Just a Girl - No Doubt 01:43 ━━━━●───── 03:27 ⇆ㅤ ㅤ◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷ ㅤㅤ↻ ılıılıılıılıılıılı ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮

Annabeth was tired of the stereotype. Tired of the smirks, the offhanded comments, and the glazed-over looks people gave her when she introduced herself—just because she had blonde hair. It was like being blonde automatically made people assume she was clueless, shallow, or just there for decoration. Never mind that she could out-plan most generals and solve complex equations in her sleep.

At Camp Half-Blood, she still faced it sometimes—especially early on. The newer campers often looked surprised when they found out she was a daughter of Athena, like wisdom and war strategy didn’t belong to someone who looked like she could be on the cover of a teen magazine. But over the years, she’d earned her respect. She helped redesign Mount Olympus. She’d survived the Battle of Manhattan. She’d gone to Tartarus and came back. Her scars weren’t just emotional—they ran deep, and the camp remembered that. They respected her now.

But high school? That was another battlefield entirely.

Goode High School didn’t know her history. She was just a transfer student with sharp eyes and quiet confidence—oh, and blonde hair. That meant she got lumped in with the cheerleaders or mistaken for someone who copied off other people’s homework. Teachers underestimated her. Students whispered things like “new girl’s kind of uptight” or “probably here on a legacy scholarship.” No one really saw her.

Except you.

You were a freshman—wide-eyed, curious, and unapologetically impressed. You didn’t know everything about her, not at first, but something about her presence made you gravitate toward her like she was gravity itself. The way she carried herself, the glint of intelligence in her eyes, the way she didn’t bother to impress anyone—it made you want to be around her. Learn from her. Know her.

And you tried. Every opportunity, you’d find some excuse to strike up a conversation. Walking to class, sitting near her at lunch, awkwardly offering to help with group projects even if she clearly didn’t need help. It wasn’t smooth or subtle, but it was genuine.

At first, Annabeth was suspicious—she didn’t really do random people trying to get close. But your admiration wasn’t fake or fawning. You weren’t trying to impress her—you were just fascinated. You made her feel... seen. Not as Percy’s girlfriend. Not as a war strategist or a daughter of a goddess. Just as a person who mattered.

One day, after you rambled about how “awesome” her presentation in history class was—even though she’d barely looked up from her notes—Annabeth had turned to you with an amused smile and said, “You know if you want to be my friend, you can just ask?”