Hey, this is a new version of Oldmanmah's story 14 Years Later. I love it and I wanted to tweak it my way a bit and finish it. So here it is!

Disclaimer: I do not in any way, shape or form own Percy Jackson, the amazing Rick Riordan does and I also do not own in any way, shape or form 14 Years Later by Oldmanmah. I don't even own the laptop I'm typing on! It's my sisters! I need to own something...ah ha! I own my brain- wait, I don't have on...read on while I try and find something I own...

. . .

Chapter One: Is It Me, or Is My English Teacher Attacking My Mom?

Look, I didn't want to be a half-blood.

If you're reading this because you think you might be one, my advice is: close this tab right now, or click that little back button in the corner and go some other fandom. Because this isn't safe. Believe whatever lie your mom or dad told you about your birth, and try to lead a normal life.

You don't want to be a half-blood, trust me. Become a doctor or lawyer or something, because being a half-blood is dangerous. It's scary. Most of the time, you get killed in painful, nasty ways.

If you're a normal kid, reading this fanfiction because you happened to like the summary, great. Read on. I envy you for being able to believe that none of this ever happened.

But if you recognise yourself in these chapters — if you feel something stirring inside — stop reading immediately. You might be one of us. And once you know that, it's only a matter of time before they sense it too, and they'll come for you.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

You said 'You didn't warn me', didn't you? Geez, mortals these days.

Anyway, my name is Andromeda Chase, but call me Andy. You can actually spell that.

I'm twelve and a half years old. My mother, Annabeth Chase, enrolled me in the most well-known and most-used torture devise in the 21st century. School. My fifth, to be exact. It's not that I'm a bad kid, or that my GPA is below 0.0, it's just . . . everything always seemed to happen to me. Not to my enemies, not to my teachers, but to me.

But, I guess, it would be easier to show you.

Trying to find the tipping point of my life isn't that hard. It all started in junior high. I was in seventh grade, and it was the last day of school until the winter holidays.

Tap, tap, tap-tap, tap.

Mrs Stoker wasn't a bad teacher. In fact, if I had to choose my favourite out of all my teachers ever, it would probably this flighty, English teacher. She always encouraged her students to think outside the box, to twist ideas and see them different ways. I loved her, but it was very hard to love the subject she taught, when I had dyslexia.

Tap, tap, tap-tap, tap.

God, I thought, tapping my pen aimlessly against my notebook, the book laying open to a series of swirls, weirdly drawn cowboy-clown things and other doodles, can you go any slower?

I was mentally speaking to the clock.

I swear I'm sane.

Come on second hand, tick faster! Two minutes. Two minutes of this torture and then I'd be free for two weeks. Mom would be taking me to California, where she was going to give a lecture about the Carson Mansion.

See, my mom was an architect and a damn good one at that. She'd designed some ripper buildings, but she also travelled around America delivering lectures on important monuments and buildings and stuff. And she loved to take me with her . . . although I did have to sit through the extra-lectures and the pre-lecture lectures and post-lecture lectures and the don't-destroy-anything-on-purpose lectures and— well, you get the point.

And then the clock stopped working.

Oh, my god.

Mrs Stoker and the rest of the class didn't notice the sudden stoppage of the only time-measuring device within the room (I was not asking Dustin Bailey for the time), so I sighed and turned my attention back to the video we were supposed to be watching. I think it was something like 'The Great Gas Bee' or something, but, honestly, I don't really care. I just wanted to day to end.

Tap, tap, tap-tap, tap.

Cali.

Soon.

Hurry up.

I wonder who mom's yelling at right now.

Tap, tap, tap-tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap-tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap-tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap-tap, tap.

RIIIIIIING!

Yes! I grabbed my notebook and bag and bolted out of the classroom. Everyone else seemed to have the same idea, as well, clustering in the doorway but everyone pushed through into the hallways.

I stepped out of the English room and breathed a sigh of relief. Freedom. Now, all I had to do was run.

Mom had a tendency to forget what time school ended. If I wasn't careful she'd probably already be driving to California, while I am left standing in front of the school.

I also had a tendency to forget the house key.

Ignoring my inner weirdness, I speed-walked through the hallways and out into the carpark, weaving my way through the throngs before sliding into the shotgun seat of our Chevy Sonic Hatchback. I threw my bag over onto the back seat and clicked in my seat belt.

"How was your day, Andy?" Annabeth asked, pressing down on the accelerator and navigating her way out of the crowded car park.

"It was school, mom." I said as if it was obvious (which it was).

"Anything interesting at school, then? Did you pay attention?"

I raised an eyebrow, "It was school, mom."

"Didn't think so."

I laughed at Mom. I wasn't sure, but I'm pretty sure most parents would reprime their kids for not listening. Mom said that as long as I knew it, I could ignore it. She understood the dyslexia and ADHD seeing as she had it herself, and she had taken to teaching me Ancient Greek, which was surprisingly much easier than English, reading wise anyway (and don't tell her that I Googled Greek curses). She also loved to talk to me about mythology, especially Greek; she had a degree in Ancient Cultures from NYU. I think I knew more about Greek Mythology than Mathematics, but that was fine with me.

Then, out of the blue, she asked, "Do you want to go to a camp this summer, Andy?"

I was taken aback by the question, but answered stubbornly, "I wanna go to California like you said we were."

"But I think you'll like this camp, honey. It's . . . unusual," she said wistfully. But I knew something was up. Mom never called me 'honey'.

"I want to go to Cali." I repeated, crossing my arms. Now, I know. She's your mother, listen to her and stop being a stubborn brat. Well to bad, I'm a stubborn person so get used to it.

