Atty Jackson and the Lightning Thief

Fandom: Percy Jackson/Riordanverse

Chapter 1: I Kill my Math Teacher with a Pen

Hi, my name is Atty Jackson. Short for Atalanta, like the Greek hero. I’m also a demigod. What’s a demigod? Half human, half god. Sounds sweet, right? Not really, no. It sucks. Most of the time it gets you killed in some pretty gruesome ways (there’s a good reason I’m not into vore).

In this story, I’m 16 years old. I’m a trans girl from New York City. I was a student at Yancy Academy, a boarding school in upstate New York for troubled kids.

Was I a troubled kid? Oh for damn sure I was.

It’s hard to tell how much of my life had been fucked, but it was definitely a majority. I had a tendency to get kicked out of schools for some of the strangest shit. Like that time I managed to blow up a school bus with a canon that definitely should not have been loaded. I don’t even know how I managed to make it fire, it just did. There was also the time I once hit the wrong lever on a catwalk during a behind-the-scenes tour at an aquarium, and managed to make my entire class take an unplanned swim with the sharks. I was weirdly calm about the whole incident. Those were more accidental. Then there were things that were much more my fault, such as the many times teachers caught me smoking, a habit I picked up a couple years earlier. Was it healthy? No. But it helped me deal with my shitty life. I did try to stop, for my mom at least, but it was hard. That time I got caught in a compromising position with another student was probably a good reason for me to be expelled the year before, at least. Might not  have helped my case that the student in question was a guy and the teacher who caught us happened to be very homophobic.

‘But, wait a second, Atty,’ I hear you ask, ‘aren’t you a girl?’

Yes I am! But was that teacher accepting that? Hell no!

Whatever, it turned out the guy was an ass anyway, claiming I had ‘tricked’ him and he didn’t know. Oh he fucking knew, alright, he just didn’t want to get in trouble. And, of course, he got off scot-free while I was stuck with in-school suspension for the remaining two months before exams.

This year, I was determined to be good, or at least seem that way. I did my homework, at least trying to do it on time. I tried to make sure I actually looked at people talking to me, despite how much torture it was. I did still smoke sometimes, but I at least never got caught. I also didn’t make out with any of my classmates again - not that I even wanted to, most of them were rich assholes, and the only one I really considered a friend, Grover, wasn’t really my type. He was a sweetheart, sure. Just not my type.

He was scrawny, he cried when he got frustrated, he had this wispy little goatee on his chin and some bad acne. He also has some sort of muscular issue with his legs, so he was excused from PE (lucky bastard), and always walked with a limp. Don’t let that fool you, however. You should have seen him run when the cafeteria was serving enchiladas (oh yeah, one of the benefits of a private school like this was actually decent cafeteria food).

And he was my best friend. Well, he was my only friend.

I didn’t get along well with other people - Grover and my mom being the exceptions. Sure, I had this cool aloof skater girl vibe going for me, but unfortunately, due to me being trans, anything I got from that was basically nullified in the eyes of anyone who found that out. Even if they never found that out, me ranting about something I really liked, like Pokémon, tended to give them pause.

See, I’m what’s called autistic, which means my brain is wired so differently from most other people that I genuinely could not understand what could possibly go through their heads. Most normal social cues would fly right past me. I also have ADHD, which makes it very difficult for me to focus on one thing at a time. Unless of course I was actually into the thing. Then I could go for hours looking into the thing to the point where it was suddenly 4 in the morning and I didn’t even finish my supper that was right next to me. I also have Dyslexia, which made actually absorbing the information about things I liked really hard since most of the time it was all in written form. There was this one website, YouTube, which was starting to get big, and everything on there was in video form, so that at least was nice, even though I never found that much of interest to me.

One day that school year, near the middle of May, my class was taking a field trip out to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in Manhattan. What an amazing idea, Yancy, sending a bunch of irreverent teens to go see ancient greek pottery and shit.

I did have some hope, however. Our Latin teacher, Mr. Brunner, was leading the trip after all.

Why did I have hope? I’m glad you asked.

Mr. Brunner was middle-aged. He used a motorized wheelchair. He had thinning brown hair with some gray and a scruffy beard. He always wore this frayed tweed jacket, which for some reason smelled like coffee (as for how I knew that - it was a pretty strong smell). You wouldn’t get the impression he’d be all that cool, but you’d be wrong. He would sometimes hold these tournament days where he’d dress up in this set of Greek armor he had and challenge us sword point against chalk to run up to the board and list every Greek figure we could think of. Fortunately, he never marked me down for misspellings, so I actually did alright most of the time. Even outside of that, he had this way of speaking that managed to keep even me engaged. I actually found I enjoyed his class, despite all my difficulties.

The actual stories he told? All those ancient Greek legends and myths? They were endlessly fascinating; horrifying, but fascinating. Something that especially fascinated me was the story of that guy who once accidentally spotted Artemis - the virgin Goddess of the Hunt - taking a bath, and as punishment he got turned into a woman. I always figured younger me would’ve loved to have that happen, but as it was now, I basically had no more dysphoria, so it was no more than an idle thought.

