jackson's twins

We Accidentally Vaporize Our Pre-algebra Teacher

εη∫ογ (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

Look we didn't want to be a half-blood.
If you're reading this because you think you might be one, our advice is: close this book right now. Believe whatever lie your mom or dad told you about your birth, and try to lead a normal life.
Being half-blood is dangerous. It's scary. Most of the time, it gets you killed in painful, nasty ways
If you're a normal kid, reading this because you think it's fiction, great. Read on. We envy you for being able to believe that none of this ever happened.
But if you recognize yourself in these pages-if you feel something stirring inside-stop reading immediately. You might be one of us. And once you know that, it's only a matter of time before they sense it too, and they'll come for you.
Don't say we didn't warn you.

《•✭•》❨percy's pov❩《•✭•》

My name is Percy Jackson.

I'm twelve year old. Untill a few months ago, I was a boarding school student at Yancy Academy with my sister,Y/n, a private for trouble kids in upstate New York.
Are we troubled kids?
Yeah I guess you could say that.
I could start at any point in our short miserable life to prove it, but things could really started going bad last day of May, when our sixth-grade class took a field trip to Manhattan-twenty-nine mental-case kids and two teachers on a yellow school bus, heading to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to look at ancient Greek and Rome stuff.
I know-it sounds like torture. Most Yancy field trips were. But Mr. Brunner, our Latin teacher, was leading this trip, so I had hopes.
Mr. Brunner was this middle-aged guy in a motorized wheelchair. He had thinning hair and a scruffy beard and frayed tweed jacket, which always smells like coffee. You wouldn't think he'd be cool, but he told stories and jokes and let us play games in class. He also had this awesome collection of Roman armour and weapons, so he was the only teacher whose class didn't put me to sleep.
I hoped the trip would be okay. At least, I hoped that for once my sister and I wouldn't get in trouble.
Boy, was I wrong.
See, bad things happen to us on field trips. Like at our fifth-grade school, when we went to the Saratoga Battlefield, I had this accident with a Revolutionary war cannon. I wasn't aiming for the school bus even y/n vouched for me, but of course we got expelled anyway. And before that, at our fourth-grade school, we took a behind-the-scenes tour of the Marines World shark pool, y/n tripped into me, and I sort of hit the wrong lever on the catwalk, and our class took an unplanned swim. Y/n loved the sharks, not so much everyone else. And the time before that...Well you get the idea.
This trip, we were determined to be good.
All the way into the city, we put up with Nacy Bobofit, the freckly, redhead kleptomaniac girl, hitting me and y/n best friend Grover in the back of his head with chunks of peanut butter-and-ketchup sandwich. Y/n this she not human, because of her food palette.
Grover was an easy target. He was scrawny. He cried when he got frustrated. He must've been held back several grades, because he was only a sixth grader with ance and a start of wispy beard on his chin. On top of all that, he was crippled. He had a note excusing him from PE for the rest of his life because he had some kind of muscular disease in his legs. He walked funny, like every step hurt him, so Y/n would go out of her way to do thing for him, but don't let that fool you. You should've seen him run when it was enchilada day in the cafeteria, Y/n tried to tell to stop running but he had to get his enchiladas.
Anyway, Nacy Bobofit was throwing wads of sandwich that stuck in his his curly brown hair, and she knew I couldn't do anything to get back at her because me and Y/n we're on probation. The headmaster had threatened us with death by in-school suspension if anything bad, embarring, or even mildly entertaining happened on this trip.
"I'm going to kill her" I mumbled
"I'll help" y/n returned
Grover tried to clam us down. "It okay. I like peanut butter." "And ketchup" y/n mumbled with a disgusted yet concerned face. He dodge another piece of Nancy's lunch.
"That's it" I and y/n say in sync starting to stand up with me, but Grover pulled us back to our seats. "You guys are already on probation," he reminded us. "You know who'll get blamed if anything happens."
Looking back at it, I wish me and Y/n should've decked Nacy Bobofit right then and there. In-school suspension would've been nothing compared to the mess we were about to get ourselves into.