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Hi. My name is Annabeth Chase. This is the story of my year. The ups, the downs, and everything in between. Where to start... How about the beginning of summer. That's when my year really started.

August 7, 2019

Some people get excited to move. I find that a little hard to believe. I've moved four times in my sixteen years, and never once have I been excited. I moved from Boston to Richmond, from Richmond to San Francisco, to a new house in San Fransisco, and finally back to Boston. Moving to New York will be my fifth move, and I am not feeling anything but sadness and dread. Boston is my home. It has always been my home, and I don't want to leave it. I really don't. I'm anything but excited.

August 12, 2019

Today is the day. I wake up at seven in the morning and throw on the only clothes I have that aren't compressed into boxes. Those happened to be some Nike shorts and a dark blue Rocky Mountain National Park t-shirt that I got visiting the mountains with Dad. Those were good times, I remember how happy I was when I got that shirt. There was no one but us two.

I go to the bathroom, brush my teeth and unsuccessfully try to tame my hair. It ends up being the same blonde mess of curls it was when I woke up, but I'm used to that. I look at my necklace through the mirror, letting my fingers turn the ring hanging from the end. I remember stringing it on this same chain nine years ago. It's a relatively small college ring, a simple gold band. Adorning a small crimson gem in the center, the only words engraved are Harvard, 1993 in caps on the outside, and Frederick Chase engraved smaller on the inside. I just hope the owner knew what he was doing when he decided to move to New York with the stepfamily. I let the ring hang. I pack the last of my things in a travel bag and wave to my room. It's goodbye for now.

As I walk down the stairs, it's so quiet that I can hear the soft echo of my sneakers on the wood. All the furniture left in the house is covered in white sheets. It's dark and feels eerie. Not the house I am used to. Though we aren't selling the house, we won't be back anytime soon. I'll miss it. I see my dad waiting for me in the car, and step off the front step for the last time in a long time.

"All set?" Dad asks me. Unlike me, he is excited. I won't ruin that for him.

"All set," I say. "All set."

What should've been a four-hour drive to Manhattan, turned into more five or six. Why? Because of my stepbrothers. We picked the stepfamily up thirty minutes in. My stepmom had brought snacks, and the boys drank so many Capri Suns that they couldn't hold it for more than thirty minutes at a time. We probably stopped at half the exits up the east coast. I swear they knew exactly what they were doing. Not to mention the screaming. I know it sounds like I'm exaggerating, but I'm not. They were literally screaming the entire time. Screaming.
"Sugar highs hit them pretty hard," my stepmom said loudly over the noise, smoothly excusing their behavior. She and dad laughed. I turned up the volume on my headphones.

This would be the first time all of us would be officially living together. The stepfamily was practically living with us at our second home in San Francisco but they would go home on weekends. When we moved back to Boston, I convinced my dad that they could not stay in our house. That house was for us, only us. Now, we'll all be under the same roof. 24/7. I understand that a married couple would want to live together, it's the marriage I don't quite understand. But that's for another day.

After five hours too long, we arrive at our new townhouse. At first glance, I like the house, even though I wasn't planning to. My dad wouldn't let me see the house before today, but he said that he knew I'd like it. He was right. It is brick, with an accent dark greyish bluish door. Immediately, the house's balcony catches my eye. It is the only house in sight with a balcony. The base is half a hexagon protruding from the front of the house, and below it was a bay window in the same shape. As I admire the unique architecture, my mind starts buzzing with ideas. I do like the house. My dad came up to me, watching me analyze the dentils under the roof, the transom surrounding the front door, and the plain window headers and shouldered architrave trim.

"Do you like it?" he asks me, pulling me out of my trance.

"Yeah. I really do. That balcony is something else," I say, and Dad chuckles.

"I knew you would. When I saw that balcony and the dentils, I knew this was the one," Dad smiles, contentedly.

"Thank you." My dad had picked out the house with me in mind, and that means a lot. I swallow the small lump in my throat.

