Down in Flames [OC Demigod Fic]

Chapter Seven: "On The Road with Rhodes"

My journey to Camp Jupiter continues an hour later with one extra passenger. It took some time to modify the flying bike into a two-seater; nevertheless, Rhodes was amazed by my craftsmanship. The whole 'flying' part was hard for him to fathom at first. We haven't had to stop until now.

"If you don't mind me asking, why are you going to California?" Rhodes asks me as we eat lunch at a local McDonald's. We barely talked while flying, since the wind up there is too loud for us to hear anything quieter than a shout.

"I'm going to a camp. It's kind of exclusive," I shrug and munch on some fries. "Why are you running away? If you don't mind me asking, of course."

He pushes away his food and clasps his hands together, as if preparing to give a long speech. "I've been having some trouble at home for a while now, but after some... Upsetting recent events, I decided it was time to leave for good. After all, I'm almost eighteen. I can make my own choices," he says, almost in a defensive tone; it seems like he's tried to explain that last part before. I can't help but notice our stories are similar. Though I want to know the details, it seems too personal of a thing to ask.

"What are your parents like?" I ask patiently. Though I'd prefer to get to the whole 'Guess-What-You're-A-Demigod' part, I have to listen to his whole life story first. Yippee.

"My dad owns a huge business; he's pretty much the CEO. They treat him like royalty there," Rhodes rolls his eyes.

"Does that make you a prince?" I tease.

"I suppose," he smiles lightly. "He doesn't like sharing his power, though. No way he would let me run the company, not in a million years."

I give him an empathetic smile. "What about your mom?" I ask. The answers are almost always the same when it comes to the godly parent's backstory. She's either 'dead' or 'left when I was a baby'.

"She's a gardener," he says, sounding happier to be talking about his mother, rather than the father he seems to despise. "Our garden at home was my favorite place," he adds in a nostalgic voice.

"That's all?" His answer, though sweet, isn't what I expected.

"Well, she isn't home a lot."

I nod blankly. "So is she your step-mother or..." Studying his face, I wonder if his mother is Aphrodite— he's definitely pretty enough.

Rhodes shakes his head, looking a bit confused. "Nope, they're definitely both my biological parents. That's a very odd thing to ask, by the way."

Laughing loudly, I change the subject. "So, what do you plan on doing once you get to California?" I don't like being wrong, but I'll admit it this time around. Rhodes could be a mortal who can see through the Mist.

"Not sure yet," he shrugs. As an afterthought, he adds, "I've always wanted to work in a hospital, but that requires college. And college requires money, which I unfortunately have little of at the time being." He stares out the window, perhaps second guessing his decision to leave his wealthy home and family.

"You never know what opportunities there are," I say, sounding oddly optimistic. "Don't give up on your dream, Rhodes."

He smiles back at me. "Thanks, Sabine. I'd never have thought to keep pursuing my dreams," he says with an edge of sarcasm. Pretending to be annoyed by his sass, I throw a french fry at his face.

"Ow," he says in a very monotone voice, trying to hold back a smile. We end up starting a fry food fight, laughing the whole time as we're kicked out of the restaurant.

Walking back to our bike, Rhodes looks at me, tilting his head slightly. "I've told you what there is to know about me. What about you? Where were you before you set off towards this mystery camp?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," I reply.

He tips his head back and laughs. "Come on, that's such a cliché answer," Rhodes gives me a determined look, responding with his own cliché remark. "Try me."

I hop in the front seat and motion for him to get on. "I'll tell you when you're older." Truett would be proud to know that I stole his line; it's a shame I'll never see him again.

"I'm fairly certain that I'm older than you," he raises an eyebrow curiously.

"I'm sixteen," I answer the question that's on his mind. "Now let's get a move on, Rhode-runner." He smirks at the pet name and gets on the second bike seat, sighing in an annoyed fashion.

"You can call me Rhody, if you'd like."

Feeling my cheeks grow warm, I face forward and smile to myself. Nicknames are the first sign of a friendship in the making. "Rhody it is, then."