Changing Tides
Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.
Summary: They had attended the same school for years, passing each other by like ships in the nighttime. Then, everything changed. High School AU. Percy/Annabeth. OOC.
Rating: T for language, and mild adult themes.
Author: tlyxor1.
Chapter One:
Percy's POV
I appreciate routines. They're constant, they're reliable, and they rarely ever change. In life, where most everything is made unpredictable by the fickle nature of humanity, weather patterns, and technological fallacy, there's something comforting in the unchanging nature of the routine my days have fallen into.
It is, perhaps, why I am so out of sorts when my routine is disrupted.
The day is Friday. I have a football game after school, and I have a swimming meet to look forward to the next day. I'm in the library, seated a table fit for four, and elbows deep in the homework I don't want to worry about over the weekend. I've been slogging my way through it all week, and I've only got Chemistry and English left to complete, and my free period is almost over.
I'm in the midst of justifying why the name 'Desdemona' implies a lot more than an exotic character from Shakespeare's 'Othello' when a girl clears her throat slightly to my left. She's clad in the cheerleading uniform, with Barbie blonde curls pulled into a high ponytail, and dark grey eyes framed by golden eyelashes. She's pretty, with plump pink lips, hourglass curves, and legs a mile long.
Her name is Annabeth Chase, she's as smart as she is unattainable, and I've never spoken a word to her in my life.
"Hi," she greets, "Can I sit with you? There are no tables free."
Indeed, the library is fairly busy. I've had my headphones in, but there's a freshman class - English, I think - that takes up most of the open seating, and the study carrels don't offer much by way of space. Thus, I nod, start my music up again, and return to my homework without a word.
The next half hour passes uneventfully. I finish my English and half of my Chemistry, and as the bell sounds overhead, I gather up my things, deposit my phone and earbuds in the pocket of my blazer, and meander my way towards the cafeteria. The halls are crowded around me, chock full of underclassmen and my fellow upperclass peers, but it's not until I reach the cafeteria that I find my friends.
Jason Grace, whom also happens to be my cousin, is already seated at our usual table, accompanied by the usual suspects: Leo Valdez, Frank Zhang, Grover Underwood, and Will Solace. I retrieve some lunch and join them, and shortly thereafter, another of my cousins, Nico Di Angelo, does too.
Lunch is spent in easy conversation with my friends. They talk about weekend plans, and complain about homework and teachers and parents, and I contribute on occasion, and before long, the hour is over, and I'm headed to my last two classes. Jason shares them with me, and we pass through Business and Legal Studies without incident. Afterwards, we make our way towards the locker rooms.
"Dad sent me an email this morning," Jason says, "He mentioned he'd be by to watch the game."
Jason's dad, Zeus, is the owner of the national airline, Olympia Airways. He used to be a pilot for Delta, but he bought them out years ago, and these days, Olympia dominates the market. It means he's filthy stinking rich, which means Jason is by default, but I suppose I have no room to point fingers.
"Do you think he actually will?"
"Would yours?"
I shrug. Poseidon, my father, owns Atlantic Co. It's predominantly a cruise line, but it's also a pool and spa manufacturer. It makes and sells smaller boats too, jet skis and sail boats and such things, and it, unsurprisingly, means that Poseidon is absurdly busy.
"I've stopped caring, either way."
Jason nods his understanding, we reach the locker rooms, and we speak no further regarding the matter. Instead, we get changed and chat lightly with the rest of our team, and we pass through the usual pre-game warm up exercises with only mild complaint. The strategy session takes place afterwards, and when that's done, Jason riles the team up, gets us ready and rearing to go, and leads the charge towards the field with his helmet tucked under his arm.
The stadium is already full, the din of hundreds of people - mostly strangers - loud in my ears. The divide is obvious by colours, blue and white for Rochester Prep, red and black for Albany Academy, and the crowds are as hyped up as we are.
The cheerleaders are egging them on, as exuberant and as spirited as ever, and despite myself, I somehow seek out Annabeth Chase's Barbie blonde ponytail among the masses.
