Author's Note: This is my first published on fanfiction in years. Also, it's my first Percy Jackson fanfiction. And my first anything really written seriously in first person and from the view point of a child. Revews are loved. So is criticism.

Disclaimer: I only lay claim to my OC's. Everything else belongs to the Rick man or whoever owns the rights.

By the time I was eleven, I think I had only seen my dad a handful of times. The number was probably like five or six times. And when he did sporadically show up the guy never really said much to me. It was like he was just making sure that my mom hadn't screwed me up too bad. The only thing that I could remember about him and the times he came was that I was just happy my mom took me and not him because he did not seem like the type to be a decent dad. Even my stepdad, the world's biggest prude had to be better than what he would have been or that's what I always told myself whenever I thought about him.

I'm getting ahead of myself, though. My name is Chelsea Nicole Nichols. Yeah, yeah. CNN. I've heard all the jokes. My last name wasn't always Nichols. It was James until my mom married my stepfather when I was six. One of the worst days of my young life really. Not that I knew it at the time.

I digress, though. If my thoughts seemed scrambled blame my ADHD. I can hardly focus on anything really. No teacher or amount of medication could change that. The pills my mom gave me seemed to be as useful as placebos, those sugar pills that are used for drug experiments and what not.

Okay, let's really start from the beginning. My name is Chelsea Nicole Nichols. I live with my mom, my stepfather, and our dog in some middle class neighborhood in northern Virginia. Alexandria to be exact. My mother, Nicole, works as some aide to some Congressmen or something like. And my stepfather does some Defense contracting. I don't know what they do. It's boring stuff. They're really quite boring people (but I have feeling that my mother wasn't always so boring).

I'm not much to look at even for an eleven year old. I just dreaded the day puberty finally hit and my fears were confirmed. This baby fat wasn't going away. My already unmanageable dark curls would just be greasy. And there was no way that I'd get my mom's nice hips or her chest. No. I already looked too much like my biological father for that to happen. I doubted I'd get any taller. I would probably stay squat at five foot three the rest of my life. The only thing that puberty wouldn't do to me was make me stink.

I already had a naturally strange scent. People always told me I smelled fruity. Usually like grapes. Sometimes strawberries though. I never understood that either. Didn't question it though. But at eleven years old, I had a lot of other things to worry about other than my pleasantly strange fruity scent. You know like starting sixth grade in the fall (even though fifth grade hadn't ended just yet) and boys and that sort of stuff.

"But Mom…Judy's mother lets her shave her legs. Why can't I? I don't want to go to her pool party looking like a wooly mammoth. I'm already fat don't make me stay hairy too!" I whined as I stood beside her desk as she scribbled notes in a perfect handwriting that I could never mimic.

"Chelsea Nicole…you're eleven. You don't need to shave your legs. Savor it while you can. Shaving sucks! And you're not fat. It's just baby fat." My mother said, sticking her tongue out at the air as she scribbled a few things down from her laptop to her notebook. There were times when my mom could act funny or normal, but that was only when my stepfather Greg wasn't around. Jesus was he a prude. My mom was a pretty woman. Something I'd never be that was for sure. I'd already seen my future. She had strawberry blond hair that was always up in a tight neat bun. My mom also had bright green eyes. Mine were the color of dirt. She had flawless skin. Mine was permanently blotchy like my biological father's skin, it seemed. But enough about that…

Before I could respond again the doorbell rang to our two story house and our black German shepherd Mellow, started barking at the sound of it. My mother told me to go get the door and I did. Our house was decorated in such a way that one really wouldn't expect a dog or a child to live there. Greg liked to impress his work friends. He was also a Jesus freak and aside from forcing my mom and me to go to his Catholic church every Sunday (and me into Catholic school) he kept plenty of memorabilia around the house. That was probably the one thing me and my mom really agreed on. Even though she never said it, I knew she didn't believe in the Bible or Jesus or Christianity. And neither did I. At eleven I knew that this wasn't right…at least for me anyway. Didn't ever really make sense to me. Not to mention I nearly always fell asleep during Mass.

I passed through the living room with the black couch, two seater, and recliner and other furniture that could have been bought at Ikea or someplace like that. The only room that was in disarray in the entire house was my own room. It didn't have the same sophisticated color scheme. The walls were painted an obnoxiously bright purple and everything was pretty much purple. I loved the color purple. Certain shades more than others…but I loved all purples. However all thoughts were blown from my mind when I opened our front door.

"D.?" I asked as I stared at the man on the front porch. The best way I could think of to describe him was that he was one of those stereotypical frats boys at some party school college but add another twenty years and no job. His eyes were always bloodshot. I don't know why. He never seemed drunk. And he also wore clothing that screamed the fact that he hadn't done laundry in a while. A leopard shirt and walking shorts. And sandals and purple socks.

My mom told me that she met my dad at a frat party when she was in her last year of undergraduate studies. I had no trouble believing that at all. Though I wasn't sure my biological father ever graduated college. I only ever heard he ran a summer camp up in New York. What did he do the rest of the time? I didn't know. But I did know that when he came around my mom got agitated, really angry. She wasn't as bad as Greg was, though. Greg hated seeing my biological father, even though he came around only once every couple of years. And that was why I called him D. That's what my mom called him. Calling him dad to his face just felt…weird. Although I had no idea what the "D" stood for…

He didn't say anything; he just looked me over and nodded his greeting. He was weird. Never said my name really. Just gave me really weird looks.

