Percy Jackson and the Lightning thief Son of the chief messenger

Chapter 3

~Percy's Pov~

Confession time, we ditched Grover as soon as we got to the bus terminal.

I know, I know. It was rude. But Grover was freaking me out, looking at me like I was a dead man, muttering "Why does this always happen?" and "Why does it always have to be sixth grade?" I even had to go through the ordeal of convincing Y/N to leave with me.

Whenever Grover got upset his bladder acted up, so I wasn't surprised when, as soon as we got off the bus, he made us promise to wait for him, then made a beeline for the restroom. Instead of waiting, we got our suitcases, slipped outside, and caught a taxi uptown.

"East One-hundred-and-forth and First." I told the driver.

"I feel like a jerk..." Y/N said as we sat down.

"I know, but he was starting to worry me. Besides, we have enough to worry about just convincing my mom to let you stay." I told him.

A word about my mother, before you meet her.

Her name is Sally Jackson and she's the best person in the world, which proves my theory that the best people have the rottenest luck. Her own parents died in a plane crash when she was five, and she was raised by an uncle who didn't care much about her. She wanted to be a novelist, so she spent high school working to save money for college with a good creative-writing program. Then her uncle got cancer, and she had to quit school her senior year to take care of him. After he died, she was left with no money, no family and no diploma.

The only good break she ever got was meeting my dad.

I don't have any memories of him, just this sort of warm glow, maybe the barest trace of his smile. My mom doesn't like to talk about him because it makes her sad. She has no pictures.

See, they weren't married. She told me he was rich and important, and their relationship was a secret. Then one day, he set sail across the Atlantic on some important journey, and he never came back.

Lost at sea, my mom told me. Not dead. Lost at sea.

She worked odd jobs, took night classes to get her high school diploma, and raised me on her own. She never complained or got mad. Not even once. But I knew I wasn't an easy kid.

Finally, she married Gabe Ugliano, who was nice the first thirty seconds we knew him, then showed his true colors as a world-class jerk. When I was young, I nicknamed him Smelly Gabe. I'm sorry, but it's the truth. The guy reeked like moldy garlic pizza wrapped in gym shorts.

Between the two of us, we made my mom's life pretty hard. The way Smelly Gabe treated her, the way he and I got along... well, when I came home is a good example.

I walked into our little apartment followed closely behind by Y/N, hoping my mom would be home from work. Instead, Smelly Gabe was in the living room, playing poker with his buddies. The television blared ESPN. Chips and beer cans were strewn all over the carpet.

Hardly looking up, he said around his cigar. "So, you're home."

"Where's my mom?" I questioned him.

"Working." Smelly Gabe answered. "You got any cash?"

That was it. No welcome back, good to see you, how has your life been the last six months?

Gabe had put on weight. He looked like a tuskless walrus in thrift-store clothes. He had about three hairs on his head, all combed over his bald scalp, as if that made him handsome or something

He managed the Electronics Mega-Mart in Queens, but he stayed home most of the time. I don't know why he hadn't been fired long before. He just kept collecting paychecks, spending the money on cigars that made me nauseous, and on beer, of course. Always beer. Whenever I was home, he expected me to provide his gambling funds. He called that our "guy secret." Meaning, if I told my mom, he would punch my lights out.