"How would you like the balcony room?" He asks me after a second.

"Are you serious? That's a bedroom?" I question him, him answering with a smiling nod. "Yeah! I'd love that! Seriously Dad, thank you."

"You're welcome, sweetie. Go get your stuff up there before the boys find it."

The moving trucks are already here with all our stuff. After we get the furniture, I begin moving box after box of my stuff to my room. I don't even bother helping with any of the other rooms in the house; my stepmom wanted to decorate those. Box after box after box. When I'm done, I lay down on my mattress. I didn't feel like setting my bedframe up, so I just laid on my bare mattress, on the floor, taking deep breaths and staring at the still fan. I'm up there for maybe five minutes before I hear feet crashing up the stairs. My stepbrothers burst into my room, and I laugh/groan. They are running around like maniacs, pushing each other and running from each other. It is a good place to run because there's not a ton of furniture upstairs yet. With that in mind, I push them out of my room and sprint down the stairs. I hear them following me. I am inches from the door when I feel hands clamp on to my shirt.

"Where are you going, Annabeth?" Bobby or Mathew calls to my back. I sigh.

I turn around and glare at him. Bobby wears a wicked grin. I can tell it's Bobby, but barely. My two step-brothers aren't identical twins, but they might as well be. Both boys are the same height, several inches shorter than I am. Both boys have dirty blonde hair and have the same close-cropped style. Both boys are slim, scrawny. The only noticeable difference between the two is their eyes and freckles. Bobby has golden-brown eyes just like his hair, but Mathew has deep blue ones, along with freckles scattered all over his face.

I swat Bobby's hands off my shirt. "Get off. Where I go is none of your business."

"Aww," He whines in a high pitched voice, loud enough for the whole house to hear. Not this again! A moment later, Mathew is at his side looking at me like a little devil.

"Why won't you take us?" He whines loudly, almost yelling, catching on to what was happening. I know exactly what they are doing. They will whine until my stepmom cuts in, telling me to do whatever they cry about. Dad is nowhere to be seen.

"What's going on in there?" Called it. My stepmom approaches me wearily. "Can't you take them... wherever you're going?" She questions me, indifferent.

If I say no, they'll only throw a bigger fit and make her mad. I don't want to make her mad now, on the first day. I glower at the ground.

"Fine," I spit.

I hadn't decided exactly where to go yet, so I walk my eleven-year-old step-brothers the park. I always loved the park when I was little, so I was surprised to learn that they didn't a few years ago. We had gone to the park with my step-mom, and all they did was sit on the bench. When I was a kid, Dad would push me on the swings, catch me when I flew down the slide, and put a bandaid on when I fell in the mulch. My memories of parks are all good, but that is just because Dad made them good. I guess it was harder for Bobby and Matthew to have fun when they didn't have Dad. They just had their mom, who probably sat on the bench on her phone.

We walk the couple blocks to Central Park.

"Are we seriously stopping here?" Mathew asks, incredulous. I laugh, coldly.

"Yes," I say, determined. "We are going for a walk."

The park is actually really pretty. It's all very controlled, like all things in the city. There is the occasional blooming tree, budding bush, but I am not sure how I'll get used to seeing buildings and skyscrapers instead of cows and their patties.

After about ten minutes of walking, I turn my head sideways to look at the twins. Their faces are pink, and their expressions are pissed. They definitely thought I was going someplace more interesting than the park.

"Okay, when are we going back?" one of them grumbled.

At that moment, I get angry. Why were they here? They butted into my life. It was perfect, just me and my dad, and then they came and ruined everything. Even today, they manipulated both my stepmom and me, making me take them. They do it all the time! How is that okay?! They got themselves into this. If they wanted to come, fine, but they better stop complaining because they dd this to themselves and I am about to lose it.

Another one started to complain. I feel an angry flush escape onto my face and wheel around at them, ready to snap. But I didn't get that far.

