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DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE AMAZING SPIDERMAN OR PERCY JACKSON

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My shoulders were hunched, cradling my frigid face in a scarf. I couldn't remember being so cold in my life, my feet were hunks of unmelting ice in my boots and my body shivered despite being bulked up in a thick jacket.

As I shuffled to the edge of the pavement, I drew up the courage to allow my fingers to exit the warmth of my jacket pockets. I held out my frost bitten hand, trying to attract the attention of a cab to my suffering.

Why did New York have to be so cold on my first day at Midtown Science High School?

When one swerved up, I retreated back into a heap of clothing and bundled myself into the backseat of the taxi. "Where to, ma'am?" barked the driver, his voice sharper than Percy's charming New York accent.

"Midtown Science High School, please," I mumbled through the scarf that covered my face like a bank robber.

"Waaa? Gotta speak up, sweetheart. Can't take ya no place till I know where ya wanna go," the driver noted the obvious with irritation, and I pulled the scarf away from my face with even more irritation.

"I would like to go to Midtown Science High School," I stated bluntly, articulating every syllable before covering my face again.

Without another use of the name sweetheart, the driver forced his way through the traffic. I ignored the constant noise of the city, and took off my backpack. I fumbled with the papers as dexterously as I could without removing the gloves.

I took out the folder that contained all the papers I needed to efficiently integrate myself into my new school. It was my first choice, education-wise. It had one of the top science marks in the state (which it had to be because it had science in its name. Otherwise it would have been stupidly ironic. I would never go to a high school just because the name made me laugh for about 3 seconds.)

But I was also sad that I didn't get into Goode, to be with Percy. The school wasn't close enough and my stepmother refused to let me go through the hassle of a long commute to school.

At least I would still get to see him on the weekends and sometimes after school, when I was not busy with projects.

By the time I had checked and rechecked that I had everything, the driver opened his mouth to demand money.

I dutifully handed him the amount required - and no more. Never was I going to tip a strange baldy guy who had called me 'sweetheart'. Or any guy who calls me that, for that matter. I would even beat up my own boyfriend if he called me that.

I clambered out, inhaling sharply as the cold air hit me. Goodbye air-conditioned, cigarette-smelling car, I thought. My cold feet are going to miss you.

I hiked up the concrete stairs of the imposing school, my bag sliding off my shoulder. I was early, the hallways haunted by other early comers. I marched my way to reception, where I met a bubble gum chewing secretary. She had blood red nails and the over-top kind of make up that only works when you are on a stage.

She flicked through my file like she was reading a magazine. After thoroughly analysing them for juicy information, she made my schedule soar across the desk with disinterest. I caught it, disliking the school already.

Hopefully she was going to be the worst of the staff. I don't think I would be able to tolerate any worse.

I showed myself around, locating my locker and my classes. I didn't introduce myself to anyone and nor did anyone introduce themselves to me. I was ignored, but not in a mean way. Some part of me preferred it this way, preferred to blend in with the crowd. Unlike my last school, where I stood out for "being mysterious" because of my regular "vacations" I used to save the world. Of course, the mortals didn't know that, so everyone thought I was running away from my family and living with my boyfriend. Why they were so interested, I didn't understand. Maybe their lives were so mundane compared to my supposed illicit behaviour that they had no choice but seek excitement from other people's troubles.

After staking out in the library until the bell rang, I entered homeroom. The class was colourful, with the words "MATH IS AWESOME" sticky-taped on the back wall.

The teacher gave me a big white smile and in an enthusiastic but sincere voice, said: "This is Annabeth Chase, overly hairy boys and pink nailed girls." (She gave a few teenagers a meaningful glare, warning them of the rules) "She will be joining us till the end of her high school career, so make sure to make it pleasant one! Tell the class a little about yourself, Annabeth."

I clutched my books to my chest and tried to tone down my confidence (I didn't want to stand out, remember?). I cleared my throat that was suddenly scratching. "I'm Annabeth Chase and I um... am from San Francisco. My family moved here because my dad got a job at the museum. And I... um... ma'am what else is I supposed to say?" I shifted nervously.

Miss Day - the name suited her sunny personality - asked me about my hobbies, if I miss home until she took pity on me and seated me in the front row.

I sat down, my hands in my lap as I observed the people around me. They approached me, half of the class swarming around me, trying to scent out a new addition to their separate little groupies.

By the end of homeroom, I had been assessed for popularity by a snobby group of girls, hit on by relaxed athletes but regretably remained unapproached by anyone I considered to be suitable company.

After that, I allowed myself to be swept up in the tide of hurrying teenagers and reached my first period: Biology.

I was once again pushed into the new kid ritual of summarising my life in front of all my unfamiliar peers. But this time it was done by a short male teacher who was fat in the stomach but not in the face.

I took the seat at the back so I would get the best vantage point in the class. A place no one would stare at me, but where I could see every move they made. I hoped I would get this lucky in my next period.

For some reason I was seriously on edge, a gnawing feeling at the pit of my stomach. My nerves felt like they were all relocating and panicking to find a hiding spot.

Something wasn't right and I didn't like it.

I scanned the classroom. The teacher had a dull, boring face but his classroom was trendy. Tumblr quotes covered an entire wall, indicating that he had a lot of downtime. Monsters who disguised themselves as teachers usually had empty classrooms, and were awful to demigods.

Concluding that the only thing I had to concern myself with in regard with Mr Sage was that I may be bored to death, I started to analyse the learners.

Monsters were less likely to disguise themselves as students because they had difficulty adapting to the contemporary ways of teenagers. Adults were easier to imitate.

I had moved my eyes along each learner systematically until I reached the boy nearest to the window.

His eyes were sunken in, making his zygomatic arches shine unhealthily compared to the dark shadows carved into his cheeks. His lips were thin, slashing a grim line curving downwards. ("Zygolomatic arches" is just a nerdy term for cheekbones.)

He was scratching in his notes intently, hunched over his beaten up notebook. Then he looked up, eyes meeting mine.

There was a small staring match, both of us assessing each other (not in a sexy way). I was getting more and more agitated, trembling with pent up energy and nervousness.

He also seemed to pick up on my mood, muscles in his neck twitching and fingers tightly clenched around a pencil.

Sensing the power stuggle, I sat straighter, twirling my pen threateningly until I too held it like knife. I leaned back slowly, staying as calm as I could while looking cold and calculated. It was a look I had mastered when I was much too young - but then again it was never too young for a demigod to learn a life-saving skill. I uncrossed my legs, knowing that if this did break out into a fight then I would have to be ready to leap to my feet.

I watched him when I did this. He appeared nervous, almost scared. Considering my reputation of exceptional (well... most of the time) monster killing, every monster existing had a reason to fear me. I noted how he angled his body and how he held the writing utensil. He was trained and he was ready.

Monster. Definitely a monster.

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I hope you enjoyed that. If you feel like it can be improved on, please comment or PM me.

Should I continue with this story, or must I just keep on dreaming about agile insectmen and a blonde Gi Joes?

Jamie Edge