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Percy thought he was finally being accepted into camp. He felt as if he finally found a group of friends and had a home. Granted, he had a group of friends before, but this was different.
He was all alone in cabin three. He had plenty of room for all of his stuff: the Minotaur's horn, one set of spare clothes, and a toiletry bag. It wasn't much, but it was his. He got to sit at his own dinner table, which was lonely, pick all of his activities, call "lights out" whenever he felt like it, and not listen to anyone else.
Ever since the hellhound attack, whispers started to go around camp. The attack had scared everybody. It sent two messages: that Bronte—and now, Percy—were dangerous, and monsters would stop at nothing to kill them. They could even invade a camp that had always been considered safe.
The campers of cabin eleven steered clear of Percy when it came to sword class. Bronte and Anastasia still dueled each other, but even then, the little girl started to slowly choose a new person. Bronte was left alone, so Luke stepped up to be her new partner. He also agreed to have lessons with Percy one-on-one. He pushed the raven haired boy harder than ever, and wasn't afraid to bruise him up in the process.
Annabeth still taught them Greek in the mornings, but she seemed distracted. Bronte was slowly getting better at reading Ancient Greek, as she had to hardwire her brain back to where it needed to be. She still read books in English as much as she could, but camp rarely had any exciting ones. Her favorite was the Illiad and the Odyssey, which she could find both in camp, and at regular bookstores.
Everytime Percy said something, Annabeth would scowl at him, as if he'd just poked her between the eyes. Percy would look at Bronte for an explanation, but she just shrugged her shoulders, not knowing what to say.
After lessons, she would walk away muttering to herself: "Quest...Poseidon?...Dirty rotten...Got to make a plan..."
Even Clarisse kept her distance, though her venomous looks made it clear she wanted to kill him for breaking her magic spear. Percy wished she would just yell or punch him or something. He'd rather get into fights every day than be ignored.
One night, Bronte was sitting out on the docks, watching the stars sparkle in the sky. Her legs hung off the edge of the dock, with the water going up to her ankles. Part of Bronte wondered what would happen if she just...jumped in. It was late, and no one would really notice her disappearance. Plus, if anything happened, Percy could always save her. He was the Son of the Sea God, after all.
Footsteps echoed on the wood planks, before stopping right beside her. A body plopped down next to her and she smiled. Percy huffed, throwing a newspaper in her lap.
Bronte looked down to see a copy of the New York Daily News opened to the Metro page. She furrowed her brows as she looked up at Percy.
"I can't read it," he sighed, trying to relax his emotions. "Can you tell me what it says?"
