"We could be exactly like we used to. We could forget any of this – Camp Half-Blood, the quests, the gods, the mistakes – ever happened! Remember the old times?"

Annabeth stared at a space slightly above Luke's head; the sky was the bluest it had been all year. Warm and clear and cloudless. She only really heard part of what he said. "Exactly like we used to?"

Luke kicked at the ground and cursed. "Okay, some things are different. I get that. But we – you and I – we could be good, Annabeth. You get my point of view, I know you do. We've always understood each other. Let's just forget it, forget everything –"

Annabeth was still on the former part of the conversation. "Thalia, Luke. It was never, never you and me – it was Thalia and me and you against the world, and now she's moved on— and you've tried to kill me – to fucking KILL ME—"

Luke took a big step forward, hands up, persuasive. "Nevermind Thalia, anymore! She's made her choice – we're different people. That's fine! It's not too late, Annabeth. Let's just go and screw the consequences!"

It was like he hadn't even heard the rest of what she'd said. She finally, finally looked right at him, looked him in the face, and saw only gaunt, wild desperation, a young man who looked much older, looked like some kind of haggard outlaw pulling out all stops, playing every last card he knew.

She felt sick to her stomach.

They'd already been here for longer than she was sure, and she hated, hated the growing feeling that this whole situation was terrifyingly out of her hands and beyond her position and age and everything. How had she thought she could help him?

"Luke," she began in a fierce, unsteady voice. But she didn't finish; before she knew what was happening, he was closing the distance between them, up the slope where she stood a defensive distance apart, on higher ground, her dagger that he'd given her in quick reaching distance. She didn't reach for it. Something in her years of training and experience didn't force her to. And then his hands were under her face, and his handsome, scarred face was an inch from hers, and then he kissed her – long and deep and aching.

He pulled away, panting, serious. "I love you," he said quietly, head bent toward her.

She took a tiny step back, and then a bigger one. And then she felt rooted to the ground, incapable of moving ever again, incapable of hardly anything at all. She felt sicker than she'd ever felt. It had been her first kiss.

She stared very hard at a trio of brand new yellow buttercups in the spring grass. Her chest felt like it was cracking off in distinct, permanent pieces. When she spoke, her voice sounded barely audible and hardly like her voice at all.

"I hate you."

Annabeth sat silently on the grass hill outside her father's house, watching the wind through the trees. It was later the same day she'd seen Luke. She felt…almost dangerous. Empty. Like she didn't know what to do with herself, like she didn't want to think at all, ever again.

She took an unsteady breath and pulled her phone out of her pocket, finding the instant email she and all her friends used. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling slightly like she was drowning. Then she clicked the name at the top of her contacts list and typed, "Hey."

Five minutes passed. Then, "hey."

She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to ignore the swoop in her stomach. "Do you wanna hangout?"

A long interlude. It showed that he was typing, then nothing. Finally, "ok." Then, "are you coming back to nyc?"

She typed, "next week. How about Friday?"

He responded, "i have school orientation. can meet you around one though."

"New school?"

"yeah. paul's. "

She raised an eyebrow. The boyfriend she hadn't met. Annabeth was inherently wary of step-parental figures. It was hard to gauge how Percy felt about the situation.

But he was still typing. "my mom thinks it's gonna be super great. maybe i'll get on the quidditch team and win ten points to gryffindor and the house cup this time. and they won't throw me out when i do all the bad stuff i'm going to do."

She snorted. "Oh they will. Not even Dumbledore would give you another chance. Also, sorry, but you'd suck at quidditch."

"harsh words, chase."

She was laughing, and she didn't even know how that had happened. She felt lighter, freer.

He typed, "so what do you wanna do on friday."

She stopped, feeling oddly nervous. Like a coward, she turned it right back around. "I'm up for anything, what do you wanna do?"

There was a pause on his end too. Then it showed him typing…and deleting. Typing again, then nothing. Finally he said, "do you wanna just see a movie or something?"

She stared at the screen, trying to decipher the thoughts flying around her head. She didn't know what she thought. She only knew the swoopiness that had returned to her stomach. And the warmth in her ears.

"Sounds good."

"sounds good to me too."

Annabeth lay back on the grass, feeling the sun on her face. A breeze had kicked up in the past ten minutes, but that was okay; it would be fine in the theater. She thought about the dark, close movie theaters where she always saw teenagers holding hands, sharing straws, girls leaning into their boyfriend's shoulders, seeking some kind of protection from the horror scenes. She opened her eyes right into the sun, picking at a stray thread on her frayed shorts.

No matter what else was going on, she felt good about today. It just felt…different. Like an opportunity.

She heard some kind of commotion and got up, moving closer to the school. Suddenly, Percy was there, and then he was right there – did he ever move slowly? – She started to speak, and all the sudden an unfamiliar girl was appearing behind him, telling him to wait up, and it became clear they were running from something. Together. Him and this strange girl.

Later, Annabeth would barely remember the scene she stormed away from, or the ensuing silent ride to camp with Percy. Sometimes her memory blurred difficult things all together. But a few distinct things played through her mind as they sat rigid in the taxi, staring out opposite windows. The way that Percy introduced the red-haired girl – Rachel. "She's a friend. I guess." The fact that they'd met before; he had a history with this cute girl. They were now going to school together. She was a mortal. And he'd told her everything – everything.

But it was more than that, too. It was the way she'd taken his arm and written her number on his hand. The way he'd been so disoriented seeing Annabeth, as if she wasn't even supposed to be there, the way he'd looked back twice when Rachel left, the way his neck had turned red and he'd stammered, and she knew he was lying, when he said he hadn't thought about Rachel being cute.

The way that Annabeth had felt blindsided by all of it.

She pulled one knee up to her chest, wrapping a protective arm around it. He was trying to talk to her now. She gave short, monotone answers. She revealed that she'd been to New York twice since Christmas; she wanted him to know that she'd been there and hadn't called him, hoping that it would hurt him back, somehow. And then he asked about Luke, in a measured voice that was hard to read, and she turned her face back to the window, digging her nails into the skin of her knee hard enough to bruise. She saw the yellow buttercups in tender grass, the blue sky, his face far, far closer than it ever should have been. Without speaking, she shook her head, and Percy let it drop. They were quiet. Annabeth leaned her body closer to the door and kept looking out the window and watched the city disappear as they sped forward toward camp and they said nothing at all.