Disclaimer: All rights to the Percy Jackson IP belong, rightfully so, to Rick Riordan

It wasn't a lack of sleep that made Percy late to practice, but rather three little old ladies knitting scarves.

From the first sound of the sirens on his alarm, he'd bolted out the door of Thalia's house, careful to hop clear over the few people slumbering on the floor. The early morning dew coated his lungs as he sprinted across campus. At only 6:30AM (he'd meant to wake up at 6AM but slept right through that alarm), the town was dead, making it easy to run right through without stopping. However, his dorm lay east from the house, meaning the rising Sun peeking through the clouds created a blinding glare. Twice he was nearly hit by cars he couldn't see as he ran across streets. It wasn't his fault, naturally, since they were supposed to yield to all pedestrians, even idiots like himself.

By the time he made it back to his dorm, his lungs were nearly collapsed. He swiped his car on the lock and taking one step in, fell directly on the ground face-up. As he consumed much needed oxygen, he slid his phone from his pocket and read the time: 6:45AM.

Two minutes, he thought to himself. He'd take a two-minute break to gather his strength. As he lay as still as possible, he heard Grover snoring up a thunderstorm to his left. He'd obviously gotten back alright and was basking in his slumber. Percy thought back to the night before, when he'd decided to stay for the second movie, which then turned into three movies. It was a costly decision, one that wasted any semblance of a good night's sleep. But it wasn't the movies he stayed for.

When he'd awoken, the first thing that struck him, other than the sheer terror of being late to practice, was that Rachel was gone. She must've left some time in the night during the few hours Percy slept. It made sense, especially since she could go home and fall right back to sleep like a normal person. Still, it was a gut punch, especially since he hadn't gotten her number. Then again, it's not like he was going to get it at 6:30AM when he had to leave. Besides, he could just ask Grover for it.

At this his stomach fluttered, and instinctively he groaned. He hadn't felt the butterflies for quite a while, and they weren't something he wanted to feel, not with where his life was at.

He checked his phone again. 6:47AM. He jumped to his feet, then rummaged through his packed luggage. He pulled some shorts on, tossed a white Stanford tee over his head, then swung his swim bag over his shoulder.

In his preparation, he made a little too much noise. "Welcome back, lover boy," mumbled Grover, turning over in his bed and stretching. "Did you get a good night's sleep?"

"Peachy," Percy remarked. "Sorry for waking you up."

Grover waved him off weakly. "I'm just a light sleeper: got it from my Uncle Ferdinand. Want to hear about you and Rach, too tired now. Sleep time for Grover." Just like that, his snoring picked up right where it left off.

It didn't take long for Percy to get his stuff and dash. He ran back out onto the sidewalk, looking out at the practice facility. It would be a fifteen-minute walk, which meant at a dead sprint he'd make it in five. He checked his phone: 6:50 AM.

Just as he resigned himself to perpetual exhaustion, the campus bus rolled to a stop across the street. Its electronic banner on the top flashed its next destination: Stanford Aquatic Facilities.

He dashed across the road. With no traffic, the bus should take him there quicker than he could run, and any energy he could reserve for practice would be desperately needed. Once around the front of the bus he bounced up the stairs, nodding appreciatively at the driver before turning to the seats. The night shift must've ended, as a group of four nurses sat in the back talking. The middle of the bus was near vacant, save for an old man and a middle-aged woman. Finally in the front seat closest to the driver sat three little old ladies sowing away at some scarves with needle and thread.

Percy sat a couple seats behind the ladies. As soon as the bus stopped, he figured he could sprint out and make it to practice in plenty of time (AKA two minutes before it started). He used the momentary break to continue catching his breath, listening to the ladies as they rambled on.

"He's a hopeless dear, I've told him over and over," a high shrill voice rang. "It's a passing wind."

"A passing wind!" another voice croaked. "You can't mock so bluntly!"

"It's the troubles with youths," spoke a voice laced with gravel. "They're young idiots. Idiots to their own demise."

"Foolish perhaps, but not an idiot," barked back the first voice. "He listens to my warnings, which is more than I should expect. But listening and heeding, two very different things indeed."

"Lessons like those, they can't be taught," said the second voice. "Try and try, you won't make ground. Best to let him learn on his own."