All the way there on the bus I had to put up with Nancy Bobofit - this crazy kleptomaniac girl with bright red hair and freckles - chucking bits of crackers and her peanut-butter-and-ketchup sandwich at the back of Grover’s head. What a waste of food. And I couldn’t even do anything about it.

Remember how I mentioned I was trying to be good that year? Well, easier said than done. I had gotten into a fair few fights, not to mention being disruptive in classes (excuse me, but those cramps are killer, ask any of my cis girl classmates, Mr. Nichol you motherfucker). As it was, for the duration of this trip, I was on probation. The headmaster had threatened me with death by in-school-suspension if anything bad, embarrassing, or even mildly entertaining happened on this trip... Asshole.

Regardless, I wasn’t going to finish off the school year in ISS again, so I was determined to not do anything except listen attentively to Mr. Brunner, follow the tour, eat my lunch, get back on the bus, and sit in my seat for the trip back. Obviously I figured my luck wouldn’t hold up the whole trip, but I let myself hope - big mistake.

Grover dodged another chunk of sandwich.

“I’m gonna fucking kill her,” I mumbled. Grover heard me anyway.

“It’s ok, I like peanut butter.”

Nancy threw another bit of her lunch at Grover, but missed and hit me instead.

I turned around. “What is your problem?”

Nancy smiled sweetly at me. “Oops.”

I snarled, and started to get up, but Grover grabbed my arm.

“Atty, no. You know what will happen if you do anything.”

I grudgingly sat back down. Fortunately, Nancy had hit me with a cracker instead, so I just brushed the crumbs out of my hair.

I half expected her to say some shit about me being some pervert who just wanted to watch girls change - it’s not my fault the school decided against giving the changing rooms stalls - but instead she just tossed another chunk of sandwich at Grover. I was seriously beginning to wonder if she actually planned on eating lunch.

About the changing room bullshit. Technically the school couldn’t actually prevent me from using the girls’ bathrooms and changing room, and had to use my name, Atalanta Jackson, instead of my dead name - which I do not plan on telling you, thank you very much - thanks to my mom finally managing to push through all the paperwork and get my name and gender legally updated over Christmas. Of course, half the teachers found other ways to show their displeasure at having to accommodate my ‘delusion.’ Fortunately, Mr. Brunner had been great about calling me ‘Atalanta’ and ‘Atty’ the whole school year. It would kinda suck when I inevitably had to move schools again and leave him and Grover behind. It wasn’t just the teachers taking issue with my transgender status, but plenty of students as well. Fortunately, next year, my second to last year of high school, no one would know I was trans. I could successfully present as a girl without anyone suspecting anything. Small mercies. That’s assuming I did have to move, which was absolutely a guarantee.

When we got to the museum, Mr. Brunner led the tour. He led us into the Greek and Roman sections, showing us all sorts of items that were several thousand years old. That was mind-blowing to me, the fact that these fragile bits of pottery and whatnot had survived that long. He gathered us around this massive thirteen foot tall column, and explained how it was a grave marker - a stele, he said - for a girl even younger than us. He lectured about the carvings on the side, which was pretty fascinating, since some of them pertained to Greek myths I actually liked, especially one about my namesake, Atalanta. I was trying to listen, but everyone around me kept talking. Like I said, irreverent. Every time I tried to tell them to shut up, the other chaperone, Mrs. Dodds, would give me the evil eye.

Mrs. Dodds was this little math teacher from Georgia, who always wore a black leather jacket, despite being fifty. She looked mean enough to ride a motorcycle right into your locker (which has actually happened before at a previous school, so it wouldn’t surprise me). Honestly, the way she presented herself, I would probably find her hot had she been closer to my age. She had come to Yancy around halfway through the semester, after the previous teacher had had a nervous breakdown. I figured she had intimidated the poor guy into leaving.

From the day she started teaching, she had loved Nancy Bobofit, and despised me - although, she always gendered me correctly, which was odd. I was used to the people who hated me also calling me a man. Every time she caught me acting up, she would point a crooked finger at me and say, ‘now, honey,” all sweet like and give me after-school detention for a week (I mean seriously, a week for doodling?).

One time she made me erase answers out of old math workbooks until midnight (for no damn reason too, it’s not like these workbooks would ever be used again, we all had to buy our own new at the start of the year). Afterwards, I told Grover I didn’t think she was even human. He just looked at me all serious-like and said, “you’re absolutely right.” A little unsettling, I immediately had to excuse myself to go smoke to calm my nerves. Seriously, don’t do shit like that Grover.

Mr. Brunner continued talking about the art on the stele, discussing artwork of one particular hero who I will not be naming because I cringed a little every time he mentioned the name - it was my deadname after all. No one else noticed me, but Mr. Brunner thankfully moved on pretty quickly.

Eventually, Nancy snickered something about the naked guy on the stele (there are several naked guys on the stele, you blind bimbo). I turned around to face her and said, “will you just shut up?”

It came out louder than I intended. The whole group laughed, and Mr. Brunner stopped his lecture.

“Ms. Jackson, did you have a comment?”

I flushed. “Uh, no, sir.”

Mr. Brunner pointed at one of the carvings on the stele. “Perhaps you’ll tell us what this picture represents?”

