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Percy Jackson knows a few things.
One is, he hasn't had much luck in schools. And he knows his mom sent him places to keep him safe. He's never gotten above a C minus in his life and yet he also knows his girlfriend wants the two of them to go to college together.
Oh yeah, and he knows he's a powerful enough demigod that the only college he'd probably be able to actually go to (safely) is the one in New Rome.
But he also knows he's not getting in there if he hasn't graduated high school.
See, Meddlesome Queen Hera sent him to amnesiac town in the middle of what was his junior year, over Christmas break. Winter break they call it and have been calling it for years apparently, Percy doesn't know - or that's just one of the things he doesn't. Maybe it's the ADHD, that fitting pieces or not fitting pieces of what happens into his head. Part of being a demigod, sure, but it definitely doesn't always work as his brain seeing or not quite managing to see through the Mist- anyway. The point is, he now sits in the office of this counselor at the closest school to his mom and Paul's place on the upper East side of Manhattan, trying to explain that his transcript isn't complete but it isn't for the reason people would typically think- "no I didn't drop out, I had uh - medical issues."
"What sort of medical issues, if you don't mind me asking, Mr Jackson?" Asks the woman with thick-framed glasses and light brown eyes. She isn't quite looking at him, it seems, but he doesn't say anything, or he hasn't yet. He's waiting. "I mean, were they extensive enough to impact your education enough that you need some sort of accommodation?"
Accommodation? Huh. "I mean, I couldn't remember things for awhile, but I always kinda have trouble with figuring stuff out- I have ADHD and dyslexia," he shuffles in his seat, clenching hand in his pocket around Riptide. He can face a gigantic magical pig or a minotaur or a giant, or even the Earth Mother, and not break down or freak out, but put him in a chair at school and he's losing it. He feels himself starting to sweat. "And it's - I'm Percy," he offers lamely. "Not Mr Jackson." I'm only that to smaller gods or monsters or something that's probably trying to kill me.
Maybe it's because he didn't tell Annabeth he was coming here. He didn't even say anything to his mom, because he figures it might upset her to know that he knows he's dumb. He's not gotten through school, and he's not gonna be able to go with Annabeth, so he's here.
He's here and now he's hearing this lady ask him "... okay, Percy- have you ever had an IEP?"
"A - what?"
"An IEP, an individualized education plan. Have you been officially diagnosed, by a medical doctor, with dyslexia and ADHD?"
Well, I've been diagnosed as a demigod, Percy thinks. "Um- my mom said I have. But I don't know if any of the schools I went to asked about it."
"Hm, well it says you went to Yancy Academy - a prep school. You went to a charter school, and..." Eyes widening as she looks over the packet of paper he'd filched out of his mom's stuff when she took Estelle out to play at the park - which he feels a little guilty about, almost as guilty as he feels for basically lying to Annabeth by not telling her about the fact he's doing this "- never been to public school?"
Percy realizes the lady, Ms McKinley, is asking him a question.
"What? Sorry,"
"It's okay. What I said, was, it looks like you've never been to a public school before," she speaks patiently. Her eyes seem to be focused on him now. They aren't flaming, she has no talons or fangs or even any apparent frustration, which might be a first from any adult who's had to interact with him. Except for Chiron, of course - and Paul. But Chiron is a centuries old centaur and Paul is married to his mom, so Percy figures they both have their reasons for not getting frustrated with him.
This lady doesn't have a reason.
"Uh, I guess I haven't really been to one, no. What's that mean, my crap grades are a private school problem?"
She actually chuckles in response to him, which is another shock to Percy. He's never been sure whether adults or other people in general think he's funny.
"In a way, yes. What I mean to say, is that public school provides services for students with needs such as yours. If you were to go to school here, for example, you would be given an IEP with goals and accommodations in order to ensure you're able to learn at your best." When Percy only blinks his sea-green eyes at her, she adds "An IEP would help you, Percy - for example, any text you read could be converted into a specific font, or even input into a computer program and read aloud."
"So I'd get talked to by some robot voice? I'm afraid I can't do that, sir?" He quips. She smiles.
"There are a few options for voices, but that's just an example of one possible accommodation that could be helpful to you. And it's something a public school would be required to provide." She studies him as he stares back at her, with incredulity.
"So you... You're saying I could - maybe get a grade that's higher than a D?"
