I always knew my brother and I were different.
From the day he was born, Percy — my brother — has always been special. Mom says that when Percy came into the world, he screamed so loud the doctors thought he'd broken a record. The only thing louder than him was the hurricane outside. Nurses came from across the hospital just to see the newborn who seemed to summon storms. Not even a minute old, and Percy was already a beacon of chaos.
Me? I wasn't that exciting.
Mom said she almost didn't notice I was there during her pregnancy — they only found out about me when the doctor spotted my hair during delivery. It wasn't the quiet birth that shocked her — it was the chunk of snow-white hair I was born with. Turns out it's called poliosis circumscripta, nothing dangerous, just... different. My legs were different too, covered in patches of scaly skin from a condition called epidermolytic hyperkeratosis. The doctors said I'd grow out of it, but some patches never fully disappeared.
After Percy and I were born, things slowed down for me. I didn't cry much, didn't make big messes, didn't throw tantrums. I just went with the flow. People said I was quiet, well-behaved... boring. And honestly? I didn't mind.
Percy, though — Percy's life was chaos from the start. He didn't have to try; trouble just found him.
When his fifth-grade class visited the Saratoga battlefield, Percy somehow fired a Revolutionary War cannon through the school bus. He swears he wasn't aiming for it, but still — he got expelled. The year before that, on a trip to Marine World, he hit the wrong lever on the catwalk and dumped his entire class into the shark tank. And then there was the time he somehow released an army of eels on his history teacher...
So, whenever I heard Percy had caused some new disaster — a fight at school, a plumbing mishap, a fire alarm going off — I wasn't surprised. I'd make sure he and the victims were okay, but it didn't really faze me anymore.
Until the day I got a call from the police.
My mom and Percy had been declared missing. Their car was found wrecked by the side of the road — flipped over, scorched like it had been struck by lightning. No bodies were found — no survivors, either.
I was devastated. Just days earlier, I'd been on the phone with Mom. They were heading to Montauk for the weekend — our favorite spot. I should've known something was wrong when Gabe answered the phone the day they were supposed to be back. He told me they were "staying longer" and brushed me off like it didn't matter.
It wasn't until weeks later that I realized why.
I couldn't get home. Gabe refused to pay for my ticket. Said, "I don't need to waste money on your stupid plane ride. I already had to pay for your school in Indianapolis. You're staying put until they drag your ungrateful orphaned body off the grounds."
(There was a lot more swearing involved.)
For two months, I knew nothing. No news, no updates — just silence. People kept telling me to move on, that I needed to accept what had happened. The only way I coped was by eating nothing but blue food and baking my mom's favorite cookies in the communal kitchen.
I ended up in the nurse's office once because my hands had literally turned blue.
I wasn't sleeping. My grades plummeted from B's to D's. The only reason I didn't fail out completely was thanks to my headmaster, Mr. Augustine. He tutored me late into the night and walked me back to my room after I passed out from exhaustion more times than I could count.
Then, on June 13th, I finally heard something.
It was the last day of school. My whole sixth-grade class — seventeen burnt-out gifted kids — gathered in the common room. We'd spent the past two years doing college-level work, and now we were huddled around the TV, waiting for our parents to pick us up.
I sat by the entrance, watching the cars roll in. I was supposed to be waiting for Gabe — though I doubted he'd bother. Maybe he'd send a friend to get me. Maybe he wouldn't come at all.
I sighed, resting my head on my suitcase.
I could just walk home from here, I thought. It's only eleven and a half days.
That's when I heard the gasps.
I sat up and turned toward the TV. The screen showed the St. Louis Arch — on fire. Plumes of smoke poured from the building, and panicked crowds gathered below.
The news anchor's voice buzzed through the room:
"Authorities believe the explosion may have been caused by Percy Jackson, a boy wanted in connection with a serious New Jersey bus accident three days ago. Authorities are urging anyone who sees him to contact local police immediately. For our viewers at home, here is a photo of Percy Jackson."
I froze.
On the screen was a blurry image of a blonde-haired boy — scraped up and dirty — running from a smoking bus with two other people.
I couldn't breathe. This couldn't be real. Percy wouldn't — couldn't — do something like that. The guy barely knew how to build a paper plane, let alone a bomb. He didn't even know algebra!
Panic set in. My mind raced through questions: Where was Mom? Did Gabe know about this? Did he put Percy up to this somehow? No — Gabe's lazy, sure, but framing a twelve-year-old for terrorism seemed like too much effort for him.
A hand clamped down on my shoulder.
I jumped, spinning around to see Mr. Augustine standing there, grinning.
Mr. Augustine's grin stretched a little too wide — the kind that seemed forced, like someone holding a smile for a photo long after the camera flash. His dark eyes flicked from the TV screen back to me, gauging my reaction.
