The idea to skip school today is very, very tempting right now. Annabeth squeezes her eyes shut, ignoring her blaring phone alarm. It's so fucking early.
Last night was surprisingly not terrible. She and Percy shoveled Ben & Jerry's in their mouths while they bitched about their exes, watched The Little Mermaid for him and To All The Boys I Loved Before for her, and even shared a freaking blanket. It was weird. But unnaturally natural.
After Percy left shortly before midnight, she hauled her ice-cream stuffed ass to bed without showering or even wiping off the last of her tear smudged makeup. This morning, she's wondering why she thought the impromptu late-night hangout was a good idea. She looks and feels like complete shit.
Annabeth weighs her options in her mind. She can show up to school like this, crusty, and heartbroken (because no amount of makeup will be able to conceal the emptiness in her eyes) and everyone will know exactly how well she took her breakup. Or she can stay at home and mope, but look like a total coward.
It takes her sleep-muddled brain a minute, but she settles on a compromise: show up to school late. She'll clean herself up, making herself look hot as fuck, and she'll walk into school and show everyone that it takes more than getting dumped to fuck up her mojo.
With this decided, she rolls back over to sleep in for a few hours.
Annabeth strides into school right when the lunch bell rings. The halls are filled with people and it's the perfect time for everyone to see her.
Her outfit toes the line of what's considered appropriate and what'll get her in trouble for breaking the dress code. The skirt brushes her thighs, the cut of her red top is low, and she's wearing tall heels. They pinch her feet but accentuate the length of her legs, so she'll suck it up.
She turns heads as she walks to her locker. Bits of conversation float through the air:
"—you hear? They broke up!"
"She screamed at Drew in the courtyard yesterday!"
"He cheated on her with—"
"Wow, she hardly looks torn up at all—"
Annabeth projects confidence, but on the inside, all she can think about is what's next. The prom is in just a few weeks. Almost everyone who's anyone has a date already. She can't show up alone—that would be humiliating! But it would also be humiliating to not show up at all!
This is a mess and she absolutely hates Luke for being at the root of it.
Annabeth grabs her chemistry textbook from her locker and heads to lunch. Rachel and Piper are waiting for her, their food spread out on the table before him. Piper always packs a salad with fresh fruit, while Rachel brings something different; today it's leftover Chinese food, spring rolls and wonton soup in a thermos.
Annabeth takes her seat and tries to smile at them cheerfully.
"...Beth, why did you just bare your teeth at us?"
"Do you seriously not know what happened?" Rachel asks Piper, who looks confused.
Rachel whispers in Piper's ear and they have an exchange that lasts several moments before Piper nods solemnly. She turns to Annabeth.
"I'll beat his ass."
"No, please don't," Annabeth groans.
Piper balls her fist and slams it on the table. "He doesn't get to pull shit like this and get away with it. He could've at least waited until after prom!"
"Piper, I'm okay, really. It's just a bump in the road."
"Really?" Rachel raises an eyebrow. "I heard that you exploded on Drew in the courtyard. That doesn't sound like a "bump in the road" to me."
"Luke and I can talk again once things aren't so…fresh. We'll get through. This is only a minor setback."
Annabeth may be pissed off with Luke at the moment, but she still loves him. They've got to work this out. She can forgive this one little cheating incident as just a blip in the grand scheme of things, a tiny hiccup along the way.
She looks across the courtyard to where Luke and Drew are sitting on the edge of the fountain. Luke's arm is around Drew, pulling her close to his side. She snuggles her head into his chest. The sight is disgusting and makes Annabeth wish it weren't illegal to commit murder.
She knows she should tear her eyes away, and she wants to, she really does, but it's like seeing someone with shit stains all over their pants; it's impossible to not stare. Luke tilts his head to kiss Drew on the mouth, and Drew lets out a breathy giggle. Annabeth clenches the milk carton in her hands tightly.
"I love you," Drew croons, tangling her hands in Luke's golden hair.
"I love you more, baby."
The carton bursts, spraying milk everywhere.
Rachel sighs knowingly, wiping milk off her sunglasses. "Minor setback my ass."
Annabeth grits her teeth and starts to mop the spill up with napkins. "Okay, so maybe I'm not handling it well," she admits, "but everything's fine!" Milk dribbles down the side of the table and begins to puddle at her feet. "I'm okay! Luke and I will be okay!"
She nearly slips in the puddle and has to cling to the tabletop. "Fuck!" she growls. At her friends' looks, she adds, "I'M FINE!"
Piper and Rachel both are unconvinced.
At the end of the school day, Annabeth drives herself to the dance studio.
She quit dancing competitively in her sophomore year, since she wasn't able to balance ballet on top of academic quiz team, three AP classes, and student government. However, she still works part-time at the studio teaching creative movement to three- and four-year-olds, and that's kept the flame of her passion for dance alive.
The class is at five, but she likes to get there early so she has time to prepare before parents begin to drop their kids off at four fifty. She stretches, disinfects the ballet barre, sprays down the mirrors with Windex, and pops the music CD in the ancient stereo. It isn't long before the bell at the studio is jingling and the Piranhas are entering.
The Piranhas are a group of four moms who basically have made it their mission to make Annabeth's job hell this year. They arrive first and hang around so they're the last to leave, and apparently the reason is they don't like a teenager supervising their children (Annabeth's almost eighteen, which is basically an adult, but whatever). Every Tuesday and Thursday they show up with their bodice-ripper novels to host their little book club in the lobby, all while overseeing the lesson. Occassionally they'll even walk into the studio to tell Annabeth she's teaching the moves wrong and each time Annabeth wants to claw their eyes out.
The lead mom, Jessica, comes over to her today, dragging her child, Chloeigh, by the hand. "My daughter says that she doesn't understand the routine."
Ugh, Annabeth is seriously not in the mood to deal with one of the Piranhas. Not today of all days. "Maybe she can try practicing at home?"
"No, I don't think so. Chloeigh is a talented dancer. She shouldn't have to practice the steps. This means that you need to teach her better."
"Um, I can go over the routine again at the start of class?"
"I pay a lot of money for these classes. You better do that."
"Yes, of course I will, Ms. Thompson."
By the time the lesson is over, Annnabeth's feet and back ache. She trudges out of the studio and heads home.
She's unlocking the front door when she notices a piece of paper taped below the Christmas wreath left from December.
Curious, she pulls the paper off and reads it:
A,
meet me in the treehouse @ 9. i have an idea i think you'll wanna hear.
- P