"Oh, honey, you can get an A," she says enthusiastically, only for Percy to visibly flinch.
Honey.
Suddenly he sees a leather jacket turning to wings, hears a screech and feels the slashing tear of talons at, almost into his chest.
"Die, honey!" And she flew straight at me.
His chest is hurting, he feels like he can't breathe - and he isn't used to that, he can breathe air and water BOTH fine, perfectly fine; because - he's the son of the Sea God.
"Hail, Perseus Jackson, son of the Sea God."
...and here's this lady poking her head out of her office and saying to someone in the hall "Perla, can you go to the lounge and get me a bottle of water quickly, please?" There's the clinking of coins, not drachmas - regular quarters, Percy thinks - he's gasping for air as this woman moves around her desk and kneels next to him.
She isn't too close, and she's not touching him. All she's saying is "Percy, you're okay, you're with me, Ms McKinley, in my office, and you can just take a minute. Try to take some breaths, as many as you need. What are some things you see in here?"
And he thinks she's crazy, why is she asking him that? But he tells her. "Your - desk," with a gasp, clenching his hand.
"Good. What else?"
"My chair. That - box of weird rubber things that look like waffles? And unicorns and stuff,"
"My fidget box, good. Anything else?"
"Uh," he's blinking, sucking in air. His eyes prickle and he feels tears threatening which is crazy, why is he about to start crying in a chair in some teacher's- counselor's- office? But he adds "you have that- picture on your wall, there's a quote, with that guy with glasses, and he has a gun? Or a sword, I think."
"Theodore Roosevelt, yes. Can you read the quote?"
Percy, even as his breathing has steadied a bit, squints at it. He sighs, feeling his eyes stinging and he almost starts trembling at the thought.
This isn't the right place for you. It was only a matter of time. You're not normal, Percy.
"No," he speaks roughly, softly. Closes eyes as he feels a cold tear drip down his cheek. "I can't." The letters shift and flip and float around. The way they almost always do.
But Ms McKinley doesn't seem frustrated or bothered or anything. All she says is "that's okay, I'll read it to you." Percy senses as much as sees her shift, and in a quiet but somehow strong voice, she speaks.
'It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.'
As she's saying it, a slight tap on her partly open door occurs and an older lady sticks her head in, holding out a bottle of water. She doesn't seem confused or anything by the fact the counselor is crouched on the floor in front of her own desk, just handing her the water. Which she in turn opens and passes to Percy as she speaks, in a gentle, easy sort of way. Even as she sits, crossing legs and keeping back straight and eyes on the wall.
Something about it, or about her voice when saying it... It thickens, and almost seems as if she's going to cry too, or maybe even that she iS crying. With a small breath, she continues "My students are in arenas I can sometimes only imagine.... And sometimes I can't even do that. We all have battles to fight," ain't that the truth, Percy thinks, almost sardonic, but sniffs and sips the water she passed him instead. "...and nobody can fully know what is happening with anybody else. Especially not the critics, and some of those critics are ourselves," she looks sideways, her eyes seeming not to quite fix on him again, and she says "I was born with a visual impairment. Without these glasses I see maybe four feet, and things are hard for me, so I have to do them differently." Lacing fingers together in her lap, she adds "but my harshest critic has always been myself. I've said I'm ridiculous and stupid for not doing things right, even when I simply need to figure out another way. And ask, allow people to help me. That's the kicker, Percy - we all need help sometimes. And sometimes we don't know what to ask for, but we still need to ask. It's hard. Heck, it sucks, and it's embarrassing - but it's how we grow, and learn. And you are not dumb, there's nothing wrong with getting Cs and Ds, because you still want to learn. You want to do better, and you will and can do better when people help you." Turning, pushing herself up, and offering a nod "-and I'm going to help you, okay?" Slowly rising back to her feet and offering with a gesturing hand, still at a slight distance and not touching him, Ms McKinley adds "what do you say?"
Percy, looking up at her with a long, slow breath, realizes he can take it. His chest doesn't hurt. Wow, he didn't even need nectar or ambrosia. Far as he knows this is a mortal lady, not a daughter of Apollo or Hecate. What kind of stuff do they teach in public school?
He may as well find out. "If you can get me ready to go to college with my girlfriend, I guess - you're hired."