I imagine she feels my eyes on her neck, or perhaps she's looking for me too, because I meet her gaze from halfway across the field, and she gives me a smile. I return it awkwardly, offer her a wave, and return my attention to Jason, whose in the midst of another pep talk - one which the rest of the team listens to raptly. Before long, however, the referee arrives, we get into our positions, and the game begins.
The game passes in a blur, really. I play my part, and support the others where necessary, and we win 32 to 26.
"Good work, Cap," I tell Jason later, dressed in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. The rest of the team have already headed to the post-game party, and although Jason is sure to join them in a few, the only plans I have tonight are with my XBOX and a box of pizza.
"You too, Perse," Jason answers. He slaps me on the back as we leave the locker room. "Do you think he showed up?"
I point out the two people at the far end of the hall. Jason's father is there, but so too is mine, and I suppose it's answer enough. I'm surprised though, because normally Poseidon informs me when he's going to stop by, and half the time, he never actually does.
"Dad," I greet, a short distance away from where Jason stands with Zeus, "What brings you by?"
"I had the evening free," Poseidon explains, "I thought I'd come watch your game. You played well."
"Thanks," I acknowledge, card a hand through my hair, and contemplate my father. Poseidon stands in front of me, an inch shorter, but just as broad in the shoulders. I bear a lighter complexion than he, courtesy of my caucasian mother, but I still harbour his mediterranean tan, and the same sea green eyes too.
"You're not going to the party?"
"I have a swimming meet tomorrow," I answer. "I was just going to have a quiet night in."
"How about dinner with your old man, instead?"
I'm inclined to refuse, but I think of Mom, and change my mind. She's always tried to make sure Dad and I have a decent relationship, and although I've resigned myself to the fact that Poseidon will never win Father of the Year, I can't bring myself to let Mom down.
"Alright," I acquiesce, "I just have to go get changed."
Rochester Prep has two boarding houses, on opposite sides of campus. The layout is specifically designed to discourage on-campus fraternisation between the boys and girls, but most of the students are too busy, or too focused, to even consider it. There have been a few scandals, of course - most memorable being between Thalia Grace and her then boyfriend, Luke Castellan - but they're few and far between, and fairly legendary besides.
On the fourth floor of Jefferson House, Jason and I share a dormitory. It's fairly simple; a bunk bed, two small wardrobes, two study desks, and a small chest of drawers each. Jason provided the 24 inch television that hangs across from our bunk beds, I provided the game consoles, and we each went halves on the games.
I deposit my messenger bag on my desk chair, and my duffel at the foot of my bunk bed, and take the opportunity to throw my football uniform into the laundry hamper. As I do, my father observes the photo wall Jason's created above our desks; pictures of our friends and family, of memorable moments throughout our time at Rochester. There are very few of Zeus, Poseidon and Hades, but there are plenty of our respective siblings - Nico and his sister, too - and many more of our friends.
"You and your cousins are very close," Poseidon observes. I occupy myself with changing into more appropriate clothes, and I idly wonder if I should feel modest with him there. I don't - probably a consequent of the fact that modesty is shot to hell on the swimming team - and I'm dressed in only a few moments.
"Guess so," I acknowledge, "Should we go, then?"
Poseidon agrees, and after a brief stop at the garden room to sign me out, we approach the guest parking lot with mildly awkward conversation. He asks about Tyson, my 13 year old brother, I ask about Triton, my 22 year old half brother, and we make idle chit chat about our lives. The business is going as well as usual, I'm still averaging an A- across the board, and by the time we reach my father's Porsche, we've run out of things to talk about.
It is entirely unsurprising, really, and I sigh to myself. It seems that, despite the ever-changing nature of humans, there are some things regarding my father that will always remain the same. It is a comfort, I suppose, if a not so pleasant one, and I try not to dwell on it. Instead, I drop into the passenger's seat of my father's car, get comfortable against the tan leather, and anticipate the dinner ahead. I simply wish I could say the same for the company.