I looked at the carving he was pointing at,  and nodded. “Yeah, uh. That’s Kronos eating his kids, right?”

“Yes,” Mr. Brunner said, obviously hoping for me to continue. “And he did this because…”

“Well, Kronos was the king god - no wait - king Titan.” I took a breath. “And… he didn’t trust his kids, who were the gods - or at least some of them - because of some prophecy his dad made when Kronos killed him. So he ate them, right? But his wife, I think her name was Rhea, hid baby Zeus and gave him a rock to eat instead - which is weird, since how did he not notice it was a rock and not a baby? Anyway, later, after Zeus grew up, he tricked his dad into drinking something that made him throw up his other kids-”

“Ewww,” said one of the girls behind me. I rolled my eyes. We weren’t in middle school anymore, grow up.

“-who, being immortal, had survived being in their dad’s stomach and had grown up completely undigested, although it probably wasn’t a pleasant childhood. Afterwards the gods and Titans fought, and the gods won.”

Some of the other students snicker at my explanation. Fuck them, this stuff was fascinating.

Behind me, I heard Nancy Bobofit mutter, “oh, like we’d ever need to use this in real life. Like it’s going to ask on our job applications, ‘please explain why Kronos ate his kids!’”

“And why, Ms. Jackson, to phrase Ms. Bobofit’s excellent question, would any of this matter in real life?” Mr. Brunner asked.

“Busted,” Grover muttered.

“Shut up!” Nancy hissed at him.

“Ms. Bobofit, please refrain from using such rude language when conversing with other students, thank you. Ms. Jackson?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know, sir. I mean, it’s all interesting, but I suppose it wouldn’t matter unless you were an archaeologist in Greece or I suppose if those stories were real. But they aren’t, and I don’t really want to be an archaeologist.”

“I see. “Well, Ms. Jackson, you are indeed right that this would matter a lot were these stories real, as that would make them actual ancient history. You are also indeed right in your recounting of the story itself, although you did miss the detail of the mixture Zeus gave his father being that of mustard and wine, a rather nasty sounding mixture in my opinion. When the gods then defeated their father, they sliced him into small pieces with his own scythe, and scattered his remains in Tartarus, the darkest part of the underworld. On that delightful note, it’s now time for lunch. Mrs. Dodds, would you please lead us back outside?”

The class drifted off, some students looked nauseous, not that I entirely blamed them, and some of the guys were shoving each other around and acting like doofuses. So glad I wasn’t actually a part of that demographic.

Grover and I were about to follow, but Mr. Brunner called, “Ms. Jackson.”

I knew that was coming.

“Keep going, Grover. I’ll be ok.” I turned towards the teacher. “Sir?”

Mr. Brunner had this look in his eyes that wouldn’t let you go - intense brown eyes that seemed thousands of years old and had seen more than you could ever imagine.

“You must remember the answer to my question,” he said.

“About the Titans?”

“About real life, and how your studies apply to it.”

“Oh.”

“What you learn from me, believe it or not, is vitally important, to you especially, and I expect you to treat it as such. I will accept only the best from you, Atty Jackson.”

I wanted to get angry, but couldn’t. He pushed me so hard. Sure, the tournament days were cool and all, they were fun. But Mr. Brunner expected me to be as good as everyone else. Sure, I could remember all the things he lectured about, but focusing enough to complete assignments or write the tests was next to impossible. I had so many difficulties with learning in any normal school environment, and I barely ever managed to get above a C- in my entire life. No, he didn’t expect me to be as good, he expected me to be better. And that pressure was a bit much for me.

I mumbled something about trying harder, while Mr. Brunner took a long sad look at the stele, as if he had been to this girl’s funeral.

“Go outside. Eat your lunch. Relax before we need to go back.”

The class had gathered on the front steps, which basically made us a hazard to anyone else trying to visit the museum, which wasn’t many people.

Overhead, a huge storm was brewing, with clouds darker than I had ever seen over New York. I figured it might have been global warming or something, because the weather had been completely bizarre since Christmas. I once brought it up to Grover, and some asshat religious kid had overheard and said it was God, trying to tell me I should be a boy. I had decked him for that. Got detention, but it was worth it.

We’d had snowstorms in April, flooding, and wildfires started by lightning strikes. I wouldn’t be overly shocked if this was a fucking hurricane.

Nobody else paid any attention. Some guys were throwing crackers at some pigeons. Nancy Bobofit was trying to pickpocket some lady while she was on the phone, and, of course, Mrs. Dodds didn’t see a thing.

Grover I sat on the edge of the fountain, away from the rest of the class, as if somehow people wouldn’t think we were part of that group - the school for loser rich kids who couldn’t make it anywhere else - despite the school uniforms definitely giving us away. I hate school uniforms. When I had turned up in a girl’s uniform at the start of the year, I had basically immediately been given detention and forced to wear a boy’s uniform. Fortunately, after my documents were updated, I was able to wear my proper uniform unharassed, but I still hated it.

“Detention?” Grover asked.

“I shook my head. “Not from Brunner. I just wish he’d lay off me sometimes, I’m trying my best.”