"Pain, pain, pain," said the third. "He'll struggle until his body swells and pops like a balloon!"

"My goodness!" the second voice exclaimed, waving her hands frantically. "My goodness!"

"No, no, no," the first voice argued. "He will do what he does and struggle, but crumble? No! He'll endure."

"Until he cannot," said the third voice.

"He will endure until he realizes the truth," corrected the first voice. "The heart is malleable, but at its core the soul stays steadfast."

"Soul of a fool," mumbled the third voice.

"Soul food would be lovely!" the second voice said.

The bus started off, its doors hissing to a close and the quick ride to the practice facility began. The old ladies continued to ramble, arguing over what they should have for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Percy gazed out the window and thought on their words. Whoever's grandson they were discussing seemed to be in a similar situation as his own. Rachel had thrown a wrench in his college plans, and despite not minding an innocent crush, he knew himself well enough to recognize what that could snowball into.

He looked around at the campus, mesmerized by its glow in the early hours. It existed as a great unknown, one Percy would have to spend his next two years coming to recognize as his new home. Being the first day of practice, perhaps the bus ride would've been a moment for more contemplation. But with his eyes threatening to close and his head tilting forward on its own, he was too tired to care.

"He'll be okay," the first voice said as the bus neared the practice facility. "As long as he remembers to place himself in the center of his picture."

"What a disturbing image it already is," the third voice retorted. The second voice cackled as the other two swatted at each other. So concentrated on not falling asleep, it took a moment before Percy realized the bus had come to a stop. The squeak of the front door sparked him wide awake, but as he jumped from his seat, he was beaten to the alleyway by the three little old ladies.

He glanced at his phone: 6:56 AM.

So what if he had to wait behind the three ladies? He figured they'd tack on an extra minute at most. The facility doors were only ten or so yards away, and it would only take him the span of an indoor basketball court to hit the locker room. He'd be cutting it close, but it could've been worse.

Then it happened. The first old lady caught her foot on the rug. She stopped on a dime and the second old lady did her best to adjust, but it was the third lady who stumbled. Running into her friend in front of her, she recoiled and started to fall backward. Percy didn't hesitate, and by the time he'd caught her she'd only had a split second of panic. But in that time, the scarves and threads in her hands went flying up in the air, scattering across the first few seats.

"Oh my!" she exclaimed, looking back at Percy with mouth agape. "You grabbed me!"

Percy smiled innocently as he helped her to stand on her own, unsure if she was grateful or offended. "It's no problem, ma'am."

"Dear me, what a mess," the second old lady in line complained, and she was right. Needles and thread were strewn about, up and down the first few seats and rolling across the floor.

"Not a worry, ma'am," he said, crouching to the ground in a hurry. "I'll get everything for you." Internally he groaned. It would be a costly distraction if he didn't hurry. "You all make your way off the bus and I'll gather it up for you!"

"What a sweet boy," the first old lady called out mindlessly, already stepping out of the bus. The second old lady followed close, while the third squinted her eyes at Percy.

"I know my collection, boy," she said. "Make sure not to miss anything, or else." With her threat in place, she followed her friends.

Percy didn't think too much about the oddity of being threatened by an eighty-pound woman, mostly because he didn't have time. He dashed about the aisles desperately. It took longer than he'd hoped to grab hold of everything. In one hand he'd snatched up all the threads: red, yellow, green, purple, blue, orange, black, mismatched in tangled bundles of carelessness. In the other he had the case of needles, a small pack that luckily hadn't come apart when it fell. He'd tucked two scarves under his arm, and doing one last cursory check, he bolted out the door.

"Here you are, ma'am," Percy said. He handed over the batch, which she promptly stuffed into her bag. Her eyes scraped over each item as she accounted for inventory. Despite her general demeanor Percy thought he saw satisfaction in her face until he at last handed over the needle box.

"You forgot my sword," she said with a scowl.

"Sorry, your what?"

The old lady shook her head. "My sword. My big needle doesn't fit into the box, so I carry it separately. It flew out of my hand when you caught me so barbarically."

"It's her favorite needle," the first old lady explained. "She does her best work with the larger ones. Could you go take a look to see if you can find it?"

