I was one of those kids who absolutely abhorred any type of schooling during the summers.

I mean, c'mon, man. Summer is my chill-time, my designated three months away from such torture.

I work my ass of during the school year(I really do), in preparation for letting it all loose from June to September without having to worry about any type of bad grade juju and all that.

So I was understandably pissed when I found out that most of my schedule at this stupid camp was filled with lessons.

At least we had interesting classes.

Really interesting. My type of interesting.

So, yeah. I'd let it slide. For now.

Chapter Eight

Over the next few days, Riker found himself settling into some kind of routine—it seemed almost normal if you didn't count the fact he was getting lessons from mythical beings.

Every morning he took Ancient Greek from Annabeth—and he really didn't need it, they both realized, since Riker's dyslexia practically just read it for him. It was like that with Latin and, for some reason, Japanese as well, but neither could figure out why. Annabeth wondered why this wasn't true for any other demigods. As she had nothing to teach him, Riker mainly spent that time teasing and getting on Annabeth's nerves—the blond was too stubborn and prideful to tell Chiron that Riker didn't actually need her lessons.

Most of the rest of the day Riker would just rotate through the outdoor activities, such as the epic challenge course that was set up in the arena as a public spectacle on Wednesdays, apparently; and he found that he enjoyed diving down into the lake and helping out the naiads with their household chores—salting the seaweed that washed in from the sea, raking up the leftovers of dinner and settling it into the underwater flowerbeds—a freshwater coral reef—and such things. They absolutely adored him, and he soon found himself helping out the nymphs with their chores too when the naiads gossiped about him to them.

Chiron had decided to teach Riker archery. Or, he had, until Riker proved he was excellent enough at it already. It came from hours spent at the shooting ranges back on his street, a little ways down from his apartment building. Of course, that was with pistols and rifles, but he'd discovered that the aiming was pretty much the same concept and had only needed two hour-long lessons to get the hang of it, and soon had it down to a science by Thursday.

Now, the foot-racing with the nymphs was fun. He suspected they went easy on him, since they'd grown to hold a soft spot for him due to his aiding them in their chores and such. He would say it was a bit humiliating to be slower than a tree, but the nymphs had had centuries to perfect the skill, due to being chased by lovesick gods and whatnot. He didn't blame them. He wouldn't have wanted to end up with Dionysus either.

He enjoyed wrestling, really. He'd get together with a group of Ares kids, and sometimes a few of the Hermes or the Hephaestus kids would join in, and they'd all take turns pummeling each other into the ground. He'd always come out of it sweaty and covered in dust but that was always remedied by a quick shower in the bathhouses. It was usually a cold one, but he didn't mind that as much as the other kids, even some of the Ares campers, did.

He actually didn't hate canoing as much as he thought he did when he was forced to take part in it. Tipping over the other canoes with the help of the ever-so loving naiads was fun, really.

And the other classes? They were great!

Like wrestling(getting permission to beat each other up).

And swordsmanship(literally swinging large, sharp blades in each others' faces and not getting in trouble for it).

Then there was foot-racing(you'd think it would be boring, but it's practically chariot racing on foot, sabotage and all included).

And trying to shoot each other in the asses in archery(it was encouraged).

He knew the other campers were watching him, to see what he would do. He didn't necessarily blame them. He would watch him too. But, ego aside, he knew why. They were all trying to figure out who the Minotaur Slayer's father was. He did have his own guesses, only three, and none of them were the one he wanted, oh so desperately.

Despite the stalker-ish tendencies that seemed to run in everyone from this camp, he really did enjoy it. He loved the morning fog that came over the beaches, and the distinct strawberry smell—though it got old at times and he'd practically demanded that the Demeter cabin grow raspberries, watermelon and persimmons; his favorite fruits—he even adored those strange noises that the monsters in the woods made at night. They were like his personal lullaby and he liked falling asleep to them, perched up on top of the Hermes cabin roof. He was right about that, too. No harpy's had come to devour him in his sleep so far.

