I am so, so sorry for leaving you hanging for an insane amount of time. I'm FOUR DAYS late! Wow, I'm so late with this, it's not even funny. Actually, being late is never funny. But my muse was a treacherous swine, and I was doing school shopping, and finally I forced myself to write, and thankfully, I came through and wrote some stuff! I'll still try to update this Friday like normal!

To clear up any confusion beforehand, the first part of this will be written in Sally's POV, just to change things up a bit, and for the second I'll switch back to Percy's. The line break is where that POV-switching action happens! Most of this is major filler though, haha, not a whole lot of anything, really.

Thanks to those who reviewed since I last updated: Mandi2341, creamtherabbit77, Marines-end of story, and Sunny (Guest). You guys make me happy when you fill my inbox with feedback! I'm sorry if I forgot anyone, because I was in a major hurry typing up this AN! I use too many exclamation points!


Percy started third grade two months ago, and so far, nothing has happened out of the ordinary. However, I know better than to expect it for much longer.

When I dropped him off at school this morning, he waved goodbye and smiled, just like every other day, but behind that sweet nine-year-old smile was an unmistakable tinge of worry. Even he's beginning to realize there's something about him that isn't normal. No child should have to live like that. Many days I ask myself, why do I let mine?

The answer, if I'm honest with myself, is that I'm being selfish. I can't send him away, not yet. I tell myself 'next year', but the next year arrives and Percy is still by my side. I can't stand to see him away from me.

It's foolish and very weak of me. Percy would be much better protected from - and eventually prepared for - a life like the one he has been destined to live if he was at Camp Half-Blood. Certainly much better than he would be with me. I am supposed to be strong. It should be easy, almost second nature, to deliver my son safely into the hands of the camp.

It's anything but.

Every time I look at Percy, I see a bit of his father in him; strong-willed, independent, and daring. Not to mention his appearance. His blue-green eyes, the color of the sea, occasionally bring a pang of helpless longing, my silly desire to be with Poseidon again. However, aside from the similarities to his father, my Percy has something all his own, something about him that defines him much more than any resemblance to Poseidon or myself.

Percy means the world to me, I'm not going to deny it. I almost can't believe myself some of the things I've done for him. For his protection, what little amount of that I can provide.

Marrying Gabriel Ugliano, for instance. He is one of the rudest, laziest, most narrow-minded, most disgusting, most many-other-impolite-words man I have ever had the misfortune or meeting. I certainly don't love him, even though I have to pretend so for Percy's sake. I can only hope it works, that some of Gabe's stench is rubbed off onto Percy, making him less obvious to those who want to hurt him. It pains me more than I'll ever admit to keep up the facade.

Yet I do it all the same. I tell myself over and over it's not needed, I can just send him to camp, he'll be safe there. He'll be able to have a future there.

I am an odd mix of selfishness and selflessness, though more the former, I would think.

I should tell him everything. He needs to know.

Tomorrow, I decide. Tomorrow I'll tell him.

I know that when tomorrow comes, I will change my mind.


I kind of tripped over to my room after I got home from school, hardly able to walk. It was the pits. Worse than the pits.

At recess today a couple of mean kids got me while I was on the swing set. I guess they wanted the swing set for themselves, but how would I know? It's not like they told me or anything. They just came over with a plastic baseball bat and started smacking me with it across the legs whenever the swing brought me close to them.

I tried to ignore it, or take the top road, I think is something Mom tells me to do. The high road. Yeah, that's right. But finally my legs hurt too much, and I dragged my shoes in the sand to stop the swing. I got off and asked them why they hit me. That's what they told me. That they wanted the swings.

That was dumb. There were three open swings already. But I hurt too much to argue, and I was scared they'd hit me again. So I walked away and sat by the fence. I didn't even want to roll up my pant legs, I was sure there would be some really ugly bruises there.

Those kids were mean, but they weren't like Ryan. They were mean to everyone, not just me. They were always nice when the teachers who were in charge of recess were watching, though. It wasn't fair.

At least I didn't get expelled again. All year I've been trying really hard to obey the rules and be respectful so I wouldn't make Mom sad. I know she'd be sad if I got kicked out of this school. It took her a long time to find one for me. She was on the computer a lot, on all these websites that had school names and pictures of happy, smiling kids.

Mom also seems a lot more tired than she usually does. Even last summer, when we got ice cream after I got expelled, she didn't look so good, but she's even worse now. Sometimes, she comes into my room at night and looks at all Gabe's car magazines that smell like cigarettes around my room in messy piles. Then she gets this sad look and starts to kind of open her mouth like she's going to say something, but then she looks normal again and just tells me 'good night' or 'I love you' or something.

Mom is my favoritest person in the world. I've told her that before, a lot of times, and she would just smile and tell me that favoritest isn't a word. But she liked it, I know she did.

I wish she'd be happier. I wish things could go back like they were a long time ago, when I was - I don't know - six? Before she married Gabe. Why does she love him if he's what's making her so sad?

Maybe it's not him. Maybe there's something I don't even know about. If there is, though, I want to know what it is and I want to get rid of it.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll ask her what's wrong so I can make it go away.

I know that when tomorrow comes, I will change my mind.