Daughter Of Light- Book 1: PJO

Chapter 1: I Meet a Cute Guy & Vaporized my Bullies

"Eleanora! Are you paying attention?"

My head snaps up, "Huh? What? Yep, answer is 32."

The class around me sniggered. I groaned. My head had been absorbed in music and sketching on my jean shorts and backpack. We stopped in the parking lot of the Museum, and the teachers were both staring at me. I was at the back of the bus still, while everyone was pushing and shoving to get out.

Mr. Brunner, our History teacher, and Mr Miles the art were leading this trip. And our wonderful math teacher Ms Black, a thin frail woman with a bird beak like nose and tiny evil beady eyes. She was from Georgia, who always wore a black leather jacket, even though she was fifty years old. She looked mean enough to ride a Harley right into your locker. She had come to the school same time as I did, halfway through the year, when the last math teacher had a nervous breakdown.

Ms Black would point her crooked finger at me and say, "Now, honey," real sweet, and I knew I was going to get after-school detention for a month.

One time, after she'd made me erase answers out of old math workbooks until midnight. I complained through a lot of yawning the next day in art to Mr Miles, I didn't think Ms Black was human. He looked at me, real serious, and said, "You're absolutely right."

Mr. Brunner was this middle-aged guy in a motorized wheelchair. He taught me history and came to the school about the same time I did- after I was kicked out of my last school. He had thinning hair and a scruffy beard and a frayed tweed jacket, which always smelled like coffee. You wouldn't think he'd be cool, but he told stories and jokes and let us play games in class. He also had this awesome collection of Roman armor and weapons, so he was the only teacher whose class didn't put me to sleep.

That and Art.

Mr Miles was a short man with a huge curly afro. He was short stock and had huge shoulders that he could probably bench press Mr Brunner. He walked with a limp, he never said why, and I never asked. He was cool. Always sliding me paper to doodle on, he also liked to chat about the band t shirts I came to school with. They were the only teacher I liked. Actually they were the only people in the school I liked.

As I trudged off the bus behind the class. I had hoped the trip would be okay. At least, I hoped that for once I wouldn't get in trouble.

Boy, was I wrong.

See, bad things happen to me on field trips. Like at my fifth-grade school, when we went to the Saratoga battlefield, I had this accident with a Revolutionary War cannon. I wasn't aiming for the school bus, but of course I got expelled anyway. And after that, at my seventh grade school, when we took a behind-the-scenes tour of the old Broadway theatre, somehow the backstage burst into flames- it was not my fault they still used candles to light the stage, but somehow the whole theatre just erupted in a giant explosion. 911 was there, someone had called the bomb squad...it was a huge thing.

And 2 years ago, they took us to the animal shelter for volunteer work and when I saw the living conditions of them I got mad... 911 was called and I was blamed for a sudden onset illness. Like I could cause that!

And another time, when we went to the children's hospital the people kept coming up to me and hugging me praising me for their healing. The principal demanded to know what kind of prank I was pulling. And he refused to believe me when I had no idea what was going on. Dad had to take me to a shrink to prove I was mentally stable.

And then another time... Well, you get the idea.

This trip, I was determined to be good, and nothing crazy was going to happen.

Becky Wesser the school bully had decided today was a good day to test my patience. She was throwing spit balls into the back of my head, as we assended the steps.