#i wouldn't have missed class if i just went on my wheelchair on my own like i had planned but they insisted on taking me in the van

[queridaz]

hmmmm, sure wish the ride they told me to ask for would show up

[thewidowsghost]

Daughter of the Sea - Chapter 1

So, I started this on my Wattpad, and if figured I'd just put it on here! Just tell me if you want me to add you to the taglist!

Percy's POV

My name is Percy Jackson.

I am twelve years old. I'm a boarding student at Yancy Academy, a private school for troubled kids in upstate New York, and my sister, (Y/n), taking online schooling at home.

Am I a troubled kid?

Yeah. You could say that.

I could start at any point in my short miserable life to prove it, but things really started going bad last May, when our sixth-grade class took a field trip to Manhattan—twenty-eight mental-case kids and two teachers on a yellow school bus, heading to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to look at ancient Greek and Roman stuff.

I know—it sounds like torture. Most Yancy field trips were.

But Mr. Brunner, our Latin teacher, was leading this trip, so I had hopes.

Mr. Brunner was this middle-aged guy in a motorized wheelchair. He had thinning hair and a scruffy beard and a frayed tweed jacket, which always smelled like coffee. You wouldn't think he'd be cool, but he told stories and jokes and let us play games in class. He also had this awesome collection of Roman armor and weapons, so he was the only teacher whose class didn't put me to sleep.

I hoped the trip would be okay. At least, I hoped that for once I wouldn't get in trouble.

See, bad things happen to me on field trips. Like at my fifth-grade school, when we went to the Saratoga battlefield, I had this accident with a Revolutionary War cannon. I wasn't aiming for the school bus, but of course, I got expelled anyway. And before that, at my fourth-grade school, when we took a behind-the-scenes tour of the Marine World shark pool, I sort of hit the wrong lever on the catwalk and our class took an unplanned swim. And the time before that...Well, you get the idea.

On this trip, I was determined to be good.

All the way into the city, I put up with Nancy Bobofit, the freckly, redheaded kleptomaniac girl, hitting my best friend Grover in the back of the head with chunks of peanut butter-and-ketchup sandwich.

Grover was an easy target. He was scrawny. He cried when he got frustrated. He must've been held back several grades because he was the only sixth grader with acne and the start of a wispy beard on his chin. On top of all that, he was crippled. He had a note excusing him from PE for the rest of his life because he had some kind of muscular disease in his legs. He walked funny, like every step hurt him, but don't let that fool you. You should've seen him run when it was enchilada day in the cafeteria.

Anyway, Nancy Bobofit was throwing wads of sandwiches that stuck in his curly brown hair, and she knew I couldn't do anything back to her because I was already 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.

"I'm going to kill her," I mumble.

Grover tries to calm me down. "I'm okay. I like peanut butter -" He dodges another piece of Nancy's lunch.

"That's it." I start to get up, but Grover pulls me back to my seat.

"You're already on probation," he reminds me. "You know who'll get blamed if anything happens."

Mr. Brunner leads the museum tour.

He rides up front in his wheelchair, guiding us through the big echoey galleries, past marble statues and glass cases full of really old black-and-orange pottery.

It blows my mind that this stuff had survived for two thousand, three thousand years.

He gathers us around a thirteen-foot-tall stone column with a big sphinx on the top, and starts telling us how it was a grave marker, a stele, for a girl about our age. He told us about the carvings on the sides. I was trying to listen to what he had to say, because it was kind of interesting, but everybody around me was talking, and every time I told them to shut up, the other teacher 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, even though she was fifty years old. She looked mean enough to ride a Harley right into your locker. She had come to Yancy halfway through the year when our last math teacher had a nervous breakdown.

From her first day, Mrs. Dodds loved Nancy Bobofit and figured I was devil spawn. She would point her crooked finger at me and say, "Now, honey," real sweet, and I knew I was going to get after-school detention for a month.

One time, after she'd made me erase answers out of old math workbooks until midnight, I told Grover I didn't think Mrs. Dodds was human. He looked at me, real serious, and said, "You're absolutely right."

Mr. Brunner keeps talking about Greek funeral art.

Finally, Nancy Bobofit snickers something about the naked guy on the stele, and I turn around and say, "Will you shut up?"

It comes out louder than I meant it to.

The whole group laughs. Mr. Brunner stops his story. "Mr. Jackson," he says, "did you have a comment?"

My face is totally red, I think. I answer, "No, sir."

Mr. Brunner points to one of the pictures on the stele. "Perhaps you'll tell us what this picture represents?"

I look at the carving, and feel a flush of relief, because I actually recognize it. "That's Kronos eating his kids, right?"

"Yes," Mr. Brunner says, obviously not satisfied. "And he did this because..."

"Well..." I rack my brain to remember. (Y/n) would have known the answer. She was nuts for this kind of stuff. "Kronos was the king god, and —"

"God?" Mr. Brunner asks.

