MAIN TITLE: The Keeper of Fate

WARNINGS: See first chapter for warnings.

NOTES: Thanks to KittyKat and Queen Alexandera's Birdwing for reviewing this chapter!

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the PJO series. Rick Riordan does.

Chapter Four: Cheryl Joins the Fangirl Parade

A couple of days later, Annabeth and I are sitting under a shaded tree, somewhere between the volleyball courts and the arts and crafts building. We're here everyday after lunch, sometimes just for lessons and sometimes to talk. She'll listen with seemingly endless patience to me complain about trivial things when she knows I have so much more on my mind. She'll never pressure me into stating what's bothering me.

And in the absence of her usual confidant, she's started coming to me with her problems. Sometimes she'll talk about her dream to be an architect and how she hates her family, though I know that last part isn't really true. She misses her dad; she's just got too much pride to admit it.

Sometimes she'll try to talk to Grover about these things, because she's closer to him then she is to me, but, well, Grover's ability to read other people's emotions does not necessarily make him good at helping other people deal with them.

The only time Annabeth is ever truly honest about what she's thinking and feeling is when she's talking to Thalia's tree. She'll sit by it for hours, pouring her heart out as if she hopes the girl inside can somehow hear her. But whether Thalia is in there listening or not, she can't respond or comfort Annabeth at all.

So Annabeth comes to me, and I'm absolutely useless at cheering her up when she's down. Now that I think about it, maybe it's better if she goes to Grover. We're both just as unhelpful.

Right now, though, none of that matters because it's lesson day. She's trying to make me read some sort of document written in Ancient Greek. The words are giving me a headache, because I really just don't like to read even if the language happens to be programmed into my brain. Today is even worse then normal, and I grow increasingly annoying as Annabeth lectures me.

"And for the fifth-hundredth time, Dess, this word does not mean–"

I frown at the blond and interrupt her, unconvinced. "It totally does. It just has to. The Greeks have already got all those messed up letters. The least they could do is make dunamis–that's the Modern Greek word for δύναμις, right?–mean dynamite."

Annabeth glares at me. Through gritted teeth, she explains: "The English word 'dynamite' is derived from dunamis, yes, but it is not the definition for it." She notices the doubt that is still on my face and, now completely exasperated, snaps, "It doesn't matter what you want it to mean. 'Dunamis' means power. That's just the way it is. There's nothing you can do to change it."

"Unless I went back in time. That would be really cool. Except I'd probably somehow get my hands on actual dynamite and accidentally blow up the planet. Which would still be pretty cool. I mean, would the world just disintegrate, or would the force of the explosion break it into pieces and send them hurtling through space? What if someone somehow managed to survive and they got blasted to another galaxy with alien life forms? Would the aliens really have superior intelligence like everyone thinks they do, or would they be like humans? Of course, they'd probably have a different language and maybe they would have UFOs and everything, but I don't buy that whole bit about the green skin. I mean really, green? They'd look like broccoli and–"

I say this all extremely quickly, one sentence running into the next like a chain of dominoes that's been knocked over. I barely even pause to breathe through most of it, but I stop short as I realize that Annabeth is staring at me like I'm a mad woman. Which I'm not. Really. I just forgot to take my ADHD pills this morning (that's my normal excuse for my craziness problem), that's all. Maybe I should tell Annabeth that, because as of right now she looks like she's not sure whether or not she should get me professional help or simply stab me in the gut with her celestial bronze knife to shut me up. Personally I prefer the former, 'cause the second option sounds kind of painful, but that's just me.

"You've lost it," she decides. "You definitely watched too much sci-fi in the mortal world."

Her faces twists at the last two words, and I realize how stupid all my pointless chattering is. I should know better than to provoke her. Like I said before, she's got a lot of patience–especially for a ten year old–, but she doesn't tolerate random displays of sheer idiocy. Not to mention that with Luke gone, she's reaching the end of her rope.

I haven't actually met Luke yet because he's still on some quest thing, but I know all about him courtesy of Cheryl. And speaking of girls with unnatural blood-red hair that somehow still looks natural, here she comes now.

"Well look who it is. Little miss genius and the thing," she sneers.

"The thing? Really, that's the best you can come up with? And you're overdoing the antagonism, Brookes, you sound like you're a character in an over-theatrical teen drama–you're the snobby girl that saunters around like she owns the place and spends her time developing schemes for total school conquest."

Okay, so it's not the best counter-attack that I've ever come up with, but the last name thing is a nice touch. Her face reddens with anger and embarrassment the second she hears it. She hates it when I call her by her last name, because she can't return the favour. My surname is a really awkward to pronounce in casual conversation–or in an epic battle of wits between good (obviously me) and pure evil (clearly Cheryl). Normally I respect her discomfort at being on uneven footing with me and I make things equal by using her first name, but since she put in that jab at Annabeth, I'm not going to take pity on her this time.

Finally her angry flush fades and she responds after pondering my words. "Maybe just a little," she acquiesces and, her lips twitching upwards ever so slightly, she adds, "but it's my opening line, it has to sound over-theatrical."

Annabeth looks back and forth between us and says, "You guys are both overdramatic all the time. Honestly, I don't understand why you two can't just lose the rivalry and be friends."

As I half choke on the blond girl's betrayal, Brookes snaps, "Can it, Chase, I didn't ask for your opinion."