He usually dined with the Ares kids for dinners, but he liked to move around during lunch and sometimes chatted with the Hephaestus campers. Many of the other campers bristled at his supposedly free-reign to sit at whatever table he wished, but it seemed that Dionysus didn't even notice the slight envy directed at Riker, who was widely-known as his favorite camper now—aside from the wine-gods own children, the twins from Cabin Twelve.

He'd quickly developed a reputation around camp. He was known to the senior campers as "that tough younger kid who eats nails for breakfast and is buddy-buddy with the Ares kids." The rest of the campers saw him as "that scary new kid that Ares cabin likes." The nymphs and naiads adored him for being "that sweet, strong teen who helps out around the camp," and the satyrs mainly knew him as "Lord Dionysus' favorite—don't upset him."

He liked his "most awesome non-Ares camper out there" status within Cabin Five, and his "annoying, irritating but undeniably-smart jerk" with Annabeth.

Then, that Thursday, he'd been given his first sword-fighting lesson. He actually didn't need those either, having taken fencing and many related classes the summer after joining the gym. What could he say? He was an active guy.

The teacher was Luke, who was widely claimed to be the best swordsman in the last three centuries. Riker just couldn't see it, though. The blond was thin as a twig. Sure, he had some muscle, but Riker's were far more impressive.

"Good luck," one of the campers whispered to him as he made his way to the center of the arena, him and Luke surrounded by the rest of the class. Luke had announced that he'd be Riker's partner, since it was the Jackson first time. Riker just scoffed and rolled his eyes, waving the well-wishes—or rather, the scornful words—away with a dismissive hand. He was feeling extra arrogant, today, so he'd decided that morning to lay the bratty attitude on very thickly. It sort of helped that he had some skills to back it up, though.

Luke blinked at him and raised an eyebrow when the teen came to a stop in front of him, empty-handed. "Where's your sword?" A few of the campers snickered. "If you don't have one, you can go grab one from the rack over there." He pointed to the nice display of weapons to the group's left.

Riker yawned. "None of 'em feel right. Besides, I don't need those ones. I've got one." Here, he slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out the pen he'd, ah, liberated, from Chiron back on the field-trip.

The class broke out into laughter, several of the younger campers pointing at him and jeering loudly. "A pen?! What are you gonna do, draw a mustache on him?"

"Write an essay?!"

"Ha!"

"You wouldn't even be able to—"

Click.

They all fell silent as Riker tapped the end of the pen—which was a bit strange, since he'd been quite certain the thing had had a cap when he'd first used it—and a three foot long, gleaming bronze weaponed morphed from the pen in his hand. The hilt was as comfortable as ever, and he gripped it with certainty. He guessed it weighed about five-pounds and it was balanced a hell of a lot better than any of his weapons back at the apartment in his closet.

He blinked. Oh, gods. He hoped to god—well, Chaos, then—that Gabe hadn't gone into his room. If he had, then Riker would be entitled to rip him an entirely new one...

He looked back up, and fought down a smirk. Luke had subconsciously fallen into a defensive stance as he examined the sure hold Riker had on the sword. "Celestial bronze? Where'd you get that?" He asked warily.

Riker hummed. "A certain Latin teacher."

They looked at him strangely, but decided against commenting. Luke drew back his own weapon and took in a breath. "Alright," he decided. "So you look like you actually know what you're doing here."

At Riker's curt nod, he continued. "So I guess we can skip the complete basic and move on to a more difficult move." Riker tensed at the sudden glint in the teen's eye, and felt his muscles instinctively tense up.

"A move like..." Luke trailed off, eyes snapping up to meet Riker's. The two opponents were frozen, facing one another and the campers around them didn't dare talk,-they barely breathed at the sudden atmosphere. Luke's legs tenses, and Riker subtly fell into a defensive position to catch an oncoming strike, knowing what Luke was about to do.

"—this!" The blond suddenly, like lightning, surge forward and brought up his sword in a backward swing, only to bring it forward with deadly accuracy. Riker's eyes narrowed as he brought up his own weapon just in time to meet the oncoming blade. A loud clang sounded, and the Jackson's ear twitched. Suddenly, no one was there but Luke. And the blades.