"Titan," I correct myself. "And...he didn't trust his kids, who were the gods. So, um, Kronos ate them, right? But his wife hid baby Zeus, and gave Kronos a rock to eat instead. And later, when Zeus grew up, he tricked his dad, Kronos, into barfing up his brothers and sisters—"

"Eeew!" says one of the girls behind me.

"—and so there was this big fight between the gods and the Titans," I continue, "and the gods won."

Some snickers from the group.

Behind me, Nancy Bobofit mumbles to a friend, "Like we're going to use this in real life. Like it's going to say on our job applications, 'Please explain why Kronos ate his kids.'"

"And why, Mr. Jackson," Brunner says, "to paraphrase Miss Bobofit's excellent question, does this matter in real life?"

"Busted," Grover mutters.

"Shut up," Nancy hisses, her face even brighter red than her hair.

At least Nancy got packed, too. Mr. Brunner was the only one who ever caught her saying anything wrong. He had radar ears.

I think about his question, and shrug. "I don't know, sir."

"I see." Mr. Brunner looks disappointed. "Well, half credit, Mr. Jackson. Zeus did indeed feed Kronos a mixture of mustard and wine, which made him disgorge his other five children, who, of course, being immortal gods, had been living and growing up completely undigested in the Titan's stomach. The gods defeated their father, sliced him to pieces with his own scythe, and scattered his remains in Tartarus, the darkest part of the Underworld. On that happy note, it's time for lunch. Mrs. Dodds, would you lead us back outside?"

The class drifts off, the girls holding their stomachs, the guys pushing each other around and acting like doofuses.

Grover and I were about to follow when Mr. Brunner said, "Mr. Jackson."

I knew that was coming.

I tell Grover to keep going; then I turn toward Mr. Brunner. "Sir?" Mr. Brunner had this look that wouldn't let you go—intense brown eyes that could've been a thousand years old and had seen everything. "You must learn the answer to my question," Mr. Brunner tells me.

"About the Titans?"

'"About real life. And how your studies apply to it."

"Oh."

"What you learn from me," he says, "is vitally important. I expect you to treat it as such. I will accept only the best from you, Percy Jackson."

I mean, sure, it was kind of cool on tournament days, when he dressed up in a suit of Roman armor and shouted: "What ho!" and challenged us, swordpoint against chalk, to run to the board and name every Greek and Roman person who had ever lived, and their mother, and what god they worshipped. But Mr. Brunner expected me to be as good as everybody else, despite the fact that I have dyslexia and attention deficit disorder and I had never made above a C– in my life. No—he didn't expect me to be as good; he expected me to be better. And I just couldn't learn all those names and facts, much less spell them correctly.

I mumble something about trying harder, while Mr. Brunner takes one long sad look at the stele, like he'd been at this girl's funeral.

He tells me to go outside and eat my lunch.

The class gathers on the front steps of the museum, where we can watch the foot traffic along Fifth Avenue.

Overhead, a huge storm is brewing, with clouds blacker than I'd ever seen over the city. I figure maybe it was global warming or something, because the weather all across New York state had been weird since Christmas. We'd had massive snow storms, flooding, wildfires from lightning strikes. I wouldn't have been surprised if this was a hurricane blowing in.

Nobody else seems to notice, though. Some of the guys are pelting pigeons with Lunchables crackers. Nancy Bobofit is trying to pickpocket something from a lady's purse, and, of course, Mrs. Dodds isn't seeing a thing.

Grover and I sit on the edge of the fountain, away from the others. We thought that maybe if we did that, everybody wouldn't know we were from that school—the school for loser freaks who couldn't make it elsewhere.

"Detention?" Grover asked.

"Nah," I said. "Not from Brunner. I just wish he'd lay off me sometimes. I mean—I'm not a genius, not like (Y/n). She seems to know everything."

Grover doesn't say anything for a while. Then, when I think he is going to give me some deep philosophical comment to make me feel better, he asks, "Can I have your apple?"

I don't have much of an appetite, so I let him take it.

I watch the stream of cabs going down Fifth Avenue, and think about my mom's apartment, only a little ways uptown from where we sit. I hadn't seen her or my sister since Christmas. I want so bad to jump in a taxi and head home. Mom and (Y/n) would hug me and be glad to see me, but Mom would be disappointed, too. She'd send me right back to Yancy, remind me that I had to try harder, even if this was my sixth school in six years and I was probably going to be kicked out again. I couldn't be able to stand that sad look she'd give me.

Mr. Brunner parked his wheelchair at the base of the handicapped ramp. He ate celery while he read a paperback novel. A red umbrella stuck up from the back of his chair, making it look like a motorized café table.

I am about to unwrap my sandwich when Nancy Bobofit appears in front of me with her ugly friends—I guess she'd gotten tired of stealing from the tourists—and dumps her half-eaten lunch in Grover's lap.

