A/N: sorry for the rewrite, I was giving the MC a name and it spiraled from there
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Look, I never asked to be sent away.
If you're reading this because you are in the same situation like I was, my advice: call the police, or tell someone you trust. Believe me when I say that whatever they do will turn out cleaner than what happened to me.
Being sent away from your family sucks. It's lonely. Most of the time you're longing for the time you lost and wishing you could have done something better.
If you're not in this situation, and reading this journal as a caution from someone at camp, good. Read on. At least then people will have more knowledge on what to expect from when your twin brother's a demigod.
My name is Argos Jackson.
I am twelve years old. Due to legal reasons, I have been spending the last five years at White River Legion Academy, a military school for juvenile offenders and troubled youth.
Am I a juvenile offender?
Legally I have to say yes.
Attempted murder by age seven, twelve counts of property damage by age eight, sixteen counts of arson by age nine, it wasn't until a couple years ago that I started changing for the better. Seems it didn't matter though, with what happened last June when my brother blew up a bus.
My summer was already going down the drain, it was my last year at White River and about a week before I was ready for release so my dorm hall was already mostly packed up.
I had been trying to contact mom for weeks. I know she was busy with work and Gabe, but I was excited to see her and Percy. I know she would never, but it almost felt like she had been ignoring me, always having Gabe answer the phone.
It didn't matter though, I was gonna see her in a few days and that's all that mattered. Things were finally going to be right.
I was laying on my bed, nearly bare save for the mandatory sheets and pillows. A book sat in my hand as the TV played in the background. It was nice.
… till Iridían arrived.
Now, I love Iri. She's my best friend. She's a great combatant and an amazing athlete. That being said… you'd never hear her name and the words healthy sleep schedule in the same breath.
She was sent here by her stepmother because she'd been repeatedly caught smoking in her school bathroom. Which while legal for adults, isn't very legal for twelve year olds.
Since she hasn't smoked in the last year, she's going through withdrawals. And because of that, she's going through what I like to call: Insomnia doping.
She's high without being high.
Iri swayed into my bedroom, flopping onto my bed with a giggle.
"Heyyy Argos," Iri whispered sleepily, her mess of curls dousing my bed sheets in a sea of hair.
I sighed, closing my book before pulling her onto a pillow.
"Hey, Iri," I greeted, clearing her hair from her face.
Iri yawned, placing a hand onto my face. "Shhh, too loud."
I shook my head, removing her hand. "Why aren't you in your dorm?"
"Can't sleep…" Iri sighed, climbing into the sheets and facing my TV. I had it set on a random news station, the constant chatter helped stop the voices in my brain.
"When did you last sleep?" I asked her, reaching into one of my packed bags and tossing her a sweater.
Iri paused, rubbing her bloodshot eyes in thought, "o' three hundred hours?"
I stopped rummaging through my pack and looked towards the clock on the wall.
[16:40]
"Right…" I mumbled. "Any contact from your parents?" Better to get her focused on one thing so her mind can start relaxing.
Iri shrugged, "was on call with my stepmother, said my dad was released from county lock up."
"Good behavior or bribery?
Iri didn't respond, instead burying her head into my pillow. Got it. Bribery.
Usually I'd kick her out —even if the dormitory is Coed, the dorm rooms are not— but she needed sleep.
I sighed, "you can't sleep without brushing your teeth Iri."
She groaned into my pillow like I'd just asked her to run a marathon barefoot. "I did brush them."
"When?" I asked, arms crossed.
She peeked one bloodshot eye at me. "Last night?"
"Exactly," I said, tossing a crumpled shirt at her. "Up. Bathroom. Now. You smell like peanut butter crackers and mouth rot."
Iri groaned louder but peeled herself off the bed, moving like a disgruntled cat. "You're mean," she muttered, dragging her feet toward my bathroom door.
"And you're gonna thank me when you don't wake up tasting your own corpse breath," I called after her. The door clicked shut behind her with the slowest, most exaggerated exit possible. I smirked and shook my head, falling back against my mattress.
She had her own things in there, the amount of times we've been up on projects has just convinced me and her to leave stuff in each other's rooms.
"What do you think you'll do when you get home?" I heard Iri ask as she turned on the faucet.
I paused. The question sat heavy in the air, like dust waiting to settle.
Home.
I rolled onto my side, staring at the ceiling. The flickering blue light of the TV made it look like the whole room was underwater. I couldn't tell if it felt peaceful or suffocating.
"I don't know," I said after a second. "Eat something that isn't powdered eggs. Sleep in my own bed. Hug my mom and brother." I hesitated, fingers curling around the edge of the blanket. "Tell Percy I'm proud of him. He got into that academy in New York—Yancy. That place with actual windows and no barbed wire fences."
Iri hummed through a mouthful of toothpaste.
