felt like my insides had been frozen, and then microwaved. I didn't know what was happening to me. Up to this point, the constant headaches, nausea, fatigue, and vomiting had been manageable, but today, I felt horrible.

If you're asking yourself why we haven't gone to see a doctor yet, it's because my mom has been busy for the last couple of months. When I mean busy, I mean 10-hour shifts at the hospital every day. I didn't know how to make dinner last year, and now I'm so good, I could co-host a show with Gordan Ramsey.

"I think we should go to the doctor today," my mom said to me, pressing a wet towel to my head. "Maybe you have some sort of virus."

Or worse, I thought. I had always been a sort of pessimist. Whenever I watch action movies, I would randomly call out, "Well, that person's dead."

Maybe that's why we never go to movie theatres.

"But you have to work today!" I protested. My mom rarely missed work, and I wasn't going to bother her with my little problem, even though I really did want to.

"You're more important," she told me with a smile.

I almost cringed before I realized how caring my mom was being. I don't remember the last time we went to the doctor. Everything had been tight lately because we didn't have much money to spare these days.

"Get changed honey, we'll leave in 20 minutes," my mom called over her shoulder as she walked out of the room. I had stopped vomiting at this point, but I still felt extremely sick.

I quickly slipped into a red shirt and track pants. I walked down the hall to the kitchen, where my mom was making eggs and toast. The sound of sizzling oil and chirping birds calmed me down. The aching in my head softened, and my stomach finally agreed with my idea of food.

A couple of minutes later, I was snarfing down the food, unusually hungry. I didn't exactly enjoy eating eggs, but they weren't so terrible where I would vomit them up, like most things I ate these days.

We put our shoes on and drove West towards a collection of plazas, where we did most of our shopping and stuff like that. We parked in front of a local doctor's office and walked inside.

"Is Doctor Simone in?" My mom asked the receptionist who was sitting behind a big oak desk.

"Yes, would you like to see him?" she replied with a smile in my direction. She had brown hair and blue eyes. She must have been anywhere between 30 and 40.

"Yes please," my mom asked and went over to take a seat next to some other waiting patients. The room was pretty big. Large enough to sit a good 15 people. I saw lots of kids waiting, even a Latino boy with burn marks on his right arm. He smiled crookedly in my direction and I managed a grin in return.

After almost half an hour of waiting, an older man with reading glasses walked into the waiting room and read out my mom's name.

"Sally Jackson?"

"Here!"

"Come on in."

We walked into a white-colored room full of expensive equipment. I remember that I'm supposed to sit on the paper-covered raised bed. I stepped on the stool and pulled myself on top of the blue mattress.

"So what seems to be the problem?" Doctor Simone asked my mom, turning his body to inspect me, looking me up and down.

I shifted my weight uncomfortably and looked at the ground. I didn't do great talking to any adult other than my mom, and whenever I have to, I either talk softly or fast. I remembered the doctor was here to help so I tried to answer at a strong steady pace.

"I haven't been feeling well for the last couple of months," I replied timidly.

Even at the moment, I could feel the aching in my head, and the unpleasant rumble in my stomach. The doctor noticed my wincing and frowned, concerned.

"Why haven't you come to see me earlier…. Percy?" He asked me, looking down at a paper what must have been my file.

I blushed and turned towards my mom, signaling it was her turn to talk. She looked like a deer in headlights before she answered quickly, "It must have slipped my mind."

"Well then let's get you checked out."

The doctor did all the things that they normally do, checking your reflexes, sticking a stick in your mouth, and checking your heartbeat. When he was done with all of that, Doctor Simone asked me a series of questions.

"When did you start feeling sick?"

"About 3 months ago."

"What are your symptoms?"

"Um… headaches, dizziness, nausea and vomiting, and fatigue," I answered.

He took some notes and checked some boxes.

He asked some more questions, all of which I answered 'no' to.

"Last questions: Are your headaches more severe in the morning? And are you having trouble sleeping?" Doctor Simone almost seemed scared of my answer. I noticed lots of worry in his eyes, making me worry.

"Yes and… yes," I whispered loudly. I don't know why but I was reluctant to answer. Almost as if my body was warning me not to.

The doctor's face immediately fell, but he quickly covered it up by looking down to write some more notes.

He turned to my mom who was sitting to the side worriedly. He had that face wherein movies, doctors are giving the patient's family the bad news. I immediately knew something was off. Yup, I was definitely having one of those days.

After a few words, the doctor turned back to me. "Percy, why don't you stay in here while I talk to your mom." After a second thought, he handed me the stethoscope. "Why don't you see if you can hear your own heartbeat."

They exited the room and started talking. I put on the stethoscope and put the rounded end to the left side of his chest. I heard the steady bump in my chest. I thought about how easily someone's heart could stop beating. So many people die every day. Wars, gangs, accidents, pollution. Diseases.

I looked back up through the window where Doctor Simone and my mother were talking.

My mom was crying. Her tears rolled down her cheeks as I watched the doctor tell her something and then walk away. I noticed he looked a little blue as well.

What was wrong with me? Was I sick? But if I had a cold, my mom wouldn't be having a breakdown. It must be something very serious.

Would I have to get surgery? Surgery hurts. I know because I had to get my shoulder put back into its socket. And even that only took one doctor with some latex gloves. And my mom wasn't crying then! What was happening? Did I have a deadly virus or something? Was it contagious? Did my mom have it? Was that why she was crying?

I was so lost in thought, I didn't realize my mom had walked back into the room. Sometimes, my ADHD would cause that kind of stuff to happen. Gaps everywhere. A person would be doing one thing, and the next thing I knew, he was doing a Colombian dance.

My mom hugged me tight, her wet tears rolling down her cheeks, soaking my sleeves. Something about people crying made me want to cry, and that's exactly what happened. We cried for what seemed like hours. When we finally calmed down, I realized I didn't even know what we were crying about, and I was scared of the answer.

"What's wrong with me?" I asked her softly.

Sniff "There's nothing wrong with you sweetie," she replied in a broken voice.

I hated when adults did that. Lie to protect your feelings or emotions. We're not stupid, we can take the truth. But maybe, in this case, I couldn't

"The doctor wants you to go see a professional. He says it could be nothing, but just to be safe…"

"Did he tell you about what," I asked, already knowing the answer.

She hesitated for a few seconds and then answered, "No."

She was lying again, but I didn't want to push it. My mom looked so fragile, like a butterfly caught in a spider's web. Anything would push her over the edge and cause her to start balling again.

"Let's go," my mom suddenly stood up.

"Where are we going?" I asked her.

"Home."