"Oops." She grins at me with her crooked teeth. Her freckles are orange, as if somebody had spray-painted her face with liquid Cheetos.

I try to stay cool. The school counselor had told me a million times, "Count to ten, get control of your temper." But I am so mad my mind went blank. A wave roars in my ears.

I don't remember touching her, but the next thing I knew, Nancy is sitting on her butt in the fountain, screaming, "Percy pushed me!"

Mrs. Dodds materialized next to us.

Some of the kids were whispering: "Did you see—"

"—the water—"

"—like it grabbed her—"

I don't know what they were talking about. All I know is that I was in trouble again.

As soon as Mrs. Dodds is sure poor little Nancy was okay, promising to get her a new shirt at the museum gift shop, etc., etc., Mrs. Dodds turns on me. There was a triumphant fire in her eyes as if I'd done something she'd been waiting for all semester. "Now, honey—"

"I know," I grumble. "A month erasing workbooks." That wasn't the right thing to say.

"Come with me," Mrs. Dodds says.

"Wait!" Grover yelps. "It was me. I pushed her."

I stare at him, stunned. I can't believe he was trying to cover for me. Mrs. Dodds scared Grover to death.

She glares at him so hard his whiskery chin trembled.

"I don't think so, Mr. Underwood," she says.

"But—"

"You—will—stay—here."

Grover looks at me desperately.

"It's okay, man," I tell him. "Thanks for trying."

"Honey," Mrs. Dodds barks at me. "Now."

Nancy Bobofit smirks. I give her my deluxe I'll-kill-you-later stare. Then I turn to face Mrs. Dodds, but she isn't there. She is standing at the museum entrance, way at the top of the steps, gesturing impatiently at me to come on.

How'd she get there so fast?

I have moments like that a lot, when my brain falls asleep or something, and the next thing I know I've missed something, as if a puzzle piece fell out of the universe and left me staring at the blank place behind it. The school counselor told me this was part of the ADHD, my brain misinterpreting things.

I wasn't so sure. I go after Mrs. Dodds.

Halfway up the steps, I glance back at Grover. He is looking pale, cutting his eyes between me and Mr. Brunner, like he wanted Mr. Brunner to notice what was going on, but Mr. Brunner is absorbed in his novel.

I look back up. Mrs. Dodds had disappeared again. She is now inside the building, at the end of the entrance hall.

Okay, I think. She's going to make me buy a new shirt for Nancy at the gift shop.

But apparently, that wasn't the plan.

I follow her deeper into the museum. When I finally catch up to her, we are back in the Greek and Roman section.

Except for us, the gallery is empty.

Mrs. Dodds stands with her arms crossed in front of a big marble frieze of the Greek gods. She is making this weird noise in her throat, like growling.

Even without the noise, I would've been nervous. It's weird being alone with a teacher, especially Mrs. Dodds. Something about the way she looked at the frieze as if she wanted to pulverize it...

"You've been giving us problems, honey," she says.

I do the safe thing. I reply, "Yes, ma'am."

She tugs on the cuffs of her leather jacket. "Did you really think you would get away with it?"

The look in her eyes is beyond mad. It was evil.

She's a teacher, I thought nervously. It's not like she's going to hurt me. I say, "I'll—I'll try harder, ma'am."

Thunder shakes the building.

"We are not fools, Percy Jackson," Mrs. Dodds said. "It was only a matter of time before we found you out. Confess, and you will suffer less pain."

I didn't know what she's talking about.

All I can think of was that the teachers must've found the illegal stash of candy I'd been selling out of my dorm room. Or maybe they'd realized I got my essay on Tom Sawyer from the Internet without ever reading the book and now they were going to take away my grade. Or worse, they were going to make me read the book.

"Well?" she demands.

"Ma'am, I don't..."

"Your time is up," she hisses.

Then the weirdest thing happens. Her eyes begin to glow like barbecue coals. Her fingers stretch, turning into talons. Her jacket melts into large, leathery wings. She isn't human. She is a shriveled hag with bat wings and claws and a mouth full of yellow fangs, and she was about to slice me to ribbons.

Then things got even stranger.

Mr. Brunner, who'd been out in front of the museum a minute before, wheels his chair into the doorway of the gallery, holding a pen in his hand.

"What ho, Percy!" he shouts and tosses the pen through the air.

Mrs. Dodds lunges at me.

With a yelp, I dodge and feel talons slash the air next to my ear. I snatch the ballpoint pen out of the air, but when it hits my hand, it isn;t a pen anymore. It is a sword—Mr. Brunner's bronze sword, which he always uses on tournament day.

Mrs. Dodds spins towards me with a murderous look in her eyes.

My knees are jelly. My hands are shaking so bad I almost drop the sword.

She snarl, "Die, honey!" And she flies straight at me.

Absolute terror runs through my body. I did the only thing that came naturally: I swing the sword.

