•Chapter 10•

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Guess what? I actually kept my promise and updated when I said I would! Yaaay!

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Please note that this chapter mentions stereotypes and religion. I do not agree with any of the stereotypes written, and I only chose the religion I did because that's what I know most about, if that makes sense. Please keep in mind, as you read this, that I am not bashing religion; I am simply writing what I think would closely resemble the thoughts of these characters.

Happy reading!

2010

Annabeth's last letter came. I hesitated to open it; it would be the last letter I'd maybe ever get from my penpal … friend.

Carefully pulling the flap of the envelope away from the body of it, I tried as best as I could to not rip it, or not get impatient and rip it.

(It may sound very easy on paper, but believe me, it was hard.)

I remembered Mrs. Leer's words before she handed us our envelopes. "Change of plans, class. As it turns out, they'll be writing their last letter to you—that's this one. Their email addresses will be included in this letter if you didn't ask them last week, and the decision of whether or not you would like to keep in touch will ultimately be up to you."

Annabeth's last letter to me.

I slowly pulled the sheet of paper out of the envelope, relishing that clean, neat handwriting that was so utterly Annabeth.

Dear Percy,

Actually, that's where you're wrong. It just means that you have fewer Pro-D Days during the school year and a longer summer break! I'd very much rather have that layout than the one I currently have. It also means I can get my exams over with sooner. (Yes, you read that right. Hey, don't be surprised. Typical nerd, huh?)

Not sure if Mrs. Leer told you, but Mrs. Kerr told us that we are allowed to exchange email addresses if we still want to keep in touch after this project is over. If you don't mind, can do that? Talking to you is surprisingly easy, and on some days, reading your sarcastic replies or hilarious stories is all I need to improve my day. (And I get to figure out ways of how I'd do things differently, or what I'd do to make it more effective.)

My email address is on the bottom of this letter, if you also want to keep in touch. If I don't get a reply a month from now, I'll just assume that you refused my offer.

Got it?

Good.

Yeah … if those two star-crossed lovers were classmates/lived in the same city as each other, I'm pretty sure they'd be sucking each other's faces off right now.

"You destroy that beautiful envelope I handed you? I entrusted that thing to you! How dare you!" And I thought Drew was dramatic. Gosh. *Shakes head*

I'm not the biggest fan of chick flicks, but if my friends want to watch them, I go with them … but only if they agree to buy me a book of my choice in return. Hey, it's a good opportunity to get free stuff! The plots are really typical and cheesy, which is mainly why I hate them. AND THE DIALOGUE! Please don't get me started. It'll probably take up a page and a half and I really don't want my hand to cramp up today. Or any day, for that matter.

Bye … for now, at least.

Sincerely,

Annabeth Chase

I smiled a bit. "Bye, Chase."

Three weeks later, I had completed my exams. Exam week had finally passed. Until the moment the exam results came into the mail, I'd live in oblivion and believe that I'd done well and everything was okay.

(Even though I was pretty sure I'd flopped a few essay questions … and maybe an exam. Hey, studying for exams and sitting through them were definitely not my strong suit, okay?)

But overall, I was pretty sure I'd gotten at least a 75 on most exams—except math, maybe.

The moment the bell had rung, signalling that I was allowed to leave the gymnasium, I tore out of there, eager to not see this high school until my graduation ceremony. "Twelfth grade is finally over!" I had yelled, Frank and Nico at my heels, and flopped down on the grass.

"We ought to have a party," Piper had suggested. For some reason, she loved planning parties. "Think your apartment could hold seven of us? Or maybe more?"

"Mm." To be honest, I wasn't really paying attention to her words at that point.

"Great!" She had clapped her hands excitedly, already pulling out her phone and making plans. "Let's see, so if, say, ten of us are coming, that means I'll need to make thirty or so sandwiches … maybe three kinds of them … so …."