Grover didn’t say anything for a while. Then, when I thought he was going to say something inspirational and philosophical to cheer me up, he said, “can I have your apple?”

In spite of myself, I cracked a smile. I handed the fruit to him.

I started eating my sandwich. Yummy bacon and cheese. Just what I needed. I watched the cars on Fifth Avenue, and let my mind wander. I thought about my mom, only a few blocks away from where we were sitting. I hadn’t seen her since Christmas, and was missing her quite a bit. I was sorely tempted to jump in a taxi and head home. She would be overjoyed to see me, but she would also be disappointed. She’d send me right back to Yancy, reminding me that I had to try, even if this was the 10th school in 10 years, and I was almost guaranteed to get kicked out again. I wouldn’t be able to stand the sad look she’d give me.

Mr. Brunner parked his wheelchair just to the side of the handicap ramp. He ate some celery while reading a paperback novel - I couldn’t make out the title. A big red umbrella stuck up from the back of the chair, making it look like some sort of motorized cafe table. I couldn’t help but giggle a little at the sight.

I was about to start on the granola bar in my lunch when Nancy Bobofit appeared in front of us with her friends - I guess stealing from the tourists was getting boring or something - and dumped her entire half-eaten lunch (what was left of it) in Grover’s lap. Seriously, what was with my classmates and wasting food? Those perfectly good pickles!

“Oops.” She grinned at me.

I tried to stay calm. The school counselor had told me millions of times, ‘count to ten, get control of your temper.’ Real useful advice, I know. It never worked. My mind went blank. A wave roared in my ears.

The next thing I knew, despite not remembering touching her at all, Nancy was on her butt in the fountain, screaming that I’d pushed her. Using my deadname of course. Bitch.

I was tempted to shove her under the spray, but just then Mrs. Dodds materialized next to us.

Some of the other students had come up to see what was going on. Some were whispering: “Did you see?” “The water…” “like… it grabbed her.”

I didn’t know what they were on about. All I knew was, I was going to be in ISS until the end of the year again. Hooray.

As soon as Mrs. Dodds was done making sure Nancy was ok, promising to buy her a new shirt from the gift shop, she turned to me. There was a fiery look in her eyes, as if I’d done something she’d been waiting for all semester. “Now, honey.”

My heart sank. “I, uh-”

“Come with me,” she said.

“Wait!” Grover yelped. “It was me! I was the one who pushed her.”

I stared at him, sure my ears had malfunctioned. He was trying to cover for me? Mrs. Dodds scared him to death!

She glared at him so hard he started trembling.

“I don’t think so, Mr. Underwood.”

“But, I-”

“You will stay here.”

Grover looked at me with desperation.

“It’s ok dude. Thanks for trying,” I said.

“Honey, now!” Mrs. Dodds barked at me.

Nancy smirked. I gave her a look promising death. I turned to face Mrs. Dodds, but she had disappeared. She was now standing all the way at the top of the stairs, by the museum entrance, gesturing impatiently at me to hurry up.

How on earth did she get up there so fast?

I have moments like this a lot, where it feels like my brain just fell asleep and the next thing I knew I’d missed something. The school counselor told me this was part of ADHD, my brain misinterpreting things. Another had told me it was because of my autism. Still another had said it was both.

I wasn’t so sure.

I quickly jogged up the steps after Mrs. Dodds.

Halfway up, I glanced back at Grover. He was pale, his eyes cutting back and forth between me and Mr. Brunner, as if he was hoping Mr. Brunner would notice the situation, but the Latin teacher was absorbed in his novel. Must’ve been a good book.

When I turned back to look at Mrs. Dodds, she was no longer just outside the entrance, but way back inside the entrance hall.

Ok, I thought. So she’s going to make me buy Nancy a new shirt. I had no idea how she planned on doing that since I didn’t have any money on me.

But that wasn’t the plan.

I followed her deeper into the museum, confused out of my mind. What the fuck is going on?

When I finally caught up to her, we were back in the Greek and Roman section.

Except for us, the room was empty. She stood, staring at a big marble frieze of the gods, her arms crossed. She was making this weird noise in her throat, like growling.

Even without that, I would be incredibly creeped out. Being alone with a teacher is something I prefer to avoid, especially after something that had happened a couple years before which I will not be going into. Being alone with Mrs. Dodds was especially weird. The way she looked at the frieze, scowling as if she wanted to pulverize it. I half wished she did. Maybe if she got arrested, I could avoid detention.

“You’ve been giving us problems, honey,” she said.

“Uh, yes ma’am.”

She tugged at the cuffs of her jacket. “Did you really think you would get away with it?”

The look in her eyes was beyond mad. It was evil. It terrified me.

She’s a teacher, it’s not like she would hurt me, right?

I said, “I- I’ll try harder, ma’am.”

Thunder shook the building.

“We are not fools, Atty Jackson,” she said, her voice gaining a strange, snarling quality to it. “Confess, and you will suffer less pain.”

What the heck?

I had no idea what she was talking about. Had my smoking habit somehow been found out? This seemed like a bit of an overreaction. Or maybe they’d figured out I got my essay on Life of Pi off the internet and never actually read the book, and now they were going to take away my grade. Or worse, make me read the book.