"You've grown." He finally said. I just nodded. The last time he saw me was right before I turned nine. I had probably grown maybe four inches.

"Yeah." I said finally said awkwardly. "Mom!" I yelled turning towards the stairs. "D is here!" I heard my mother cursing up the stairs before she came down the stairs. She looked flustered when she saw my dad. I thought for a moment that flash of life crossed her eyes. That girl she was when she met my dad was still in there. However, her features went cold once again.

"D." she said curtly as she went to the couch to sit down. Maybe that was why he didn't come around more. My mom didn't exactly act like she wanted him around. Maybe that was why he wouldn't ever look at me. Because of my mom. Maybe that was it…I watched them from the doorway.

"Can you get me a-" my dad said only looking at me briefly.

"Diet Coke?" I finished. I didn't know much about my dad, but what little I learned about him from his periodic visits, I remembered. I went to the kitchen. My stepfather had diabetes and could only drink diet soda, so we always had the stuff because that, and Diet Dr. Pepper, was all he drank soda wise anyway. I could hear them talking, but Mr. Davis next door just started his Harley and I couldn't make out the sounds. When I brought the soda out, he was alone in the room and glaring at the crucifix that was hanging above the mantle.

And not just glaring. But staring at it with a look that said he was trying to get it to blow up with his mind. I'd never seen someone stare at a cross like that before. It was weird. "Um..D…I got your soda." I said awkwardly holding out the glass. He took it and then sipped on it for a moment before he turned to look at me, grumbling about religion. He went back to the couch and sat down. But now he was flipping through a thick book. Where did that come from?

"I brought this for you." He said setting it on the coffee table. "Read it."

This was a really thick book. I could barely read Nancy Drew let alone this thing. The problem wasn't that I hated reading. I was dyslexic. It made reading hard and bothersome. Then I saw the title "Olympians, Heroes, and Monsters: A Complete Guide". That was strange.

"My dad would kill me if he caught me with that. Mom too. They can't stand stuff that's like…like that." Heathen stuff, Greg would say. I don't know why I made it a point to call Greg dad in front of D. Maybe I wanted it to bother him. Hurt him. Even though realistically, I knew that if he cared about me he'd come around and he wouldn't care what I called Greg.

"Then don't let them see it." He told me as he pushed it towards me and I picked it up. It was strange. He'd never given me anything before. Except…well, mom said that stuffed leopard I had was from him. I wasn't even sure if my mom got child support from him. Without another word though I clutched it to my chest and hurried to my room. I made sure to hide it under the loose floorboards under my bed. My stepdad was a snoop, but still hadn't found my hiding spot. When I went back down stairs, I hurried them arguing. Words like 'June' and 'camp' kept coming out of their mouths and as I got to the bottom of the stairs D was storming out of the house. I followed him to the lawn. "Can't you stay longer?"

"No." he answered without explanation.

"When am I going to see you again?" I asked. He shrugged.

"Can't you come around more?" I asked. He looked away from me. "I wish you would." I blurted that out before I had time to think about it.

He only started to walk down the sidewalk like he didn't want to hear that. I watched him for a few moments, probably the last glimpse I'd get of him for two years. Honestly, I don't know why he showed up like he did or why I wanted him to come around more. "Bye, Dad." I muttered as I watched him disappear around the corner. After a few more moments, I walked back into the house to see my mother staring at me.

"What did D say to you?"

"Nothing. I mean. Beyond 'get me a diet coke', 'no', and 'you've grown'. Not necessarily in that order." I told her with a shrug. "Same thing as always." I was not going to tell her about the book. Even though I felt she didn't believe as much as Greg, she acted like she did and would probably burn the book. I wasn't going to let that happen. No chance in hell.

"Sweetie, you shouldn't get your hopes up when comes around. I mean, I know you wish you knew your real father. And I hate that he comes around like this-"

"Maybe he'd come around more if you didn't always yell at him! Or didn't marry that loser Greg!" I shot at her. Whenever my father came around we argued. I got angry. I didn't think I was actually mad at her. No. I loved my mom. I was angry at D and she was just there for me to take it out on her. I knew I hurt her when I said those things, but I didn't care-not at the moment anyway. I stormed up the stairs and went up to my bedroom, slamming the door. I plopped on my bed and grabbed the leopard and looked at it. Even after ten years the thing was still brand new looking. I was lucky that Greg didn't come in and yell at me. I guess my mom talked him out of it, even though I deserved a walloping from him. I didn't go down for dinner. I spent most of the night sitting on my bed reading that book that my dad gave me.

It was like trying to read the Lord of the Rings, even though I knew that for anyone else it'd probably be an easy read. Luckily there were a lot of pictures. On the chapter on the Olympians there was a full page portrait of each of the Gods. I decided that the coolest was definitely Hephaestus. I mean, that dude could make anything! Dionysus was pretty cool too. At least the stuff that happened in his life. I couldn't really think wine was that often and I never had the attention to pay attention plays. Hermes and Apollo seemed cool too. Well, they all seemed cool. Zeus, though…just kind of scary. More so than Hades, even. It wasn't until I started on the chapter of monsters that I realized it was three in the morning. I slid the book back under the floorboards reluctantly and got into bed.