Camp Half-Blood

Chapter 1: The Possible Impossible

[Please excuse the inaccurate information and descriptions in this story, I hadn't read when the series when I wrote it but I did now and know how inaccurate this is!]


My eyes pop open at the sound of my alarm clock buzzing.  I slap it on instinct, my finger hitting the snooze button perfectly.  I roll over and groan, giving my clock the evil eye for waking me up.  I'll never get back to sleep now.  
        I can never fall asleep until it's past midnight anyway, so I'm used to being sleep deprived, but last night I didn't get to sleep until four.  I roll out of bed and put my feet below me just in time to catch myself.
        I slide my closet door open and something jogs my memory that it's Saturday.  I sigh in relief and flop onto my bed just as my brother opens the door to my room.
        "Go away."  I grumble at him, as I wrap myself in my blankets and rty to hide myself from the sunlight, which grows increasingly more as he opens the curtains to let it in.  He continues rummaging through my stuff and poking around under my bed.
        I face the fact that I'm not getting any more rest today and sit up to rub the sleep out of my eyes.  I'm still half asleep and the world feels like an echo.  I have to squint to see in my room, but it seems like Jaydon is having no problem.
        "Why are you even here?"  I grumble.  He tries to lift his head from under my bed but hits it on the rim.  I giggle to myself as he rubs the bumped spot.  It's probably a bruise, but it won't matter in a few days;  hr's a fast healer.  We both are.
        He scotches on to sit on the side of the bed, the serious expression on his face making me not care that he has just broken most of the rules for my room and I.
        "I overheard Mom and Dad talking in the kitchen this morning through my floor.  They thought we were both asleep - it was only four thirty - and they were talking about 'when we should tell them' and  'I think they're ready'.  I've been looking for something, anything, all morning to try to tell me what's going on."  he explains.  I'm too tired to argue, but that did give me a strange dose of adrenaline.
        "Maybe it's something about school?  We've been complaining about it to try to get out of classes, well I have, and maybe we're going to a different one?"  I suggest.  I know it's stupid and he was probably dreaming, but I have no doubt that he was awake at four thirty; just after I fell asleep.  
        He shakes his head at my stupid idea.  Now for the sympathizing,
        "No, I don't think so.  They sounded really scared and sort of reluctant, like it was something that was never supposed to happen in the first place.  It could be, though."  He tries to be nice to me even though I know my idea sucked.  I smile and hake my head twice at his last sentence.
        "Maybe it was something to do with our family?  Like someone who we thought died and is alive, or something?"  I suggest, now actually trying with my contributions.
        He nods slowly, looking out my window at the street down below our garden.
        "My thoughts,"  he starts, turning back to me, "Are;  we don't look like either of our parents very much, right?"  I nod so he will keep going, even though I know where we will end up,  "If anything only Dad, but that's only the blue eyes.  So,"  He leans closer as if he is afraid someone's listening,  "What if we were adopted."  He almost whispers.
        To try to dial down the crazy tone, I shrug.
        "Out of the three, your idea is the most realistic.  But I don't feel like talking about secrets right now."  I say as I look over to my closet where my bow is just visible behind the sliding door.
        Jaydon follows my gaze and looks back to me smiling.  He quickly gets up and goes to his room across the long hall.  We each have a room on the end, and the only other things up here are a bathroom and the staircase to get back down.
        I quickly get up and pull off my usual mix-match pj's of random pj pants and a spaghetti strap tank top.  I toss them in the laundry basket in the corner of my room behind the door and step up to my closet.
        I pull out one of the many pairs of skinny, dark jeans I have for some reason folded over a hanger.  I pull them on and bounce over to my dresser and pull out a random top and put it on.  It is deep red with a small design of gold studs and fabric swirling it.  
        I hold my hair up with both hands and pull off the band I always keep on my wrist to hold it up.  With my messy ponytail of blonde fuzz, my half-chosen outfit, and now my bow in hand, I sling my leather quiver over my shoulder without taking the time to admire the pheasant feather arrows.  They all have names and I know how well they fly, but Jay doesn't, so I can easily trick him into using Opsis or Dusty and missing the ten mark.
        I grab my bow with my left hand and bound down the stairs and make an immediate left turn to avoid crashing into the wall.  I turn into the dining room and pass the breakfast bar which separates it from the kitchen.  If I had gone left, I would be in front of the living room TV and my six year old sister who is watching it.  If I walked on behind her I would have come to a tiled pathway (like the rest of this house), a rotunda entry way, then the door to my parents'-maybe-not's room.  I could have got a short cut to the garden from the door there, but I didn't so deal with it.
        If I had continued on past my sister there would be a door on the right leading into my parents' office at home, and there would be another long corridor on the left.  If I had turned down there to my left would be another bathroom, and to my right the cupboard under the stairs.  Keep walking forwards and there is the kitchen.  Maybe I did take the short cut.
