Hello, wonderful readers! Before I let you loose to read the chapter, I would just like to say a quick thank you to each and every one of you. When I first started this story, I hadn't expected to get so much feedback and have so many people reading, reviewing, faving, and following the story. So once again, huge thanks goes out to all of you! Enjoy the chappie.

Chapter 10

Percy Pov

Remember how I'd said that I didn't think that this trip would be pleasureable, yet I would go anyway because it was a chance to connect with the siblings I'd always wanted? Well, I'm started to regret that decision. Big time. You know that you're doomed when you hadn't been in the house for more than five minutes and you'd already been scowled at, mauled by a gargantuan beast these people dare call a dog, and knocked down a flight of stairs. The last one had been an accident and completely unintentional, but that doesn't mean it hurt any less when the stairs repeatedly bitch-slapped me in the face. Although, I've got to say. Those stairs and I really bonded on a personal level in the ten seconds it took to send me tumbling down to the bottom again. Backpacks and suitcases were obviously trying to follow my trend because they too plummeted down the steps. They'd busted open, spilling their contents here and there, while mounds of clothing buried me alive.

From beneath the suffocating-and somewhat smelly-shirts and other miscellaneous items, I heard a voice shout an "I'm so sorry," before jumping to my aid and digging me out of the heap. Once the clothes had been cleared away, a hand stretched out and pulled me into a seated position. The offending person happened to be girl, with brilliant brown eyes as dark and as smooth as chocolate and curly waves of brown hair. The thick, twisting tendrils were the same hue as Triton's: a brown so deep it appeared to be black. A spatter of freckles speckled her nose.

"I'm really sorry 'bout that," she apologized, helping me sort through the mess and packing it back into the cases, "I didn't see you coming." I'd been trudging up the stairs, lugging all my hefty suitcases at once, too lazy to take two trips. I'd just ascended the top step and was about to turn the corner when I was plowed into by a figure dashing through the hallway like their life depended on it. The unexpected jolt had sent me on an unwanted trip down the winding, wooden steps back to point A from which I'd started. "I'm Jess, and you must be Percy." She held out a hand for me to shake; a little formal a gesture, I suppose, but it was a good start at getting to know the family.

"Yeah," I replied, taking her hand and pumping it a few times. "Nice to meet you." Gathering my belongs and stuffing them carelessly back into the suitcases soon became an effort-a tedious one, at that-when the zipper on the bulging bags refused to zip. I wrestled with the metallic clasp, yet I received no reward for my efforts, aside from unzipped bags overflowing with the objects I'd haphazardly smashed into the interior. Sighing with defeat, the two of us dumped out the containts, spilling out articles of clothing and some of my other belongings like a waterfall of brightly-colored fabric. Not exactly as beautiful and graceful as an actual waterfall, but who am I to complain. Jess and I then meticulously folded the shirts, pants, socks and tucked them away, consciously sorting them; filling the gaps like puzzle pieces until the bags finally closed with a satisfying "zip."

"Thank you," I told her, gesticulating to the massive suitcases which had caused an outstanding clutter that would've taken much, much longer had I alone cleaned up the hodgepodge of reminiscent objects that reminded me of home.

She shot me a small smile, "No prob. It was the least I could do after tackling you like a line-backer. Down a flight of stairs, no less." A feminine voice rang out, echoing from somewhere in the puzzling labrynth entwined throughout the house, reaching our listening ears. Jess brushed imaginary lint from her blue denim jeans before throwing a quick, "Catch you later," over her shoulder as she walked away. I grasped the handles of my bags tightly in my clenched hands, preparing for the difficult, strenuous task of hauling numerous pounds up the steps. The ones I'm already wary of.

I hadn't taken a single step before Triton materialized seemingly out of nowhere and offered to lend me a hand. Together, the two of us carried the load up the stairs with no problems, the job made easier with an extra set of hands to bear half the weight. As we reached the top, I stepped aside to allow Triton to bypass me so he could lead me to the guest room. He acted as my guide, twisting and turning down an innumerable amount of hallways for such a quaint, little house. Obviously, the outward appearance was a bit deceiving, as the interior was practically a mansion.

