DEMIGODS. (Percico/Pernico)

˚‧º·Chapter One‧º·˚

High school is rough. I should know. The hallways are hardly ever empty, there are always papers flying everywhere, and sometimes your locker jams. Then, there's the teachers that seem like they have it out for you, namely my Italian teacher, Mr. di Angelo. He hated me for some reason, and I understood why, but that didn't mean he had to call me out on everything. I hated it when teachers did that.

I walked down the crowded hallways—and by walked, I mean evaded every person, trying not to run into them or step on the backs of their shoes, and avoided getting hit in the face by anyone or anything—with my Italian textbook tucked in my arm and my homework about 75% done, aimed for my next class, which I was dreading with every fiber of my being. My girlfriend of a year and a half, Annabeth Chase, babbled about something she found interesting about the architecture of the Roman colosseum as we made our way to our next class. I nodded to tell her I was listening, but I really wasn't.

Most guys my age were in basketball or some sport, but I'd always been fascinated by the bass guitar and music in its entirety. People told me to go out for swimming, which I would be absolutely amazing at, but I was unable to maintain a good enough GPA to be able to participate, even with a girlfriend as smart as Annabeth.

She waved goodbye to me as I entered the gloomy torture chamber that was known as the Italian classroom. I sighed, sitting down in my assigned desk, which was next to a girl with black hair, the tips of it dyed blue.

Her name was Thalia, and we'd been friends when we were younger, both of us wanting to start a band, but we never actually were able to because of other kids' lack of interest. Her younger brother wanted to join, too, but he was just kinda annoying. After then, in middle school, we sort of drifted apart. She joined this skater group called "The Hunters of Artemis," and we went our separate ways. Mainly because we never had time to hang out anymore.

"Buon giorno," said the devil himself as he entered the room and set his books on his desk.

I felt a shiver of foreboding course down my spine as he looked directly at me with his intimidating brown eyes.

"Everyone got their textbooks? If so, open them to page 293."

I huffed as I flipped to the page, which was a lesson assessment (those are just fancy words for a test that I didn't study for).

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The bell rang, the final bell for the day, and I left the Algebra classroom faster than Grover left to the cafeteria on enchilada day. Annabeth had tried tutoring me in math, but we both eventually gave up on it, mainly because I did not want to put the effort in. It was just not worth it. I wasn't going to use it. Ever. Not everyone is going to be a super smart engineer.

I just wished I could have a music class, just one, but my schedule didn't allow it. It was more focused on credits I needed so I could graduate. Then, maybe I could get a music scholarship and go somewhere that I could start a band.

Lost in my thoughts, I ran into a boy shorter and slighter than me.

"Oh, sorry," I told him, but the dark-haired boy only casted a glare at me.

I froze. I just pissed off the one person I shouldn't have. Nico di Angelo, the son of the teacher that absolutely hated me. Goodbye, graduation. Damn it.

Once he saw who ran into him, he turned his head away quickly and rushed in the opposite direction.

"What's his problem?" I muttered to myself before shrugging it off and walking to my locker.