Percy froze. "Maybe it's in your bag" he offered desperately.

"It's not here, boy, so it must be in there," the third old lady growled.

"Or it could have flown out the window!" the second old lady said.

"That's possible." Percy agreed, despite knowing the windows had never been opened.

"Won't you just take a quick look around, dear?" the first old lady pleaded. "Your kindness means a lot to us elderly ladies." She placed a hand on his arm as her words oozed like syrup.

Percy sighed quietly, then nodded. "I'll be right back." He dashed back to the bus, which luckily hadn't taken off. After reassurance from the driver that he'd wait for him to have one last look around, he scoured the front aisles. Desperation drenched him with sweat as he poured over every inch.

It took longer than he'd hoped, but wedged in the crack of the second aisle seat was a slightly larger than average needle. He was in such a hurry it pricked his thumb, penetrating deep enough to draw blood, but Percy couldn't have cared less. He thanked the driver once again and raced back to the old ladies.

"That's the one," the third old lady said. "I told you it was still in there." She threw a purple scarf around her neck, huffing dramatically. The second old lady giggled into her yellow scarf while the first old lady smiled.

"Thank you very much, young man," she said, tying her own red scarf. "It's rare to find such fine gentlemen these days."

Percy nodded, then glanced behind him. The bus had departed, revealing the practice facility door. "Happy to help," he said while backing away. "I have to run now, but you ladies have a wonderful morning!"

"And you as well, young man. And good luck!"

Percy never ran so fast in his life. Part of him felt like if he pushed any harder, he'd break the sound barrier, and he likely could have if not for his bag swinging around knocking him in the face repeatedly. It didn't faze him though, and he hit the facility doors with a booming clap that reverberated inside the gymnasium. Once in, he looked around and could see the double-doors to the pools straight ahead, standing wide open as if expecting him. Which, of course, they were.

As he crossed the court, he was surprised to find it not empty, but rather being used by one person. It was a large court with several hoops lined down the room for maximized practice space with only a few benches interrupting the flow. In the back corner came the taps of dribbling basketballs followed by a clunk against the backboard. It was a good way's away and he was sprinting top speed, so all he could make out was curly blonde hair draping from a ponytail to the square of a girl's shoulder blades. Beside her was a rack of basketballs, from which she'd take one, dribble twice, then hit dead center on the backboard into a swish.

As he got halfway across the court, he looked down to find his thumb dripping blood. The needle must've dug deeper than he'd thought. Behind him lay a faint path of blood splatters from the entrance. While mentally making a note to apologize to the janitor, he eventually reached the open double doors. He slowed to a walk and sucked the tip of his thumb as he pulled out his phone to look at the time.

7:03 AM. Three minutes late.

He breached the pool room, gazing at what felt like endless swim lanes. The facility was huge, larger than any he'd ever competed in. The water was shimmering a crystal blue so clear Percy couldn't help but wonder if the pools he'd spent his life in were radioactive.

"Mr. Jackson!" yelled a voice to his left. Charging up to him was a bulbous man, broad shouldered with stick-thin legs strutting with an oak tree of a walking stick. Around his neck dangled a silver whistle on a gold necklace, and on his chin a coarse brown goatee crept up his jaws as his cheeks laid barren against thick half-baked sideburns. He wore standard Stanford apparel, a red t-shirt with the university's name stretched across the chest and a black hat with the red S and green Palo Alto tree. As he neared, Percy swore he smelled of stale peanuts. "Mighty fine of you to join us this morning!"

His words boomed with a force that nearly knocked him over. As he recovered from the temporary concussion, Percy noticed a megaphone in his hand and began worrying for the sake of humanity.

"Coach Hedge, sir," Percy replied. "I apologize for my tardiness."

"Apologies don't change a damn thing, Jackson," Coach Hedge chastised, his tongue flicking the roof of his mouth. "This was your first practice, wasn't it? What a disgrace! I told Brunner you wouldn't cut it, and I'm sure as hell glad to see you've proved me right. Boy, what the hell are you doing sucking your thumb?"

Percy quickly threw his hand to his side. He knew his thumb was still bleeding, but he'd been so thrown off by the coach's sudden appearance he hadn't realized he was still sucking it.

