Chapter Text
The alarm beeped throughout the warmly-lit room, hues of yellow lighting up my room as I slam my hand down on the blaring piece of technology. Another day, another time to go to school, I guess.
Grabbing my shoes, I lace them up and take two steps before readjusting them. I can never get them right the first time. Retying them, I make my way to the kitchen and say hi to my dad before opening the fridge.
“Oh, you’re up! I was just about to go wake you for school!” He said as he wrapped his arm around me and pulled tightly.
Before we go, you probably wanna know a few things.
My name is Finch Stellar, and I’m just an everyday, average kid. I live in Philadelphia with my dad. It’s just the two of us and has been for years. I don’t know my mom, nor do I care to. Family is who you keep in your life, not who claims to be and abandons you.
And before you say anything, Dad wasn’t so great with names. Especially raising a kid all on his own with little to no help.
I’m thirteen, so I’m a freshman (on the younger side) at a school called Philadelphia Arts High, where most of us are prospective students looking for careers in the arts. The others there? Who knows what they want to do with their lives. But that’s not my business.
Personally, I wanna be an actor or director. I like being the captain of a ship designing my own story. The problem is that cameras are hella expensive, and so is school… which makes me feel bad for my mom and for how many hours she’s had to put in.
But today’s my last day before summer break, thankfully. That means that I can put some money away in my account by (hopefully) getting a job at an ice cream shop or something. Quickest bag I can secure.
So when Dad said goodbye, I made my way down to the school, only a couple of blocks away.
Philadelphia is kinda weird, I’ll admit. Lots of shady activity in different alleys. You’d best avoid those areas if you’re traveling through.
There are a lot of beggars. Weird, especially for this time of morning.
“Young one, do you have anything to eat in your bag? I have no food or a home.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t on me this time. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of when I come back!”
“That’s not good enough,” the beggar said before melting into his robes, transforming into a canine-like animal. It scampered away moments after.
So. That was weird. Am I feeling alright? Did I make that up? Or… did that actually happen?
Ignoring that, I continue to walk to the school building, its large and almost imposing size allowing for it to stick out like a sore thumb.
Philadelphia Arts is a modern relic. It mimics Greek Revivalist architecture and the pillars are the biggest indicator of said imitation. Although, personally, I think it needs more white and gray-speckled marble if it’s trying to replicate Greek styles.
Lucky for me, I didn’t get carried away doing something else. See for me, it can be really hard to stay on-track with one task. Even walking to school sometimes. One time my dad had to come get me from a weird after school program because I forgot to walk back home. Yeah… I can’t explain that one.
Philadelphia Arts High is not the place for me. But I suck it up so I can get into a good college and get into acting schools. It’s okay, I act like life is normal around my classmates, it’s perfect.
Entering the building, I took a left. Right into the doorway, I’m met by my teacher who somehow notices my distracted mind.
“Everything alright?” He asks with a gentle hand placed on my shoulder.
“Yeah, just a little… in thought.” I say, with a lot on my mind that I try to hide from him.
I was never good at hiding how I feel, maybe that would need to get fixed if I had any shot at acting.
Thankfully, however, he never really presses into me unless it’s a one-on-one meeting in his office. And he couldn’t hold me in his unofficial detention on the last day of school.
Later on was a different story, though.
“C’mon, painter. You think you’re gonna make it big in the city with art like that?” He said with malice in his voice. Now, I had never seen him before, so he looked intriguing. Six foot, young. I fully expected him to be stocky, but he wasn’t. “You know what, you remind me of Van Gogh.”
Jess answered him, “Really? I love his work.”
“That wasn’t a compliment, sweetheart. He died without a penny to his name. That’s gonna be you, eventually. They’d be lucky to find this in the dumpster.”
“Stop.” I said, stepping between the two.
“What’cha gonna do, Stellar? Tell me that’s not nice? Tell me that Jess doesn’t deserve it, when she’s DRAWING FURRIES in ART SCHOOL?”