"I was gonna go with them to Montauk," I added. "Mom promised to take me and Percy when we got home —before the school year got extended. Haven't been since I was little, but I remember it smelled like salt and sunscreen and those cookies Mom used to make before we left."
The faucet cut off, and Iri cracked the door open, still brushing as she peeked out at me.
"Sounds nice," she mumbled through the foam.
"Yeah," I said quietly. "It was."
She stepped out a second later, wiping her mouth on her sleeve and shuffling back toward my bed.
"You ever think," she said as she flopped down again, this stealing back the blanket, "what if it's not the same anymore?"
I glanced at her. "What do you mean?"
"Like… you're different now, right? I mean, five years at this place? You think they're gonna treat you like the same kid who left? You guys barely even talked when you were sentenced to go here."
I didn't answer right away. Not because I didn't know, but because I'd been trying not to think about that exact thing for months.
"I don't know," I finally said. "I think I just want to go back to how it was. Even if I've changed. Even if they have. I just want us all in the same room again."
She was quiet. I could feel her watching me, her fingers twisting the edge of the sheet.
"Even though Gabe's still there?" She whispered.
My face fell slightly, the sound of the television playing in the background.
Iridían knew my history with Gabe, I mean he was the reason I was sent here in the first place.
I was only seven at the time, but I can still remember it. The sirens, the shouting, a cracked photo frame laying under my heel as blood dripped from his face and down my fists.
Is it really worth it going back while Gabe's still there? I mean mom's obviously still with him since he's been picking up the phone. So maybe he's changed?
I let the question sit.
The words sharp like a nail I'd just stepped on and couldn't bother pulling out. Scared that pulling it out would make me bleed.
I took a deep breath and swallowed the lump that was forming in my throat.
"Maybe," I said.
Iri nodded, staying silent as she pulled the blanket tight over her shoulder and blinked slowly at me, waiting for me to be honest.
I sighed.
"I mean… yeah. I hate him. I hate him, Iri." The words came out faster than I wanted them too. "But if Mom's still with him, then… maybe something's different now. He hasn't yelled at me on the phone. He hasn't even talked to me. Just… passes the line. Says she's busy sleeping, or out working."
I stared at the ceiling again, watching the little blue flickers slide over the bumps in the plaster.
"I know I should be mad about that," I said. "But I'm just glad he hasn't hurt her, again."
The blanket rustled. Iri sat up slightly, her silhouette lit by the sliver from the window.
I rubbed the back of my neck, swallowing the knot that had risen back up in my throat.
"I'd take him," I whispered, "if it meant seeing her and Percy again. Even once."
My voice cracked near the end, barely audible over the static of the TV.
Iri scooted closer, her shoulder bumping mine.
"I'd kill for a normal family," she said quietly."Even just one weekend. No screaming. No smoke. Just… someone making pancakes in the morning, maybe even going camping."
"You can come visit mine when I'm out," I said without thinking. "We don't exactly camp —unless you count Montauk— but my mom makes good pancakes."
Iri blinked at me, and for a second she didn't say anything. Then she pulled the blanket over her mouth, failing to hide her smile. "You better not be lying about the pancakes," she mumbled.
"I'm serious," I said, shifting to face her. "She makes these blue chocolate chip ones that taste like heaven. She sometimes burns the first batch when she gets distracted, but they taste just as good as the others."
"Burnt food's a sign of love," Iri said with mock wisdom. "At least that's what my abuelo used to say before my abuela started microwaving everything."
I snorted. "Then my mom loves the hell outta Percy and I."
We laid there in the soft glow of the TV, the sounds of a newscaster mumbling something in the background. I wasn't really listening, not until the words "exploded bus" caught my ear.
I sat up quickly, that couldn't be right.
On-screen, a shaky video played. A greyhound bus—mangled and blackened, the front half of its frame crushed like a soda can—smoldering on the side of a wooded highway. Yellow tape was set up keeping back flashing red lights, paramedics, and reporters. The chyron read:
"Explosion on Northbound Interstate — Three Youths Flee Scene."
My stomach turned as the camera zoomed in on a blurry still of three figures running into the woods. One of them looked… familiar.
"The hell?" Iri sat up too, squinting at the screen.
The reporter's voice buzzed through the speakers:
"…suspects described as juveniles, around middle-school age. Witnesses say they exited the bus seconds before it exploded. The cause of the blast remains unknown, but state authorities are calling it a deliberate act of violence…"
The screen flicked to a new angle, a zoomed-in shot of one of the fleeing kids. My heart lurched into my throat.
I knew that messy black hair.
I knew that face, even distorted by smoke and blur, those sea green eyes are unmistakable.
"…Percy?"
"Your brother?" Iri asked, her words slightly slurring in her delirium.
"It looks like him," I said in disbelief. "But it can't be, it's impossible. He wouldn't— he couldn't have—"
As I tried to defend my brother, the newscaster gained a look of surprise.