The metal blade hits her shoulder and passes clean through her body as if she was made of water. Hisss!

Mrs. Dodds was a sandcastle in a power fan. She explodes into yellow powder, vaporizing on the spot, leaving nothing but the smell of sulfur and a dying screech and a chill of evil in the air, as if those two glowing red eyes are still watching me.

I'm alone.

There is a ballpoint pen in my hand.

Mr. Brunner isn't there. Nobody is there but me.

My hands are still trembling. My lunch must've been contaminated with magic mushrooms or something.

Had I imagined the whole thing?

I walk back outside.

It had started to rain.

Grover is sitting by the fountain, a museum map tented over his head. Nancy Bobofit is still standing there, soaked from her swim in the fountain, grumbling to her ugly friends. When she sees me, she says, "I hope Mrs. Kerr whipped your butt."

I answer, "Who?"

"Our teacher. Duh!"

I blink. We don't have a teacher named Mrs. Kerr. I ask Nancy what she is talking about.

She just rolls her eyes and turns away.

I ask Grover where Mrs. Dodds was.

"Who?" he asks, but he pauses first and he wouldn't look at me, so I figure he was messing with me.

"Not funny, man," I tell him. "This is serious."

Thunder booms overhead.

I see Mr. Brunner sitting under his red umbrella, reading his book as if he'd never moved.

I go over to him.

He looks up, a little distracted. "Ah, that would be my pen. Please bring your own writing utensil in the future, Mr. Jackson."

I had Mr. Brunner his pen. I hadn't even realized I was still holding it.

"Sir," I ask, "where's Mrs. Dodds?"

He stares blankly at me, "Who?"

"The other chaperone. Mrs. Dodds. The pre-algebra teacher."

He frowns and sits forward, looking mildly concerned. "Percy, there is no Mrs. Dodds on this trip. As far as I know, there has never been a Mrs. Dodds at Yancy Academy. Are you feeling all right?"

Word Count: 3159 words

So yeah, this is the first chapter of this book.

Not much (Y/n) yet, but we'll get there.

Love y'all!              Kaitlynn ❤️😍

[sainadazai]

Chapter 3

Returning home that day, you had a new sense of determination. You weren't sure if it was different than that of this morning, considering you really did think you could make friends, but you hoped it was. Todoroki may have been one of the least approachable people in class that day, but for some reason you knew he'd be the easiest to talk to. Well, once you got him to acknowledge your existence.

As you swung open the door to the single story home, you were greeted by the sight of your mother, shuffling through bills at the kitchen table. She didn't seem upset with it, though, rather content in her chore. You admired your mother for that, always being content no matter what. Sending her a quick wave, you march down the hall to your room. You might not have looked it, but all those tests got you tired, let alone all the people trying to speak to you. They seemed nice enough, now that you could think back on it, why did you feel so scared at the time?

Tomorrow would be different, though, because now, you had a plan. The stone faced boy, shoto todoroki, was going to be your first friend. Or at least acquaintance.

You really just needed a nap, maybe some laying down peacefully on your bed to forget the disaster you acted like earlier. However, your cat had other plans. Mochi was perched happily in the center of your bed, curled up as cats do and looking way too adorable to be mad at. YOu cooed at her being so infuriatingly cute. Why couldn't you just go to bed peacefully as she does?

"Ahh, mom come here!" you whisper-yelled marching your way back to the kitchen.

"What, darling? Is it your quirk again?" she shouted excitedly, not moving from her spot.

"NO!Better!"

Her face contorted into a grin as you re-entered the room. "Oh? What could possibly be better than the great metallic's quirk?" she teased your nickname.

Ever since you were little you had been planning to be a pro, that came with lots of different possible hero names. Two years ago, Metallic came into the mix, as your dad suggested you use a more simple name.

"Mochi can, mom."

She giggled a bit, gesturing her hands to the handles of her wheelchair. " You'll have to take me then, I'm not sure Mochi is enough to sheel all the way away from my bills.." she continued to chuckle as you grumbled, but happily went behind her to push her forward.

"Hold on tight, then!"

"Wait, Y/N."

It was too late, you went zooming through the halls, giggling joyously as your mother laughed in fear. She knew you wouldn't let her fall, but she hated the feeling of needing to be picked up by her daughter and hauled into her chair. It made her feel unbelievably helpless.

"Woohoo!"

"Y/n, you passed your room."

"Oh, right, thanks mom!"

Backtracking a couple feet, you swung your room door open, revealing your little cat all fluffed up on your bed, eyes staring at you in alarm at your volume.

"I think you scarred her, hon."

"Shh, isn't she so cute, though? When I came home she was all cuddled up in my blankets."

"Yes, that cat is my favorite child, she is always quiet..." your mom mumbled, smirking although you couldn't see from behind her.

"Hey!"

"Ah, your right, maybe your brother too.." she faux pondered.

You pouted, not knowing if she was joking or not.