“Well?” She growled.

“I, uh-”

“Your time is up!” she hissed.

Then things got really strange. Her eyes started glowing. Her fingers stretched, becoming monstrous talons. Her jacket shifted into large leathery wings. She really wasn’t human. She was a shriveled up hag with bat wings and massive claws and a mouth full of fangs, and she was about to slice me to pieces.

Things continued to get even stranger. Mr. Brunner, who’d been out in front of the museum not long before, wheeled into the doorway to the room, a pen held in his hand.

“What ho, Atty!” He shouted, throwing the pen to me.

Mrs. Dodds lunged at me.

I yelped and dodged talons, slashing the air next to my ear, barely missing getting caught in my hair. I snatched the pen out of the air, but when it hit my hand, it was no longer a pen. It was a sword, Mr. Brunner’s bronze sword from tournament days.

Mrs. Dodds spun around to face me again, a murderous look in her eyes.

My knees felt weak. My hands were shaking, but I took a deep breath, steadying myself.

“Die, honey!” Mrs. Dodds flew straight at me.

My blood ran cold. I was absolutely terrified, so I did the one thing that felt natural: I swung the sword.

The blade hit her shoulder and passed through as if she were made of water.

She exploded into yellow dust, vaporized instantly, leaving nothing but the smell of sulfur and a dying screech.

I was alone again. There was a ballpoint pen in my hand. Mr. Brunner wasn’t there, nobody was there except for me.

I had never before smoked something that could cause hallucinations. What the hell had that been? Had someone spiked my lunch?

I quickly ran back outside.

It had started raining.

Grover was still sitting by the fountain, a museum guide tented over his head. Nancy Bobofit was still there, soaked from her dip in the fountain. When she saw me, she said, “I hope Mrs. Kerr whipped your butt.”

I blinked. “Who?”

“Our teacher! Duh.”

I was baffled. We had no teacher named Mrs. Kerr. I asked Nancy what she was talking about.

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever, pervert.”

I asked Grover where Mrs. Dodds was.

He hesitated. “Who?”

The hesitation, coupled with him not looking in the eyes made me think he was messing with me.

“Not funny dude. This is serious.”

Thunder rumbled overhead.

I saw Mr. Brunner sitting under his big red umbrella, still reading his novel as if he’d never moved.

I walked over to him.

He looked up at me. “Ah, that would be my pen. Please bring your own writing utensil in the future, Ms. Jackson.”

I handed him the pen. I hadn’t even realized I was still holding it.

“Sir, where’s Mrs. Dodds?” I said.

He gave me a blank stare. “Who?”

“The other chaperone, Mrs. Dodds. The functions teacher.”

He frowned and leaned forward in his seat, looking concerned. “Atty, there is no Mrs. Dodds on this trip. As far as I know, there has never been a Mrs. Dodds teaching at Yancy Academy. Are you feeling alright?”

Chapter 2: Grover Won't Let Me Buy Fruit

I was used to weird experiences every so often, but this? This was completely different. This felt like a 24/7 dream (or were the past few months the dream?) where everyone around me was entirely convinced that Mrs. Kerr - some blonde woman I had never seen before in my life - had been our math teacher since Christmas. I almost believed it myself, everyone else was so convincing.

Almost.

Grover couldn’t fool me. Every so often, I’d spring a Mrs. Dodds reference on someone, and they’d just look at me like I was insane - which I really felt like I was - except for Grover, who without fail would hesitate and wouldn’t look me in the eyes. He really was a terrible liar.

I wasn’t insane. I knew that something had happened at the museum. I did often have issues sleeping, but now, I was being woken up by nightmares of demon math teachers almost every night. I’m not entirely sure if those are better or worse than the nightmares from a couple years prior (still not telling what happened).

Due to this increased lack of sleep, I started becoming significantly more irritable in class. I was sent outside for disruptive behavior more often. My grades fell to Fs - still better than the year I’m not telling you about. I started getting into more fights with Nancy Bobofits and other bullies. One time, my English teacher, Mr. Nicoll, asked me why I was too lazy to study for spelling tests, I snapped and called him an ‘old sot.’ I don’t even know what it means, but it sounded good. Can you blame me, anyway? Asking the dyslexic girl about her inability to spell? Dude deserved a lot worse if you ask me.

I did try. I tried so hard. But my lack of sleep had made it even harder to focus on reading the material. I couldn’t even get through a single paragraph without the words floating off the page and jumbling up in midair.

Eventually, some guy thought it would be a brilliant idea to try and get me alone with his buddies. Somehow, I came out on top of that fight, if only from sheer desperation (at this point you probably figured out what happened a couple years before but I really don’t want to talk about it).

Of course, I got in trouble for it anyway, and it was now official: I was not being invited back to Yancy Academy for the next year.

Fine. Just fine.

Fuck this school, honestly. It would be so much nicer to be able to stay at home with my mom. Public school wouldn’t be that bad. And after Gabe got kicked out, it was significantly nicer there, anyway.

