THE BEST, luke castellan

chapter one

Growing up afraid to make a mistake is not growing, it is confining. As the years pass and a person grows older, they are meant to be molded like clay, to embrace change like leaves changing colors throughout the seasons. This gift of acceptance had not been bestowed upon the Gallagher girl, who always felt a bit more like one of the bees buzzing around the nest that hung from one of those colorful trees. Except instead of seeing the ever changing beauty and adapting with the seasons, Maisie was a bee allergic to pollen, she didn't like honey, and the exterminators had it out for her hive.

Maisie Gallagher dreaded each and every mistake even before she was in the scenario to make them, which became unfortunate as messing up seemed to be the only thing she was good at doing. She had learned at an early age that there was little room to make mistakes in just about any situation - one slip up had cost her Kathleen Gallagher her job, another screw up resulted in Kathleen's losing custody of Maisie, and yet another blunder is what sent Maisie on the run at eight-years-old.

She grew up to mistakes bearing so much weight that messing up even the littlest thing sent the girl into a spiral. Maisie's eyes would blur as she cried, her lungs would burn and her throat would sting as she screamed and yelled, she would erupt with an anger so crimson red that it made blood itself seem a pale pink.

Mistakes only grew more dangerous once Maisie found herself at Camp Half-Blood. No longer was she coloring outside the lines or dropping her mother's pill bottles on the floor. A mistake at camp meant cutting herself or someone else with a celestial bronze blade, it meant getting burnt or plummeting from the climbing wall, it meant breaking a bone or something worse during a game of capture the flag. If it ever came to a real battle, one mistake could surviving or getting yourself killed.

If only she knew her biggest mistake would be in love rather than war.

She had outgrown throwing tantrums over her mistakes. Did she still have the habit of yelling? Of course. She was her father's daughter after all. The fury that blossomed and bloomed inside of her was a gift from him, one she grew to know very well. And if she couldn't scream, Maisie would lock it all inside and let her brain and her conscious battle it out.

Maisie sought to intently to avoid each and every possible mistake. Luke would always laugh at her concentrated face.

He slashed out at her with his sword, with much more strength and height than he possessed at fourteen. He was far too good with a blade now, arguably the best at Camp Half-Blood (except, you know, for her). It had been two years, but the duo still continued to train alongside one another. And they'd been going at it today for quite a while - stabbing and slashing and dodging and jabbing (and laughing).

For the competition, they would say when anyone asked why. Some company.

More like the company, but no one would ever dare to point that out (because Maisie and Luke were the scariest people at camp).

She spun her spear in a circle around her before jabbing it in his direction, intentionally keeping the boy at an arms length.

"Scared to get too close, Mais?"

"Don't get too cocky, Cas." Maisie swiped his ankles with her spear, sending the boy crashing to the mats on the ground, "I made you."

Luke let out a low whistle, cocking his head to the side. And he was on the ground, but she knew him too well to count him out - especially with that look on his face. "That so?"