That's how I found myself in my living room, three days later, soda in my hand, surrounded by my friends. Katy Perry's Teenage Dream blared from the speaker Rachel had brought. "Yo, Perce, isn't this party great?" asked Frank, coming over to me. He took a sip of his drink before continuing. "Never had this pop flavour in Vancouver before."

I glanced at him. "Soda. It's soda. Dude, you're not in Vancouver anymore. Ditch your Canadian lingo, Zhang."

He rolled his eyes, muttering, "Yeah, sure, whatever."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Reyna get up from her spot by the counter and head for the door. "Just a second," I told my friend in a low voice. "Save my seat." I left Frank and made a beeline for Reyna. "Hey," I greeted her. "Where you going?" Noticing how weird and accusing that sounded, I hurried on, saying, "Uh, not that I mean anything bad or anything. Like, I barely know you, even, but I was just wondering, because …"

I had stopped, noting her strange look directed at none other than—yup, you guessed it—yours truly. "I was going out for some fresh air," she finally said. Her voice had a tint of a Spanish accent (I think). "It was getting too hot and stuffy in here."

"I'll come with you. I mean, I don't know you that well, and I'd like to get, you know, acquainted."

She looked at me again. "Suit yourself," she said simply.

"Ah, one second. I'll go tell Frank." I darted to his side. "Hey, I'm going on a walk with Reyna. I might text you later if we end up too far away or something. You're gonna have to be the host, if that happens. You got your phone?"

He nodded and gave his pocket a pat, a smirk on his face. "Have fun."

Rolling my eyes, I slapped him upside the head, joined Reyna, and left the apartment.

The moment we stepped out of the building, Reyna let out a content sigh.

"You like being outside?" I asked.

She closed her eyes and nodded. "Yeah." She sighed again. "Reminds me a bit of home."

"If you don't mind me asking, where are you from? Your accent, it's something sort of Hispanic, but it isn't really …"

She didn't answer me immediately. "Puerto Rico." Lowering her voice, she added, "Please don't tell anyone of this. In my last school, I was bullied because, to them, Puerto Rico was a filthy place with streets teeming with thieves, poor people, drug addicts, and selfish, greedy men. It's all stereotypes, of course, but that's what seems to stick. The stereotypes."

I nodded. "I understand." And, as an afterthought, "I won't tell."

2015

When I said that I'd do anything for her, I meant it.

My fiancée is in a natural coma. I've never felt so helpless in my life. Even if Hazel was right about her being a fighter, I couldn't help but feel guilt. If I could run over there and knock her out of the way, or made my voice work in time to shout for her to duck, if, if, if …

Thinking "if" won't change anything, Annabeth's voice rings in my head. The past has already happened. Nothing you can do can change it. Percy, focus on the present instead.

That was what she said when I told her about my father's death five years ago.

I shake my head, and interlace our fingers together. Bringing our clasped hands closer to my lips, I place a gentle kiss on her knuckles and return her hands to where it was before—on her stomach. I let out a sigh, and trail a finger along her right cheekbone down to her jaw. Letting my finger fall away from her still form, I sigh and leave her side, shutting the door quietly behind me.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

I stand in front of a church, looking up at the sign on the roof, directly over the door. (I'm not being biased or whatever by choosing one religion over another; I simply chose this church because it's the closest to the hospital.) "City View Church," it says. All are welcome! a sign next to the door reads. A crowd of teenagers and people my age stream into the doors, talking and laughing. I am unsure of what to do. I've never been into a church before, save for the time my father's body was found and I went to his funeral.

I feel so out of place here, and so, so uncomfortable. This is absolutely, without a doubt, outside my comfort zone.

But if it means asking people to pray for my girlfriend's recovery, I'll do it.

Screw the uncomfortableness. My girlfriend is more important than feeling awkward.

There was this girl from my high school, Miranda, who'd always pray for people—regardless of their religion. When I'd asked her about it, she'd answered, "It doesn't matter. Prayer heals everyone, prayer helps everyone. You want me to pray for you?" (I had declined.)

