I was in trouble. Not the 'prophesied to end the world' sort of trouble - those days were long behind me. No, for once my troubles were gloriously mundane. Nonetheless, it filled me with dread and a deep sense of unease.

Being late for my first day of school was not a fun place to be.

I was sprinting down the musty corridors of his new home, the good-old Saint Agnes Orphanage when I bumped into a dainty figure that sent us both sprawling.

"Oh my gods, Mrs. Skye, I'm so sorry!" I cried as I sprung off the ground and over to help the figure up.

The geeky part-time caregiver had fallen straight on her back, though thankfully cushioned by the bulky backpack she often carried around like her life depended on it.

Despite the suddenness of their collision - that I felt she was at least partly responsible for - I still worried about her effects.

"I swear to god Percy, if my laptop has so much as a dent on it, you're mincemeat!"

I paled and backed away as she whipped her bag open to check on her things.

"Sorry! Can't talk, I'm afraid - running late!" I blurted as I ran for my life.

"Get back here, you gremlin!" I heard as I reached the door. Knowing her words were often a tad more colourful when she was really mad, I only laughed mischievously as I bolted out the door.

I was glad Midtown High was not too far away from the orphanage, though I knew that review would likely change in the future. No teenager likes living too close to their school. Especially not 'orphans' like me who were expected to be back inside their metaphorical cages as soon as school ended.

I had been residing at Saint Agnes for a few weeks now. Ever since my collection at the hands of the shady men in black suits. I did not have much memory of being brought there and whatever I knew was from overhearing whispered words amongst the elderly caretakers. They spoke of government spooks and crop circles. As if the decrepit old building wasn't creepy enough, I had become seemingly yet another living ghost story walking its halls.

Living in Saint Agnes left a bittersweet taste in my mouth. Despite being so unlike Camp Half-Blood's open training fields, rolling hills, and spacious cabins (unless you were a son of Hermes of course), it held the same nervous energy you would expect of a place full of young troublemakers.

While Camp Half-Blood sported cabins full of kids almost carbon copies of each other, Saint Agnes held dorms filled with the most motley groups you could possibly imagine. It was a wonder the place had not burned down simply from the clashing of its residents' personalities - though I've been told there have been a few close calls.

As I ran down the streets of Queens, New York City, I couldn't help but feel a sense of nervousness creeping up on me. I was a new transfer student, starting school late and I had no idea what to expect. The streets were bustling with people, cars honking, and vendors shouting out their wares. The city was alive with energy and excitement, but all I could think about was how out of place I felt.

I turned a corner and came upon the entrance to Midtown High. The school was a large, imposing red bricked building that seemed to loom over me. Despite its rustic material, it still managed to look modern with large glass windows and an abundance of donated sculptures littering its lawns. I briefly wondered how Saint Agnes could even afford to send me here.

I could see students milling about, laughing, and chatting with their friends. I felt my stomach drop as I realised that I knew no one there.

I took a deep breath and walked through the front doors, trying to look as confident as possible. The hallways were crowded with students, all rushing to their first homeroom classes of the year. I felt like a fish out of water as I made my way to the main office.

The secretary looked up as I approached her desk. "Can I help you?" she asked, her tone curt.

"Um, yeah, I'm a new transfer student," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "I'm supposed to get my schedule and find my first class."

After a brief period of furiously smashing her keyboard, the secretary handed me a piece of paper and pointed to a map of the school. "Your first class is in room 212, it's on the second floor. You're late, so you better hurry."

I thanked her and made my way to the staircase. My heart was pounding in my chest as I climbed the stairs. I was so late, I was sure that everyone would already be seated and the teacher would be angry.

Finally, I reached room 212 and I took a deep breath before opening the door. The room was quiet, and I could feel all eyes on me as I walked to an empty seat at the back of the class. I sat down, feeling like I visiting Mount Olympus for the first time once again.

I thanked the gods for the small mercy that I retained my demigod physique. At least, I was not sweating like a pig on my first day of school. I may have lost all my powers but nothing would change the fact that I was indeed the son of an Olympian major god.

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As I took my seat at the back of the class, the teacher walked in. She was a young woman with short curly blonde hair and a bright smile. She introduced herself as Dr. Daphne Smith and went around the room taking attendance. When she got to my name, she paused.

"Percy Jackson?" she asked, looking at me. "You're a transfer student, correct? From homeschooling?"

I nodded, feeling all eyes on me as the class turned to look at the new kid.

"Welcome to Midtown High, Percy," she said, smiling at me. "I'm sure you'll fit in just fine here."

I could feel my face turning red as I tried to smile back. The class went on, and I tried to pay attention, but I couldn't shake the feeling of being the new kid in a school full of strangers.

As the bell rang, signalling the end of class, Dr. Smith paused before dismissing us. "I hope you all have an explosive year," she said, with a hint of a smile.

I looked at her, confused. Was that some kind of inside joke that only she knew the meaning of? I made a mental note to ask her about it later.