Luke pulled back with a concentrated look on his face, blond brows furrowed. He brought his sword up in the other direction with a sure swing, but Riker was there immediately, blocking his blade and stopping the sword from getting a score on his own hilt. Luke gained an small frown of slight irritation and Riker held back a humph. So maybe the guy was secretly a sore loser?

Riker parried Luke's next blow with an upward thrust and made a quick step backward, examining his opponent. In the next few blocks, he realized which move Luke wished to demonstrate, and smiled. He stepped up to Luke and started to bear down on him with more force. A look of surprise flitted across Luke's face at the new attitude but it was quickly sealed behind the teen's iron wall of defense and Luke smiled, realizing that Riker understood. With a grunt, they broke apart and sized one another up, before falling back into a series of parried blows until they were at another standstill, blades trembling against one another. They looked up at the same time before breaking apart once again, and Riker sent Luke a nod. It was going to happen this next round.

This time, when their blades met, Riker moved his own down a little more towards Luke's sword's hilt instead of going at overpowering him straightforwardly. He gave his own weapon a deft twist and thrust downward. Sure enough, despite Luke's admirable strength at keeping a hold of his weapon, the blade went skidding across the dirt floor.

Riker huffed, a triumphant smirk upon his face as he stared into Luke's equally satisfied eyes. The other teen was just as enamored with the recent spar as he was, despite his loss. The rest of the campers were completely silent.

Luke spun around with a grin. "And that, students, is how to successfully pull off the disarming maneuver! Well," he added, rubbing the back of his head as the adrenaline levels dropped, "one of them."

The class murmured amongst each other while Luke turned back and came over to slap a hand to Riker's back, grin still in place. "That was fun. Most of the campers aren't up to my level, so I haven't had such a spar in, well, ever. Not since Chiron taught me."

Riker only smirked up at him and twirled his own blade in his hand. He found the 'switch' at the butt of the hilt and tapped it a certain amount of time. The sword shrank back down to it's pen form. The others watched it with quiet curiosity.

"Spar again sometime?" Luke sounded hopeful.

"Sure." Who was Riker to deny him a good fight?

Ω Δ Σ

Riker crossed his arms around his legs and pressed his forehead to his knees. He sat at the edge of the dock that saw out over the lake. He seemed to come here a lot, now that he thought about it, to either help the naiads around the house, tip canoes or swim a little. That feeling of weightlessness that the water presented, and he couldn't stay away for long. It was like his habit of chewing ice.

A habit. Yeah, it was just a habit.

He squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a deep breath. Something felt empty. Somewhere in his torso. His chest—no. Not his chest. His chest was fine. His stomach. He was hungry.

Liberate some food from the kitchen area? But dinner wasn't for another few hours, and they wouldn't be cooking anything.

Go find some nymphs to make him a snack? They loved him to pieces, they gave him food all the time if he asked nicely.

But... He wasn't hungry. His chest felt empty. Not his stomach. He'd just had lunch, hadn't he?

No, that was two hours ago. He was hungry again. His chest was fine.

With a drawn-upon sigh, Riker stood himself up and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his cargo pants. Today had been a little chilly, so he had his red wife-beater under his mesh today, and a nondescript black hoodie instead of his leather jacket. He'd considered putting his combat boots on, but had felt lazy and hadn't wanted to spend time lacing them up. He could have slipped on the pair with zippers instead, but he'd gone for his black basketball shoes in the end.

As he stepped off the dock, he reached on hand back to flip his hood up before shoving it back in his pockets and made his way over to the edge of the forest. He didn't see the naiads surface in the water of the lake behind him and stare after him with worried expressions.

He entered the woods and came up to a random Juniper tree. Sitting down at it's base, he resumed his earlier position and rested his head on his knees, eyes suddenly heavy. What, was he sleepy now? He thought he was hungry. He closed his eyes, before slowly shaking his head against his knees and opening them again, with some effort. He couldn't fall asleep in the woods. There were things out there. Things that were much hungrier than Riker was, and had Riker flesh-programmed taste buds.

"Riker?" A gentle voice spoke from above him worriedly. "Are you okay?"