"There you are," he said, his voice warm and measured. "I was looking for you."
I didn't know what to say. My mind was still spinning. Percy — my brother — was on national news, accused of something impossible.
"Come with me," Mr. Augustine said gently. "Let's talk."
I let him guide me down the hallway, away from the other kids still murmuring about the broadcast. My legs felt like lead, my breath shaky.
We ended up in his office — a tidy space with shelves full of old books and a faint scent of leather and pine. A polished mahogany desk sat at the center, and behind it, Mr. Augustine's tailored charcoal-gray suit looked completely out of place. The gold rings on his fingers gleamed as he gestured for me to sit down. He always dressed like that — crisp shirts, silk ties, expensive leather shoes — like he was too important to be running a school. Even now, with the heat outside turning most of the staff into sweaty messes, Mr. Augustine's suit looked perfect.
"You okay?" he asked as I sank into the chair. His voice was soft, almost fatherly.
"I..." I shook my head. "I don't know."
"That's fair," he said. "It's a lot to take in."
He leaned forward, folding his hands on his desk. "I know you're worried about your brother, but you need to trust me — things aren't always what they seem."
His words should've comforted me, but they didn't. Something about the way he said it — like he knew more than he was letting on — made me uneasy.
"Do you... do you think Percy really did that?" I asked.
"Of course not," Mr. Augustine said without hesitation. "But the world doesn't care about what's true — only what they believe." He smiled again, slower this time. "That's why you've got to be smart."
I frowned. "Smart how?"
"Smart enough to stay out of this." He tapped his desk with two fingers. "You're going to hear things. People will ask you questions. But you're better off letting this sort itself out."
I swallowed hard. "But what about my mom?"
His smile faltered for just a second — so fast I almost missed it. "Your mom's strong," he said. "She'll be okay. But you?" He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "You need to focus on you right now."
He placed a hand on my shoulder — firm but not harsh. "I'm here for you. I can help."
I wanted to believe him. He'd been good to me when no one else had — tutoring me, keeping me out of trouble, walking me back to my room after long nights of studying. Sometimes he'd stay a little longer, asking me about my day or offering advice. He'd listen when I couldn't talk to anyone else.
He was one of the only people who seemed to care.
But as I sat there, something gnawed at me — a cold feeling I couldn't shake.
"What if Percy needs me?" I asked.
Mr. Augustine's grip on my shoulder tightened — just for a moment. "Your brother's strong too," he said. "He's survived this long. You don't need to get mixed up in something dangerous."
He stood, adjusting his gold cufflinks. "Come on," he said, his smile back in place. "Let's get your things. Gabe's waiting."
I followed him out of the office, feeling more lost than before.
I didn't know then how much Mr. Augustine's words would stick with me — how they'd echo in my head every time I thought about Percy or Mom. I didn't know how much I'd rely on him in the weeks that followed, or how much I'd start to believe that maybe he was the only one who cared.
Mr. Augustine walked beside me as we headed toward the front doors, his steps slow and deliberate — like he didn't want the moment to end. His hand occasionally pressed against my back, guiding me forward with just a little too much insistence.
"You know," he said, his voice smooth, "this might be a good thing."
I glanced up at him, confused. "What?"
He smiled — warm, but oddly rehearsed — the kind of smile that never quite reached his eyes. "Getting away from all this. The noise. The stress. You've been carrying so much." He let out a sympathetic sigh. "You shouldn't have to deal with this alone."
I swallowed hard, unsure how to answer. His words felt comforting — like the kind of thing a dad should say — but there was something about the way he said it that didn't sit right.
"You're stronger than you think," he added softly. "I see it."
I wanted to believe him. Part of me did. He was one of the few people in my life who seemed to get me — who didn't just compare me to Percy or act like I was an afterthought.
The school doors creaked open, letting in a blast of humid air. Out by the curb, a pristine red Triumph Herald waited. From a distance, I could see his greasy silhouette slouched behind the wheel, lazily tapping his fingers on the dashboard.m
Gabe.
Where the heck did he get a Triumph Herald?
But he wasn't alone.
Leaning against the car was a woman — tall, blonde, and way too put together to be seen anywhere near Gabe. She wore a tight red dress that clung to her like plastic wrap and gold jewelry that seemed way too flashy. She had glossy nails, spiked heels, and oversized sunglasses perched on her head like a crown.
Her smile — bright and plastic — froze when she noticed me.
"Who's that?" I muttered.
"That," Mr. Augustine said dryly, "is Sugar."
I blinked. "Her name's Sugar?"
Mr. Augustine chuckled. "I imagine that's not what's on her birth certificate."
I stared at the Herald, heart sinking. I should've known Gabe wouldn't come alone — he always had some new scam or grift to keep himself entertained.