"This just in, one of the pre teens in this video have been identified."
"Oh thank—"
"The boy now identified as twelve-year-old Perseus Jackson is shown here fleeing from the bus where he accosted several elderly female passengers. The bus exploded on an east New Jersey roadside shortly after Jackson fled the scene two weeks after his disappearance. Based on this recording, police believe the boy is traveling with two teenage accomplices. The Boy's stepfather, Gabe Ugliano, has offered a cash reward for information leading to his capture."
My heart had begun to race. This made no sense. Percy wouldn't go around beating up old ladies on a bus for no reason.
I mean yeah he's sassy and doesn't like being told what to do- but he isn't insane. Where's mom? What would she say about this? Why is Gabe offering a cash reward for his capture? He doesn't pay people for anything.
Is that why he's the only one who's been answering the phone? Did Percy run away from home and mom's too grief stricken to speak?
No, that can't be right. Mom would have killed Gabe before he did anything to make Percy ever run away. She almost killed him when I- that isn't important right now.
"Iridían, do you have your phone?"
The black haired girl nodded, "yeah? But how are you supposed to call Percy? I thought your mom didn't let you and him have cellphones?"
"She doesn't, I'm calling Gabe." I said as I snatched her phone from her pocket.
I would have called mom but she hasn't been answering for days.
I swiped up, hit the green phone icon, and typed in the number so fast I think I almost snapped it in half. My thumb hovered over the call button for a second longer than it should've.
Then I tapped it.
Ringing.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
I held my breath. Iridían shifted beside me, the weight of her head leaning against my shoulder as if she knew what was coming but didn't want to say it.
Four rings.
Then a click.
"Yeah?" Gabe's voice; groggy and muffled. He sounded like he had his mouth half-full—probably beer or a hoagie. Maybe both. There was a TV in the background, something loud and staticky, a young woman's voices could be heard echoing from it.
"It's me," I said flatly.
A beat. Then a loud crack—a crunch, like he'd just bitten into a chip.
"Who?" He asked, not a twinge of concern or panic in his voice.
"Argos," I snapped.
There was a pause, "who?"
"Your step son, Gabriel."
"Oh," he grunted. "You."
That pause was way too long.
"Where's Mom?" I asked.
No hello. No 'how are you.' No surprise that I'd called out of nowhere. Just the slow grind of some commercial playing on his end and the sound of him chewing like a cow in an alley.
"Out," he said.
"Out where?"
"Grocery store," he muttered. "Why? Do you need money or something?"
"No," I spat at him. "I need answers. What the hell is going on? Percy's on the news, Gabe. The news. They said he blew up a bus."
A long exhale came through the phone. An exaggerated sigh sounding like a child annoyed at his parents asking him for help instead of a grown man hearing his step son ask why his other step son is blowing up buses.
"Yeah, saw that," he sighed. "Dumbass ran off with a couple of delinquents. He's been missing for weeks. Not my problem anymore."
"What do you mean, not your problem?" I asked, standing up from the bed, heart hammering. "You offered a cash reward. Why the hell would you do that?! You barely pay for electricity!"
Silence. Then another crunch.
"You wanna talk about money?" Gabe said, voice going lower. "Your mom's got a fat insurance policy, kid. Maybe worry less about the freakshow and more about what she's left behind."
My skin went cold.
"What?" I asked slowly. "What do you mean what she left behind?"
Another beat of silence. The kind that swells and swells until your throat closes up from the pressure.
"She was in a crash," Gabe said, offhand. As if it didn't matter. "Two weeks ago. They said nobody got out."
The words didn't register right away.
I stared at the wall, felt my own pulse behind my eyes.
"I—I don't understand. You said she was at the store."
"Yeah, well," Gabe grunted. "Didn't think you needed to hear it over the phone while locked away at that nut house. And I wasn't about to haul ass out there just to give you the news in person."
I didn't speak. I couldn't speak. The buzzing in my ears was too loud for me to do anything but gawk.
"Are you still there?" Gabe asked. "Look, it's not all bad. The insurance came through last week. Helps cover all the stress her freak kid caused. And maybe now you'll stop whining about coming home."
The line clicked.
He had hung up.
I stared at the screen. Then at the wall. Then at Iridían, who looked like she'd stopped breathing.
"No," I said, voice barely above a whisper. "He's lying. He has to be lying."
But her face said otherwise.
I stood still, phone trembling in my hand, the blood draining from my face, my fingertips tingling, going numb.
In the quiet that followed, the TV kept playing. Just more news, more static, more people yammering as if my whole world hadn't just ended in the middle of my dorm room.
I dropped the phone onto the bed, the words spouted from it had made it too heavy to hold.
"She can't be gone," I said. "She can't."
Iridían reached out to me, taking my hand and pulling me into the blanket.
I didn't pull away, tears streaming down my face.