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Percy Jackson was used to being scared. Since the ripe old age of 12, he’d been threatened, slashed at, poisoned, whatever, by just about everything A-Z in a Baby’s First Book of Greek Monsters! and then some. And even before middle school, Percy had had to deal with the pot-bellied, beer-breathed monster named Gabe, plus all of the joys of being labeled as a “problem student” by teachers and classmates alike.
But now, at age 24, twice the age he was when he cut off Medusa’s head, walked in and out of the Underworld, fought the Greek god of war, and did plenty of other insane stuff that would make most people wet their pants, Percy stood petrified at the mirror, staring blankly at his half-buttoned, navy blue-collared shirt partially tucked into a pair of black slacks.
The cheerful white anchor pattern and matching buttons running down the shirt seemed to mock him, which made him feel bad. His little sister, Estelle, had been so excited to give it to him when he and Annabeth visited New York for Christmas. She’d said, “It’s blue, and you love blue. And I picked it, and you love me, so now it’s your favorite-est thing!” with her unshakable kindergartener determination and reasoning.
“Need some help with that, Seaweed Brain?” Annabeth yawned.
Percy, to his credit, only mildly jumped when his girlfriend (and soon-to-be fiancé once he had the time to propose to her over the summer break) suddenly materialized behind him. Annabeth gently rested her forehead against Percy’s shoulder, squinting at the morning sun trickling into their apartment. Her blonde princess curls exploded into a frizzy halo around her head, and the duvet had left a crinkly red imprint across her sleepy face, but Percy still thought that she looked great.
“My hands can’t stop shaking,” Percy admitted, his voice just as unsteady.
Annabeth hummed and stepped around to his front to methodically undo the misaligned buttons dragging across his white undershirt. She then began to carefully slide each button back into place, letting Percy slow his breathing in time with hers.
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
Percy roughly swallowed. “My students, they—”
“They love you, Percy. Who wouldn’t? You’re a very lovable guy, I’ll have you know. Even without my biased opinion.”
“That’s the problem.” Percy could practically hear Annabeth’s rolled eyes, like Oh, no! My steak is too juicy, and my lobster is too buttery! Percy’s 6th-grade Life Sciences students absolutely adore him! “Since my mentor teacher—Mrs. Makrypoulia—had that family emergency two months back; I’ve basically been the long-term sub since then. I’m worried about ending the year off strong and…"
Percy faltered. He didn’t want to say it because then it’d be real.
“And?” Annabeth prodded.
“I don’t know how to say goodbye.”
“Didn’t you tell them that San Fran State’s Teaching Credential Program ends at the end of your students’ school year?”
If New Rome University had had a Teaching Credential Program, then maybe things wouldn’t be so difficult. Then, Percy could’ve been a Student Teacher in New Rome’s all-in-one K-12 school for civilians and then just seen his old students every time he visited Camp Jupiter. (Of course, then he’d see them grow up to potentially get hurt or worse during their time serving the Legion, so maybe that was a small mercy.) So, he and Annabeth had moved closer to San Francisco State so Percy could apply to their Teaching Credential program while Annabeth took on some freelance architecture work. It also didn’t hurt that a few NRU professors could vouch for Percy’s (admittedly okayish) college academic record during the SFS transfer.
“Technically, my program ended a few weeks ago, but yeah. I couldn’t abandon my kids, you know? Especially with the long-term sub thing. And the middle school isn’t looking to hire anyone for the science department next year, so there’s that too.”
“And the plan was to move back to New York so we could be closer to Sally, Paul, and Estelle. And my cousin Magnus in Boston. And Camp Half-Blood for the summers…” Annabeth mused.
Annabeth lightly clicked her tongue and tilted her head a bit like an owl, a little quirk that Percy knew meant she was deep in thought, working through a plan of attack. Although Percy knew that she was more used to strategy with Celestial bronze swords and shields, and even with semi-politely trading barbs with idiotic clients who claimed that “McMansions were the pinnacle of modern architectural design.” Annabeth’s words, not Percy’s.
Percy was just about to tell Annabeth that he’d be okay and that everything was fine, and he shouldn’t have brought it up, actually, when she clicked her fingers.
“What’s that thing that you’ve been telling your students all year? ‘All students…’ something-something?”
“‘I believe that all my students are capable of doing great things,’” Percy recalled automatically. “But what does that have to do with anything?”
“For being such a brilliant teacher, it astounds me that you’re not putting together the pieces here.”
“Hey! I teach Life Sciences, not Philosophy. Cut me some slack!”
“Never.” Annabeth grinned devilishly. “But you’ve said that ‘great things’ quote all year long. You’ve rambled to me about your students’ achievements and how you’ve encouraged them and how they had the chance to see what ‘great things’ they were able to do with your support.”
“And then I slowly took the training wheels off so they could see how awesome they were without me?”
“Exactly. Now, go finish getting ready for your last day of 6th grade, Seaweed Brain. I’m honestly impressed by you and your whole”—she vaguely gestured at all of Percy—“everything with teaching. You have a gift—you couldn’t pay me to hang out with middle schoolers all day.”