The fact I even know what a furry is upsets me deeply.
“Even if she is, I’d like to see you put half as much effort into your work. She dedicates her time and 200% effort to every piece she makes. Sure, it might not satisfy your preferences, but I think they’re quite colorful and mean tons to her,” I say. Whatever this guy had to say, it sure was stupid. Wow.
“Sure. Sure they do. But she’s not going to get anywhere drawing weird human animals. Sorry, but it’s true.”
Jess broke into tears. That was the last thing I was going to let him say to her before I beat him to a pulp.
Do I regret anything? No. Bullies should get the same treatment they give others. Simple as that.
“Stupid Birdie,” he said, mocking my childhood nickname before being pulled up by his friend off the black and white tiled floor.
“Really? That’s the best you got? ‘Stupid Birdie’? Yikes. Remind me to never challenge you to an insult battle.”
He tried to get up and storm away, but he fell back down, slipping on what assumingly was a puddle dripping from an old, leaky pipe that the janitor swore to us ‘he’d fix eventually’ four months ago.
Mr. Kent had been standing behind me over by the bench in the front hall, watching the entire thing happen to my surprise.
Hmph. So close to a perfect record. Or well, what I would consider to be a perfect record, which is less than five detentions in a semester. This one was just cruel irony, being number five and all.
I sat with my right leg crossed over my left, tipping in my chair as Mr. Kent continued to talk to my dad like I wasn’t sitting right next to him. I huffed and retreated back into my head before I heard my name being called.
Finch.
Finch, are you there?
Hellooooo? Finch?
I shook my head from side to side, returning back to eyes staring at me as I looked from left to right, from my dad to Mr. Kent, and back again. That’s ADHD for you. The one thing I can actually almost depend on to screw something up. The only things I picked up on from that conversation were three words: “she’d like camp”, whatever that meant.
Great. There goes the chance to finish my résumé in the building and get help on that. Instead, I’m getting non-professional psychiatric help from a guy who thinks he knows everything that goes on here at school, at home, and when I’m out, AND MY DAD. Hmph. Like that couldn’t be the worst combination in the entire world right now.
The car ride home was incredibly awkward. Like one of those car rides where you get in and it’s silent for about half the ride before your parent tries to guilt-trip you into admitting you did something you weren’t even involved in or watch happen. Yeah, one of those car trips. And I don’t even remember getting in the car.
“So about that… listen, honey, I’m not mad. You just have to tell me what you did.”
“Punched a kid.” I said, mostly apathetic. “He was calling Jess mean names and wouldn’t stop no matter how many times we told him to.”
“So why didn’t you go to Mr. Kent? You know that’s what he’s there for,” Dad asked with concern and confusion rolled into one singular tone.
“He wouldn’t have done anything quickly to help. He never does anything on the fly, it’ s always rulebook this, rulebook that. This needed to be quick. And besides, I ain’t no snitch.”
He just groaned as he put a hand up to his face and pinched his nose.
“Okay, that’s the last straw. You’re going to Camp in the morning. I’ll take you.”
“What the hell is this ‘camp’, Dad? Are you sending me to some juvenile detention prevention boarding school because I’m a bad kid? I’m sorry…” I admit ruefully, maybe I was a bad child and he finally had enough of me and my stupid, unpredictable actions.
“No, Finch. It’s not that. It’s that I can’t seem to keep you entertained or even under control. You’re so bright, and I don’t know how to help you or even begin to understand anything you’re interested in.”
“Birds. You and I both like birds.” I say with a quiet tone, hoping he won’t lash out.
He sighed. “That’s true, but we haven’t been able to go birding for a long time, with my job and your school… and the several cases I’ve been in this year.”
Oh, I should probably mention something else, too. My dad works at a lawyer firm as an attorney. So while it seems like he’d be a really good ornithologist or some sort of bird scientist, his heart just wasn’t in it. He had a lot of pressure from his parents, good ol’ Susan and Jim Stellar, to do something either medical or judicial, and I guess he chose judicial service. Probably because he could help bring people to justice or get the bad guy in jail. So, not the end of the world but I could tell that it was definitely weighing hard on him.