"Just kidding I love you all! But seriously hon I need to do the bills."

"Okay, want me to wheel you back?"

She shook her head, "No, I'm sure you're tired after school, go move that cat over and get a nap in before your dad gets home."

You were skeptical about letting her go back on her own, it wasn't more than twenty feet away, but you were protective of your mother. Seeing her even at the chance of pain was unbearable. Maybe it was the attachment that comes with her and dad being your only friends since day one, or your heroic nature, but her suffering was almost more painful to you.

She had always relentlessly assured you that she felt no pain in her legs, but it still always felt like it would. Especially when you were younger and first noticed how she could barely stand. See, when mom and dad met, dad had been an aspiring hero, while mom wanted to be a chef. Neither of them went to U.A, but he was in a hero course, while she was in general studies. It worked out for the most part, too. Dad had gotten his hero license at 18 and mom her first job at a small restaurant.

Didn't last, though. One day while mom was out shopping in the city, a large villain attack occurred. All might have come to fight with an unknown villain who seemed to fare quite scarily against him.

During the fight, however, moms legs were crushed under a fallen building, damaging many nerves and breaking bones. All might saved her that day, kept her from bleeding out and got her to a hospital safely, but the damage was very painful.

Mom never blamed that villain for her pain, or anyone for that matter. Once she began healing and started physical therapy, she had almost completely forgotten the pain of it all. Then, when she had you, she promised her husband that she would try her best to stand and walk and move for you. So her daughter always had someone to play with. Dad didn't like that, though. He wanted her to be safe, and not in pain.

So he hung up his cape and got a job in construction, given the family quirk it suited him well. With that, he could spend more time with you and your mother, looking after both of you.

That didn't stop the pain from getting to her, though, and the nerves going numb. Leaving her completely unable to walk now, but she wouldn't trade those years when you were little for anything. She just loved you too much to mind her own pain.

Smiling at the memory of the story your parents used to tell you, you fell asleep with one arm around mochi.

-

Todoroki never minded other kids. He spent most of his life training with his father, though he couldn't say he liked his father all that much either. Kids his age had a habit of making him jealous though, even if their lives weren't perfect, they didn't have endeavour for a father.

Still, mow he stood in his home bathroom, looking at his face in the mirror, practicing how to speak to you. Wondering what might male you smile.

It was stupid, really. He had been speaking all his life, words weren't all that hard, but he guessed je might have to try a little harder on these ones.

"Hello, im shoto."

No, you already knew that, you would probably think he is dumb.

"How does your quirk work?"

Metal, obviously. How could anyone have missed that after yesterday. Maybe if he tried to relate to you? But how could someone like him relate to you? You looked so pure, maybe not the happiest, but you didn't seem like you'd been to hell and back.

He thought you were likely just the nervous type, an overthinker.

"Hi, y/n."

"I'm sure that would work.."

Shoto's head jolted to the open bathroom door and he saw fuyumi standing there. He didn't know her well, but they lived together so he should have shut the door.

"What do you mean?" he questioned, not sure that was the right one at all.

"Brother, I don't know who you want to talk to, but, it's best if you speak in the moment, all you have to say is hi."

"Maybe to normal people." he spoke, still stone faced, not believing he would work.

"So this person isn't normal?"

"No, she apologizes too much."

Fuyumi laughed a bit, "What does that mean?"

"Well, after observing her today, I think if I said hi, she would just say sorry.." he pondered, imagining your cute face flustering and stuttering and putting an apology.

"Oh my, well I guess I'll leave you t0 it then."

"Um, thanks?"

-

School the next day was exciting for both of you. You, being ready to train and learn and make friends, and he to use his well rehearsed conversational skills. Little did the two of you know the dramatic training that would take place all but the second day of school. It wasn't like anything to be expected, the day started out with a simple english class led by present mic.

Having arrived barely on time due to the crazy long bike ride, you had no time to become friends with todoroki. However, upon first entering the school, you met the smart and pretty girl from the day before. It seemed she was still curious about your quirk, but this morning she was mindful of your anxiety.

Her movements were soft and her voice was calm and quiet as she questioned you on the way to class. The way she treated you was very settling, it made the brisk walk towards class 1-A just a bit easier today. No one had ever really spoken to you like that.  Kids at your old school opted to ignore you because you were always busy anyways, or tease you for being sheltered and as they would say "innocent." You were not.

All of the things middle schoolers seemed to fancy were just irrelevant to your career as a hero, it made no sense to indulge them. So, given that history, this sweet girl, who had a habit of pulling and twisting the ends of her skirt, had made you feel ecstatic. Yaoyorozu had actually changed her demeanor to accommodate you, she really was too caring.

"Now, which of these four sentences contains a mistake?"