“You were the Athena Cabin counselor for a decade,” Percy deadpanned, “at a summer camp. With middle schoolers. Who were constantly threatening each other with deadly weapons for the stupidest reasons.”
“And I didn’t get paid for it, so I happily stepped down once we left for college. Now seriously! Go. You’re gonna miss your BART train if you keep talking to me.”
“But I love talking with you,” Percy pouted, half serious, half joking.
Annabeth pecked his lips. “Don’t forget your box by the front door, Percy. Go have a great last day.”
Thankfully, Percy didn’t miss his BART. He did end up with mismatched socks, though. However, his stepdad, Paul, had once told him that from his experience as a teacher, showing that you were a goofy human every once in a while made students more comfortable around you, like a less awkward version of that “How do you do, fellow kids?” meme.
As Percy fumbled with his massive cardboard box and teacher’s lanyard at the front gate of Triton Middle School—which his godly half-brother was certainly not shy about boasting about the last time Percy saw him at an undersea dinner—he nearly tripped over a 12-year-old. Which, in case anyone was wondering, was a bad thing.
Thanks to years of honing his demigod reflexes and 10-ish months of practicing classroom management for a bunch of wild 6th graders, Percy did not hurt himself or the student, avoiding an accidental lawsuit. His box and its contents, however, went flying across the grassy lawn.
“Yo, Mr. Jackson! You good? Do you need help carrying that box—are those water balloons?! Are those for class today?!”
Joel Porter. 5th period, Percy’s brain automatically recalled. He also winced, as he did every time he recalled a student’s name thanks to his mentor teacher’s unfortunate trick—pick one stand-out detail about a student and tie their name to it. Also, never ever tell students how you remember their name if you use this trick. Joel Porter, labeled as a “problem student” in his profile, accidentally knocked over an entire row of Porta-Potties on a school field trip within the first few weeks of school. And that was just this school year. In Percy’s head, the immediate detail that came to mind was Joel Porter’s name and face, quickly followed by the mental image of a Porta-Potty.
“Yup, biodegradable water balloons. We'll fill them with water during class.” Percy’s best friend, Grover, as the Lord of the Wild, wouldn’t have allowed Percy to use them otherwise. “And yeah, I’d love some help picking these up, Joel.”
Joel puffed out his chest and grinned. “Can I get a piece of candy from your prize bucket since I helped you, Mr. Jackson?”
Percy rolled his eyes as they both got to work collecting the contents of the box. “Fine, only because you asked so nicely.”
On the way to Percy’s classroom—or rather, Mrs. Makrypoulia's classroom he’d commandeered due to her months-long absence—Joel talked his ear off about his plans to practice for cross country for the fall of his 7th-grade year in between his beach clean-up community service for trespassing on the school’s running track after hours.
Soon enough, Percy unlocked his classroom and set down the box of water balloons and other fun end-of-year goodies. Joel flicked on all the lights at once, which was a fun flashbang at 8 AM in the morning.
“Can I get that candy now?” Joel asked, ever the sugar-fiend. To be fair, most 6th graders were like that. Even Percy wasn’t exempt, given his underground candy-selling empire in his Yancy Academy days.
Still blinking the spots out of his eyes, Percy grabbed his blue candy bucket from the top shelf next to the ancient science textbooks that were best used to make buildings for earthquake simulations rather than actual reading. Besides, Percy was a firm believer in centering hands-on learning since his dyslexia made everything harder to read and focus on.
Percy offered the bucket to Joel, who’d since been distracted by his and his classmates’ colorful posters and projects covering the walls. “Grab a handful, dude. I need this candy gone by the end of today since most of it’s melted into one big lump and I don’t want to take it back with me to New York this summer. Uh, Joel?”
Joel hadn’t moved from his spot in front of the project wall. He only jolted when Percy tapped his shoulder.
“You good?” Percy asked.
Joel hummed faintly and nodded so his head of curly black hair bounced every which way. “Did you really keep my Water Cycle poster up all year?”
“Yeah,” Percy said easily. “You did a good job. Your labels and pictures…they all make sense to me. It’s great stuff.”
“I drew stick figures.”
Percy shrugged, “I draw stick figures on the board all the time. You got the point across, right? Whatever works, works!”
Joel looked down at his scuffed sneakers. “None of my teachers have put my work on the wall before.” He then looked up at Percy. “None of my teachers ever called on me to answer questions either…they thought I was dumb because I couldn’t read stuff ‘the right way.’ They thought I was just some screw-up waiting to fail. I…I’ve never tried in school before your class, Mr. Jackson.”
Now it was Percy’s turn to be shocked into silence.
“I wish I could have you as my teacher again. And I guess…I just wanted to say thanks for believing in me.”
Percy swallowed the frog in his throat. “You’re welcome, Joel. You’re a good kid.”
Then Joel jammed his fist into the candy bucket and ran off to his 1st period class, spilling blue Jolly Ranchers and blue packets of jellybeans from his pockets as he went.
