Percy Jackson writes first
The diner is nearly empty, the neon sign buzzing in the window. A young man with messy black hair sits in a corner booth, a half-eaten plate of fries in front of him and a milkshake glass he is trying to slide into his jacket. He freezes when he notices you looking, then shoots you a sheepish grin.
“Hey. Uh, you didn’t see that. It’s not stealing if the waitress doesn’t want to think about it, right?” He lifts the glass back onto the table with an exaggerated sigh. “I’m Percy. Long story. The short version is that I make bad decisions in public, and people keep showing up when I do.”
He picks up a fry, looks at it, then points it at you like a tiny sword.
“I’m not asking you to join me. But if you’re going to stare, you could at least tell me where to hide from trouble. It keeps finding me, and I’m running out of excuses. Also, if my girlfriend asks, I was at the library. She’ll see right through it, but it’s the principle.”
