Percy Jackson and the Child of Victory (Annabeth Chase x Reader)

I Blew up my History Teacher

Look, I didn't want to be a half-blood.

If you're reading this because you think you might be one, my advice is: close this book right now. Believe whatever lie your mom or dad told you about your birth, and try to lead a normal life.

Being a half-blood is dangerous. It's scary. Most of the time, it gets you killed in painful, nasty ways. If you're a normal kid, reading this because you think it's fiction, great. Read on. I envy you for being able to believe that none of this ever happened. But if you recognize yourself in these pages – if you feel something stirring inside – stop reading immediately. You might be one of us. And once you know that, it's only a matter of time before they sense it too, and they'll come for you.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

My name is Y/N L/N.

I'm twelve years old. Until a few months ago, I was a boarding student at Avalor Academy, a private school for troubled kids in New York that allowed physical punishments. Am I a troubled kid? Yeah. You could say that.

I'm really competitive, so much so that it's almost like a second person come out of me when i do, so different my doctors thought it might be Dissociative identity disorder or D.I.D  at first but that was disproven by multiple doctors. They chopped it up to my ADHD, saying it amplifies my competitiveness and anger issues, i don't like having these outbursts, i regret them alot when i do them.

they started when i was young, whenever my half-brother, Marcus would win at a game i would flip, ever time someone would beat me (which by the way, was a fairly rare thing) i would suddenly get really anger and suddenly very strong and fast, Doctors said when i was anger i would get a large spike of Adrenaline.

i'm anger most of the time anyway, but the other kids at Avalor dont make this condition, whatever it is, any easier, especially Kent and Kenny Hornet, their greasy brown hair and uneven faces make then difficult to look at, but they make it there mission to fuck up my life any chance they get, whether they force me into the bathroom to give me a swirly, or knocking my books out of my hands, or straight up beating me up in the halls, its like their mission in life is to make me and my best friend's life a living hell.

My best friend, Donny, He was scrawny. He cried when he got frustrated. He must've been held back several grades, because he was the only sixth grader with acne and the start of a wispy beard on his chin. On top of all that, he was crippled. He had a note excusing him from PE for the rest of his life because he had some kind of muscular disease in his legs. He walked funny, like every step hurt him, but don't let that fool you. You should've seen him run when it was pizza day in the cafeteria.

Donny look at me with his big black eyes as he eats his cucumber sandwich, his black haired fringe falls over his eyes a bit "so are you excited for the excretion tomorrow?" he asked with a mouth full, we were going to a greek exhibit tomorrow with some other trouble kids academy from new york, uh Yancy Academy i think is the name "yeah, i guess" i say as i look back down at my apple pie slice and poke at it with my fork.

"aren't you excited?" he asked as if i had been waiting to go on this field trip my whole life "i guess?" i go back to munching on my pie, before Don can continue, Kent and Kenny hit him over the head as the walk by, i stand up as i clench my fists before Don hold my hand, giving me a 'im fine' look and i sit back down as he opens his bag and pulls out a stress ball and passes it to me, he has a whole bag of them in his bag because when ever i can control my anger, i need a outlet so i dont explode, and often i- *pop* the stress ball pops in my hand before i can finish my thought, the flour in it leaks out of the whole i made, i close the whole with my finger before thowing it in the bin and brushing off the flour on my shirt.