This Dark Night ― Percy Jackson & Annabeth Chase¹

―iii. home (not) sweet home

NAOMI ONLY FELT a little bad for ditching Grover as soon as they reached the bus terminal.

She doubted any reasonable person would blame her and Percy, though. Grover was freaking them both out, looking at Percy like he was a dead man, muttering, "Why does this always happen?" and, "Why does it always have to be seventh grade?"

When Grover ran to use the restroom, Percy and Naomi grabbed their luggage, slipped outside, and caught the first taxi uptown.

"East One Hundred and Fourth and First Avenue," Percy told the driver.

❊

Every time Naomi found herself staring up at the St. Monica's, she found herself missing Yancy. Compared to the cramped building chock full of orphans like her, the cement-enclosed spaces of her boarding school were like open-air gardens.

As much as she hated school in general, she'd much rather be there than at St. Monica's, wondering which of the kids she was living with had a violent streak and how to sneak downstairs without the floor betraying her movement.

Percy had invited her to go with him to his apartment, but Naomi had waved him off, telling him to tell his mother she said hello. Percy dealt with her baggage enough during the school year—he deserved a break from her for once.

Fighting a sigh, Naomi picked up her suitcase and trudged up the stone steps to the front door.

It was as loud and annoying inside of St. Monica's as Naomi remembered from Christmas break. She heard yelling from upstairs—several voices, all of them juvenile, most of them angry—and the sound of running footsteps above her.

"Oh, lookie here." Naomi's hands tightened around her suitcase at the voice. "Her Royal Majesty is back from her fancy boarding school."

Someone shoved her in the back, and she tried to hide her flinch, turning to glare at her longest-lasting bully.

With his stocky build, crooked nose from one too many punches to the face, and eyes that were always cold and cruel, Darren Nichols was a poster child for schoolyard bullies. He'd been at St. Monica's as long as Naomi had, and from the moment he learned to walk, he'd made life hell for everyone around him.

"Leave me alone, Darren," Naomi mumbled, trying to brush past him to the stairs that led up to the girls' quarters.

Of course, living with Darren was never that easy.

"Where're you going, Your Highness?" Darren sneered. "Are we too good for you now that you've got a bunch of prep-school buddies?"

He shoved her again, and the only reason Naomi didn't fall over was because she'd been expecting it. Still, she stumbled back, and Darren's eyes gleamed with malicious delight.

Naomi didn't believe in miracles much anymore, but luckily for her, they still happened from time to time. From the direction of the kitchen, she heard the shrill voice of one of the nuns in charge of the orphanage call, "Darren Nichols, get in here and clean up your mess! I am not your maid!"

Darren scowled, but even he wasn't stupid enough to defy Sister Margaret's call. As he stormed off toward the kitchen, Naomi slipped up the stairs, heading straight for the room she shared with seven other girls.

None of the girls in the room paid her any mind as she set her suitcase on her still-made bed. She felt gross and dirty from the long bus ride, so she grabbed some clean clothes from her suitcase and took a quick, cold shower.

By the time she'd cleaned herself up and changed into overalls and a sweatshirt—St. Monica's was almost always freezing, even in the summertime—she was shivering like a wet dog in a blizzard.