1. This is me, sadly.
I feel like that there is someone out there who understands me better than my mom. What I experienced that couple of days was something that someone would never want to have. Sadly, now I know, there are kids like me also that have the same problems. My ‘brother’ told you in his first story (and I quote) “‘Look, I didn’t want to be a half-blood. Blah, blah, blah..... Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’” You get the point. I don’t get to choose the fate I get. From what the Stoll brothers told me, I seriously need help to change it. Especially when I’m related to someone I really don’t want to be.
The only reason I’m in the States is because I received this letter from Uptown Public School, while in Sault St. Marie, Canada. Apperantly it was for the challenged-physically and the other way...., were giving me a free tuition for a year or two, or something like that. Also on that day, I got a letter from some place called ‘Μισό-αίμα στρατόπεδων.’ Camp Half-Blood. Who were they? I read it then threw it out. It was in pure Greek and in Ancient Greek. No translation needed. Yet, I’ve lived in Greece all of my life. I visited the Parthenon dozens of times. I’ve always felt a connection to that place and the water near the Parthenon.
Anyways, my school was offering ESL, so I took it. My mom always tells me that I was way more special than the other kids in my class. Like I’d ever believe her. On the last day of school, my two friends (they’re twins) Delila and Arissa, told me that when I got to Canada to look for Karsten. They gave me a picture to look for him; they knew my memory wasn’t the best. But what they didn’t tell me was that they were coming with me.
Now, I’m here. Plus I have a huge test today and the school was supposed to help me with this kind of stuff because I’m Dyslexic and ADHD. Karsten, my friend, says I look like someone who he’s friends with. He’s a scrawny kid that has a muscular disorder in his legs, so he uses crutches because he has this limp. He told me he took the liberty of memorizing the cafeteria schedule so we know when enchiladas are being served. That’s day you can’t tell if Karsten can actually walk because, man, can he run. I still keep asking him if he’s really a grade 9 exchange student, that’s what he says and keeps saying. It’s weird because he knows the school like the back of his hand.