As I whirled around, someone barrels into me. I feel a sharp pain where they hit my side, and stumble, trying to regain my footing. However, the guy who ran into me is not as sure-footed. He falls sideways quickly and manages to twist his arms around to catch himself... dragging me with him of course. I am dragged down, only to fall right on top of the guy. My angry flush turns into an angry blush. I met his glistening green eyes. His eyes are bright green. All of a sudden he laughs.

"Watch where you're going next time!" He suggests, laughing. Seriously? Watch where I'm...I jump up.

I have been holding in my anger this entire day. My brothers were screaming earlier, I did not react. My stepmom never reprimanded them for anything, I did not react. Dad is completely unaware of the effect this move is having on me, and what I'm having to go through. I have not reacted. I have not let my rage take control of my actions. I'd trapped the emotions, but physically being pushed and then falling to the ground unleashed everything.

"You were the one who wasn't looking!" I yell. The built up fury is funneling out. I can hear my step-brother's snickering behind me.

"Well, if you were looking you could have steered clear of me," he says and starts laughing harder. The worst part: what he just said is true. I can hear my heart pounding. I am about to burst. I can feel it. My brothers are still cackling, and I turn away from the guy. Walk. Away. I tell myself.

"Hey, come back!" he calls, scrambling up, grabbing my wrist and tugging it behind my back, so I spin to face him.
You have to understand how much pure anger I had, collected inside of me. You have to understand how infuriating it is to have three boys laughing at you. You have to understand how out of control I felt... to understand what I did next. I slap him.

He flinches, surprised. He puts a hand to his cheek and is silent for a split second. My stepbrothers are too. Then they all start laughing again. I can't take it. My eyes are watering a little, my heart pounding. This whole situation is such a mess. I hate everything about where I am, who I'm with, and what is happening, and no one cares. Not my stepfamily, not my mom, not even my dad. No one cares that I'm unhappy and mad. Not a single person. With a lump in my throat, I turn around and start walking. I feel his hand clamp onto my wrist again. I shake him off, but he catches the other arm. I turn slowly, my jaw set.

"Sorry about running into you. It was my fault, I wasn't looking," he apologized, finally letting go of my arm. Seeming sincere, he wasn't laughing anymore. He waits. I wait and look him over. Wearing dark shorts and a blue v-neck, he's lean, tallish, and muscular. His jet black hair is tangled and blown everywhere. He looks relaxed, despite a small trace of blood on his knees from the fall. I can't bring myself to feel sorry, all I feel is the anger and humiliation. He tries to pat down his hair, then scratches the back of his neck. When I look up, his eyes are staring right into mine. His eyes are very green.

My heart, which was pounding before, starts racing.

"Wow, you're stupid. Why wouldn't you look where you're going when you're running? You could trip on something. You could run into something. Or someone! Oh right, you already did that! What if you had run into someone in a wheelchair. Or a kid? Or a dog! How would you feel? You wouldn't have been laughing so hard that's for sure. You're lucky it was me. Also who the hell- "

"Well, if you consider being slapped in the face lucky, then yeah. I guess I am lucky it was you," he says with a chuckle. When he sees my reaction to his joke, he immediately backtracks.

"Yeah, you're right, I'm sorry," he pleads, grabbing my wrist again when he sees me turning around. His grabbing my arm is really starting to get annoying. I scowl at him.

"Hey, I'm sorry okay? I was looking at those ducks over there," he confesses.

"The ducks?"

"...yep."

I stare at his uncomfortable expression as he realizes how weird that is. I almost smile, just a little. He shakes his head as if to rid himself of what he just said. He looks at the ducks, then back at me. His eyes meet mine.

"What's your name?" He says, after a moment. He smiles at me. In the back of my mind, I understand that I really didn't know this guy. I literally just ran into him on the sidewalk, yelled at him, and slapped him. He is a complete stranger.

I take his outstretched hand and said, "Annabeth Chase"

"Percy Jackson"