From the few rooms that I'd actually seen, the design looked lavish; with its crystalline chandelier perched at the forefront of the home to greet guests; accentuation walls with vibrant, vivid colors splashed sporadically throughout to emphasize the otherwise manila-colored walls; plush, red carpets hugged the floor, making me feel as if I were walking the Red Carpet. Pillows crafted in a plethora of differing colors squated on the couch, highlighting the wide array of colors implanted around the room like a canvas smeared with varying shades that strangely made the entirety of the room come together, like two halves converged into a whole.

The particular hall Triton and I were heading down was the complete opposite. The walls were a plain, barren white with off-white, floral wallpaper, the flowers a pale pink in contrast to the stark white. Picture frames hung on the wall, each framework depicting a different scene from the past; some of the images displayed occurances, memories, from long ago, as the imagery was faded and losing its voluptuous vibrance while others were evidently more recent. It was an odd feeling, prying into the lives of those who hadn't known another child of Poseidon had ever existed, like I was intruding on their personal lives, their past experiences and memories. It was also a weird feeling to pass by such a spread of photos. Back when my mom was alive, we'd had pictures, but never such an elaborate showcase. Especially not one with the whole family. We had a scarce amount of photos of my beloved grandparents, not nailed to the wall, but tucked neatly away in our majogany book shelf, on display for us to view day in and day out. That way, the both us could be reassured that they may no longer be living, but that didn't mean that weren't still her with us now. In our hearts.

"Here we are." Triton jerked me out of my thoughts with the booming timbre of his voice. We'd arrived at the third to last room on the right side of the hallway, one nearly identical to the last. Triton pushed open the door and ushered me inside before we both dumped our armload of bags carelessly on the floor, sighing with relief from being relieved of the unwieldy burden. I observed the room before me, inwardly sighing at the plain, mediocre decor and white-colored walls that seemed to be the norm for this particular wing of the house. A twin bed, sporting a dull, gray comforter and hideously missmatched brown pillows, was pushed up against the far wall, crammed beside the dresser. Little furnishing resided in the room aside from a black, swivel chair pushed up into the corner and a dainty, bedside table that looked as if it could hardly hold its weight. Gazing at the endless blandness, the stark white of the walls unmarked or claimed by any color, as if they were a blank canvas yearning for someone to paint it with a tantalizing ray of pigment, I suddenly felt a fog cling to my skin like a fresh layor of perspiration. Back in California, at the Chases' house, the room that had once been bare and blank was now decked out in posters of my favorite bands, banners imprinted with sports logos, photos of friends that hadn't been packed in the bundles resting at my feet. The room had used to look similar to the one I was standing in; walls bare; bed neatly made, not a wrinkle in sight; the flagrant white so profound that it made me feel as blank as the shade that coated the plaster. The time it had taken to renovate the room had well been worth it. No longer did the ivory walls put me in a sour mood because the sky blue that now claimed the surface only put me at ease. Homesickness thrashed inside me like a wild beast, tearing and clawing at my gut, fighting to be unleased. I considered letting the demon win out and hop on the next jet home, yet that pesky part of be warred against the thought. It wanted this to work out, to develop a bond with Triton and Jess and the third child I'd yet to be introduced to. It wanted to grow a relationship with those that shared my blood, had the thick, crimson flowing through their veins. I couldn't understand why I felt this way, only that I did, and because of it, I'd taken a first-class trip to Miami.

The two sides of me squared off, turning on each other, their differing opinions fueling their rage until they were engaged in a brutal duel. Returning home and staying here for just a few days clawed and tore and bit at the other, stirring an internal battle that only one could win, until finally one came out on top. Staying here, which I'd decided was the foolish, reckless side of myself, had won out. A heavy sigh flooded out of my lips in one, swift gust of air. I could stay at a place that housed the woman that tore my family apart. But for how long? Three days, I told myself; that's all I'll need.