But still… There were things I’d miss about Yancy. The view out my dorm window was beautiful, overlooking the Hudson river, with a nice relaxing smell of pine trees. I’d miss Grover a lot. He had been such an incredible friend, even if a little strange.

I’d also miss Latin classes - mainly because Mr. Brunner was actually nice to me. But all the same… I would miss his faith in me. His belief that I could do well.

Exams were fast approaching, and despite my efforts to study for all the subjects, I found myself focusing more and more on Latin before the others. The others were hard, sure, and I had no illusions of doing well in English especially. But what Mr. Brunner said, about what he taught me being vitally important to my life… Well, that stuck with me.

The night before the Latin exam, I got so frustrated I threw my textbook across my dorm room. My roommate, a girl named Sally (weirdly enough,also my mom’s name), who I had barely spoken 5 words to across the entire semester since I’d been moved to this dorm, looked up from her laptop. “You ok?”

I sighed. “Fine. Just…”

“Dyslexia?”

I turned to stare at her. “How did you know that?”

She snorted. “We may not actually talk to each other, Jackson, but we have been roommates for several months now. Also, I know how hard it can be, my cousin also has it. Haven’t talked to him in years, but I do remember him complaining about it.”

I picked up the book. Fortunately it hadn’t been damaged. “It’s not only that. That is the biggest problem, but sometimes I just… mix things up. There are so many names and whatnot. How am I supposed to remember the difference between Charon and Chiron or Polydectes and Polydeuces?”

Sally laughed. “Well, I’m not taking the class, so I can’t exactly help you. Why don’t you try asking the teacher to help you out a bit? Brunner, right?”

I nodded. “Yeah, that’s him. I might, it’s just…”

“Just what, Jackson?”

“Can you call me Atty? Jackson feels impersonal, and we’ve been sleeping in the same room for a while now.”

“Fine, Atty. What’s wrong?”

“I’ve never actually asked a teacher for help before. Also… I really don’t like being alone with teachers. I trust Mr. Brunner,” I hastily added. “But being alone with teachers brings back… not pleasant memories.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

I shuddered. “I would rather not, actually.”

She looked at me with sympathy. “Would you like me to come with? Then you wouldn’t be alone with him.”

I found myself nodding. “Sure.”

We walked downstairs to the faculty offices. Most were dark and empty, owing to the late hour (I checked my watch, 9:30 pm, damn), but Mr. Brunner’s door was ajar, light stretching across the hallway floor.

I was about to reach for the handle, when I heard a voice. Grover’s voice. “..worried about Atty, sir.”

I froze, Sally bumping into my back.

I don’t usually eavesdrop on people, but I dare you not to listen in if you catch your best friend talking about you to an adult.

“...alone this summer. I mean, a Kindly One in the school! Now that we know for sure, and they know too-”

“We would only make matters worse by rushing her.” Mr. Brunner replied. “She is… not ready for something like this at the moment.”

“But she doesn’t have time! The summer solstice deadline-”

“Will need to be resolved without her. Let her enjoy her ignorance while she can.”

“But sir, she saw her.”

“Her imagination, The Mist over the students and staff will convince her of that.”

“Sir, I - I can’t fail in my duties again.” Grover choked up. “You know what that would mean for me.”

“You haven’t failed yet, Grover,” Mr. Brunner said in a kind tone. “I should have seen her for what she was. Now, we should just worry about keeping Atty alive until next fall-”

My textbook fell out of my hands and onto the floor. Sally, who had been leaning over my shoulder, also listening in, jumped back.

Mr. Brunner went silent.

My heart hammering, I snatched my book off the ground and back away down the hall, Sally following me.

A large shadow slid across the window on Brunner’s office door, much taller than my wheelchair-bound teacher, holding something that looked suspiciously like an archer’s bow.

I glanced at Sally, and she mouthed ‘what the fuck’ at me. I opened the nearest door, grabbed Sally’s arm, and slipped inside.

A few seconds later, we heard a slow clopping noise, like hooves, then a sound like an animal snuffling right outside our door. A large dark shape paused in front of the door, before moving on.

I felt sweat on my forehead. I wiped at it.

Somewhere down the hallway, Mr. Brunner said, “nothing. My nerves haven’t been right since the winter solstice.”

“Mine neither,” Grover said. “But I could have sworn I heard something.”

“Go back to your dorm. You have a long day of exams tomorrow.”

“Don’t remind me…”

The lights went out in Mr. Brunner’s office.

I trembled and stepped back from the door, collapsing in a chair.

“You know, you could give a girl the wrong idea like this, Atty.”

I yelped and turned to Sally.

She took a breath. “That was a little freaky, huh?”

I nodded.

“Are you gonna confront your friend about it? Like, I think at this point you really should be getting answers.”

I shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe. But I also feel like I don’t actually want those answers.”

“Suit yourself. I’m just saying if it were me, I’d want answers.”

“I need to go back to studying.”

“You need to relax; you’re shaking, Atty.”

I realized I was trembling. “It’s cold in here.”

“I’m not saying I blamed you.” She grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the chair. “Come on. We can’t stay here, what if a teacher catches us?”

I shuddered. Definitely did not want that happening again, even if I wasn’t doing anything with Sally.