You weren't paying attention, to say the least. English and learning could wait for a time when the boy next to you wasn't looking so endearing. Today you learned he has different colored eyes as well, beautiful cerulean blue on one side and dark grey on the other. It was odd of you to be staring, even more odd at this boy you barely know, but something about that blue in his eye was so familiar, you just couldn't place it. Not to mention the burn scar residing around it.

It would be rude to ask, but you really were curious. Suppose that's a topic to remember when you know him better-if you know him better.

The class went by in a haze as you tried to find another pair of those blue eyes in your memory, but to no avail.

Then, you quietly shuffled down the halls to the lunch room. The line for lunch was very long, so you it was nerve racking to enter, but you wandered up and made your way there. Once you had your lunch, you took a long inhale, treasuring the steam of the rice that warmed your face.

The table's seemed mostly occupied, but you had to remind yourself there were probably no assigned groups. Everyone was new. Everyone was confused about where to sit. Or maybe they weren't? Maybe they made friends on the first day while you were busy apologizing...

"Hey, y/n, I still have some questions if you wanna sit with me?"

Startled by the voice, you jumped, the food on your tray doing a quick bounce to mimic you. The voice was recognized quickly, though, as the girl you'd spoken to earlier. It wouldn't hurt for todoroki to be your second friend, would it?

Turning over your shoulder you shot a half-assed smile at her to mask the sudden discomfort. She really was right behind you, had she been there the whole time?

You walked to a table in a corner, following her, and noticed a couple other girls there. It wasn't a new idea that in school settings, people often linked to stick with their own gender. It was just a bit of a shock that they could all bond so quickly over something so miniscule as being female.

In life your mom and dad had always equally been your best friends, it's an odd example but the dynamic is similar to if they were kids, too. That led you to believe there wasn't much difference between hanging around girls or guys. You wouldn't complain, anyone talking to you here was a blessing. Well, maybe not the yelling one.

"So, um, you had more questions?" you look up at momo warily.

Her face brightens in excitement as she pulls out a piece of paper. It seemed to be a list, had she been preparing questions? Geez, no need to make you feel special.

"So, you used your blood yesterday and somehow applied ample force to it to hurl a ball to an exact distance, care to um elaborate?"

The rice was just about to reach your mouth, but you paused, for her sake. Best to answer, then eat, although it smells delicious.

"Oh, well, you acknowledged earlier that my quirk has to do with metal, the medical term would be ferrokinesis. So, I was just manipulating small particles of iron, without unbonding them from my blood."

"Woahh, I totally didn't even know blood was like that..." Mina, the pink haired girl spoke, shaking her head and bouncing her beautiful curls as she did so.

Seeing her distraction, you shoved an ungodly amount of rice into your mouth, feeling a bit more comfortable already. Your cheeks squished out like a chipmunks and you chewed the best you could to both savor the flavor, and not choke.

"So you could do that with other people's blood?"

Mouth still full of food, you continued to answer casually.

"Well, I suppose I could.." you continued to chomp, voice slightly muffled by the rice in your cheeks,"but I'm not sure that'd be vewy hewoic of me."

E/c eyes glanced up at them casually to scope their opinions on your words, but the girls were too busy cooing at how adorable you were. Their sudden change of emotion caused an embarrassment trigger to go off in your mind. Cheeks heating up, but not showing any red. Eyes widening, you quickly swallowed the last of your rice, and sputtered out an apology for your disrespect.

"Oh gosh, it's rude to talk your mouth full, I'm sorry. My mother usually finds it funny because of the way my voice changes, but you're not my mom, haha. Wait!Um no she doest say that, um, I-"

"It's okay, you're adorable, and please don't say sorry, okay?" The girl with the sound quirk, and stylish hair spoke.

"Oh, um, yeah.."

-

Hero basic training. The moment of the day you'd been anticipating. Come to U.A. for the hero course, and this is the time of day you will always look forward to.

"I AM HERE!" You heard a voice boom from the doorway.

Sure enough, there he was. The number one pro hero, All Might himself. He was cool, but you preferred endeavour or best jeanist. It was just, he was so flashy, and people always depended on him for relief or safety, it didn't make sense. What happens when eventually, he is out of commission? Heroes that didn't worry about being some beacon of hope might be less comforting, but at least they'd get the job done now, and be easier to let go of later.

These thoughts, however, did not change the fact that you did still revere him. Who wouldn't? It All Might.

He went on a spiel about today's training, being ridiculously loud. Today wouldn't fight training, and it seemed the boy next to you was indifferent about that, but you, you were excited. This was what your quirk did best. Not to brag, but you'd say you have about a 7/10 chance of beating almost anyone in this class in hand to hand or quirk on quirk combat.

After all, you sacrificed your childhood to pursue it.

"But one of the most important things about being a hero is looking good-" The walls suddenly protrude outwards, causing your body to stiffen. Oh. It was the costumes. How exciting.

"Get yourselves suited up, and then meet me at training ground beta."

You happily obliged, rushing to grab your case and to change, this would most definitely be a fun training day!