"Small wound, sir," Percy explained.

Coach Hedge narrowed his eyes, then rubbed his face irritably. "I thought I'd seen it all, but now we got a tardy thumb sucker wasting my time and giving this team a bad name. Now where the hell have you been?"

Percy thought back to the night before, the sprint across campus, the bus ride, and the three old ladies. "Some older ladies had an accident on the bus, sir. I was helping clean up."

Coach Hedge scrunched his face in disgust and backed up, waving his hand for Percy to stop. "That's disgusting, Jackson!"

"It wasn't that kind of acci-"

"I don't care what the hell you were doing," Coach Hedge interrupted. "You're late, and there's no excuse for that except death, and you look fine and well!"

Percy thought of raising his bloodied finger but decided against it. In high school he'd all too often resorted to antagonizing his teachers and coaches, but even he knew it wasn't the time.

"You're joining this team late, Jackson, and I'm not just talking about today," Coach Hedge continued. "You're here in your junior year, the only transfer among these boys, and where you are now is where someone they knew and respected once stood. You're a stranger they don't trust and now you decided to show your face three minutes late on your first day of practice. What a load of rubbish!"

All Percy could do was try not to squirm. Coach Hedge was right. Sure, the old ladies could've taken their bus ride five minutes later or not tripped on the way out, but at the root of his tardiness lay his decision to stay the night with Rachel on his shoulder. Fully rested and in his own bed, he likely would've made sure to be the first person to practice.

"I take full responsibility," Percy said sincerely. "It won't happen again."

"It better not, or your next lecture is coming straight from the VOICE OF GOD." With the last few words Coach Hedge raised his megaphone and belted, nearly bursting Percy's eardrums. The coach looked pleased by Percy's wincing, smiling as he placed his hands on his hips.

"Now before you get suited up, the Athletic Director asked to speak with you," Coach Hedge grumbled.

Percy's heart sank. Am I losing my scholarship already, he thought. The blood in his veins froze, and realization of his own mortality struck him to the core.

"He had some ridiculous crap he wanted to talk to you about," Coach Hedge said irritably. "I couldn't give a monkey's ass but he's taking up my office," he pointed past the bleachers on the left at a set of windows with closed blinds and a door. "So go handle your business and hurry back to the lockers. No doubt your teammates will be working their asses off by the time you decide to join them."

With a departing order, the Coach turned on a dime and headed for the locker room. Percy felt a bit of the weight fall from his shoulders. It still wasn't a good thing for the Athletic Director to want to talk on the first day, and it certainly wasn't good that he'd kept him waiting. After all, if it wasn't for him, Percy would still be in New York daydreaming about the future. But if he'd come to rip the rug out from under him, Coach Hedge would've gleefully rubbed it in Percy's face.

He let Hedge take off to the locker room then made his way to the office. When he opened the door, he was met with a whirlwind of papers, trophies, and clothing tossed about the room. It looked as if a tornado had formed from the clash of cold air from the AC and the heat of the California summer, transfixing itself within one room only to disperse with a giant gust that doubled the wreckage.

If the Athletic Director minded the mess, he didn't show it. Mr. Brunner sat behind the coach's desk, hands intertwined over his lap and a faint smile playing on lips surrounded by a subtle chestnut beard. He wore a white button up with a red Stanford tie that bounced between images of the college's logo intermixed with galloping horses. His eyes sparkled a deep brown. While restricted to a wheelchair, he sat with the posture of a wartime general.

"Mr. Brunner," Percy said, walking up to the table. He stretched out his hand.

"Percy Jackson," the Athletic Director said carefully as if reading the subtext of a plaque. He shook Percy's hand. "Good morning to you. I imagine you slept well."

A blush crept up Percy's cheeks. "Sorry for being late, sir. I got caught on the bus."

"The trials of travel are remedied by a punctual attitude," Mr. Brunner replied, a glint in his eyes. "There is so much in this life we cannot control, it's best to be vigilant in what we can." Despite the callout, his voice was gentle. "Now take a seat, there are more words of wisdom I would like to impart upon you."