"Listen," Mr. Augustine said, lowering his voice. "If you need anything — anything — you know where to find me." His hand squeezed my shoulder again, fingers lingering. "You're not alone, Y/N."
For a second, I believed him.
Then Gabe honked the horn — a long, obnoxious blare that shattered whatever comfort I'd felt.
"Yeah, yeah," I muttered. "I'll be fine."
I slung my duffel bag over my shoulder and trudged toward the car. Sugar smiled wide as I approached — a little too wide, like she'd been practicing it in the mirror.
"Hi, sweetie!" she trilled, her voice syrupy and high-pitched.
I stared at her. "Sweetie?"
Gabe rolled down the window, grinning like he'd just won a bet. "This is Sugar," he said, too cheerfully. "She's been helping me out — grief counseling and all that." He shot her a wink, like we were supposed to be in on some kind of joke.
"Grief counselor," I repeated.
"Yup!" Sugar chimed. "I'm just here to make sure everyone's... adjusting well."
I didn't know much about grief counselors, but I was pretty sure they weren't supposed to look like they'd just walked off the set of a music video.
"Where are we going?" I asked flatly.
Gabe's grin widened. "L.A.," he said like it was good news.
"L.A.?" I repeated, like maybe I'd misheard him.
"Yeah," Gabe said, still grinning like he'd just won the lottery. "We're gonna be on Good Morning America. Big-time stuff."
I stared at him, waiting for the punchline. "Why?"
Gabe's face turned mock-serious, the same look he'd use when he tried to guilt Mom into giving him money. He sighed dramatically, clutching his chest like his heart was breaking. "It's... it's for your mom," he said, his voice cracking in all the wrong places. "We're gonna raise money to... to help find her."
My stomach twisted. "What?"
Gabe nodded solemnly, like he'd just delivered a eulogy. "The show's doing this big charity thing — donations, awareness, all that." His hand waved vaguely through the air. "I told 'em our story, how we're struggling, how you're struggling... and they want us on the air." He sniffed loudly, like he was fighting back tears. "I figured... you know... if people hear your side of things... they'll wanna help."
I stared at him, my mind racing. Gabe didn't care about finding Mom — he barely cared about me. He never lifted a finger unless there was something in it for him.
"And you need me there?" I asked.
"Of course!" Gabe said quickly, his smile snapping back into place. "You're the kid, the heartstring-puller. People eat that stuff up."
There it was — the real reason. He wanted to parade me around like some kind of prop. I clenched my jaw, trying to keep my voice steady. "You seriously think this is gonna help Mom?"
Gabe gave me his best trust me look — which was about as trustworthy as a raccoon in a jewelry store. "Of course! We get the word out, raise some cash, and boom — we're that much closer to bringing her home."
I felt sick. I didn't know what was worse — that he thought I'd fall for this, or that some small part of me wanted to believe him.
"You're coming, sweetie," Sugar chimed in. Her smile was all glittering teeth and lip gloss, like she was posing for a magazine cover. "It's gonna be great. We'll get you something nice to wear — make sure you look adorable."
Adorable. Like I was some kind of lost puppy.
"I don't need to look 'adorable,'" I muttered.
Sugar's smile twitched, but she kept her voice bright. "Oh, don't be like that. It's for your mom. We're just trying to help."
I didn't know what annoyed me more — her fake sweetness or the way she kept pretending like she actually cared.
Gabe clapped a meaty hand on my shoulder, squeezing just enough to remind me that arguing wouldn't get me anywhere. "Come on, Y/N," he said, his grin tightening. "It's just one little TV appearance. You smile, say a few words... and it'll all be over before you know it."
I wanted to push him away, to tell him to take his fake tears and get lost. But then I thought about Mom — her smile, her laugh, the way she'd hug me after a bad day like it could fix everything.
What if — somehow — this did help? What if some rich guy saw us on TV and paid for a search team or a lawyer or... something?
I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Fine," I muttered.
Gabe's grin stretched wider. "Atta boy."
I climbed into the backseat, sinking into the cracked leather. Sugar slid in beside me, flashing a too-sweet smile like we were best friends. The whole car reeked of cheap cologne and stale air freshener.
As Gabe started the engine, I stared out the window, watching Mr. Augustine linger by the school entrance. His smile was gone now — replaced with something colder, sharper. His eyes locked on mine, and for a second, I thought he might walk over and say something else.
Instead, he just stood there, hands in his pockets, watching us drive away.
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DGW: Hello everyone, thank you for reading. I'm sorry about the revamp but the original version to my story was just... meh. I wanted to better the writing and flesh out some characters. I hope you enjoyed— and if you have any complaints feel free to share.
Word Count: 2905