I consider asking one of the people walking in, but I don't know how to approach them and ask. Imagine how weird it'd be if some random stranger walked up to you and said, "Hi there! Can you show me around? I've never been here before and you look like a nice person so I'm asking you! Hope it isn't too awkward! Or weird!"

Yeah. That'd be really weird.

I step into the lobby of the church. A Hispanic man, dressed in a t-shirt and shorts, stands near the doors, talking animatedly into his cell phone. I approach him once he hangs up. "Um, excuse me?"

He turns and faces me. "Yes?" asks the man, smiling.

"Uh, it's my first time here …" I stop, unsure of what to say next.

His smile grows. "Well, in that case, welcome, young man. I assume you are not sure what to do, or go?"

I shrug. "I guess?" I scratch the back of my neck, and say, all in a big rush, "My fiancée has fallen into a natural coma, because she was shot a while ago while we were fighting overseas, and since she was losing so much blood, the doctors decided to put her into an artificial coma, but it turned into a real coma …" I sigh. "I hope that made sense."

"I see. It made sense to me. Well, as today isn't Sunday, there isn't any service"—my eyebrows shoot up. I always thought there was service every day or something—"but today, there are youth groups, and a prayer meeting. Yes," he adds, noting my expression, "we don't have service every day."

"What do you do in youth groups?"

"Well, it depends. Sometimes, it's fun things, like movie or game night. There are discussions about topics like social issues on some nights, and other nights are usually centred around sermons or worship. Tonight, I believe, is a sermon."

My face pales at that. I'm still no good at sitting still.

"If you're worried about sitting through a sermon, I suggest you go to the prayer meeting," continues the man. "Or, if you want, you can just write down a prayer request and give it to the group. They'll pray for your fiancée."

I smile a little at that. "Yeah, sounds good."

Two weeks later, when I visit her, she is lying on her white hospital bed, same as always, but this time, she has a fancy braid … a French braid (is that what you call it?) in her hair. Or a Dutch braid, maybe? One of those fancy braids you often see at casual and formal events. Obviously, one of the nurses did it for her. (Mrs. Chase never liked fancy braids, and the boys and Mr. Chase had no clue how. Besides, I'm the first one to come visit her today.) "Hi, Annabeth." I approach her bed, and enclose my larger hand around her smaller one. I tell her about how yesterday went, how Jason, Frank, and Piper, this time dragged me away from the Chases' home (again) and forced me to do something "productive," which, in their case, meant to go to the beach.

It had helped, I admit to Annabeth. "I don't know why," I add, "but it did. Same for when Rachel, Hazel, Jason, and Frank kidnapped me to go to the movies. It made me feel better—that is, until I saw you again and remembered that you are fighting for your life."

Annabeth's infamous glare pops into my mind. Really, Seaweed Brain? I picture her saying. I'm not a baby. I'll be fine. Go live a little. You're in San Fran. Explore the area. You haven't done that yet. There's so much to see!

"…Sorry?"

I lift my face up and watch the heart monitor for a while.

The line goes up, hits the peak, goes down, hits the bottom, and goes up again. It's just bouncing a rubber ball and catching it. Toss, catch, bounce, catch. Toss, catch, bounce, catch.

Beep.

Toss.

Beep.

Catch.

Beep.

Bounce. I drop my head and stare at the tiled floor.

Beep.

Catch.

Beep.

Toss.

Beep.

Catch.

Beeeeeeeeeep.

My head jerks up. The ball was never caught. It slips through the cracks of my fingers. The line plummets down, down, down.

So does my heart.

Yup. Another cliffie. A major one this time, too. Bet you're right on the edge, huh? *wink wink* I suck at puns, so I'm pretty proud of this one XD … OKAY OKAY OKAY YES I KNOW THIS IS SERIOUS AND HEART-WRENCHING. I'M SORRY OKAY?!

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