[whimsically-ominously-auspice]

Madonna knew about my work in Harlem and how i got the children off the street by pounding nails and giving them food.

She wanted a song for everyone in the world but to dedicate it to the most hard-working Construction man or woman out there on my team

I said "they're all hard working... Tho but i say Jess-- because i don't pronounce the T and they all look at me but i also say it in different ways because of my accent always changing depending who I've been talking to most I always pick up on it so its sometimes with a y sound or an I or an e or even the U. So what do you think about that?"

"Oh yeah that would work the Jessies. Now how do you wanna spell it. But i just wanted to do it with one So how about i drop the last s? Oh that will work, see look Jessie and no s"

Jessies to Jessie when its usually Jesse.

"Because the song is about one individual and we are all about individuality the last thing i want to do is sing about a group and jam them altogether. They're not plums, they're people. Yeah?"

"Yes!!!"

"But they're too hard working for what they get"

"But they get them a house"

"What they do?! None of them said that!"

"Its a surprise we keep track of their hours. 1,000 hours is a free house for their families. But i made a mistake in the beginning i had 3 kids and they worked 2,000 hours well almost 2225 actually and so i gave them two houses. But look the houses were really small and the kids were gonna have to share a bedroom, the two girls and they worked hardest so we just tore down a wall and gave them furniture -- for the girls because they did 1757.5 and then the boy and dad we just got them new beds and they kept the two kitchens. That was fun. One was old and not remodeled and the other was brand new, thats the way they wanted it said the girls so they could see how much work they had accomplished. Single dad. Raising 3 kids in the Bronx"

"Oh well that's not a mistake thats a blessing. And oh my those are Jessies i am going to think of them. Two girls i will say they're twins so in my mind one pregnancy and one child. Okay good. Don't tell me any different but when im done i want to meet what is real behind my inspiration!"

"Done deal!"

Madonna she made me cry a lot she is just so beautiful.

We did Harlem the most but we hit the Bronx, lower Manhattan, Brooklyn, Staten Island, even Central Park, Times Square. We went everywhere.

John Gray's mom worked in Manhattan as a nurse but they lived in Harlem. They both worked to earn a house after his mom got onto me about slave labor and we moved her into a brand new apartment complex in Lower Manhattan i had just bought halfway finished and used the same construction crew to complete. That was closer to the hospital and had better schools. Eventually they saved enough money and were able to fulfill their dreams to move back South.

1000 hours bought a house.

The kids that knew nothing or were clumsy had nails pounded in partially and they just had to finish pounding them in. Help carry and move things. We had older people and professionals that we didn't pay.

Grab and go breakfast like pastry or bagels, lunch of a sandwich and chips and dinner of the same. Water always and soda on the weekends. Juice at breakfast. If it lasted it did. No one left without a bag lunch even if they had just ate. We paid people to make food in an apartment. We called it "catered" Usually the real old ladies they worked in an assembly line. We paid them $5 per day plus they earned their full hours. But they needed pain meds just to keep up with the demand so we gave them the extra cash.

The lawyer Steve would shop and make sure all the names and hours and dates were recorded proper.

Some kids just went and ate. Steve would tell them they were thevies and had to work a half hour to not go to jail. And they would. He told them to buy the food they owed 6 hours per "plate" so they never bought it they just paid their time to stay out of jail because he was their lawyer and i was the judge. The cop was their guilt.

So we had a pretty sweet set up to get kids to buy houses through work.

We always printed a certificate on dot matrix printer and framed it and had them hang it in the houses near the door so they were always reminded who bought it and that good work is an honest living and its how you earn a good life.

We always know that 1000 hours will never buy a house and will barely pay the bills.

Yet it was Harlem and people were so poor and Ms Chen really got to me about that voting shit. How blacks couldn't vote till the 1965 law and how in the beginning of time no one could vote till they were a land owner.

So I said let's beat the government and haters and hypocrites!

Give not only the poorest but poorest blacks and let them know they can now vote!!! That's how we ended up on Harlem. Also I had seen the Harlem Globetrotters on TV and I thought a lot of people in Harlem were in wheelchairs -- Hey i may be reincarnated but I was only 5 and hadn't been to NYC to live since slavery was intact and even then it was a fee short years! i was from Detroit in my last life! And NYC was big!! I didn't know if they had a special section or what. My uncle dad laughed at me and took me to Harlem so we could see.

"Nope i don't see any wheelchairs. Will it still work for you?"

"Yeah let me talk to the people and we will see"

I talked to about 50 kids from the street and playground and about 10 adults. All the kids said they worried about money and their parents and the adults said things were okay but one who said it was rough but they were making it.

"Thanks for waiting these 3 hours. Well this is the place! Now excuse me for I must cry for all these kids"

This is why kids (and adults that touched my heart) got houses for only 1000 hours

Stingy Steve I called him... I wanted 100 hours but he said 1000 is more reasonable. He said 100,000 hours is more respectable and accurate but they were kids so 1000 hours was very respectable.

