Disclaimer: all characters belong to Mr. Rick Riordan, plot line is ours

Chapter 1

Percy

I stare down at the paper. The emotional part of me feels like throwing a temper tantrum, flailing limbs and all, while the logical part of me is also freaking out and about ready to scream. Suddenly, the thoughts in my head just stop. And I almost laugh out loud. I mean there has to be some kind of mistake. Second in the class? Ha. No.

I take a couple of deep breaths and plaster on a smile. Mistake. Once they see it, they'll laugh too, apologizing profusely. I raise my hand, patiently waiting for my oblivious teacher to notice. He finally looks up and nods at me, looking a little annoyed. He blinks slowly, waiting for me to talk.

"I need to go see a counselor," I say, my voice ringing out loudly the silent classroom. He then proceeds to roll his eyes. He nods as if explaining something to a very young child. I stand up and walk to the door. Once I get out into the hall, I practically run, slowing down when I pass teachers, then picking up my pace again.

I burst through the counseling center's doors, scaring the receptionist. Once she recognizes me, she smiles widely. "Hi, Percy! How can I help you?" she asks. I try to think of a way to tell her that there's no possible way for me to be second in the class without sounding like a douche. My goal isn't to be pretentious, just to clear this mistake up.

"Can I see Mr. D?" I ask, my voice coming out breathy. I don't think I've ever run that fast before. It's definitely taking it's toll.

She nods enthusiastically and points to his closed door. I rush over and open it, I don't have a chance to say anything before I hear, "There's this thing called knocking. You should try it before barging into my office." Mr. D's bored drawl causes me to close the door, (rolling my eyes in the process) knock, then wait for him to grant permission.

He waits about 30 seconds before saying, "Come on in." I open the door calmly, knowing I won't get anywhere by being impatient because knowing Mr. D, he will draw out my torture as long as he can.

I step through the door, settling into one of the uncomfortable chairs in front of his desk. His hands are folded in front of him, a bored look on his face.

"Peter Johnson, what can I do for you on this fine day," he says, his voice a flat monotone.

"Well there has to be some kind of mistake Mr. D, I just received this paper," I set the paper down on the desk, sliding it towards him. He barely glances at it.

"Yes, I see they got your name wrong. I'm so sorry, Mr. Jarrett," he says with a smirk.

I smile stiffly, determined not to let him get to me. "As I was saying, there must be a mistake. This paper says I'm second in the class." I end the sentence with another fake, plastic smile.

He sighs dramatically and rolls his eyes. "I was wondering if you would be coming in here. I know it's hard for you to believe, but you are not, Mr. Jason, the most brilliant student in this school."

I sit there frozen for a while, the smile making my cheeks hurt. Then I let out a pathetic laugh. "Could you just check?" I ask, setting my hands in my lap.

He shakes his head, as if it were the most ridiculous request on earth. "Mr. Jeffrey, I assure you there is no mista-"

"Please. Just check. I need to see for myself." My voice cracks in the most embarrassing way and I cough, clearing my throat. "Please," I repeat.

He stares at me for a second, then sighs as he starts to type dramatically on his computer. He presses each key agonizingly slow. I suppress a groan and he continues to type at the speed of a third grader.

My lips are pressing together so much, I can feel the blood flow being stopped. My hands are wringing themselves out like wet clothes, so much that my knuckles are turning a pale white. But yet, the slow typing continues. I wonder if I would get in trouble if I leaped over this desk and pushed him out of the window behind him. I space off, imagining his blood curdling scream, making me smile like a lunatic.

After what seems like ages, he finally looks up at me and starts to speak in his slow, drawling voice.

"Well, Mr. Jacobs, there is no mistake." He angles the computer screen towards me. I squint against the glare on the prehistoric screen. There it is. It's like one of the cowboy movies, when they glare at each other and the camera gets closer each time. If looks could kill, that little number would have murdered me in cold blood. It stares me down, making fun of me.

That's when the scary hysterical laughing escapes from my throat. I sit there for about a minute, laughing. Mr. D looks scared, reaching his hand towards the phone on the counter slowly. The laugh dies off into a cough and I can feel my eye twitching.

I take a deep breath and try to calm myself.

"May I ask who is first?" My voice comes out about an octave higher, as if someone kicked me right where it hurts. This hurts about as bad as that, probably worse. "

Well Mr Jericho. That would be classified information that I can't give out." He says it in a sorry tone, but his face mocks me, a smile curling on his lips. He reaches out for a cup on the edge of his desk, throwing his head back and taking a big drink. At first I think it's coffee, but then I smell coca-cola. Who the hell drinks Coke at 10 a.m?

"But, anything for you Peyton," he looks too smug as he shows me the class list. I force myself to stare at it, and at the name at the very top. Annabeth Chase. Who the hell is Annabeth Chase? "

She is a bright one, that Annabeth. Ms. Chase has caught the eye of many universities already, Mr. Jervis."

I'm shaking at this point, so I snatch the paper up, (you know, the one that ruined my life) push the chair back and storm out of the room.

An hour later, I've already asked what feels like half of the class where Annabeth Chase is. They take in my disheveled appearance, gaping. Percy Jackson is always under control. Except when someone takes his spot. My sweater must be wrinkled, my khakis dirty from running my hands down the thighs countless times.

They all point in the same direction, towards the courtyard. I push the doors open, the brisk New York air, slapping me in the face.

I'm not paying any attention to where I'm going, which explains why I ran into trash can that's been sitting outside the school the entire time I've been here.

When I see her, I just know. I see it in the arrogant way she sits backwards on the bench, a cigarette between her red lips. It's not lit, almost like it's there for show. I stare at her feet, taking in the spiky combat boots, up her slender legs, clad in tight leather, up to the ripped tank top, covered in an equally stud-infested jacket. Her curly, blond, hair is wild, blowing in the wind. Her calculating grey eyes lined in black. I wonder for a second if wearing that much leather can cut off a person's circulation. Does she slide off of slick surfaces?

Then her scary-ass eyes meet mine. She recognizes me. I see the spark as she smirks around the cigarette. Her hand lifts up and waves mockingly, the black and red nails contrasting against her pale skin.

Wait, what?

A/N: Hey guys! New story! This is a collab with a really good friend of mine and I hope you guys like it! Please review and favorite, it means the world to us!