After hyperventilating for several moments I at last regain the ability to articulate words that are actually intelligible. "Annabeth, how could you? I thought we were friends!"

"We are."

"But you compared me to her!"

Annabeth rolls her eyes, "Oh, well then I'm so sorry. I'll try to be more mindful of what I say the next time I try to get you guys to act your age."

Cheryl and I open are mouths to protest that we are so mature; we're sixteen after all, when Malcolm, son of Athena, comes running up to us (and by us I mean Annabeth) and exclaims, "He's back!"

"Who's back?" Annabeth asks her half-brother, but her stormy-grey eyes are shining with hope.

"Not Luke!" Cheryl panics. "He can't be back already! What if he sees me in this outfit? I'll die from humiliation!"

I perk up at her declaration. "Really? You'll die? Like, lose-ability-to-breathe-soul-is-sent-to-Hades kind of dying?" I try to sound like I'm just asking for clarification and not daydreaming about making her hypothetical scenario a reality, but I guess I look a little too excited, because she glares at me.

Annabeth ignores us. "Well," she demands, "is it him?"

Malcolm nods his honey-blond head, and his half-sister lets out a sound that is the closest thing to a squeal that has ever passed her lips. She jumps up and takes off without even saying goodbye.

"Wait!" Malcolm calls out. "You're going in the wrong direction! He's not in the Hermes cabin; Chiron's still speaking to him in the Big House!"

He races after her without so much as a glance in our direction.

"That was really insulting."

"For once, Cheryl, I agree."

"It is Luke, though," she says this as if it somehow validates their behaviour. "If I wasn't in these hideous camp clothes, I'd probably be all over him right now."

"Please, spare me your rant on his luscious sandy-blond hair and his glorious blue eyes and his perfectly-sculpted abs. I don't care. He's a seventeen year old boy; he's not a god."

She stares at me like I've just announced that Mr. D asked all the campers to call him 'Daddy'. I speak before she can go off on a tirade about how hot Luke is. "What are you doing here, anyways? Shouldn't you be fawning over yourself in the mirror? Love the makeup, by the way. Do you use a brush or just dip your face in?"

"Oh, you're so clever! Did you think that up all on your own or did your mommy help you?"

I ignore the bit about my mother and, after taking another look at her face which is caked in foundation and blush and gods only knows what else, shoot back: "Halloween isn't for another four months; you can lose the clown mask."

"At least I know how to put on makeup; you don't even know what eyeliner is."

"Oh, is that eyeliner? I thought a sharpie attacked your face."

"You'd do better in life if your mind worked half as fast as your mouth."

"At least I have a mind; how long has your brain been on vacation? Ten, fifteen years?"

Because she knows that she will never win the argument if she bases all her insults on intelligence, she switches gears and recites, "Roses are red, violets are blue. The gods made me pretty, what the Styx happened to you?"

I don't bother to respond to that one. I know I'm not as good-looking as her, but I'm certainly not ugly. "You know, Cheryl, I really do try to see things from your point of view; I just can't get my head that far up my–"

Brookes, who obviously knows what the last word is, interrupts, "Anyways, you asked me earlier why I was here. I figure I should hang around you so that Luke will think I look even more fabulous in comparison."

She's switching back to the beauty thing again? Honestly, she has no concept of originality. But apparently she has another plan in mind. "Not that Luke doesn't already think I look fabulous. It's just that he's so amazing, I don't think even I'm good enough for him. Anyone else would have been too scared to go to the Garden of Hesperides and steal a golden apple even if they had two companions with them, but Luke went alone. And he was gone for more than a month. I bet the trip was traumatizing. He'll probably need me to comfort him; he must've run into so many monsters. But I just know he fought bravely, and I know he looked damn hot while doing it–"

I cut her off because I'm starting to feel nauseous. "That's nice. Excuse me while I go throw up."

Of course, I'm not actually going to throw up, just like Cheryl isn't actually that obsessed with Luke. Whenever we're arguing and she runs out of insults, she'll start going on and on about Luke, because she knows that it disgusts me and that I'll forfeit the verbal war without hesitation. Granted, I think she really does think Luke's good-looking and brave, but she's not the type to be so totally immersed in one boy. Either way, her words still sicken me, even if she doesn't mean them. Because a few of the other girls same similar things, and those girls do mean them.

Maybe that's why the Hermes campers–with the exception of Travis and Connor Stoll–gave me such a hard time while I was there. They must get sick of all those female campers being so infatuated with Luke. They probably wanted to wait 'til Luke got back so they could see if I was going to fawn over him like those other girls.

That kind of pisses me off. It was hard enough trying to adjust to camp life without my roommates giving me the cold shoulder. Whatever. Maybe they'll cut me some slack when they realize that I'm not like those other girls. And even if they don't change their minds about me, I don't really need them; I've got my brothers and Annabeth and Clarisse, when she's not feeling murderous about one thing or another.

I turn on my heel and walk away from Cheryl, who has been staring at me for the full two minutes I've been thinking about all this, probably wondering why I'm still here. Doesn't matter. Because a few seconds later I'm gone, just like she wanted.

Author's Note: I got most of those insults off the internet. I'm not very good at coming up with my own, probably because I very rarely insult people.

Luke will make his appearance in the next chapter.

Anyways, hope you liked it. Reviews are appreciated.