In a world where gods and demigods clash, Anna Danvers, daughter of Poseidon, stands at the heart of prophecy. As the chosen one of the ancient foretellings, her fate intertwines with the destiny of both Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter.
With braver...
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𝕐𝕆𝕌'ℝ𝔼 ℕ𝕆𝕋 𝔸ℕℕ𝔸
"So it's gonna be forever" Blank Space (Taylor's Version)
EVEN BEFORE I GOT ELECTROCUTED, I was having one of the most rotten days of my life, not that I remembered it though.
I woke in the backseat of a school bus, not sure where I was, holding hands with a girl I didn't know. I rubbed my eyes trying to remember; I wasn't supposed to be holding hands with this girl, I have a girlfriend. Her name... Her name... Anna, Anna Danvers. I internally sighed in relief, at least I remembered her. I then looked around me...
A few dozen kids sprawled in the seats in front of me, listening to iPods, talking, or sleeping. They all looked around my age ... fifteen? Sixteen? Seventeen? Okay, that was scary. How do I not know my own age?
The bus rumbled along a bumpy road. Out the windows, the desert rolled by under a bright blue sky. I was pretty sure I didn't live in the desert. I tried to think back ... the last thing I remembered... I was kissing a blond, saying goodbye for some reason.
The girl squeezed my hand. "Jason, you okay?"
I visually frowned, she wasn't the one suppose to be holding it.
The girl wore faded jeans, hiking boots, and a fleece snowboarding jacket. Her chocolate brown hair was cut choppy and uneven, with thin strands braided down the sides. She wore no makeup like she was trying not to draw attention to herself, but it didn't work. She was very attractive. Her eyes seemed to change color like a kaleidoscope—brown, blue, and green. But holding her hand felt wrong, everything about her felt wrong. Her hair was supposed to be straight and blond (with blue highlights), her eyes should have been sea-blue, with specks of white near the iris and dark black eyeliner. She was supposed to be wearing bold red lipstick and not be afraid of attention. This girl wasn't Anna. And I couldn't help but voice out my thoughts. Bad move.
"You're not Anna"
In the front of the bus, a teacher shouted, "All right, cupcakes, listen up!"
The guy was obviously a coach. His baseball cap was pulled low over his hair, so you could just see his beady eyes. He had a wispy goatee and a sour face like he'd eaten something moldy. His buff arms and chest pushed against a bright orange polo shirt. His nylon workout pants and Nikes were spotless white. A whistle hung from his neck, and a megaphone was clipped to his belt. He would've looked pretty scary if he hadn't been five feet zero. When he stood up in the aisle, one of the students called, "Stand up, Coach Hedge!"
"I heard that!" The coach scanned the bus for the offender. Then his eyes fixed on me, and his scowl deepened.
A jolt went down my spine. Shit! I was sure the coach knew I didn't belong there. He was going to call me out, demand to know what I was doing on the bus—and I wouldn't have a clue what to say. I remembered nothing, no one, except Anna.
