Alacrity

I

i. In Which It Is Possible For The Hermes Cabin To Be Quiet

The school-year was almost over. Her friends would be coming back soon - everything would be alright soon. The words began to sound unfamiliar and garbled as Lyra muttered them to herself nearly every morning, when she swung her legs off the bottom bunk and simply walked out the door and towards the bathroom. The only signs of life in the cabin were from her - her clothes, her posters, her unmade bed.

Luke had left his sheets rumpled, his covers sprawled at the foot of his bed. He always kicked them off himself in the night; sometimes he would kick it off his bed and onto the floor, and Lyra would slip on it in the morning. But that hadn't been for a long time, Lyra reminded herself, as she unmade his bed and gathered his unused sheets, placing them with hers for the wash. She didn't know if the cleaning harpies ever noticed, because they probably would have made some snide comment about her devotion to Luke, ritually cleaning his sheets even after he had left, and would suggest one of their favorite ways to eat humans. Or maybe they just never had the chance to make any comments, seeing as Lyra avoided them like the plague.

She had never felt lonely before, not until last summer had ended. She had always had Luke - and Annabeth - with her, even when most of the campers went home for the year and their cabins had all but emptied. But they were both gone, and Lyra was all but alone. She had to become far more comfortable with Clarisse, seeing as her options for company were mainly the daughter of Ares or Miranda Gardner, who wasn't bad, but had grown quite tired of Lyra's endless tricks. At least Clarisse sort of liked it when Lyra stole from her, since it gave her quite a good reason to whip out her spear.

But, as she told herself everyday, her friends would be coming back soon. Everytime she said it, she felt funny. Her stomach twisted slightly, dropping lower in her abdomen as though she had swallowed a stone. Her throat tightened, and it became hard to swallow. She missed her friends, of course - the letters they exchanged weren't nearly enough. But sometimes, when she would sit on her bed after dinner and reread them, they would sound different. What if they were angry with her? As she mouthed along, her mind leapt ahead - the letter that Annabeth sent, when she included what Lyra thought was less than normal about her home life, must have meant that she didn't trust Lyra because of what happened with her brother. She thought Percy must have hated her when his letter was less than half a page, and was nearly half-indecipherable (though his handwriting typically was).

And when her friends came home, though it wasn't really their home, was it, it would be confirmation. If they didn't trust her anymore, and they hated her, she would know. And it would mean she would have lost everyone (save Clarisse, she supposed, who didn't particularly like her). And if they didn't, Lyra didn't know how she would feel. Relieved, of course - but part of her wondered if she wanted them to hate her. If Lyra was honest, she thought she hated herself, too.

Only, she didn't know why. When she lay in her bed, staring at the bottom of her brother's bunk, she would allow her mind to wander. And her throat would tighten, and bile would begin to rise - her stomach would twist, and she would shudder. So many reasons - too many reasons, all conflicting but yelling in the back of her mind, crying out and pushing each other for her attention. Because she didn't go with her brother. Because she and her brother were now on different paths. Because she was powerless. Because she didn't know what to do. Because she didn't have a family. Because she thought her friends hated her. Because now, she was wallowing in self-pity in misery, letting her thoughts drown her. But her friends would be coming back soon. And Lyra found herself hoping that everything would be alright.

She didn't even know the date. When Lyra thought back, she didn't even know what day of the week it was - all she remembered was Clarisse barging into her cabin, bringing in the only noise that wasn't Lyra in quite some time, "Get up, Castellan!"