Too drained to unpack, I dragged the bags across the polished, wooden floor, and leaned them against the wall to sort through later.

"Not gonna unpack?" Triton asked, raising a brow. "It might make the room look a little less-" He scraped his eyes across the walls; the bed; the curtains; and the pillows thrown across the mattress. "- old lady-ish." He decided with a nod, deeming the word a fit description.

"Nah," I mumbled with a shake of my head, "not today." Or ever. But he didn't need to know that. Honestly, I wasn't planning on unpacking my things at all. It would be a waste to yank everything out, only to stuff it back in the bags a few days later. Plus, the straining fabric of the suitcases reminded me that this was temporary, that the life I'd built up was still waiting for my once I got my fill of the crazed desire to bond with my half-brothers. And sister, who I apparently hadn't been informed about.

Triton clapped his hands, rubbing his palms together. "In that case, would you like to go meet everybody?" He shot me a smug smile, a teasing glint in his eye. "I mean, they aren't nearly as amazing as I am, but they're pretty close."

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't keep the smile from my face. "If they're anything like you, then they must be pretty lame."

"Hey, don't hate." Triton flung open the bedroom door with a dramatic whoosh, ushering me through with overly executed hand gestures. "If you wanted to be cool like me, you'd have to stop wearing your Elmo potty training diapers and pull up your big boy undies. But we both know that's a bit of a struggle for you." Triton chuckled at the jest, the booming rumble echoing throughout the room and into the hall.

"About as hard a struggle as you giving up your Hannah Montana CD?" The laughter stopped abruptly, and Triton's expression turned into one of mock shock. He pressed his palms to his cheeks, unhinging his jaw so his mouth gapped open comically, his eyes wide as saucers.

"Now you took it way too far. My girl Hannah was the shit, man."

"You accused me of wearing Elmo boxers. If anything you took it too far." I smiled as a thought popped up in my mind, spouting out of roots and flowering into a beautiful bud. I imagined Triton-tall, masculine, brawny Triton-belting out to 7 things while prancing around his room in a platinum blond wig, thrashing his head around to send the fair strands flying. It wrenched a laugh out of me, one of those stomach-clutching, breath-stealing kind. In other words, the good kind of laughter. The fresh, cleansing type that left your stomach aching and throat sore from eliciting such deep, hearty chuckles.

Triton shot me a weird look, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion, that asked a silent question. What? He tilted his head to the side, almost like a newborn puppy inquiring at the unknown landscape to which it had been brought upon. Opening his mouth, presumably to voice his question, he began speaking, but barely spoke the first letter before snapping his mouth closed with a shake of his head. Obviously, he thought better of it.

"Me? Nah. But when you compare her to wetting your pants, then clearly you cross a line." Triton smirked, swinging a light punch to my arm, and trudged down the stairs-the abusive stairs, I might add. He spun around when we reached the last step and in all seriousness said, "And besides your comeback was completely irrelevent. I have the complete season on DVD, not CD. So ha, in your face." He smiled, briskly continuing the journey through the house before I could retort.

I rolled my eyes and shrugged, jogging to catch up with him.

We ended up in the living room-the one with the chandelier and vibrantly painted walls and the pristine-looking interior. Seated on the black, leather sofa was Jess, a woman who I assumed was the skank, and a little boy perched beside her. His warm, brown eyes-er, eye, considering long strands of brown hair hung over one of them-locked onto mine, a bright smile lighting up his entire face. He was the most adorable child I'd ever seen. The way the gaps from his missing teeth were brought out whenever his lips twitched up into a smile only added to the cuteness factor. Not to mention he had dimples. But what really struck me was the mischievous glint flashing in the chocolate swirls of his irises. It was a glaze my own eyes had held-still do-whenever I'd been scheming or up to no good. It brought back a sense of nostalgia, a lingering of the past that had me aching to freeze that time period and relive it for the rest of eternity. Times had been much simpler then; I'd had that childish ignorance, that wonderful ability to block out the troubles and only focus on the good aspects, oblivious to the hardships that life ensued. Troublemaking had absorbed most of my time and concentration, hindering the negative thoughts from reaching my train of thought, and had developed a deeply-rooted bond between my mother and I. Instead of carrying out what one would call "bad" acts, I would play pranks and jokes; most of them were done at home, meaning my mom was the victim the majority of the time, but she didn't seem to care and took it in good spirits. The best one, though old and overly executed, was when I'd buried a Whoopie-cushion in the couch cushion. My mom, oblivious to the pink, rubbery object taking refuge in the couch, had plopped herself down and induced the boisterous clamor that erupted from the couch. The both of us had doubled over laughing, basking in our mirth and hilarity. Because of that day, we'd started a little, friendly competition between the two of us, setting out to out-prank the other. It had undeniably been what had brought us even closer together, forging the tightly-knit bond we have-had-today.