But because the children worried about money and places to live and about their parents.

We bought apartment complex after apartment complex. Renovated on kids labor and paid the children houses.

No one waa too young we had a one year old work with her parents. Usually I just babysat him when they both worked but usually they carried him ina sling... But if she had been sick or it was hot and sunny or they were carrying something they had been working on in, I got the baby.

I got some toddlers, too. They learned to drive nails like no one's business. Twin girls driving their momma nuts "can I just drop them here for a few? Its hot"

I got a panel of nail driving practice so I had them hammer it in Then look the other side to see they got it in Then hammer it out the other way.

The panel always had nails where the nails went in real work. So that in practice they got real location practice. They could see how if they nailed a nail or did a screw crooked how it would affect the work badly. The back side had the frame the panel went onto so they could see if it was a hit or miss.

Usually it was the sheet rock practice. But they had to practice screws also but we began with nails. Before the drill. Some kids had stole our drills so drills were practiced inside. But the dedicated kids got our drills back they knew who stole them.

So that day we had a graduation of Drill work and i got the practice panel back and i had me some toddlers.

Their mom was a lifter because she wasn't good on nails. She saw her babies missing from the shade so she came to look for us because sometimes i took them to the park but i always told her or left a note on my chair. And so she went to check and she saw me and they were behind the panel somewhat having lost interest and were pulling at the nails and feeling them and the board while my back rested

So momma learned to drive nails better because she could screw to assemble because Jesse would start the screws on counterwork and she would finish. So her and her babies learned alot that week.

We liked the kids to hang sheetrock because that was the building of a house. Then they would install plumbing and all that stuff. If we didn't have adults we had the kids build cabinetry. Or often had them build it together.

But we had professional craftsmen (construction workers and plumbers and electricians) teach the kids all the ins and outs of their new house so if any thing went wrong they could fix it.

So they did all the wiring and plumbing.

Id see kids walk out "i just installed a toilet!" I would see faces of disgust and amazement and pride and sometimes all at the same time. I would always applaud that, "you've installed your throne!"

That was the only thing they had to tell me about. Although i liked to hear about the sink. The toilet I had to hear about for my own amusement.

And because we would explain to them the history of toilets and so they would learn all about out houses before earning their toilets.

That is how they earned their materials. History and usually they had a small test. If they couldn't pass twice they had to come to me. Usually they were untrusting or shy so they would test in front of me and then I would say "i know you know that answer because when he read it to you your eyes lit up so what is in the back of your head behind your ear? That's the truth to the answer"

We had a lot of special education students. But they always earned their materials. Even if we took to dusk to help them learn it. There was a small handful I had to help especially because they had too much doubt or fear they were smart or educated. So I did a small class outside and did all their history tests with them. So then when it got to that material they then we're just read it again or talked about it or were asked what they remember most or their favorite information.

Eventually I had to go to the schools to talk to their teachers as to why they were in special ed. I wouldn't say their names but would say "a kid that says your he's teacher...."

Because one kid had memorized 3 pages of history word for word and had been in special ed for 3 years.

I got his mom to go with me on her off day after she saw and the kid "read" what he saw in his mind while the teacher read off the paper.

"Well he missed a few words he said "thee" not "thuh""

"Well that's an accent not a reading defect. He learned it from me allot. I'm English from England not from New York"

"Well we will have to take speech then"

"You can't. Its an accent. It's a way of speech. A dialect not a defect. Would you put Yosemite Sam in speech therapy?"

"Well you're stup--"

"Okay well I might be stupid or stup-eh-eh with your throat drowning out the sound of what you're going to say but you're not getting this kid out of special ed, not with your attitude"

"You're right. I'M NOT. I'M GETTING HIM OUT BECAUSE HE'S SMART AND MAYBE EVEN SMARTER THAN ALL OF US SITTING IN THIS ROOM RIGHT NOW. He could be the next Einstein and for what?!? Because he's black? Because he's Latino? I'm taking this to the school board. You're full of shit. Come on"

"No wait".

She took him out that very day. He went to Harvard and is now a Law Professor at Yale.

Y'all can do anything.

She got fired. Because I went to the principal who actually did complain as well and i went to the superintendent who knew nothing.

So i invited the school board to the streets of the Bronx. (Its where i started -- i was still trying to buy homes in Harlem) invited them to my table and had a list of kids that said they were in special education and had the superintendent and other school board members test them right Then and there.

She wasn't a bad person... She just wanted extra money for the school. But she was fucking with little kids heads and that wasn't right. That next school year special ed was less than half and they were the best testing school in the district.

Now i could say the same for Harlem but they tested out of NYC. They were in the Top 3 in the state.

I have an expert to update you on the rest of the success stories we have because we took the time to care and encourage as i hope you are all doing in homeschooling during Quarentine.