The End of an Olympian

10 | Running Away

Time to visit Camp Half-Blood.

1039 words

Caleb

I had run out of the classroom and out of the school. I couldn't believe what I had just done. The one teacher who didn't hate me surely does now. I mean I punched him! I freaking punched him! And I don't even remember why I was so upset. My anger sometimes blinds me so much I do things I heavily regret later. I didn't realize I had tears on my cheeks, so I definitely didn't notice where I was going. Soon enough I found myself in the alleyway where I sleep.

I was kicked out of my stepparents' house a few months ago. For the second time actually. The first time lasted a month before they let me come back. But the second time they threw me out for good. I've been living on the streets ever since.

A little bit of my background: my mom had me, she married this snobby guy, then she died of cancer. My stepdad remarried and had kids, so that left me—the odd one out. The one whose fake family threw them out after one slip up. Just one accidental push made Tommy fall off his chair and somehow break his arm.

My stepparents pegged me as a threat to their children after that. Sent me packing and told me never to return. They said the authorities wouldn't give a shit about me. Knowing my stepdad, he'd probably lie and say I was at a boarding school or military academy or something.

I forced myself to keep going to school, though. I knew my mom wouldn't want me to give up. She'd want me to have a better future. So I went. But it never went so well. From my first time being kicked out, I knew I'd have to arrive early and use the locker room showers because I have nowhere else to get cleaned up.

I would try to go through all the proper hygiene stuff my mom was extremely strict on, but that means I was usually late to first period. My skateboard helps me get there quicker, but it's not as fast as people's hoverboards or hoverskates. I remember knocking someone down trying to get to school on the first day. Upon entering class, I figured out it was Dr. Jackson who I knocked over. Remembering that he never held that against me made me feel even guiltier for punching the guy.

He was the first teacher I ever had who didn't automatically put me on their "troublemaker" list. That first day when he didn't mark me tarty and didn't call me out for sleeping in class was the first time a teacher ever showed me respect as a human being with problems of my own. I felt so drawn to him I did my very best to not be late again. I fell asleep a few times, though. It's hard to get a good night's rest when you're sleeping on concrete. It's even harder to get my homework completed. But every time I drifted off, he let me sleep. He didn't even attempt to wake me up. I was more grateful for that than I think he'd ever know. And now I'll never get to thank him or say I'm sorry because I ran away.

I guess I should go back to my present predicament of running, crying, hiding from my problems, and ending up in the dirty alley where I spend every night. Somehow Michaela and Flora found me. Those two were the most unlikely of friends and it's even crazier to think they became my friends. But that was what we were.

Flora saw the best in people. Always had and always will. She never judged a single person (except for the obvious assholes). Flora was the first person to genuinely smile at me simply because she thought I deserved a smile. She was the first person I genuinely smiled back at since my mom.

Michaela saw the truth in things. She never liked false pretenses, which is why I think we became friends. She was going on about why mandatory DNA registration was intrusive and a violation of our rights. Her points were valid, but she spoke in such a convoluted way, no one really understood what she was saying. I interrupted her after about ten minutes and said, "You talk too much. Get to the point."

Usually, people flip me off after that but not Michaela. She actually paused, thought about it, then nodded at me. The next time she went on a rant, she consolidated her thoughts and seemed quite proud for not over speaking. She came up to thank me and we started talking every day after that.

Eventually, Michaela and Flora grew close too and the trio was formed. Cliché right? At least it doesn't follow the Smurfette Principle (A/N: it's pretty interesting—look it up!).

I was pulled out of my haze when Flora rested her hand on my shoulder. Michaela came up on my other side.

"Caleb," Michaela said softly, "is this where you... have you been living on the streets this entire time?"

They knew I didn't have the best home life, but they didn't know that meant I had no home at all. I could only nod my head as I hung it in embarrassment and slight shame. I knew the situation wasn't entirely my fault, but sometimes I felt like if I could just be normal, not lose my temper, I'd still have a bed to sleep in.

Flora spoke up next. "Never again."

I was surprised by the hard tone of voice she used. I'd never heard her speak with such conviction. Their support and determination to stay by my side and help me almost sent me to tears again. But I held it in because they'd do me no good. I was done with crying.

Now I had to figure out what to do. Go back and apologize? Roam the streets? Turn myself over to foster care? Only the first option sounded logical, but I never got the chance to make that choice. Instead, a giant scorpion crept up behind us and cornered me and my friends. What could go wrong?