The woman stood, tearing my eyes away from the little boy. She was rather tall with dark, brown hair-obviously the reason all the children have such a hue-and with eyes identical to those of the younger child beside her. Unlike his eyes though, the woman's were lackluster and somewhat dull compared to the shimmering brightness of the boy's. Sad as it was to say, she wasn't the whore I'd believed her to be, at least not by appearance she wasn't. In fact her clothes were modest and reserved, not the skimpy, miniscule ones I'd anticipated her to clad in order to lure my father. A purple sweater that ended just above her collarbone and a black pencil skirt was the extent of her promiscuous attire, which wasn't much. A glittering, silver necklace hung from her throat, reflecting light whenever she were to move. She eyed me critically, raking her eyes up and down, scanning me as if I were an ancient antique, deliberating whether or not I was worth keeping. Or throwing away.

Poseidon stepped forth, wrapping his arm possessively around the woman's waist, as if to protect her when I went ape-shit crazy at the sight of her. I would love to, no doubt about that, but a) that would terrify the poor kids gathered around the living room and b) this was a new shirt and I'd really hate to bloody it. No, I'm totally kidding on that last one...maybe...but that's beside the point.

The woman rolled her eyes, deeming this action unnecessary, and gently dislodged his arm from her middle. She painted a poorly-faked smile on her face and said, "You must be Percy. It's so nice to finally meet you." Liar. She turned an adoring gaze to Poseidon and gave him a breathtaking smile-a real one this time. "My Poseidy-poo has told me sooooo much about you, isn't that right?" Poseidy-poo? Gods, this lady needed to work on her terms of endearment. No offense-okay, lots of offense-, but they sounded like a form of irritable bowel sydrome.

I quirked a brow at Poseidon, my expression saying What the Funions are you doing to yourself? Notice how I said Funions; ha and mom said I had a bad knack for cursing. Poseidon merely sighed, shrugging his massive shoulders in defeat.

"Yes, Dear, I've been quite excited to have Percy with us." Have? Listen, Old Man, you don't have anything. I thought I'd made that clear that I wasn't staying. Poseidon, having taken notice of the younger boy still seated on the couch, began introducing his children even though I already met all but one. "This my daughter, Jess, and this," he gestured to the little boy, "-is Tyson." Upon hearing his name, the boy-Tyson-shot up from his position on the couch to greet me. He stuck out his tiny hand for me to shake, and I clasped it in my own, giving it a pump. I pulled my hand away only to find a sticky, creamy substance coating my hand.

"Sorry," Tyson mumbled, his cheeks a bit red from embarrassment. "I was eating peanut butter and didn't wash my hands." His mother shot him a look, her eyes chastising.

"Tyson," the woman scolded, her voice firm. She placed her hands on her hips and sighed exasperatedly. "How many times do I have to tell you? After you eat you need to wash your hands. Now go get cleaned up." Tyson scampered off to the kitchen, the sound of the running water hitting the metal basin resounding into the living room. "I'm sorry about that," the woman said, turning her attention to me. She shook her as she looked at the door from which Tyson had left. "You have no idea how much furniture we've had to replace because of his sticky, little fingers."