Mom rolled her eyes, "Okay, how about this. I won't take you to Califor— no listen—" she said as I opened my mouth to complain. "—I won't take you to California, but I will take you to Montauk for two days then you go to this camp."

"Five days," I bargained. "Two days is us going camping. Five days is Montauk."

"Three"

"Five"

"Three"

"Five"

"Four"

"Done" I agreed and Mom and I shook hands.

. . .

I slammed the door shut as Mom pulled into the small driveway of our Montauk cabin. I loved it here; they say Disneyland is the happiest place on Earth, I say Montauk is. The old log cabin that sat in-between a forest and the beach was where Mom and I stayed during our trips here. She'd said that it'd been my dad's and that he'd given it to her before he'd . . . left. I tried not to pry into that anymore, because when you see your mom cry, you tend to want to avoid the subject.

But what Mom had told me was that my dad was a war hero. I dunno where he fought; Afghanistan or Iraq or something. He had save heaps of people and he was really talented (around about here in the story, Mom got a little misty eyed), but he got 'power-hungry' or whatever Mom had described it as. He'd broken her heart.

I had no desire to meet my father, and if he didn't want to meet me then my life was fine.

But, whatever, I was a Montauk now. No time to be thinking about him.

Behind the cabin was a small forest where, since I was little, I had made a play house out of logs and other natural materials. My own little hide away in a hideaway. And, unknown to Mom, there was a small lagoon in the centre of the forest, where I used to imagine that I could play with the water, like Avatar: The Last Airbender style. But those kiddie playtimes were over and had been for some time, well, ever since Middle School, because we all know what Middle School does to a kid.

But then there was the beach. A long stretch of grey sand, dotted with big clumps of disgusting-looking seaweed and rotten driftwood.

I loved it here.

I swung my bag over my shoulder and walked into the cabin, Mom staying outside to 'tend to the car' as she called it. I called it 'making me get rid of the spiders'. And I did because mom has the worst arachnophobia I had ever seen (didn't stop me from chucking a dead spider of her pillow case though.)

. . .

Annabeth watched her daughter from the door of the cabin. She watched her play in the sand, splash in the water. The demi-god sighed, wringing her Yankee's cap in her hands, a nervous habit she'd been hoping to stop.

God, she's so young, Annabeth sighed, where we all so young when . . . ? She can't handle any of, she looked at the cap, this.

. . .

I sat on the edge of the water, the tide gently coming in and out, just missing the top of my toes. The sun was out, making the usually more-than-gloomy beach almost sparkle, and I lay on the sand, ignoring every other sound that wasn't of the water crashing against the sand. It was oddly calming, the water. I turned my head and came face to face with a small hermit crab in a red-blue shell.

M'Lady

I started and jumped up. What the hell? Well I guess this proves it.

I was going insane.

But before I could contemplate my mental sanity, something leapt on my from behind, pushing me back against the sand. It felt like paws were digging into my shoulder blades and a deep growl emitted from behind me. So I did what first came to mind.

I screamed.

The thing on my back growled low and threatening, as I heard Mom run out from the cabin. She shouted something that didn't catch and the thing jumped off my back and ran at her. I rolled over and stooped up into a crouch to see what was happening.

"MOM!"

Mom darted out of the way and a monster ran past her into the side of the cabin.

"Cursssed daughter of Athena!" It yelled, which was weird 'coz it was like a talking animal.

Mom pulled her Yankee's cap from the back pocket of her jeans, and quickly slapped it onto my head. Then, with surprising strength for one as petite looking as her, pushed me with all of her strength, into the churning waves behind us.

Immediately a sense of calm surged through me, blanketing the other feelings, that of fear, terror, hopelessness, and anxiety for Mom.

Not surprisingly, I didn't feel wet. This had been an unexplained phenomenon that Mom had attributed to my over-active imagination. At this juncture, I could even see through the waves, as though I were looking through a sheet of clear glass instead of churning water. I saw the golden flash of mom's hair and the grotesque shape that was attacking her. Mom was surprisingly quick on her feet for a mom, dodging and slashing at the monster with a wickedly sharp bronze knife that she had conjured out of thin air.

I tried to get up, rise from the water to help her, but I was stopped when I saw where my arm should have been. I moved it and the sand moved without anything visible touching it. Then, I remembered the cap that mom had pushed onto my head.

She had some serious explaining to do.

. . .

Annabeth dodged another vicious swipe from the Manticore that would have taken her head off, and retaliated by jabbing at the long, lethal paw of the beast. It roared in pain as the bronze blade buried itself into flesh.

Annabeth knew that she could not continue like this. Sooner or later, she would tire. She just prayed that Andy was safe somewhere.

A volley of bristles cut through the air. Annabeth managed to dodge them, but one grazed her waist, drawing blood. She gasped in pain as she felt her side burn. Blood began to soak into her blouse.

"Where isss the daughter of The Tidal Lord?" The Manticore hissed. "I ssshall rip her apart. Rip him apart for ssslaying my Lord Kronosss. You, Daughter of Athena, ssshall be first!"

The situation was hopeless and Annabeth knew it. She could already feel the venom spreading in her veins. Soon, she would not be able to move. Before she lost consciousness, she turned to the Sea, and prayed.

O Tidal Lord of the Sea, Perseus, spare your daughter. Please, Seaweed Brain.

. . .

Like it? Hate it? REVIEW IT! (that wasn't a question that was an order, lol jks, but really, review) I know, I know, it's not spell checked. I'll spell check it and upload the better version soon.

AH HA! I OWN THE PENCIL I WROTE THE DRAFT OF THE ENDING OF THIS STORY WITH! (how sad is it that I don't own the paper I used O_o)

~Emily