A Whole New Tidal Wave (A story of Percy Jackson's Sister)

I Cross Paths With a Hippy

     I'm sitting on my bedroom floor when Marc walks in, Dad, I correct myself mentally.

I still haven't been able to call him that. Marc is my adoptive father. And until a little over a year ago I was in Foster Care for the entire fifteen years of my life.

It's not that I don't like him or anything—he's great, in fact if it wasn't for him, I probably would've never had a family.

It's just hard, sometimes.

It feels like a game of pretend.

"How are you doing, kiddo?" He asks, sitting on my bed.

"Good," I say, looking through my suitcase. "How long are we going to be in New York again?"

He raises one eyebrow, "Jasmine, you know we're moving there."

I sigh, "I know."

"How do you feel about it?"

I force a smile, "I'm excited. I've heard Manhattan is nice. They have big beaches, too. More opportunities to beat you in surfing."

"It's not even remotely fair to play against you anymore," Marc grumbles, "it's like the water is helping you cheat."

I grin, "I'm just too good."

"How did your friends react when you told them?"

"Oh, you know." What I don't say is that I don't actually have any friends. I just didn't want him to worry. "They were sad."

"Yeah, I bet." He pauses, "you know we don't have to do this; I don't need the job. I just—the last thing I want to do is take you somewhere you're uncomfortable. I know you were just getting settled and—"

"I'm fine, Marc." I tell him, standing. "I promise. Besides, this is a good job. And we're leaving tonight so it's not like we can just cancel everything. The apartment is already sold."

"I'm so lucky to have you," he says, and I make myself not flinch when he kisses my forehead. 

"Love you, kiddo."

"I know," I smile, trying not to cringe at myself. Why can't I say it back? Why is it so damn difficult to say it back?

Marc walks out the door, "If you need anything, tell me."

"I will." I call after him.

I take pride in having Marc as a father figure.

Most adults would rather adopt a newborn, so kids like me, well most of the time we end up fending for ourselves. I think the real reason he adopted me was because he had been a foster kid once, himself. And although I would never say it, he had it a lot better off than me. He got adopted when he was six, into a ridiculously wealthy family.

While I've been through so many abusive homes, I've lost track. And all they left me with is PTSD and anxiety attacks.

But I'm still incredibly lucky to have him. And I try to show my gratitude but it's hard, all he has to do—all anyone has to do is reach to touch me and I flinch back out of reflex.

It took me forever to even talk to Marc. I've never been good at letting people get close to me, but that's only because most of the time I feel like they're going to walk out and leave me. And every time someone leaves, they leave with a little piece of me.

I shake my head in an attempt to shake off the thoughts.

It works.

Slightly.