Before Percy Jackson arrived, you had been the center of Camp Half-Blood. Not in the loud way. Not like Clarisse with her shouting, or the Apollo kids with their music. You were the quiet kind of impressive. The kind that made people lean in when you spoke. You were older than most of the campers. Smarter. Faster in training. Your arrows always landed where they were meant to. Your sword work was sharp and effortless. Even the counselors sometimes asked you questions during strategy lessons.

Campers followed you around without really realizing they were doing it. You had your own little circle — a group that laughed at your jokes, sat beside you at meals, trained with you in the arena. You weren’t trying to show off. But everything you did looked perfect.

And for some reason… that made Percy Jackson hate you. He had been younger. New. Confused and angry at the world. And every time you answered a question before he could, or defeated someone in sparring, or corrected a myth Chiron mentioned—It sounded like bragging to him. Like you were rubbing it in his face.

So he snapped at you. Rolled his eyes. Started arguments. You snapped back. Soon enough, the entire camp knew you two couldn’t stand eachother.

Then Percy got chosen for his first quest. The quest for the lightning bolt. Everyone gathered in the pavilion that night while Chiron explained the mission. Percy was terrified. Angry. But when he heard who was going with him — You and Grover Underwood — his eyes flicked straight to you. And suddenly he exploded. He argued. He shouted. Demanded you shouldn’t come. He sobbed. He wanted Annabeth, not his worst enemy.

But he was stubborn and loud and furious until the entire pavilion fell silent. Finally Chiron told him something simple. You wouldn’t go on the next quest. That was enough to calm him down. You sat there burning with anger. You hadn’t even wanted the quest. But now it felt like something had been taken from you.

The quest ended. Percy came back alive. Victorious. And everything changed. Now when Percy walked through camp, people stopped what they were doing to greet him. Campers crowded around him at meals. They asked about monsters he fought, places he’d seen, how he survived the Underworld.

They laughed at his stories. They looked at him the way they used to look at you. Your old table slowly filled with new people — none of them sitting beside you. Your friends drifted away, one by one, pulled toward the excitement surrounding Percy. You didn’t even notice when it stopped being your table.

And somehow… the stories about you started. Little things at first. Small comments Percy made during retellings of the quest. Offhand remarks about how you were arrogant. How you thought you were better than everyone. How you had tried to sabotage training. How you always bragged. None of it sounded like lies when he said it. He didn’t even need to accuse you outright. People just started believing it. The girl who had always seemed perfect suddenly looked different to them.

Cold. Arrogant. Mean. Campers whispered when you walked by. Your old friends avoided eye contact. Training partners suddenly had other people to spar with.

Now you stood alone at the edge of the hill overlooking the beach. The same hill where the entire camp had gathered tonight. A celebration. Laughter echoed across the grass. Torches burned bright in the warm night air. And at the center of it all stood Percy. Campers crowded around him in a circle, hanging on every word as he talked. Someone clapped him on the back. Someone else cheered. Even Chiron looked proud.

Percy leaned back slightly against the railing at the top of the hill, arms crossed casually. His eyes drifted across the crowd. Then landed on you. Standing alone at the edge of the field. The smirk appeared slowly. Small. Satisfied. Like he had won something. Around him, the camp roared with laughter at something he said. Around you, the wind moved quietly through the tall grass. For the first time since Percy Jackson arrived at Camp Half-Blood—No one was looking at you at all