Percy cleared a chair of a messy pile of miscellaneous papers and sat promptly. A swollen silence filled the room, and Percy wondered if now was the time to pour out apologies and promises to do better, but something about the Athletic Director made him pause. A look in the man's eyes told Percy to let the silence hang until he was ready.

"I wish I could say I'm surprised by your tardiness, Mr. Jackson," Mr. Brunner started. "However, after a summer of reports detailing skipped practices and early departures, I would be a liar." He rested against his armrests, hands still intertwined.

Apologies dried up and withered in the back of Percy's throat. All through the summer he'd taken liberties with swim practice back home, liberties his old coach had warned would land him in hot water. It wasn't until the end of the summer he'd learned Mr. Brunner received weekly practice reports, which among other faults highlighted his absences.

"I admit I made poor choices, sir," Percy squeaked out. "But I also won the solo races in four separate tournaments and shaved a full second off my breaststroke! So, there's no need to worry about my performance."

Mr. Brunner shook his head, disappointed in his answer. "Talent gets you far, Perseus, but without training you drive forward with no steering wheel. Without fundamentals you move forward with a foot on the gas and no brake pedal. Without discipline you lack the foundations that plant you firmly upright."

"Percy," he corrected. Mr. Brunner raised an eyebrow, and Percy continued, "I go by Percy. sir."

The athletic director sighed and nodded. "Percy," he said, "I'm concerned not for your performance, nor do I doubt your ability. But to succeed here requires true effort in all walks of your life. Practice isn't simply a tool to improve your abilities, but rather a way to hone your mind and body to the rigidity of hard work."

He flipped over the paper in front of him and scanned it before looking back up at Percy. "Your medical history shows you've been lucky enough to avoid serious injuries throughout your life. So, tell me Mr. Jackson, how prepared are you to recover from a torn shoulder blade, or say a broken arm? Because something tells me you may not treat your rehabilitation with the tenacity that we here at Stanford expect."

Percy didn't know if he should wince or scowl. Mr. Brunner didn't know what Percy had gone through in his life, had no idea about his struggles and what he'd overcome. Sure, Percy had been blessed with what his mother had called 'iron skin', but if he fell off the horse, he knew he'd be more than capable of climbing right back. It wasn't his fault he hadn't been put in that position yet. Sue me for being healthy, why don't you?

"Percy, let me be frank with you," Mr. Brunner said, once again resting his intertwined hands in his lap. "You have a lot of potential, potential that through your hard work has brought you this far. But we have given you this scholarship so that you no longer have to work at it alone. However, we cannot help you if you do not let us. The question is, will you let us?"

There was only one way to answer, but Percy remained silent for as long as possible. He thought back to all his training, where he'd taken lessons only to outpace the coaches. Even his junior college coaches were nothing but preachers of practice with no real substance.

Percy knew he could become better. With proper instruction he'd be able to focus on his form and expand his technique. As much as he hated unrelenting practices, he'd known Stanford would put him through the ringer. It simply irritated him to receive a lecture on the first day.

Percy finally nodded, which seemed to half-please the athletic director until a grin stretched across Mr. Brunner's lips.

"I'm sure your limited time with Coach Hedge has given you an idea of what to expect at practice," he said amusedly. "Your teammates will also give you stiff competition. Right now, they do not appreciate their new team member barging into their lives late, but once they warm up to you, they will be wonderful resources to learn from. Remember, most of them have more time than you at this level of competition.

"But as we've discussed, it's your work ethic and punctuality that are my main concerns, and as a student at such a prestigious university, it's best we focus on preparing you for all facets of your scholarship."

Percy sat us straight. He'd known his academics would cause concern. School had never been Percy's strong suit, and with Stanford's stature it had been a wonder why they'd even bothered offering him a chance. Even his mother had nearly choked when they received the official offer. Percy hadn't gotten an A since the third grade, and his friends in high school often liked to emphasize the C in his name.

"You'll be put through the ringer at this university," he continued. "Stanford does not support ineptitude of any kind. Classwork will be overwhelming, and in a new environment you'll be tested to find how to pave your way forward without slipping through the cracks. But perhaps your mightiest challenge will be balancing your studies, swim practices, and your new job."

Confusion flowed over Percy like tar, realization oozing down his body. "What do you mean, 'my new job?'"