One of the nymphs, then. Probably the one tied to the tree he was leaning against. He took in another deep breath and blinked his eyes a few time—what, was he sick or something. "N-yeah. 'M fine."

He heard some rustling, and then silence again. The nymph had probably left, back in her tree or something. He sighed, closing his eyes again. They were stinging a little at the corners, like they did when he stayed up for movie marathons—but that didn't make sense. He'd slept soundly the night before, why was he tired now?

"Riker?"

He blinked. Who was that...? He lifted his head up. "...Goat-boy?"

Grover scowled. "You said that if I stopped calling you Percy, you'd stop calling me that."

Riker stared at him, then rolled his eyes. "Right. Sorry..."

Grover nodded.

"...Mr. Tumnus."

The satyr bristled in annoyance. "You're doing that just to annoy me, aren't you?"

"Ah. See, now you're learning."

Grover let out a sigh and waved the worried nymph away before flopping down next to him. Riker stared at him from half-lidded eyes, before letting his head ball back down against his knees. Grover frowned in concern. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

He didn't look convinced. "Are you sure? 'Cause I can—"

"I said I'm fine, Grover." Riker snapped.

The satyr steered his eyes toward the ground quickly, looking away. He was still frowning, though.

Riker stilled, before letting out a short huff and hugging his knees tighter. "Ah, never mind. I didn't mean to bite your head off..."

Grover looked back up and stared at him thoughtfully. "You know, if you need to talk to someone, I'm always here."

Riker sucked in a breath, eyes widening only a fraction. He didn't think the satyr noticed. Riker's chest twinged with a deep, dulled pain.

The only people who'd ever said something along those lines to him were his mother, and his coach at the gym—Coach Leonardo, but everyone called him Sensei. He suddenly felt cold, alone, and way out of his depth.

Riker's eyes watered and he squeezed them shut. Grover saw that—and he leaned forward.

"You're not okay, are you?"

It wasn't a question.

Riker surged to his feet and took off into the woods, going deeper than he'd ever before. He didn't even touch his pocket to check if the pen/sword was still there—even though he knew by now it always returned. He just ran.

"Riker! Wait, where are you going?!"

The satyr called after him, but he didn't chase after him, and Riker was glad. He knew this feeling, the tightness in his chest—because it was his chest, he admitted—and the lump in his throat, the pull at his eyes. He didn't want anyone—anyone—to see him cry. He never let anyone. Not even his mom had ever seen him cry, at least not past age four.

He eventually collapsed against a strange rock outcropping deep in the woods and brought his fists up to press into his eyes sockets, shaking, his body trembling. A soft sob escaped his throat before he bite it, and the rest, down in frustration. He was shaking like he was out in the cold without a jacket, trembling from the chills, like that night not too long ago, in that storm...

His head suddenly shot up, and this time the trembles were tainted with suppressed rage.

In the middle of summer, Long Island never got storms of that magnitude, and to just suddenly get one, practically aimed at him, at them, when they were...

A lightning bolt.

A storm too large for life.

He'd been struck by lightning, they'd been struck by lightning.

Fucking Zeus had fucking struck them with goddamn lightning.

On purpose.

He knew the man thought he'd stolen something of his, maybe, kind of, but to kill him? What was the King of the gods, a jackassed little kid throwing a fucking tantrum?

On the all, it was Zeus' fault his mother was dead.

"Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit..." He clutched his head, curling into a ball. "Dammit, dammit, fucking dammit..."

There was the crunching of leaves nearby and Riker fell silent. The sound paused, before footsteps became more hurried and someone dropped to their knees near Riker's shoulder. "Rike? Hey, hey, what the hell? What's wrong?"

Riker stiffened and blinked his eyes rapidly as he jerked his hands away from his face. Large, frowning, red-rimmed silver orbs stared up at the blond girl who knelt with a hand on his shoulder. Clarisse's eyes widened when she caught sight of her face, and she glared at a tree, slamming her fist into an open palm.

"Who did this? Why are you over here? Did something happen" She growled out, trembling. "I'll pulverize them, promise."

Riker sighed again and let his head drop. "It's nothing, 'Reese."