As I left the classroom, I couldn't help but feel a sense of dread. This was going to be a long, hard year, and I had a feeling that it was only going to get worse before it got better. But I was determined to make the best of it and find my place at Midtown High.

Looking down at my schedule, I was once again glad that Saint Agnes had at least allowed me to choose my own subjects if not my school. My mother had always dreamed that I would get into University someday and I intended to take all the courses that would make that possible. But I still wanted some classes that I could take a backseat in and just relax and for that, I have Art and Greek Studies.

Why Greek Studies was offered as a subject in a High School in midtown Manhattan, I may never know. But I would take my victories where I got them and to have it as my first class here was certainly a victory for me.

As I walked to my first class, I couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia. Greek Studies reminded me of my past, of the adventures I had been on, and of the battles I had fought. It was a reminder of who I was and where I came from. I was glad that this class would be my first in this new school, it would be a way for me to ease into this new world and not feel overwhelmed.

He walked into the classroom and was greeted by the teacher, Mrs. Johnson. She was an older woman with a kind face and a gentle voice. Her presence was comforting and a look around the class told me she had that effect on many. She introduced herself and welcomed me to the class. Though I could not fathom why, I noticed that there were only a few students in the class, it seemed it wasn't a popular subject.

As Mrs. Johnson began the class, I a sense of familiarity washed over me. The stories and myths that she was teaching were ones that I knew well, ones that I had lived. A wide smile stretched across my face as I listened to her, it was like coming home.

I realised that this class, Greek Studies, would be my sanctuary in this new school, a place where I could relax and be myself without fear of judgment. I was determined to make the most of it and excel in this class. This would be a new beginning for me, a chance to start over and make a name for myself.

Lost in my memories as I was I did not hear the question posed to the class. I looked up to Mrs. Johnson gazing expectantly at her audience waiting for a volunteer. As the silence stretched she asked kindly, "Why don't we get our resident Greek to answer this one, then?"

Despite her demeanour, I froze in my seat. Years of teachers who turned out to be monsters still ruled my instincts.

She must have noticed my unease because she quickly apologised, "Oh I'm sorry dear, it was on your profile. I don't want to put you on the spot." Her eased my mind - but only by half. My body had tensed and my hand fished my pockets for a trustee pen I knew I had left behind.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Johnson I didn't catch the question," I replied in a measured tone.

She huffed and said, "It's on the board dear, are you certain you want to sit so far away?"

With monumental effort, I read the whiteboard as quickly as my dyslexia would allow. "I just forgot my glasses, Mrs. Johnson, it won't happen again," I lied.

"Well anyway, I was just wondering if anyone knew what the three-headed dog that guards the gates of the Underworld was called," she paused then added with an amused smile, "And I assure you it is not 'Fluffy'."

"Oh that's easy, his name is- was 'Cerberus'," I said grimacing at my loose tongue.

"That's right! Well done Percy, but please do pay attention in the future."

Luckily the class soon ended with no further calls for my participation and surprisingly no request for me to stay back after class. That was usually the part where they tried to eat me.

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My second class of the day and the last before lunch break was Chemistry. I groaned at my schedule as I made my way to my lockers to exchange stationery. My textbook for Chemistry was called 'Advanced Theoretical and Practical Applications of Quantum Chemistry: A Comprehensive Guide to Modern Methods and Techniques,' by Dr. Richards. And if the name wasn't daunting enough, the class was held in an auditorium with three massive sliding chalkboards complete with a pull-down projector screen. It seemed that Midtown High took their Sciences very seriously as the class was mandatory for all students. Once again I was sceptical if I really belonged here.

Thankfully the teacher was a lot less interested in the subject he taught than Mrs. Johnson. I could not tell if it was apathy or he simply could not hear the boisterous chatter due to his, let's say advanced age.

A couple of rows ahead of me, a wide-shouldered blonde - likely a member of multiple of the school's sports teams was tormenting a far smaller framed boy with paper planes aimed at the back of his head. He had seated himself right in the middle of the large auditorium and was surrounded by fellow jocks and if high school cliques can be trusted -members of the cheerleading squad as they laughed and joked about how 'Puny Parker was the only one who keep himself awake in this class.'

Although it hurt to agree, he wasn't too far from the truth. Even Mr. Roberts, the teacher had seemingly put himself to sleep mid-lecture. Nobody seemed too concerned, as though this was a fairly usual circumstance and I was starting to worry I would have to fend for myself in this class if I hoped to get grades good enough for a decent university.

The class ended with the bell ringing which comically startled Mr. Roberts awake. He gave his closing statements to the back of most students who were already milling out in urgency.

I knew this would only paint a target on my back, but frankly, high school students could not scare me. I had seen the monsters that roamed in the dark, fought and killed them all my life. And although I was not necessarily planning on putting the jock in his place, I still wanted to comfort this 'Puny Parker.' I never could stand a bully.