Replace? Didn't she know that she could just take a rag and some warm water and it would be good as new? I went to tell her such, but I barely spoke half the sentence before Triton shot me a look, darting his eyes to his mother. I quirked a brow, confused at what he was getting at, but snapped my mouth shut nonetheless. Triton mouthed the word perfectionist when his mother wasn't looking; Jess did the same, but instead mouthed, everthing has to be perfect, pish posh and all that. I nodded in reply, signaling that I understood.

The family conversed and listed off facts describing their likes and dislikes to help me get acquainted with everyone and get a feel for their personalities. I found out that Triton was a fan of fishing and had quite a knack for it, the fish practically throwing themselves at the shiny hook and slimy worm attached to it. It was amazing to see just how good of a fisherman he was when he pulled out an old, worn scrapbook pasted with pictures of all his catches. Despite his love for the sport, he actually hated consuming fish, insisting that it felt wrong to eat such a magnificent creature. And I had to agree, not being a big fan of a fish dinner myself. Jess has a fetish for seatbelt belts. You know, the kind that clip by one of those old clasps that are found in older car models. She collects them and clads a random one each day, whether it matches her outfit or not. Also, dance takes up an enormous part of her freetime, as she is deeply devoted to the sport. She is currently on her school's dance team and finally managed to nail the captain's position, in charge of all the routines and songs and competitions and such. Supposedly, Jess wishes to attend Juliard to pursue a career as a professional dancer. Tyson, though still young, plans to be an inventor, which I found to be an interesting profession that he wished to have. Triton had said that there was no doubt in his mind that Tyson would become just that; he had a brilliant mind for someone as young as he was, which wasn't hard to believe, and yet I was still dumbfounded when he raced up the steps and returned minutes later with a glossy, black wristwatch in hand.

"I made it," He said, a proud smile on his face, "with my own two hands." He held up both his palms and waved them back and forth as if to prove his point. "It took forever, but I finally did it. See, it has a blue backlight that lights up the sceen so you could read it in the dark, and it tells the month and year up in the corner. Isn't it great?" He rattled on excitedly, pointing out all the watch's assests and describing how he'd pieced it together. His smile never left his face, and it wasn't just any smile, either. But a brighter, fuller smile that reached his eyes and clearly displayed his pride and admiration of the flashy watch. Astonished didn't even begin to describe how amazed I was at the knowledge that was buzzing through Tyson's mind. Every nook, cranny, crevice, alcove housed a myriad of facts and information that spouted from his mouth, filling up the empty air with inexplicable intelligence. This kid was going to go far. No doubt about that.

Several minutes later, the conversation died down, exposing the room to a blanket of silence that clung to the walls and all in between. The worst part was that it wasn't one of those comfortable silences, the ones that despite the quiet, leave you content and calm and actually embracing the lack of noise. But instead it was tense and heavy and had me fidgeting awkwardly in my seat. The constant glares didn't help much with the tension, in fact only made it ten times worse, but I couldn't be blamed for that. Dad's whore-I'm sorry-wife deserved the blame. She would lock me in her gaze in her peripheral vision and narrow her eyes in what was supposed to be a fierce glare, but fell short. To be honest, it looked more like she was squinting at the curtains behind my head than pelting me with a piecing stare. If she wanted to appear threatening, it clearly wasn't working. If only she had a mirror to see how ridiculous she looked.

"Ugh! This is boring." Tyson groaned, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. He sat slumped in his seat, half his body on the couch, the other dangling off the edge. A pout played on his lips, dampening his cheery mood; the broad smile adorning his face; and the brilliant twinkle in his eye, puffing out the bright blaze into dwindling embers barely lit. Such a look tugged at my heartstrings, pulling and plucking the thick cords like a musician would his harp. Though instead of a beautiful composition, it composed a somber tune, heavier and darker than the light lilt of a happy harmony. "Can we do something else? Something fun?"

"Tyson, you know your father and I are busy. We have a company to run. Unlike you, we don't get the luxury of playing all day." His mom explained, her voice gentle yet still held a steely firmness.