"Like hell it is. Don't lie to me."

"I'm fine."

"You're crying."

"I'm not crying!" He twisted into a kneeling position to glare back at her, as her fierce look was now directed at him. "I don't cry."

Clarisse stared at him, before releasing a huff and flopping down under the outcropping next to him. "Right. Of course not."

Riker's eyes searched her very blank face for any sign of deceit. Apparently he didn't find any, since he relaxed and braced his hands behind his head, leaning against the stone. Clarisse let out a rough bark of a laugh, and pinned him with a dry smile. "Yeah. Neither do I. Okay."

She still wasn't very happy with how she'd found him, and Riker could see that. He shifted to his side to look at her, twirling his pen/weapon between his fingers for a moment, looking thoughtful. He suddenly smirked.

"Hey, so I was looking at the pen-dash-sword the other day, and notices something. Check this." He clicked the end of the writing utensil as she looked on curiously, and out sprouted the gleaming bronze sword that they expected. Except, this time Riker turned their attention toward the base of it, right above the hilt. He turned it in the light and showed her the flat of the blade.

"Look," he pointed out with a finger, other hand tightly gripping the handle. He slid the digit over the smooth surface of the sword until it encountered rougher terrain. "Greek letters."

Clarisse leaned in and squinted. "It says..." He looked up and met his blue-eyes stare. "Anaklusmos."

"Riptide."

She nodded, leaning back. "Is that the thing's name, then?"

"I'm guessing." He clicked the end of the weapon again and it shrunk back down. He looked up at the top of the rocky outcropping. "I mean, it sure as hell ain't the name of a past owner or whatever. Who the fuck would name their kid Riptide?"

She snickered and elbowed him in the side, and they both fell into a scuffle, laughing. Riptide tumbled into the leaves, but Riker wasn't too worried. It would appear back in his pockets later.

Eventually they both fell down on their backs, panting. Their clothes were dusty with the dry dirt that lay under the mound of boulders, and their brows were slick with thin sheens of sweat from roughhousing too hard.

Riker looked over at her, the back of his head scraping against the ground. "Hey, you'd be an awesome sister."

She turned her head and grinned, a few clumps of dirt clinging to the back of her own hair. Riker wondered if his was that bad. "Thanks. I hope I can be, for real."

He nodded, looking back up at the sky. The few clouds that had been roaming it's vast expanses had vanished into fine transparent curtains and the horizon had turned a ripe shade of periwinkle. "Totally. Ares as my dad would be totally legit. You and the other Ares' kids are already like my siblings, so the only thing that would even change all that much is me moving in with you."

Clarisse laughed, arms wrapping around her stomach. "We already have a bunk with your name on it!" She kicked her legs up into the air and they watched a stray pebble go flying.

"Hmmm," Riker allowed a smirk to encompass his features. "I don't know. I'm beginning to like roofs. Very comfy. I might not be able to go back to such a measly example of a resting place..."

She reached over a hand to whack him, but it only flopped down useless onto his shoulder, the back of her knuckled hitting his collarbone. They' both exhausted themselves. Riker, and even Clarisse, had great endurance, but it was towards the end of the day already, and their twelve-year-old bodies could really only take so much.

"Hey, don't knock it 'til you check it out."

"I think it's "don't knock it 'til you've tried it," so that's a useless saying, really. I've already tried them."

"That's why I re-worded it!"
He snorted. "A bunk."

She giggled. "Shut up."

"For me," Riker batted his eyelashes with a grin. This time her hand hit it's intended target. His face.

"Ow!" He shoved her arm away. "Okay," he grinned. "It's a little late. Guess we've been out her for longer than I anticipated. What time is it?"

She looked at the sky. "Six."

"Really?"

"Ish." She shrugged, and sat up. He copied her, and they both pulled each other to their feet and dusted off their clothes. "We should head back now. It'll take at least half an hour to reach the cabins from Zeus' Fist, and Dinner's an hour after that." She stretched her arms above her head. "I need a shower."

"Zeus' Fist?"