The problem was Jim and Susan never thought that their son would have such a profound relationship with a woman they’d never met and have a kid they’d barely know. Estranged isn’t the word I’d use to describe the connection I have with my grandparents, but it was close enough.
In the morning, Dad and I grabbed a small suitcase full of my clothes and trinkets, hoofing it into the green Toyota Corolla after I grabbed the last thing. It was a long drive, 2 hours of sitting in the car trying to talk to Dad about why he was sending me to this strange place for the entire summer.
His car is somewhat small, but definitely fits a dad, his daughter, and maybe one or two of their friends, dealers' choice on that one. There’s little storage in it, but usually we’d just throw a suitcase in the backseat and a smaller bag in the very back if it was just us two.
After a long pause, we got onto the road and Dad coughed once, getting my attention from daydreaming.
“Finch, I have something important to admit to you. And I feel so bad that this is the first time I’m bringing it up.”
I looked at him, puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“Do you know anything about Greek myth? The gods and goddesses of ancient times?”
“Sure, yeah. There’s twelve of the major ones. Why?”
He took in a big sigh, “Okay. I need you to not freak out, but…"
I paused with anticipation.
“I fell in love with one of those goddesses. And well, we had you.”
“You’re telling me that I’m related to that big cluster of Greek gods and goddesses?” I ask, both with terror and excitement. This was a weird conversation to be having in the car.
“Okay, hold on a second. There are countless other gods and goddesses, too. Not just those twelve in charge of Olympus. There’s others too, with domains like vengeance, misery, fear, rivers, dolphins, rainbows, weather… everything and anything you could possibly think of, there’s a Greek god or goddess or deity in charge of it.” He says to me, trying to not take his eyes off the road.
“Okay then. What does this have to do with the camp?” I say as I ask another question.
“Yes, and well, there are a bunch like you. Who have the same troubles reading, the same troubles staying focused…”
I look at him, and then down to my hands, which seem to be trembling uncontrollably. I’m nervous, of course. I’m being sent away for the entire summer to some place that I’ve not only never been to, but also that I don’t know a single person currently there. And Dad’s explanation so far isn’t cutting it.
“You’re getting antsy. I’m almost done, I promise.”
I don’t say anything in return.
“This camp was suggested to me by Mr. Kent… and well, a few others. It’s meant for demigods like you, Birdie. I know, it probably sounds crazy, but I think it’d be a good fit for you.” He said with a small smile, and I could tell there were tears forming in his eyes. “And before you say anything, no. I don’t want you back at home before you’ve spent a summer here. Seriously, it'll be good for you.”
I gulp as we pull into the driveway entrance of the camp after that conversation is more than over. Dad’s green Corolla with chipping paint and an almost constant flat tire makes its way from Philly to Long Island in a matter of two hours, excluding rest-stop time because I got hungry and didn’t remember to pack snacks. My bad, Dad.
Camp Half-Blood seems… well, imposing. It’s got a large marble gate that stands atop a pretty big hill with gigantic letters that reveal its name in a pseudo-Greek font. Dad pulls the car over by it without putting his hazards on. But honestly, it’s fine. It’s not like many people are coming down here and sending their children away at this very moment.
Dad pops open the trunk from the driver’s seat, grabs three things, and opens the left rear door of the car and takes my stuff out. Not much is there, a small bag with a flap to open, a few small beads, and a hairbrush that didn’t fit no matter how many times I tried to jam it in.
He takes his items and tucks them gently into the bag after undoing the clasp and flipping it open. “Gifts. Don’t open them until you think you’re ready.”
I nod as he pulls me in tight for a hug. “I’m gonna miss you, sweetheart. Have the best time, write to me if you want. I’ll respond back. Love you so much.”
And then he drove away, and I was there at the front gates of this unknown camp worried about my summer and whether or not this ‘demigod camp’ was going to be the place for me.