"Please," He begged, drawing out the word. Tyson clasped his little hands together and kneeled on the ground, practically pleading at her feet. "We could all go to the beach. I know how much you love the beach, Dad." His eyes darted over to Poseidon, silently beseeching him for permission.

His mother rolled her dull eyes, quieting muttering, "Always goes to his father. The softie." Poseidon's face visibly softened, his tight jaw loosening drastically, his wide shoulders losing their former tension.

"I do." He flashed a smile at his son, his white teeth gleaming glisteningly and almost inhumanly bright. The man must use some killer teeth whitener. Note to self: wear sunglasses when around Poseidon or blindness can occur. He turned his adoring gaze to his wife, which lost its adoration and became thoughtful. "Amphitrite-" Ahah. So that was her name. "-I don't think it would hurt to take the kids for just a little while. It's been so long since we sat back and relaxed with our children. The company will survive without us for a few hours."

"Dear," Amphitrite hissed with a sharp edge for her voice. She tried to keep her tone pleasant, but it ultimately failed when the jagged pitch sliced through her words like butter. Her head tipped toward the kitchen's doorless threshold, discreetly directing his attention to the room's interior. From where I sat, I had a perfect view of the area within. Clad with the latest appliances, the kitchen glistened from the glossy, red stove and microwave. The fire engine gleam reflected throughout the room, making the kitchen look new and recently renovated, tricked out with the latest of today's technology. In the very center was a brown, marble island, which acted as a plateau for the everyday items scattered atop it. Car keys, cookbooks, magazines, matchbox cars-probably Tyson's-took refuge on the alabaster countertop. But what caught my attention wasn't the miscellaneous items but a stack of envelops pushed to the far end of the counter.

I glanced at Amphitrite, then back at the envelops, determining that those were what captured her focus. Why she felt the need to bring them to Poseidon's attention, I didn't know. But I felt that they were important and were a playing role in the reason why Amphitrite seemed reluctant to dump her plans and go to the sandy shores with Tyson.

"Tys-" Amphitrite began to retort, turning back to the boy still perched on his knees, hands clenched together, but was cut off by Tyson's shout.

"Would if Triton took me?" Tyson suggested, his eyes wide and a hopeful smile etched on his face.

Triton shrugged, "It's not a long walk."

Amphitrite merely shook her head in response, not giving it a moment of thought. "It'll be dark soon, and I won't have my children meandering around town while it's pitch-black outside. And you can't drive there; Triton doesn't have his license yet."

Without hesitation, I said, "Well, I do."

Amphitrite shot me a glare-again falling way short of menacing. Clearly, she wasn't a happy camper with the offer. But it didn't matter just then because someone else appreciated it, and he was infinitely more important to me than the woman eyeing me like a pychaotic hawk. The brilliant glint returned to his eye, and the megawatt smile powered on full-force.

Poseidon sent me a nod of approval, openly displaying he was proud of me partaking in events with the family, for doing a kindness for Tyson when without me being here, he would be shuttered up in this house dreaming of the beach and its cool, crystal waters than actually being there to experience it firsthand. He stretched his lips into a small smile, beaming with confirmation and acceptance, yet I simply held his gaze, unsmiling and face blank as the walls in the wing upstairs. Truth is, I didn't want his approval, his acceptance, not anymore. Before I'd actually met him, been thrown into this very moment in time, I'd wanted nothing more than for my mysterious father to return, come back to my mom and I where he would fill the gapping hole that he'd left in my mother's heart. A hole that, despite being healed though the years watching me grow and develop, had never really gone away. His betrayl had hurt my mother more than she'd let on, having never fully trusted the sincerity of a man the same as she once did before. As a child, I'd been unaware of this, but as I grew up, the man I'd placed on a pedastal and buried in my heart had evolved into the monster with the blackened, charred heart that ripped my mother's into shreds. Left for me to pick up the pieces and glue them together. Make her whole again.