She jabbed a thumb at the rock pile behind them. "They named that in honor of Thunderwear. I don't see why. It's just a pile of rocks."

Riker followed after her as she began to make her way toward the pathway that lead back to camp. "Are you kidding me? Who'd want a mound of pebbles named after them? Doesn't he already have a cabin, too? How many things does he need 'in his honor'?"

She spun around and braced her hand behind her head, facing him while they walked. "Don't know. He's got a bit of an inflated ego, if you ask me."

Riker snorted. "That's for certain. 'Hey. See that pile of rocks over there? Yeah, they named that after me,' isn't gonna work when he's trying to pick up chicks."

She chuckled and punched him in the shoulder. He rubbed it and looked back at her with a rueful grin.

"Oh!" She said, turning forward again when he'd passed and began to walk ahead. She quickened her pace to match his and gave him a sidelong glance. "You know that satyr that lead you to camp? What's his name..."

"Goat boy?" Riker raised an eyebrow, and she smirked.

"Yeah, him. Greg or something. No, Grover. Like from Sesame Street."

Riker cackled.

"Anyway, guess what happened!"

It was Riker's turn to walk backward, and he crossed his arms. "Yeah?"

"So, he really wanted to get a searchers license, but when he failed in bringing you here safely, he lost his chances at his career in looking for the lost god, Pan—that's what the searcher's license it for—and now he can't leave camp on quests with demigods either, seeing as you were his second chance and all."

Riker raised an eyebrow, ignoring that slightly guilty feeling inside his chest. His stalker was locked inside this property now, slightly because of him. But it was only slightly, mostly the satyr's fault, so Riker pushed the thought away. "Aw, no more field-trips for Grover?"

She nodded slowly, distracted by a dragonfly buzzing in her ear. "Uh-huh. And now that he's not in the running for a license, Mr. D'll probably put him on stable-cleaning duty, or something." She laughed. "Y'know, for the Pegasi and whatever else they've got in there."

Riker stared at her, wide-eyed, before he clutched his stomach and laughed. "Seriously? Well, I guess. The goat-boys are like, what, the janitor team of this place?"

"Technically," she said, after considering the idea with a grin. "But don't let them hear you say that! They can really keep grudges, and the revenge isn't anything pretty. Your satyr probably wouldn't do anything, but there's some ones with a real nasty temper out there."

Riker grinned. "Careful. You almost pushed them into the "Dangerous Creatures" category."

She scoffed. "As if."

They walked further along the path, trading jeers and teasing back and forth at each other. They were about halfway back to camp when a voice called out from ahead of them. They paused their banter and looked up to see Jesse running toward them, waving a hand in the air. "Hey! You guys, I've been looking everywhere for you! Where've you been?"

"Zeus' Fist," Clarisse shot back, grabbing Riker's arm as they raced up to meet him halfway.

He looked surprised. "That far out?"

Riker saw Clarisse flash a glance in his direction, and nodded. "Yeah, he told the bouncing child of Ares. "I just needed some time alone, but I guess this girl couldn't leave me alone."

Jesse snickered with a hand over his grin while Clarisse scowled good-naturally and punched Riker in the shoulder. "Hey, it's not like a stalk you!" She defended.

"Nah, " Riker agreed. "That's Goat-boys job."

The three friends laughed as they made their way out of the woods. Riker didn't even realize that the tightness in his chest had vanished until they had to head to dinner. He caught himself rubbing his diaphragm, and grinned at the blond and the redhead scuffling around him as they walked, Clarisse holding Jesse in a headlock and Jesse kicking his feet back in an attempt to trip her. He didn't feel so home-sick anymore.

Not that he'd ever admit he had in the first place.

Ω Δ Σ

Aa, I'm sooo sorry for not updating in a while. I know this is more of a filler chapter than anything, but I hope it isn't too boring and that you guys can hold out until I can get the next installment up.

I've decided to have Riker paired with the winning girl from my poll, for now, but ;) It's a surprise. I'm really excited about this. Sadly, the surprise won't show up until after/during the Titan's Curse arc, but I'm sure we can all be patient.

Thank you for reading and please, please, please review~!

~Scylar X