The Halfbood Games

Many times, I have gone to the small pool of clear water by the alcove and sat under the surface. I felt as though if I wanted to, I could've taken a breath. I was never brave enough to try, so instead I held my breath until I came up gasping for air.
That last part was how I felt now, barely able to breath, totally unable to speak, completely stunned as the name bounces around in my skull. Someone is gripping my arm- my friend Grover Underwood-see, the mayor's son.
There must have been a mistake. this isn't real. Tyson was on three slips of paper out of thousands! his chances of being chosen were so close to nonexistent that I hadn't even thought to worry for him. hadn't I done everything in my power?! taken all the extra food, which costs more of your name in the bowl, refused to let him do the same, even had my friends Grover and Rachel (who are the only children in their families) pitch in? three slips. one per year. three in thousands. the gods had been ENTIRELY in his favor. But it doesn't matter.
Somewhere, I can hear the crowd murmuring unhappily as they always do when a kid they particularly like gets drawn. and it's true. everyone likes Tyson. he's a hard worker, and nice, and strangely optimistic.
Then I see him, and I nearly faint dead away right there. he walks stiffly, trying his best not to trip, and looks very confused.
"T... Tyson!" the strangled word escapes my lips. "Tyson!" I don't need to shove through the crowd. they all allow room for me. I reach him just as he is about to mount the first step. I grab his arm and push him behind me in one swift motion.
"I volunteer!" I say in a quick breath. "I volunteer as tribute!"
"Well," says Medusa. "since you've breached the rules that say you must wait until I ASK for a volunteer-"
"Shut up, Medusa," says Mayor Underwood-see, Grover's dad. He looks at me with a pained expression. he recognises me as the boy who brings him fresh berries from the alcove in the summer. the boy who is Grover's only friend. The boy who he had to announce the death of his father to, five years ago, when he disappeared on a fishing voyage. "no one else is going to volunteer."
"Very well," says Medusa briskly. she is clearly offended, but says nothing else on the matter.
"Percy!" screams Tyson behind me. I don't look back, but simply say "go to mom, Tyson." I faintly hear Rachel and Grover scuffling behind me, attempting to keep my huge brother away.
"What's your name, dear?" Says Medusa, embracing me with bony arms.
I swallow hard. "Percy Jackson."
"Was that your brother?" I nod. "well! lets give a round of applause for our newest tribute, Percy Jackson!" There is scattered applause that really means nothing to me. I scowl and try avoiding looking at Tyson, who is thrashing against a peacekeeper now.
Suddenly, I feel someone grab my arm and lift it over his hand.
"Look at this one!" Mr. D says, poking my side and slurring his words. "I like 'im! lots of... Spunk..." he looks around. "more than any o' you have!" then, under his breath, he adds "good luck, Peter Johnson," then he stumbles and plummets off of the stage, rendering himself unconscious.
Mr. D is taken away on a stretcher, and Medusa tries to fix her mechanical hair. "what a day!" she says, sounding exasperated. "But yet, more excitement to come! let's reap the female now."
Medusa walks dramatically over to the other large bowl, clearly unable to completely fix her tenuous hair situation. instead, she plants one hand firmly on her head against the ocean wind, and shoves her hand into the large bowl, grabbing the first slip her hand encounters. I have barely any time to pray for Rachel's safety before she reads the card.
"Annabeth Chase!"
Annabeth Chase?
Uh-oh. Annabeth Chase.
No, the gods are not in my favor today.
I watch Annabeth as she makes her way to the stage. slightly tall, slim build, ashy blonde hair that falls in waves down her back. you can see her brain calculating what was happening, you can see her struggling to register the odds of her being reaped, but her grey eyes don't fail to show the alarm she feels. She climbs steadily to stand beside me, and gives me a face that says "what are you looking at?". her hair accidentally brushes my face. It smells like strawberries.
Medusa asks for a volunteer, but no one steps forward. She has two younger step-siblings, but I know neither will say anything. family devotion only goes so far on reaping day, and besides, Annabeth was vicious when it came to training.
Why her? I ask. it doesn't matter, I tell myself. she'll be in an alliance in no time, and i'll be off on my own. trying to escape her. We aren't friends and never have been. in fact our only real interaction happened years ago. so long ago he has probably forgotten. although I haven't...
It was during my worst time. my father had disappeared on a fishing voyage about three months before in the most bitter January anyone could remember. the pain of knowing he was lost had slowed to a dull throb by then, although an infuriating one. where are you, I would cry out to the air. where have you gone?! but there was never an answer.
I was terrified. I was twelve, and Tyson was ten. I knew that this would mean I would be getting a job at a younger age than most people. there was no choice. no one to bring food home every day. my mother's candy shop failed, and I took a job soon after.
No one pitied us- to the contrary, they shunned us! sending us away when we would ask for what little they could spare.
But I couldn't keep up. money was quickly running out, and we would starve to death if things didn't turn around. there's no other way of putting it. I told myself that once Tyson turned eleven I wouldn't have to work alone, that there were only a few months until things would turn around. but by then we could die.
On the afternoon I met Annabeth Chase, it was raining, and I had lost almost all hope of a bright future.

Notes

To be continued...