The rest of Percy’s school day floated into a haze of water balloons and a half-baked lesson about testing the tension and buoyancy of water balloons. Really, it was just an excuse so admin could turn a blind eye to the chaos outside on the grassy lawn. Percy also may or may not have used his powers to make the water balloons splash even more on impact, making the kids squeak in equal parts excitement and surprise. Throughout the day, he handed out the last of his candy and undersea-themed stickers as students shrieked their answers to science-related trivia while pelting each other with water balloons.
Students brought Percy dozens of yearbooks and white Triton Middle School shirts to sign in between final walk-throughs and collections of their projects across the science classroom’s walls.
Khajee Nguyen in 1st period doodled a goofy caricature of Percy with five layers of impossible muscles on the whiteboard while he signed her yearbook. Thanks for all your creativity in class! You’re gonna do great things next year. -Mr. Jackson
Ario Taito & her twin brother, Aniva, in 2nd period, presented their white TMS shirts, which Percy signed in blue Sharpie with a misshapen octopus and a fish, respectively, followed by You’re gonna do great things next year! -Mr. Jackson
“Hey!” Aniva said, wide-eyed, “You remembered that Ario is clingy like an octopus!”
“Am not!” Ario complained, detaching herself from her brother’s side. “But Aniva is definitely bug-eyed like a goldfish.”
In 3rd period came Mateo Riverra-Flores with a small smile and a roll of his eyes when Percy said, “You’re gonna do great things next year, dude. And I’ve been practicing: ¡Buen trabajo este año, Mateo!”
Mateo, who had come into Percy’s class halfway through the school year knowing very little English, stuck out his tongue at Percy and said, “You sound like a textbook, Mr. Jackson.”
By lunchtime, Percy had laughed, almost cried three times, and nearly lost his voice. Even still, he let in the gaggle of girls from the after-school STEM club as he always did. The students munched on chicken nuggets and set up marble tracks, with Percy challenging them to test how fast they could launch a marble from one end of the room to another (without causing significant property damage, of course).
Over and over again, Percy repeated, to one student after another:
You’re gonna do great things next year.
You’re gonna do great things next year.
You’re gonna do great things next year.
No matter how many times Percy said it, he knew he was echoing the truth, the potential that he firmly believed each one of his students had. He wondered if this was what Paul first saw Percy, this designated “problem student” with dyslexia and ADHD on his profile, and said, “Nope, this kid’s great, actually.” Or even Chiron, who’d been teaching heroes for millenia, looking at Percy and thinking of all the challenges Percy could and would overcome in the future.
The school day soon reached its end, and Percy packed up all his things to make the final classroom clean-up for Mrs. Makrypoulia easier when she got the chance to come back. He double-checked his gradebook and input the final grades for students who sheepishly turned in their lab notebooks on the last day of school. He turned in his keys to the front office people and fist-bumped Mr. Simms, the custodian, on his way out.
Packing up their San Francisco apartment had taken a bit longer than Percy and Annabeth had expected, even with Hazel and Frank taking a day trip from New Rome to help them. An entire two weeks after the TMS semester ended was what it took to sift through everything, a longer stretch of time than it took Percy, Annabeth, and Grover on Percy’s first quest to travel across the country to find and return Zeus’s Master Bolt.
To make the process go faster, Percy and Annabeth decided to donate their thrifted furniture to the Twelfth Legion. They also elected to use the Hermes Express mail system to send anything that didn’t fit into their hiking backpacks atop Mrs. O’Leary to the small apartment they’d set up to rent near the Jackson-Blofis residence.
Mrs. O’Leary was happy to see Percy again, uncaring of all the car alarms she set off as she bounced around him and Annabeth. With a teary goodbye to Frank and Hazel—and some major Mist manipulation on Hazel’s end to better hide Mrs. O’Leary from curious mortal eyes—Percy, Annabeth, and Mrs. O’Leary shadow-traveled across the U.S., all the way to Camp Half-Blood. They’d rest for a day or two, and then head to their New York apartment.
Upon their arrival to Camp Half-Blood atop Mrs. O’Leary, Percy and Annabeth faced the usual camp fanfare, full of pure laughter, chaos, and only a little minor bloodshed. Just as Percy slid off Mrs. O’Leary’s back and helped Annabeth down, he heard a shriek from the crowd of campers.
Now, a shriek is never a good thing to hear, especially in a crowd in a weapon-filled training camp for the children of Greek gods. It’s even worse when you recognize that shriek, because that means you know that person, so your panic increases tenfold. If possible, it’s even worse when you recognize that shriek from an entirely different context than what you’re used to, since that means a bunch of headache from reconciling the familiar and unfamiliar.
All that being said, Percy experienced one of the greatest fears known to teacher-kind: being recognized by a student in public.
.
.
.
Joel Porter. 5th period, Percy’s brain automatically recalled. Porta Potties. And there the kid was, lined up next to the other unclaimed campers in the Hermes Cabin, looking like he’d just seen a ghost.
“Holy shit, is that Mr. Jackson?!”