A/N: Hey everyone! Thank you so, so much for all the reviews! You should see me; I'm doing my 'Taylor Swift awards show face.' Thank you so much!

Originally, this was going to be from Annabeth's point of view, but I felt like it needed some more background from Percy before I could write from her. It wouldn't come out.

Sorry for the lateness. I have my final exams starting this Friday, and the past few weeks I've been furiously studying and cramming. But I had to stop and write you this chapter.

Hope you like it.

Disclaimer: Percy Jackson and the Olympians does not belong to me.

Letter TWO

It's gone, is his first thought when he furtively checks the locker between first and second period. There is nothing there beside the usual dust and ethereally wispy cobwebs. He's late for second period now, but he has Mr. Blofis who probably won't care.

With a hurried glance behind, he sprints off to his next class. He can't afford to be late too many times. The lingering echoes of his footfalls resonate around the cold, empty halls, and the leaflets on the walls flap as he runs past.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Dear someone who perhaps knows me a little better now, even though I still have no idea who you are,

Wow. That was long.

I see you've taken my last letter. Well, at least that's what I assume, since it's gone. Thank you for taking time to read it, (I hope you have), but somehow, just putting my thoughts into words is therapeutic. (Like I said before, I do try listen in English.) It does help that I have Mr. Blofis, though. Doesn't his name sound like blowfish? Wait, you're not him, are you? If you are, then: sorry Mr. Blofis!

Nothing's happened as of right now. And I'm still feeling extremely guilty for not telling you what happened. And I still can't say. I'm sorry for being so cryptic, I truly am. But I don't know whether I can trust you – I know that's insulting, but put yourself in my shoes. Wait, you can't; you don't know enough about my situation. Have I told you how sorry I am about that? I guess I probably have.

Maybe this will help:

My shoes that I'm wearing right now are my favorite pair of tattered, sky blue Converse. They've been graffitied over in black and red sharpie, by my cousins. I pretty much wear them everywhere. Oh darn, I can't wear those anymore, can I? You'll know who I am. Damn. I'm also wearing a comfy, gray hoodie and dark jeans.

Do you want to see the inside of my room? I'll give you a description:

You see the walls – the blue ones. Yes, those. And the sheets on my bed – the blue-green ones. My desk is pretty empty because I can't concentrate with too much stuff. There are a couple of photos: one of my mother and me at the beach, and one of my friends. My room is pretty bare 'cause my stepfather –

Anyway, I can hear these noises from outside. My stepfather G*** is playing poker with his beer buddies and they're shouting loud obscenities at each other. I can hear them ordering my mother –

Never mind.

I just feel so damn helpless, sometimes.

You know what? Ignore everything I just said. You don't need to get involved. Just being there, even if it's just imaginary you, helps more than you could ever imagine.

Ugh. His friend Ed is attempting to burp the national anthem. I swear, it's an insult to American society, and I can smell it all the way from here.

Sometimes, I just wish I could have one day – just one day of a normal life. Probably like yours. I don't mean to be bitter or jealous or make you feel guilty about it. I'm just telling the truth.

You know that feeling when you're underwater for a long time, and you literally can't breathe anymore, lights start dancing in specks in front of your eyes and you feel like you're going to burst, and you just want to let it all go. But then, at that very last moment, you come up, because there's just that one something that stops you from staying down there in the watery oblivion. And that first shuddering breath feels so good – so deliciously, sinfully, unnaturally good. It feels like this calm as settled into your highly-strung body, and you feel like you could just fall asleep, warm and safe. Does that make any sense? Probably not. I don't know why I'm telling you this. But that security is what I want to feel, but it always evaporates like the mist your breath makes on cold, winter mornings.

You don't need to hear this.

Do you ever sit and wonder about the lives of other people around you? How easily that life could've been yours? Do you ever think about 'the butterfly effect'? Do you think that truly going back and changing the smallest detail could impact so profoundly on everything in our entire lives?

I want to go back and change that one thing – to prevent my mother from mar –

I really need to think before I write.

How was your day?

My day went something like this:

1. Wake up early to try study for my history test. The key word here being 'try'.

2. Buy a coffee from Starbucks.

3. Spill coffee all over shirt.

4. Rush to school to try wash it off.

5. The stains don't come out, so borrow a friend's shirt. Three sizes too large and hot pink in color.

6. Get laughed at.

7. Take history test.

8. Fail miserably. Who needs to know how many wives Henry VIII had, anyway? It's not going to help any of us get girlfriends…

9. Go home, still in huge shirt.

10. Have stepfather –

11. Write letter to you.

12. Pen's running out of ink…

Is there anything else to say?

I hope you understand me a little better now.

Regards,

A Friend

p.s. Sorry about the smudges of chocolate on the edges. I had a sudden craving for candy.

This time, it's between sixth and seventh periods when he leaves the letter.

He tells Grover to save him a seat in World History, but he knows that Grover won't get there much faster than him. He's had a disability in his legs since birth, although Percy knows that even that does not stop him from running to the cafeteria on cheese enchilada day.

He wonders who it is that's receiving his letters. He wonders as he makes his way to class.

They get their history exams back and he can see Grover eagerly – or nervously, he's not sure – bouncing and tapping his fingers against the scratched surface of the table.

D. A cold feeling coils at the pit of his stomach. He has promised his mother that he'd get better marks this year. Bright red markings crisscross the entire page in a web of incorrectness.

Anne Boleyn was his second wife, and no, she was not a horse.

and

Incorrect. Henry VIII did not have his wives killed by poisonous snakes.

He glances over at Clarisse, who is proudly flashing her 'C –' mark. He tries to decipher the markings on her paper. They went something like this:

No, Catherine of Aragon was not a ****ing, worthless *****.

And no, Henry VIII did not kill his wives by 'torture by having them do useless history exams', thank you very much.

Percy groans and slumps forward on his desk – which was a big mistake. The previous owner has dumped all their pencil shavings over the desk, so Percy sits up with a gray streak smudging down his face like an old bruise. Even Clarisse has a better mark than his, and with those answers.

He cannot imagine the look of crushing disappointment on his mother's face when he returns. And he knows that she will not be angry, which only makes it worse.

Distracted, he almost misses the flash of gold flying past his classroom. The unmistakable gold of curly, blonde hair.

So… how'd you like this chapter? Please review. Constructive criticism is also very much appreciated. Thanks!