Tyson catapulted up the stairs-I'm guessing to get his swim suit-before his mother could get another word in to protest. Triton and even Jess followed suit. I too ascended the steps, but not before receiving yet another failed death-glare from across the room.

Minutes later Tyson, Triton, Jess, and I were huddled into Poseidon's black SUV and cruising down the road, windows down and wind whipping though our hair. The world whizzed by, blurring past in an undiscernable array of vibrant colors. We arrived at the beach moments later, the warm sand permeating heat through our skin and toasting the bottoms of our feet. The soft grains rubbed against our feet, feather soft, and massaged away the aches and tension from being up on my feet for so long. Waves rushed the shore and surfaced seashells and long lost items cached within the tide. The ultraviolet rays of the sun rained down upon us, baking my pale skin and materializing red splotches-the begining of sunburn. I made sure we all lathered up on sunscreen before going in the water and getting roasted by the scorching sun. All of the them-Triton, Jess, Tyson-had pale, pasty white skin, myself included, and had acquired the red blotches brought upon by the sun. Evidently, all of us had the same issue: the inability to tan without being burned beforehand. The only time I ever have that golden bronze glow is when I forget to put on sunscreen, get fried to a crisp by the sun, and the burn fades into an even tan, concealing the pale with bronze.

I was watching Tyson and the others-primarily Tyson though, as he was the youngest-, keeping a close eye on them, ensuring that none of them was in need of any help and weren't going out to deep, when I bumped into another beach-goer. He looked like the everyday surfer boy, with his blond hair and sky-blue eyes that match the hue of the vast sky above to a T. He was perfectly tanned-the even bronze that I was talking about earlier-and was rather tall, maybe an inch or two taller than myself. Although his height was a bit deceiving, it was apparent by his facial features that he was younger than me. Two or three years younger at most. A thin scar, curved in the shape of a crescent, sat atop his upper lip.

"Sorry, man. Wasn't watching where I was going." I drew my gaze back to Tyson, worriedly scanning the sea until my eyes found him happily splashing and jumping through the waves with his brother and sister. My heart rate settled back to the normal number of beats, placated by the sight of Tyson safe above the surface of the water unlike below where I'd feared he'd be. I wouldn't be so worried if he were older like Jess or Triton, who were fully capable of reaching the botton no sweat and towered out of the waves with feet to spare, but Tyson was so short and young and small, easily able to be sucked below the surface and lost within the surf.

"Nah, it was my fault." The boy mumbled, apologizing. "Trying to get away from the water. Not a big fan. I'm more of a flying sort of guy." He gazed out at the glittering water with a fearful look on his face, as his eyes scanned the glass-like surface and roamed over the waves pounding the shore.

I chuckled, finding it ironic that I was just the opposite of what he described.

"Nice, real nice," The boy sneered, under the impression that I was laughing at him for having such a peculiar fear. He pushed past me and began trudging down the sand.

"No, no, no. I wasn't laughing you." I shouted, spinning around to face his retreating back. I wasn't sure he was going to stop but keep wandering down the beach, thinking the boy with black hair is an asshole. Instead, he halted as the sound of my voice reached him, so I quickly continued on. "I just thought it was funny that you hate the water and love flying while I hate flying and love the water."

"Oh." The boy pursed his lips, turning his body so he was facing me and slowly walking back toward me. He paused in front of me, unsure what to say and clearly a little embarrassed from storming away just then, as a cloud of vivid red flooded his cheeks. Moments of silence ticked by, neither of us saying anything yet not leaving and going on with our own way either. I couldn't quite pinpoint it, but there was something strangely familiar about this boy, despite me having never met him.

After another beat of silence, I stuck out my hand for him to shake and said, "Percy." He clasped his hand in mine and gave it a pump or two before muttering...

"Jason."

So, yeah. Jason has made an appearance and popped up out of the blue. Haha, water puns. Anyway hope you enjoyed the chapter and don't forget to leave a review! 6 more and we break the 100 mark! *Insert excited squeal here*

~TwistedTrident~