        I keep my hand on my back where the quiver is to keep the arrows from rattling too loudly as I make my way through the kitchen to the front door in the entry way.  I don't even look at the laundry room door or the old piano that nobody plays and I turn the silver door handle and leap outside, swinging it closed behind me.
        I turn onto the pathway on my left to the garden instead of going straight into our driveway.  At the second curve in the path I find Jay standing there with his own bow loaded and drawn back.  He ignores me and looses the arrow, which hits on the nine mark line.
        "Hey."  He says as he steps back.  I give him a small nod as I position myself in a straight line from the diagonal make-shift target resting in the corner between two walls.  I shimmy across the reddish stone tiles while I pull out an arrow.  I use a quick glance to see who it is.  Chip.  I smile at the missing gap in his feathers that lets me know the difference between him and all the others.
        I place the arrow body in the nook of the wood bit on my otherwise whitish- silver bow.  I slide it back and fit the nook of the arrow into the bowstring and wink my left eye.  I hold my loaded bow down, the arrow tip facing the floor, and try to figure out where to aim.
        You can never get a bulls eye by aiming where you need to go, you need to aim the counter attack of where your arrow wants to go.  Most arrows like to go up and to the right at this distance of thirty feet.  So I aim towards the lower left.
        I lift my bow up to my face and pull back hard, positioning the arrow tip so it goes the appropriate distance.  It hits the lower left corner of the bulls eye.  I smirk to myself.  It usually takes at least two or three arrows before I get a bulls eye.         I hear the front door open as Jaydon is about to shoot.
        "Kids, can you come inside for a minute?"  Mom's voice rings out to us so we both yell a 'sure' to get her to close the door.  We look at each other nervously then go to retrieve out arrows.  We slide them back into our quivers and pull the bowstring across our chest and the handle our backs.
        We get back to the door and I open it and slide through before him.  I take my bow and quiver full of arrows off and rest them on the piano.  Jay follows in suit.  I have a feeling neither of us wants to have weapons on us when whatever this is happens.  We make out way to the living room using the hallway that passes the bathroom and office.
        As we emerge I notice everyone is sitting on a couch, and the TV has been turned off.  I have no idea whats going on, but I do know that I want to sit down.  My favorite sofa at the back of the room is still free, so I plonk myself down in it and Jay slides in next to me.
        As my dad opens his mouth to speak, I rip the ponytail out of my hair and put the band on my wrist again.  Sometimes I feel like it's bad luck, or that when It's in my hair everyone is staring at me.
        "There's something you should know."  He starts.  He sounds like he doesn't know how to continue on.  Mom steps in,
        "We - I'm not your real mother."  She says quickly, like getting it out of her mouth faster will make it less painful.  Dad puts a hand on not-Mom's leg and continues,
        "I married her after your real mother... couldn't be around so much anymore.  She had to leave when you were two, and she told me to remarry.  I'm sorry we've kept this from you, but we just didn't know how to tell you."  I can see the sorrow in his eyes that seems more abundant in not-Mom's.
        "Who is our real mother then?"  I ask.  It might be rude, but I ask anyway.
        "Would you like to visit her?"  Dad asks.  We both nod our heads slowly and he lets out a forced laugh.
        "I'll see if I can get that arranged."  He says as he sits up and walks into the office, closing the door behind him.
        "What would you like for breakfast?"  Not-Mom says, trying to change the subject.  I get up and go to the kitchen where I grab a bagel out of the bag in the fridge and drop it into the toaster.  I sit on the breakfast bar until it pops out, the slide down and smother it in cream cheese.
        I bring it back to the living room and sit on my favorite sofa and chop it down.  I'm glad no one talks because I just want to think.  Think about who my mother could be if she isn't this one, and if she will like me, or why she is always so busy.  I finish my bagel and put my feet up on the coffee table parallel to the sofa.  I am about to pull my laptop from under the sofa where I keep it, but my not-mom starts talking.
        "Don't tell your father I told you this, but would you like to know who your mother is now?"  She asks, looking between the both of us for an answer.  I don't know where little Stephanie went during all of this.  Probably upstairs to watch the show that was turned off down here.
        I nod faster than I did last time and, much to my surprise, answers her own question.
        "Your birth mother is Artemis."  She breathes.
        "You mean like the goddess?"  Jay asks.  She nods
        "But isn't she a virgin goddess?"  I have to ask, even if it brings up an awkward conversation.
        "That's what she wanted people to think, to keep you safe."  She says.
        "Both of us?"  I ask, a little bit confused.
        "Yes.  There's another thing.  Your... twins."  She says quickly.
        We look at each other, then back to her, both of us shaking our heads.
        "No.  No.  I might fall for the Artemis thing, but no way are we twins."  I say matter-of-factually.  I can't help noticing that Jay is being  really quiet.  I look at him for him to back me up.
        "I don't know what to say."  Is all he says.  Apparently he does.  We are so not twins... Are we?