Deadly Waters | Percy Jackson

1. Deadly Eyes

The flames danced and leapt in the air, reaching hungrily for anything that they can consume to fuel their wrath.

"Pez."

The plastic recoiled like it can feel the heat, wrinkling into a ruche around the burn. She watched with motionless eyes and brings the flame in again. This time she held it on until a black wisp of smoke curled upwards, eddying in the late fall air like the perfect strokes of an artist.

"Pez."

In seconds a yellow flame had consumed it entirely. She flew to open the window as the acridness of the fumes stung her eyes into motion and made her cough. When she turned back it is simply black and fragile, its flexibility lost. Then her face cracked into a sly grin. Already her mind is searching her 'home' and school for more things to burn. With one strike of her match they would never be the same again, it was a similar thrill to the one she had when she made her first maze in woodwork, but so very much easier.

"Pez, stop day-dreaming about burning Bobofit's stuff." A voice whispered in her ear. "No violence today, remember?"

The slightly manic grin faded from 'Pez's' face as her mind came out of its pyromanic fantasy, now forced to once again endure the inescapable screaming and shouting of the snot-nosed children of Yancy Prep. Now scowling fiercely, her ire directed at everyone and thing in general, Pez wondered for the millionth time what kind of shit-for-brains ninny thought it would be a good idea to shove 40 or so 'trouble' kids onto the one bus, and send them on a field trip to a museum. A museum, of all places.

A flash of red in the corner of her vision brought her attention back on track, and Pez was reminded of the true source of her irritation and violent intention.

"I'm going to kill her." The boy next to her muttered, the same one that had broken her reverie with his whispered warning. She raised a dark eyebrow at his mumbled threat, briefly feeling a flash of amusement.

"No violence today, remember?" She mocked sardonically, slightly miffed she had been called out for merely thinking about setting the girl aflame, whereas he could make death threats.

Sea-green eyes peaked out somewhat sheepishly from underneath jet black hair, only the slightest hint of apology present in the softening of his clenched jaw. But all the same, he shrugged his shoulders in a 'what-can-you-do' sort of way and Pez rolled her eyes.

All the way into the city, the two had put up with Nancy Bobofit, the freckly, redheaded kleptomaniac girl, hitting his friend Grover in the back of the head with chunks of peanut butter-and-ketchup sandwich.

Grover was an easy target. He was scrawny. He cried when he got frustrated. He must've been held back several grades, because he was the only sixth grader with acne and the start of a wispy beard on his chin. On top of all that, he was crippled. He had a note excusing him from PE for the rest of his life because he had some kind of muscular disease in his legs. He walked funny, like every step hurt him, but don't let that fool you. You should've seen him run when it was enchilada day in the cafeteria.

As Nancy Bobofit continued throwing wads of sandwich that stuck in his curly brown hair, Pez knew that Jackson wouldn't - couldn't - do anything back to her because he was already on probation. The headmaster had threatened him with death by in-school suspension if anything bad, embarrassing, or even mildly entertaining happened on this trip.

Not that she particularly cared about the scrawny boy, but seeing the afore-mentioned chunks fly over her own head distracted Pez from fantasising all the different ways she could get of the trip – the more explosive, the better.