Mr. Brunner reached a hand down to his side, where he unclasped a satchel and pulled out a packet of papers. Handing them over, Percy took them hesitantly and read the cover page: Archimedes Librarian.

"I've done the courtesy of filling out the majority of the paperwork," Mr. Brunner said.

"Archimedes librarian?!" Percy repeated, dumbfounded.

"Your scholarship was a risk," Mr. Brunner announced. "I couldn't ignore your talent and potential, and so I cannot ignore your tendencies to fall victim to laxity. I've called in a favor and acquired you a job at the university library."

"You're making me a librarian?!" Percy asked.

"The job will teach you discipline," Mr. Brunner continued. "And, as it is a university job, your swimming commitments will not be a problem. Furthermore, even with a scholarship, I'm certain you would do well with money in your pocket."

The weight of it all threatened to squash Percy to the floor, but he held strong. A job had been out of mind, boxed away until Percy knew he could handle the overflow on his plate. "I can't take this job, sir," he said. "I'm going to be ground meat with school and swimming already."

"I'm afraid this is not up for debate, Mr. Jackson," said Mr. Brunner firmly. "This job will teach you more than many of your classes, and if you fail in this assignment, you'll receive just as harsh a judgement.

"In addition, we will meet each month on the second Friday to discuss your progress. These meetings will be informed by your professors and coaches, so do not profess false accomplishments lest you make a fool of yourself.

"Finally, your late arrival this morning, though expected, is disappointing." Mr. Brunner lowered his gaze, his eyes seeping into Percy's soul. "Stanford has no place for tardiness. It reflects poorly on your character. To remedy this infliction, until further notice, you are to arrive here at this facility an hour early for every practice."

Percy's heart, already sunken to the floor, crashed through the basement down to the deepest pits of Tartarus. "You're kidding me," Percy grumbled. Mr. Brunner shook his head.

"This commitment will earn you the respect of your teammates. And judging from your distance races, you could use the extra endurance training."

Having noticed Percy's demeanor shift, he added one last point. "This arrangement is final, so there is no use in arguing." The athletic director relaxed back in his chair, allowing his announcements to settle in the air.

A million thoughts raced through Percy's mind. He'd set his expectations for college low, but with so much to do, he didn't see any path to success. Mr. Brunner had delivered him a scholarship but now seemed hellbent on his failure. Even as a troubled kid, he'd never been dressed down so brutally, nor ordered around so bluntly. Still, Stanford had always been out of his league. All he could do was push forward and last as long as he could.

"Do you have any questions, Mr. Jackson?" Mr. Brunner asked innocently. Percy bit his tongue.

"Yes, sir," he said, bile more evident in his tone than he should've allowed. "Am I free to go to practice?"

The athletic director smiled, then nodded. He rolled himself out from the desk and around the table, stopping next to Percy. "Your first day of work is Friday at 3PM. I suggest you be there on time." He patted Percy on the shoulder, who thought he smelled of wildflowers. "Until next month, Mr. Jackson."

"You're screwed," Grover said plainly, spraying a mini bonsai on the windowsill between their beds. "More than just screwed. You're double screwed." He paused, counting his fingers. "Or maybe even triple screwed."

"The tally has room to grow," Percy said, staring at the ceiling. "I've only been here two days. I could be sent to space by the end of next week."

"They wouldn't trust you with a rocket. They don't even trust you with your sleep schedule."

It was the afternoon at this point, and despite his body weighing eight-tons and his eyelids twitching even when shut, Percy laid on his bed sleepless.

Practice had run for three hours. Once his lecture from Mr. Brunner had concluded, he joined his team to a less-than-warm welcome of wordless acknowledgements. Coach Hedge gave a speech about team effort and accountability, glaring daggers into Percy's skull while his teammates were only slightly softer with their glances, but once in the water, Percy came alive, cutting through laps like a knife through butter.

Coach Hedge took every opportunity to point out the flaws in Percy's form. The coach also had Percy's lap times from the summer. Despite bursts of energy, lack of sleep dropped Percy well below his typical pace, giving Coach Hedge more ammunition. He bleated and blared, pointing out everything from Percy's left-hand positioning on the freestyle to the pattern on his swim trunks.

