Alternative: Chapter 1

Annabeth slams the door of her locker closed and slumps against the cool metal as he walks by. Jet black hair, sea-green eyes, tight T-shirt… and the annoying dumb-as-a-sack-of-bricks passé that travels with him. Annabeth frowns, mostly at herself. She'd let herself go all googly-eyed over the one boy in school that everyone was after: Percy Jackson, quarterback, captain of the swim team, student body president. All great qualities, except he wasn't exactly a genius. Annabeth knows that the only reason he got elected was because he was a natural leader, and he'd run the school into the ground if she weren't part of the "government system." She managed to keep everyone on track.

  "You're thinking too hard," Thalia deadpans. "There's smoke coming out your ears."

  "Likewise," Annabeth mutters, her thoughts still elsewhere. "Really, does your iPod have to be on that loud? I can actually hear it."

  Thalia smacks her gum and smiles. "Ya like it?"

  "No."

  They walk together to the last class of the day. For Annabeth, advanced placement physics. For Thalia, detention. "See you on the bus," Thalia calls over her shoulder.

  Annabeth enters her classroom with her usual smile. This is one of her favorite classes, mostly because she's the smartest one in it. It doesn't matter that there are only six students total. Upon entering the room, however, she notices that the teacher's chair is empty and the whiteboard rubbed clean.

  "What's going on?" she asks Malcolm, a fellow genius.

  He hold up a finger to indicate that what he's reading in his textbook is far more important than Annabeth's question and glances up after a moment. "Ms. Byron left an assignment on her desk. Said all we had to do was read it."

  Annabeth rolls her eyes. You know it's a problem when the students are smarter than the teacher and the teacher doesn't even bother to show up. So Annabeth spends the better part of an hour wholeheartedly absorbed in catching up on her homework and reading her assignment and before long, Thalia is leaning against the doorframe and begging for them to leave the "nerd closet."

  On the way to the bus, they pass Percy Jackson and his newest fling, Rachel Dare. She's some artsy rich kid with flaming red hair and a flaming personality to match. Annabeth wonders why she cares. Then she realizes she doesn't care.

  On the bus, the two of them just can't keep their hands off each other. It's sickening. Annabeth is pretty sure that the whole bus breathes a sigh of relief when Rachel gets off. But unfortunately, Percy is sitting in the row adjacent to Annabeth and Thalia's and she can't help but notice him.

  "Interesting choice, Jackson," Thalia tells him, flipping her blue-highlighted black hair out of her eyes and kicking her legs up on the seat in front of her. "You in it for the money?" She winks. Annabeth hides inside her physics book.

  Percy laughs good-naturedly. "I got nothing to say to you, Grace."

  The use of her last name, of course, elicits a scowl from Thalia. Fortunately for Percy, it's her stop and she leaves before the bus driver kicks her off again for punching someone in the face.

  Now it's Annabeth's turn to scowl. It would be just her luck that she and Percy Jackson share a bus stop. Share an apartment building. Share a floor. They're literally three doors away from each other. But her ability to ignore is a method that should be studied by scholars and the two of them make absolutely no attempts at conversation. That is, until they get into the elevator.

  "What do you think of Rachel?" Percy asks, a dreamy expression on his face.

  "Why are you asking me?" Annabeth snaps. "I hardly know either of you." But he's too lost in thoughts of her to respond. She exits the elevator. "You drool when you think of her."

  Annabeth can't quite put her finger on it, but something is off. She knows it the minute she steps out of the elevator. It's confirmed when she sees the lock on the door of her apartment; someone had definitely messed with it. She touches the knob cautiously, unafraid for some reason, and the door swings open on its own. The lock is completely broken.

  Now she's afraid.

  The lock isn't the only thing broken, though. The living room sends rivers of ice flowing through her veins. Almost everything is overturned. Every piece of furniture sliced to pieces, as if by a sword. Every picture smashed, the TV cut cleanly in half. Blood. Blood everywhere.

  Her feet involuntarily move her forward. And that's when she sees the first body. And the second. Her stepbrothers. Her hand flies to her mouth and a scream lodges in her throat, threatening to choke her. Tears flood her vision. She backs up, but only runs into the refrigerator. She's in the kitchen. And it's worse.

  The scream lets itself out in one hoarse, shrill, earsplitting note. Her stepmother. Her father. Her father! She sinks to the ground, shaking with sobs, but all at once it stops. The tears cease so suddenly. Her heart stops. Her blood freezes all over again. Because she finally notices the picture.

  A photograph of her and her family, nailed to the wall by a bronze dagger. A heart around her face in the picture, traced in blood. And she knows then who did this.

  She runs.