𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗘𝗔 𝗦𝗘𝗘𝗠𝗘𝗗 • 𝘗𝘑𝘖

𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗘𝗡

𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗞𝗦 𝗧𝗢 𝗔 satyr nature magic spell–using acorns and a quick jaunty tune on Grover's pipes–they deduced that they had to go to D.C.. Jackie stayed quiet. She didn't have as much of a gift with voices as she did faces.

It was easy enough. Marielle took control of the conversation anytime it seemed like Zoë wanted Phyllis's opinion–they stayed in the back of the van, quietly chatting for the majority of the drive.

Zoë was more interested in what Bianca knew about D.C., since she'd lived there. Thalia was from California, Jackie had never been outside of New York City before Westover, and Marielle was, apparently, from Florida.

"Spent most of my childhood on a fishing boat that went up and down the coast," she told Jackie. "Didn't go on land much."

It was such an absurd upbringing that Jackie had a hard time believing it. "You didn't. . . go on land? No wonder Brizo had a kid with your dad–he's basically her entire domain!"

Marielle chuckled weakly. "Yeah, I guess so."

Jackie turned to look at her. The girl was picking at the broken pocket on her jeans. The hole had to be hand made–one loose thread, one wrong word, and Marielle had picked open the pocket. "Did I say something?"

Marielle's head shot up. She looked panicked, like she hadn't wanted Jackie to get that impression. Almost like she'd thought Jackie wouldn't notice that something was wrong.

"No! It's just . . ." Marielle's piercing eyes darted to the front of the bus and her voice lowered. "He's just kind of a dick."

"Oh."

"And we spent all our time on the boat, just the two of us." Marielle's words came faster and faster and somehow got quieter, as if she were ashamed to even say them aloud. "He's my dad, and I loved him, but he was always dr—" Her eyes darted to Jackie, as if working out how she'd respond. "He was loud and yelled all the time. I didn't have anybody but him."

Oh. Jackie knew what that meant. She could tell what Marielle was holding back.

"That sounds . . ." like hell, she wanted to say. Stuck on a boat with an alcoholic? She restrained herself. This was an important moment. Jackie couldn't say the wrong thing. If she did, Marielle would wall herself off again. "How did you get here?"

Marielle perked up, like this was the part of the story she was proud of. "We were pretty close to shore. Just left the dock where we sold most of our catch–anyway, I couldn't stand it anymore, so I jumped overboard."

Jackie's jaw dropped. "You didn't."

Marielle shrugged, smirking a bit. "Tried to swim to shore. I made it, then Brizo decided to give me a gift. She gave me a magical raft, and it took me all the way up the coast to Camp Half-Blood."

"From Florida to New York?" Jackie could picture the raft, straight out of every shipwreck movie she'd ever watched. "What about food? Water?"

"I'm the daughter of the goddess of fishermen," Marielle deadpanned. "Food wasn't a problem."