As predicted by Hedge and Mr. Brunner, a thick layer of ice floated between Percy and the rest of the team. He heard their whispers and mumblings, but for the most part he was left to brave their judgmental stares from a distance. It wasn't until the end of practice on his way out of the locker room that he finally received his first welcome from a broad-shouldered senior named Charles Beckendorf.

"Don't mind them," Beckendorf said after introductions. "They just miss their golden boy."

"Oh yeah," Percy said. "Hedge mentioned I'm filling someone else's shoes."

Beckendorf nodded. "Our team captain graduated. Not your fault, but we're kind of a headless horse right now."

"Didn't know the captains were that important," Percy admitted. "The few I've had treated me like dirt." Images of his high school swim captains flashed before his eyes, most of them yelling at or ignoring him altogether.

"Ah, well here they keep us a close-knit group," said Beckendorf. "Our last one, he was captain for two years. Now it falls to me, I suppose."

"Oh," Percy said, quickly raising his hand to salute. "Honored to serve, captain!" Beckendorf laughed, slapping Percy on the back before shoving him out the door. It wasn't hard to see why Beckendorf had been chosen as the team captain, but something told Percy he couldn't expect this captain to put himself on the line for him. Still, it felt good to have someone treat him normally.

After scarfing down two dining hall burritos, Percy had trudged back to his dorm room, where he'd collapsed on his bed and retold Grover about his misadventures.

"You could get legal counsel," Grover offered, spritzing his bonsai one last time before taking a seat on his own bed. "I can't imagine forced employment is legal."

"Suing the athletic director, while tempting, would definitely get my scholarship revoked." Percy sat up and groaned. "Early practices are gonna be hell enough, but a job at the library? It's like pouring gasoline on the sun."

Grover cleared his throat suddenly, patting his chest as if he'd choked. "Wait, your job is at the library?" he asked. "Like the Archimedes library?"

"The one and only," Percy answered, then paused. "Oh god, I hope it's the only one. If there's two Archimedes libraries, this university needs to calm down."

"Interesting…" Grover mumbled as if to himself.

Percy squinted. "Interesting how?" Grover waved him off and shook his head.

"Nothing big," he answered. "I've just spent some time there. It's a cool place, pretty big too. Used to host the Green Preservation club meetings there." Grover stopped for a moment, looking deep in thought before smirking. "Should be an experience, at least. Besides, no one goes to the library on Friday afternoons, so you'll have time to study."

Percy hadn't considered that before, but if true it would be a perk, if one could consider more time to study a positive. "Even if it's easy, I'm still stuck without any free time to do what I want."

"Like pursuing Rachel Dare," Grover pointed out. Percy shrugged.

"Maybe," he admitted. "Why? Has she said anything about me?"

Grover laughed. "No, sorry. Though she seemed to like you enough last night to make you her pillow."

Percy smiled as the warm memory of her head on his shoulder flooded over him. "It was a good night."

"Except for our championship loss," Grover bleated sorrowfully. "Thalia will keep hanging it over our heads, I promise you that."

"Eh, who cares. We'll win next time."

"Speaking of which," Grover started. "She's having another party on Saturday. Think it'll be a board game night. I told her I'd drag you along." Percy opened his mouth but Grover interrupted. "And no, Rachel won't be there. She's in an art exhibit in town, they typically run late."

"Should we go to the exhibit?" Percy asked. "Show support and whatnot. As friends?"

Grover rolled his eyes. "Nah. She's a stand-in for a gold statue, so she'll just be standing still for like three hours. Last time she did something like this, Thalia poked her stomach and broke the facade. Since then, Rachel's banned us from going, lest we face the wrath of a vengeful redhead."

Percy sighed, scratching the back of his neck. "Well that's a bummer, but hopefully I can go to the party." He grabbed the employment packet from his bedside desk and started flipping through. "Unless I get stuck on Saturday duty…"

Once again, Grover cleared his throat, this time more aggressively. "Seriously, Grover, what's wrong with you?" Percy asked.

