Chapter Text
Annabeth groaned before she even opened her eyes.
The alarm hadn’t gone off yet, but she already wanted to call in sick. Maybe she could fake the flu. Or mono. Something dramatic enough to miss school for a week — long enough for the Percy Jackson hurricane to blow over.
But she wasn’t that lucky.
She stared at her ceiling for a full minute before dragging herself out of bed. No hoodie today — it was supposed to hit 80. No appetite either. She grabbed her bag and left without saying much of anything.
—
Goode High felt different the moment she stepped out of her car.
There was this weird hum in the air. Not actual noise — not yet — just the buzz of attention shifting. People were standing in small clusters near lockers, leaning against walls, barely hiding the way their eyes flicked toward the front entrance like they were waiting for someone to walk in.
Someone who hadn’t walked these halls in over a year.
A few girls were already scrolling on their phones, low-key recording everything. One of them whispered, “I think he’s already here.” Another was refreshing TikTok. A junior walked by wearing a hoodie from Percy’s last tour, trying to look casual like it wasn’t a statement.
Annabeth rolled her eyes.
“Someone should remind them he didn’t cure cancer,” she muttered, slipping her earbuds in. She wasn’t in the mood to hear Percy’s name 200 times before third period.
Spoiler alert: it still happened.
—
Jason waved her over in calculus. “Hey. You good?”
Annabeth dropped into the seat next to him. “Define good.”
He smirked. “Ah. So, no then.”
She pulled out her notebook. “Don’t start.”
“I wasn’t going to. But if you want a distraction, I’ve got a question.”
She looked up, mildly grateful. “Shoot.”
Jason turned his notebook toward her. “So we’re supposed to take the derivative of this—” he pointed to a tangled function of trig and exponents “—but I’m like 90% sure I’m doing it backward.”
Annabeth leaned in. “You’re distributing before you take the derivative?”
“Uh…”
She sighed. “Jason.”
“What?”
“You can’t distribute a function like that before applying the chain rule. That’s like calculus rule number one.”
Jason raised an eyebrow. “Is it though?”
She gave him a look.
He held up his hands. “Okay, okay. Help me fix it.”
They worked through the steps together, scribbling equations and half-formed notes between their actual classwork. For a while, it felt normal — two students surviving AP Calc, one mistake at a time.
Then the whispering started again.
“Did you see him walking in this morning?”
“He’s taller now, right?”
“My cousin met him backstage last year — said he smells like cedarwood and power.”
Annabeth pinched the bridge of her nose. “I swear, if someone says ‘Percy Jackson’ one more time I’m going to snap a pencil in half.”
Jason chuckled. “Only one?”
“Don’t test me.”
“You want me to tell them to shut up?”
She shook her head. “No. I just want people to act like he’s a person, not a walking merch drop.”
She went back to Jason’s notebook and underlined the right step in the margin.
—
Lunch was worse.
Not the food. That was the same suspicious mystery meat and too-orange mac and cheese. But the buzz — the energy in the cafeteria — it was like everyone was pretending they weren’t waiting for something to happen.
She’d barely taken two bites of her sandwich when it happened.
“Hey, this seat taken?”
She looked up.
And there he was. Percy Jackson. Not the guy from music videos or red carpet clips — but the guy she used to know. Hoodie, black jeans, that same lopsided grin like he never left.
Piper blinked, then smiled. “Took you long enough.”
Percy slid in beside Leo with a casual, “Had to escape my adoring fans first.”
Leo snorted. “What, all three of them?”
“Try thirty,” Percy said, stealing a fry off Jason’s tray. “And counting.”
Hazel raised an eyebrow. “Did someone really ask you to sign their locker?”
“Yup,” Percy said proudly. “Told them I charge extra for Sharpie ink.”
Jason chuckled. “Still a clown, huh?”
“Clowns wear more makeup.”
Annabeth stayed quiet, eyes on her tray. The laughter felt weirdly familiar — like old times, maybe too much like them. It was dangerous, how easy he slipped back into the group.
Piper nudged her under the table. “You okay?”
“Fine,” she said, a little too quickly.
Percy turned toward her then — not all the way, just enough to make her notice. “Hey, Annabeth.”
She nodded. “Hey.”
Their eyes met for half a second. Long enough to register that he noticed how distant she was. Not long enough for her to decide how she felt about it.
Leo, oblivious (or maybe not), grinned. “So, what’s the verdict? Are you back for good or is this like, a feature-length guest appearance?”
“Technically,” Percy said, “I’m re-enrolling. Album cycle’s done, label gave me a break. Manager’s freaking out.”
“Bet your mom’s thrilled.”
“She’s making me pack my own lunches again,” Percy replied. “I think she’s trying to humble me.”
Hazel laughed. “That’ll do it.”
The conversation kept rolling — dumb jokes, updates on teachers, someone bringing up that time Leo set off the fire alarm trying to “upgrade” the microwave. And for a moment, Annabeth forgot to be annoyed.
It felt… good. Normal.
Until it didn’t.
—
They walked out of the cafeteria at the same time — just coincidence, probably — but of course, they had history together. The literal class and the emotional baggage kind.
Percy fell into step beside her.
“So,” he said, glancing over. “You still hate Mr. Barrowman?”
“With every fiber of my being,” she replied.
He grinned. “Still manages to make the Cold War sound like a bedtime story?”
“He compared Stalin to a disappointed dad last week.”
“Wow. Still got it.”
They laughed, and for a moment it was too easy — too familiar. Her guard slipped.
But then she remembered.
The silence. The unanswered texts. The way he left without warning, without explanation, without even saying goodbye.
Her smile faded.
Percy noticed — not obviously, but his stride slowed a little. He tucked his hands into his hoodie pocket, glanced away like he didn’t want to spook her.
“You’ve been good?” he asked, tone softer now.
“Fine.”
“Cool.”
They walked the last few steps in silence. Just the shuffle of sneakers and the echo of other conversations bouncing off the walls.
Outside their classroom, Percy looked like he wanted to say more — like maybe he had a question or an apology queued up.
But Annabeth didn’t give him the chance.
“I’ll see you inside,” she said, and slipped through the door before he could follow