After returning to the dorms, Sally got back on her laptop to continue studying, while I tried to struggle through more of the mythology book, eventually growing too frustrated to continue. I lay down on my bed, staring at Sally’s bunk above mine.

I was confused and concerned about what I’d overheard.

Let’s focus on keeping Atty alive until next fall.

I eventually fell into a restless sleep.

The next afternoon, as I was leaving the three hour latin exam, my mind filled with names I’d misspelled (hopefully I’d least remembered who’s who and Mr. Brunner would cut me some slack on the spelling), Mr. Brunner called me back inside.

For a second, I was worried he’d found out about me eavesdropping the night before, but that wasn’t it.

“Atty, don’t be discouraged about leaving Yancy, it’s… it’s for the best.”

Despite the kind tone, the words were still embarrassing. Even though he was speaking quietly, the other students could hear, and there were some snickers.

“Okay, sir,” I mumbled.

“I mean…” Mr. Brunner wheeled his chair back and forth, like he wasn’t sure how to phrase what he had to say. “This isn’t the right place for you. It was only a matter of time.”

My eyes stung. “You’re not wrong.” Despite the fact I knew that getting kicked out of here was inevitable and I knew that I could never have the fresh start I wanted here, him saying this hurt. My favorite teacher, in front of the entire class, telling me that my expulsion was destiny.

“Right,” I said, my grip on the strap of my backpack tightening.

“No, no,” he said. “Oh, confound it all. What I’m trying to say is… you’re not normal, Atty. That’s nothing-”

“Thanks,” I blurted out. “Thank you so much for the reminder. ‘Oh, silly Jackson, he can never be a normal girl.’ I so needed that.”

“Atty-”

But I was already gone, storming out the door.

When I reached my dorm, I huffed and slammed my bag onto my bed.

“Bad day of exams?” Sally said.

I sighed. “It’s not that.”

She pushed her laptop aside, turning in her chair to face me. “What is it then?”

“Brunner, he-” I swallowed. “He took me aside after the exam. I think he thought he was being encouraging, but…”

“Good intentions, but he fucked it anyway?”

I nodded.

I sat down on my bed, running a hand through my hair.

“Your hair is pretty,” Sally said.

I smiled in spite of myself. “Thanks, Sally.”

The last day of term, I shoved my clothes haphazardly into my suitcase. I quickly took my HRT before slipping the pill bottles into the suitcase and zipping it up.

The other girls were discussing their plans for vacation. One of them was going to Hawaii, another was going on a Mediterranean cruise. They were all a bunch of troubled kids, like myself, but they were also rich kids. Their parents were CEOs or ambassadors, or celebrities. I was a nobody from a family of nobodies.

The only other girl who talked to me was Sally, who came up to say goodbye. She was taking an early bus and had to move quickly. I waved to her as she ran out the door.

The other girls continued ignoring me, which was fine. I didn’t really care enough to say goodbye, so when I was done packing, I hefted my suitcase and carried it out of the common area.

I was dreading saying goodbye to Grover, but it turned out I didn’t have to yet. He had booked a ticket back to Manhattan on the same Greyhound I had. Convenient, that. I tried not to think about the conversation I’d overheard.

The bus station was technically not on school property, and while you technically weren’t allowed to smoke there, no one enforced it, so while we were waiting to board our bus, Grover looking around nervously as if expecting some of the other Yancy students waiting there to come pick on him, I quickly lit up a cigarette.

“You know that’s not good for you,” Grover said.

I shrugged. “Beats being stressed out all the time.”

He sighed. “You really need therapy, Atty.”

He was one hundred percent right, but I wasn’t going to tell him that.

I was nearly done when our (late) bus finally pulled in, so I quickly took another puff before extinguishing the cigarette on my shoe.

Grover did not stop acting jumpy during the entire bus ride, despite the fact that I knew for a fact there were no other Yancy students on board, so I really wasn’t sure who he was expecting to bully him now.

Finally, after around a half hour of him nervously examining the aisle, I tapped him in the shoulder and said, “looking for Kindly Ones?”

He jumped so much he nearly fell out of his seat. “W-what?”

“I uh… night before the exam, I went to ask Mr. Brunner for some help, but… I heard you and him talking, and you mentioned something about there being a ‘Kindly One’ in the school.”

His eye twitched. “H-how much did you overhear?”

I shrugged. “Not much. What’s the summer solstice deadline?”

He winced. “Look, Atty… I was worried about you, ok? I mean, hallucinating about demon math teachers-”

“Grover,” I said, a little annoyed.

“And, I was telling Mr. Brunner I thought you might be overstressed or something, ‘cause there’s no such person as Mrs. Dodds-”

“Grover, I need you to know that you are fucking terrible at lying.”

He blushed.

From his shirt pocket, he pulled out a small rectangle, a business card. “Just, take this. In case you need me this summer.”

I took the card. It was written in a fancy script, which was absolutely horrible for my dyslexic ass to read. Eventually I made out something like:

Grover Underwood

Keeper

Half-Blood Hill

Long Island, New York

(800) 009-0009

I frowned. “What’s Half-”

“Don’t say it out loud!” He yelped. “That’s, uhhhh… my summer address.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Summer address?”