After a moment Grover recomposed himself and chuckled lightly. "Nothing," he answered. "Breathed oxygen through the wrong pipe, no worries." He quickly rose from his bed and grabbed his keys. "Anyway, I'll leave you to get some rest. Gonna grab a late lunch. Sleep well!"

With that, Grover was gone, leaving Percy mystified by his roommate's behavior while he stewed in his stress. It took quite some time, but after a few hours of restless exhaustion, sleep found him.

It wasn't until morning that Percy awoke. Even though he hadn't set alarms, his eyes opened at the crack of dawn to Grover's symphony of snores. Percy rose out of bed, slipped on a pair of shorts and t-shirt, swung his swim bag over his shoulder, then headed out as his phone read 5:30 AM.

After grabbing a quick bite from the dining hall, Percy crossed campus with ease. Although the campus bus was parked and willing to take him, he opted just to walk to the practice facility, which although took him more time left less up to chance.

As he walked, he kept thinking of Mr. Brunner's words. It irked him how freely he'd been mocked, but kernels of truth had scattered the lecture. Percy had always struggled with balancing time and commitments. And if he did have an injury, how would he recover? His ego told him he'd be unrelenting in his rehab, but another part wondered if he'd be able to handle the pressure.

He quickly steeled himself. Whatever comes my way, I'll deal with it, he thought. I'm not getting kicked out of Stanford. If not for his own pride, for the sake of saving himself the look of pity from his mother who hated to see him fail.

The campus existed in a still haze this early in the morning, even compared to how it had been an hour later the previous day. Without being in a hurry, Percy could appreciate how beautiful it looked in the amber sheets of sunrise. Its buildings, tan brick with bountiful arches and burgundy roofing, looked distinctly Californian, at least in Percy's mind. It was a stark contrast to New York's concrete jungle, one he'd always called home, but as he bore the morning walk alone, he didn't mind the change.

At last, he reached the facility as his phone read 5:55AM. He shoved the doors open to the loud clash of metal ringing in the wide-open room. They echoed dramatically and Percy winced, wishing he'd been a bit gentler. However, the ringing was soon coupled with the dribbling of a basketball. He turned to his right, and at the other end of the gym was the same blonde girl from the morning before lined up with a rack of basketballs. He watched as, just as before, she took a basketball, dribbled twice, then shot, the curls at the ends of her ponytail bouncing loosely before resting at the middle of her back as the ball hit the backboard and swished with acute precision.

Maybe I'm not the only one being blackmailed with morning practice, Percy thought. He watched her shoot a few balls, each swishing with ease, before he turned and saw the doors to the pool ahead closed shut. He crossed the court and attempted to push them open with no success. After ramming his shoulder into the doors a few times, he sighed. They were locked, which meant he'd shown up for nothing.

He slid down to the floor with his back against the door, crossing his arms and pouting. Sure, it meant he didn't have to practice, but why had he been forced to show up so early? It could be a test, Percy thought. They might want to see if I'll find a way to work out outside of the pool. He snorted and shook his head. If they expected him to start running laps in the gym at 6AM, they'd be sorely disappointed. Though he'd never minded early morning endurance training in the pool, Percy would gladly forfeit his scholarship if it required he run laps before breakfast.

He yawned as he listened to the distant dribble-dribble-clunk-swish. Despite sleeping for over twelve hours the night before, his body craved more rest. Slowly his eyes fluttered until they wouldn't open and he found himself nodding off into oblivion. Just as he entered the void of unconsciousness, he was jolted awake falling backward and banging his head against the floor.

"OW!" he yelled, rubbing the point of contact as he felt it swell up. Stunned in confusion, it took him a moment to realize he'd fallen into the pool room. Looking up, he saw the doors wide open and a blonde girl staring down at him. Under her left arm rested against her side sat a basketball. She wore standard Stanford red shorts with a black tee underneath a red practice jersey. Her right hand rested on her hip, and with hair pulled back, save for a strand of blond looping over her right eye, Percy could see gray thunderstorms swirling restlessly in her eyes.

"What just happened?!" Percy exclaimed in confusion.

She studied him with a scowl, her eyes seeping into his soul. Percy couldn't tell what she was thinking, but he figured they weren't nice thoughts. Finally, she blew the loose strand of hair out of the way and said simply:

"You drool when you sleep."