The Hero Trio (PJO X HP X OC fanfic)

Chapter 4: Your Typical Evil Stepmom Problems

<Rose's POV>

"So then I throw my skateboard at it and it evaporates.." Rose shakily recalls the events of earlier. She had to get it off her chest, and who better to than her best friends- with whom she'd faced lots of weirdness with.

"You're.. you're kidding right?" Calla breathes uncertainly, tugging up a flower from the patch of green grass that they are sitting on.

"When have I ever kidded with y'all?" Rose glares.

Milo chuckles, "Yeah.. I wonder when."

"Okay.. I get it, this sounds 100 percent unbelievable compared to all the other things that we've done. But I'm telling the truth!" Rose desperately tries to convince them.

"Well..," Calla exchanges a knowing glance with Milo, "I guess we believe you,"

"Well, even if you don't, come to my house later, around 8, I'll show you guys something that'll convince you." Rose says stubbornly.

"I'm down," Milo says, "My dad's bringing another chick later, and I'll have to be there alone.. so count me in,"

"Me too. My dad and sister are staying overnight in the hospital later and I don't wanna bother Indy when she has Crystal and Skye to look after." Calla smiles.

Rose grins and starts, "Great, oh and by the way-"

RIIIIIIIIINNGGGG

The bell rings, signaling the end of lunch break.

"UGH, nevermind I'll tell you later," Rose grumbles, gathering up her stuff.

Calla and Milo nod and the three of them head off to lunch.

                       ***

Time skip to Rose's House...

Pop music sounds loudly from Rose's speakers in her spacious room, as she cleans her room to make space for her guests. Even though her father had easily the biggest and grandest house in the neighborhood, and even though her stepmom kept the house as clean and pristine as ever, Rose's room still looked like.. well, it wasn't exactly neat for starters. And the walls were painted black with neon decorations and posters everywhere. After it was cleaned, it looked pretty nice, actually.

A sharp rapping on the doors interrupts Rose's dreamy thoughts of having her friends over later. "Come in!" She yells impatiently, annoyed by the interruption despite the Do Not Disturb sign on her doors.

An elegant and smartly dressed woman stands at the door. Miranda. She wears a long-sleeved dress with a daring neckline and a low cut, and on top of that: piles of jewelry.

She made for an imposing figure, with her blond hair cascading down her shoulders in styled curls, her 6'4 height, her cold gray-blue eyes, her perfectly manicured long nails, and the sound of her walking in her heels that could be heard from miles around; 'click clack click clack'. Anyone looking at her would either feel small, awed, or may fall in love with her. (Thus Rose's father's case)

But for Rose, she felt was a pure, deep hatred.

"What do you want?" she says, standing up and putting her hands on her hips, glaring at her.

"Why is that any way to greet your loving stepmother?" Miranda says, in mock despair, pouting.

Rose clenches her fists as she says, "Just spit it out. What do you want?"

Miranda rolls her eyes and saunters over and holds out her hand, "Your grades from this week? Now."

Rose grumbles. Miranda has a stupid habit of asking her for her grades every week.

She takes out her test papers from this week and unwillingly hands it to her.

"Math, horrible. English terrifying. Science, humph.. a 'B' isn't good enough, you brainless little girl. French, I won't even bother. Geography and History- ooh, fun; a little note from your teacher: 'Rose, please start trying to concentrate in my class, your constant 'D's' are pissing me off.'" she reads, "You're so dumb Rose, if you truly loved this family, you'd care for our reputation and listen to me." Miranda purses her lips and smirks.

Rose gives her the only good work that achieved her an 'A' this week: a beautiful painting of the ocean, seafoam bubbling merrily on the surface. It looks perfect and beautiful. "It earned me an A," Rose tell her, crossing my arms.

Miranda lets out a high-pitched shriek of laughter, holding the painting with the tip of her fingers like it's something disgusting. Then she drops it, a hole tore through the paper in the progress,

"You call this art? Even a preschooler could do better than this piece of garbage,"

Tears spring to Rose's eyes, but she swallows down the sadness, "I worked on that 'worthless piece of garbage' for two weeks," her voice unusually hollow.

Miranda snorts amusedly, and fusses with her hair, "Your point is? If it weren't for you, I would have a peaceful life, so get on with it and don't waste my time,"

Rose stares at her, in shock, she'd never been so mean before. Rose grits her teeth, "You destroyed my painting, my only token of a good grade this month,"

"You're so pathetic Rosalia," she drawls, using my much-hated full name, "I bet everyone talks about you behind your back," She switches to a high voice in mock imitation, "Rose is so ugly! Rose is so rude! Rose is so worthless and dumb!"

"Stop it right now!" A stubborn, stupid tear trickles pathetically down her cheek.

"Make me," she says nonchalantly, examining her nails.

Rose growls angrily and launches herself at her, ripping, tearing, shredding, clawing at anything in her reach.

When she finally back away, her dress is torn, hanging off one shoulder, exposing her frilly undergarments, clumps of her blonde hair lay strewn on the floor, a single earring hanging pathetically on one ear.

Rose gasps: she did that.

"You'll pay for that, you little good-for-nothing idiot." She says, wide-eyed at the mess she made, "You're a burden to me and this family. No wonder your mother left you. Get away from me you assaulting Devil," she whimpers.

Rose shoves her out of her room and slams her door, panting heavily. She can't live with this. Then the floodgates open. Once and for all. She sobs, wishing she could find peace at home for once.

After she cried, an impulsive thought sprang to her mind: Run away.

Blinded by the thought of possible peace at least: she starts grabbing all the clothes and things she thought she would need and stuffed them into a rucksack. She strapped her skateboard to my back and headed downstairs to raid the kitchen. She leaves a half-heartedly and hastily written note for her dad, explaining this impossible situation and telling him to call her if Miranda was gone

She takes one last deep breath and step out of the manor, a place of unhappy memories. Certain and sure of her decision, she leaves.

She doesn't make it two steps out of the house when a hand rests on her shoulder.

"And just where do you think you're going?" Milo asks, spinning her round to face him, a brow arched and his face serious. Calla stands behind him quizzically looking at me.

Busted.