I ripped off whatever Nathaniel told me to wear and found Marc's darkest clothes; black ripped jeans and a blood red turtleneck. I didn't care if I was in someone else's life; I'd upgrade it with my style..

I also ruffeled his hair to look a lot like mine from my body and washed his face clean of any make-up. I would've trimmed his eyelashes if I had scissors. I would've also knocked his pointed jaw to size.

Despite my efforts and the nerve it took me to not yell at Nathaniel for all the times he yelled at me to hurry up, I still looked girly. Very Marc-y, even.

'You want me to hurry up?' I said, emerging from the closet. I even made Marc's voice sound tougher.

'Duh?' Nathaniel replied, nodding.

I extended an arm. 'Give me your jacket.'

'What?'

'You heard, viso rosso.' I said. 'If you love your school or perfect attendance record, then hand it over.'

'You're being weird.' Nathaniel said, following my orders. 'Is this your Guy PMS thing again?'

'Guy—' I almost hit myself; or Marc. 'Yeah. Maybe. Let's go.'

'You're forgetting your makeup.' Nathaniel helpfully gave me a stick of lipstick that I slapped to the ground.

I didn't talk to him on the whole walk to school. I was too concentrated on trying to shadow-travel back to Camp Half-Blood. After many unsuccessful attempts and run-ins with signs and other pedestrians, I started to think of what to do.

If I told Nathaniel who I really was, he'd either dismiss it as Marc's Guy PMS (What the heck does PMS even mean?), or think I was crazy talking about a camp for the children of gods—plural. Like it was easy to believe even God existed; by telling him there were living gods in America that usually hooked up with mortals, I don't know what he'd do.

Asides that, I had to find a way out before I started blabbing. Maybe it was a sick prank Connor and Travis made their dad do. I could clearly see it: O Great and majestic Hermes; make Nico di Angelo switch lives with the gayest highschooler in the world.

Singular or plural; divinities were cruel. If highschool's anything like I've heard, Marc's rockstar hair would've been from an eternity of swirlies and locker stuffings.

It was a good thing he had me for now. For example, when someone slammed into me.

I almost tripped, but demigod training let me know quick enough to stay on my feet. But this girl, who looked perfectly balanced for the millisecond I saw her, suddenly fell to the ground.

'Nathaniel!' Drama Queen whined. 'Your boyfriend pushed me!'

'I didn't.' I said flatly.

'Of course you did. And you won't even help me up?' Drama Queen looked so pitiful she reminded me of Drew Tanaka. 'Please. I've sprained my ankle.'

Nathaniel reached for her, but I stopped him. 'If you need help so badly, let me get a nurse. I mean, from the way you're acting you might need to get bone-reconstruction or an amputation or—'

'Stai zitto,' Faker muttered.

'Vai a Tartarus.' I silently responded.

'Guys; stop. You've been at this for almost a week.' Nathaniel, once again helpfully, carried Faker in his arms. 'Don't mind him, Lila. He's kind of off today.'

I fists clenched. If only Will were here. I'd first make him cut off both of Liar's legs, then tell him he's a better boyfriend than Nathaniel will ever be.

'Marc,' Called this girl with blue hair. She looked like Marc's sister, or who he was supposed to be if Prometheus—the guy who made humans—wasn't on a deadline. 'Hurry up. It's almost time time for class.'

Oh. This is school.

Sighing, I followed her.

'Hey; this isn't your class.' The girl said playfully. 'Which reminds me; where's Nathaniel, where's your makeup, and why did you go total goth today?'

'Nathaniel's with Liar—I mean, Lila. As for the rest, I wanted a change.' I said. 'Where's my class, though?'

Marc's Twin led me right to my class's doorstep. Now that was helpful. (I'm talking about you, Nathaniel).

The second I walked into the class, I was surprised Marinette saw it as weird I went goth.

The teacher was probably my sister, judging from her funeral black gown and long grey hair. Who the Hades was I to not be goth.

'Bonjour, Marcus.' Goth Teacher said. 'S'asseoir rapidement, merci.'

'Che?' I asked. My Italian wasn't all that top notch to begin with; now this woman's speaking French?

'Sit down, she-man.' Ordered girl with unnaturally pink hair. She looked stern, but also half asleep.

'Your français has deteriorated.' Goth Teacher said with a thick French accent. Her deteriorated sounded like dé-teer-e-or-ra-tid. 'Class, pouvons-nous luis rappeler?'

The whole class stood up suddenly, their heads held high and their hands on their hearts.

'Allons enfants de la Partie

Le jour de gloire est arrivé!'

Seeing no alternative, I mouthed the Italian national anthem.

'Louder, Marcus.' Goth Teacher said. 'Vous les dirigez comme le capitaine de navire!'

I barely got "you", "captain", and "ship".

So it was wasn't surprising what came out of my mouth next.

'Stringiamci a coorte

Siam pronti alla morte

Siam pronti alla morte

L'Italia chiamò—'

'C'est Italien, Marcus!' Goth Teacher roared. 'Comment osez-vouz? Après tout je suis passé par la? Après tout ce que je vous ai dit que je suis passé par?'

'She's asking if you learnt nothing from seven months ago.' Said a boy who might have either idolized or influenced Marc; he wore makeup, too.

'I'm confused.' I said.

'That's why I'm telling you.'

'Sit down or get out of my class!' Goth Teacher said. 'We are going to memorize the national anthem like your lives depend on it!'

Eat. I realised I was hungry. I should've had chicken nuggets from the dining nymphs by now.

I calmly sat down at the very back, wishing Marc had a darker hoodie I could've borrowed for this exact situation.