Fallen Goddess

Part 1

Look, I didn't want to be a half-blood. Never.

If you're reading this because you think you might be one, my advice is: close this book right now. Believe whatever lie your mom or your dad told you about your birth, and try to lead a normal life.

Being a half-blood is dangerous. It's scary. Most of the time, it gets you killed in painful, nasty ways.

If you're a normal kid, reading this because you think it's fiction, great. Read on. I envy you for being able to believe that none of this ever happened.

But if you recognize yourself in these pages - if you feel something stirring inside - stop reading immediately. You might be one of us. And once you know that, it's only a matter before they sense it too, and they'll come for you.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

My name is Christy Adela Zeus.

Zeus? Are you kidding me? Nah, I'm not. It was great to think that you might be one of the Greek gods daughter or son, but in facts, to have the gods name as your last name, people will laughed at you. And it was tiring so I prefer you call me Christy Adela or whoever name you want to call me as long as there is no Zeus as my last name.

I'm eighteen years old. Until a few months ago, I was a boarding student at YancyAcademy, a private school for troubled kids in upstate New York.

Am I trouble kid? Yeah. You could say that.

I could start at any point in my shirt miserable life to prove, but things really started going bad last May, when our sixth-grade class took a field trip to Manhattan - twenty-eight mental-case kids and two teachers on a yellow bus, heading to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to look at ancient Greek and Roman stuff.

I know- it sounds like torture. Most Yancy field trips were.

But Mr. Leonard, our Latin teacher, was leading this trip, so I had hopes.

Mr. Leonard was this middle-aged guy in a motorized wheelchair. He had thinning hair and a scruffy beard and a frayed tweed jacket, which always smelled like coffee. You wouldn1t think he'd be cool, but he tld 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.

I hoped the trip would be okay. At least, I hoped that for once I wouldn't get in trouble.

Dude, 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 before that, at my fourth-grade school, when we took a behind-the-scenes tour of the Marine World shark pool, I sort of hit the wrong lever on the catwalk and our class took an unplanned swim. And the time before that.... Well, you get the idea.