He nodded.

I groaned inwardly. I’d never even considered Grover might be as rich as the other Yancy students.

“Okay,” I said, trying to not sound too upset. “So like, if I want to visit your mansion.”

He nodded. “Or- or if you need me.”

“Why on earth would I need you?”

It came out a bit harsher than I intended.

Grover blushed even harder, all the way down to his Adam’s apple (thank fuck I didn’t manage to get one of those). “Look, Atty. the truth is that I kinda need to protect you.”

I stared at him. “You’re joking.”

He shook his head.

“Grover,” I said, trying to keep my voice sounding calm. “What - exactly - is it you’re supposed to protect me from?”

Grover opened his mouth to reply, but before he could say anything, there was a loud grinding noise coming from the bus’s engine, which started billowing black smoke. The driver limped the vehicle off to the side of the road.

After a few minutes tinkering around in the engine compartment, the driver announced that we would all have to get off.

Grover and I filed off the bus with everyone else, people grumbling, but no one loudly complained, for which I was thankful.

We had broken down on a stretch of country road - basically, the middle of nowhere. On our side of the highway were nothing but maple trees as far as I could see. On the other side, shimmering in the heat from the sun, was a small, old-fashioned fruit stand.

The stuff on sale looked really good. There were heaping boxes of cherries, apples, apricots, and so many other things. I was tempted to cross and check some of it out - I was starting to feel a little hungry at this point.

There were no customers, just three old ladies sitting in rocking chairs in the shade of a nearby maple, knitting the biggest pair of socks ever.

These socks were big enough that I could probably have worn one as a sweater if it had more holes, but they were definitely socks. The ladies on the right and left each knitted their own socks, while the lady in the middle was holding a basket filled with electric blue yarn.

All three of the women looked ancient - at least 100 years old. Their pale faces were wrinkled like beef jerky, their silver hair was tied back in white bandannas, and their bony arms sticking out of faded cotton dresses.

And they were looking right at me.

I looked over to Grover to comment about the ladies and saw that he had gone white as paper. His nose was twitching.

“Grover?” I said. “What’s wrong?”

“Tell me they’re not looking at you. They are, aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Fucking weird, huh? I’m kinda hungry, maybe I’ll go over and buy some fruit.”

Grover flinched. “You definitely do not want to do that, Atty.”

The old lady in the middle took out a massive pair of scissors - the blades long and made of gold and silver. I heard Grover catch his breath.

“Why not? You don’t think they’re poisoned. Like Snow White or something?”

Grover didn’t answer me, and instead said. “We’re getting back on the bus, come on.”

“What?” I said. “It’s like a million degrees in there.”

“Come on!” Grover pried open the doors and climbed inside, but I didn’t follow. I fished around in my pockets for some change, thinking maybe I’d grab and apricot to go, but before I could do anything else, the lady with the scissors snipped a line of the yarn, and I swear to you I could hear the sound of it from across all four lanes - audible, as if they had been right next to me. The other two ladies rolled up their now completed socks, putting them away.

At the rear of the bus, the driver yanked out a smoking hunk of metal from the engine compartment. The bus shuddered, and the engine roared back to life.

That’s weird, I’m pretty sure that’s not how engines worked.

I turned back to look at the fruit stand, a bit disappointed I wouldn’t be getting any fruit, but the ladies and the entire fruit stand were nowhere to be seen.

After the bus started moving again - me sitting back in my seat next to Grover - I started to feel ill. My cheeks felt warm, and I couldn’t stop shaking.

Grover didn’t look much better either.

“Grover?”

“Yeah?”

“What the hell just happened man?”

He wiped at his forehead. “Atty, what did you see at the fruit stand?”

“You mean the old ladies? Also, I’m still miffed that I didn't get any fruit.”

Grover let out a nervous laugh. “You really did not want to buy any of that fruit, Atty.”

“Why not? Those ladies aren’t… like Mrs. Dodds, are they?”

His expression was hard to read. Troubled, but hard to read. I started to get the feeling those old ladies had been something even worse than Mrs. Dodds.

“Just tell me what you saw.”

“The one in the middle took out this massive pair of scissors - shears, really - and cut the yarn.”

Grover closed his eyes and made a strange gesture. Over his chest. It looked a bit like he was crossing himself, but it was different.

“You saw her snip the cord,” he said.

“Yeah. So what?” But I had the feeling that it was a bigger deal than I knew.

“This is not happening,” Grover muttered. He started chewing on his bottom lip. “No like last time, please.”

“Last time? What are you talking about?”

“Always tenth grade. They never get past tenth.”

“Grover, what the fuck are you talking about?” He was really starting to scare me.

“Let me walk you home from the bus stop. Promise me, please.”

That seemed like a strange request, but I said, “yeah, you can walk me home.”

There was a period of silence during which Grover nearly lept out of his seat at a bump in the road.

“Is this like some sort of superstition?” I asked.

Grover didn’t answer.

“Grover - the snipping of the yarn thing. Does that mean someone is going to die?”

Grover looked at me mournfully, like he was already trying to pick out which flowers I’d like on my coffin (orchids, for reference).