I'm BA-ACK! Another great story of mine, also involving the beautiful girl named Emma, my signature OC.


(steps on a podium and clears throat loudly) I do not own the world of PJO or anything related to it. I just own my OCs. Thank you.

Hello. My name is Emma. And I am not your average blond. This is my story.

It was June 30th, my half birthday. Make that my 13 ½ birthday. I was looking in the mirror, (which is not exactly something I enjoy) studying my appearance. Golden ringlets down to my elbow, check. Somehow straight, long side bangs to the left, check. Natural tanned skin, check. Naturally white and straight teeth, check. Stormy gray eyes, check. I actually sort of liked my eyes. When I wore blue, they somehow changed from gray to dark blue, which I still find interesting. Anyway, when I was wondering about how that was even physically possible, my dad's voice rang out from downstairs.

"Emma! Breakfast's ready!"

"Coming, Dad!" I yelled from my room.

I jogged to the hallway and slid down the banister all the way to the bottom of the stairs. I've always been somewhat of a sporty girl, besides the fact that I read whenever I can.

I walked to the kitchen and found my parents sitting at the table, as usual. My dad was doing a crossword puzzle at rapid speed and my mom was watching some dramatic soap opera and chewing on a piece of toast. I don't really look like either of them. My dad had brown, almost to the point of black, hair and hazel eyes. My mom had yellow, yes, not blond, but yellow, hair and green eyes.

"Morning," I said. I'm not much a morning person, but somehow I managed to get up every morning and feel wide awake by the time I got downstairs.

"Happy half-birthday!" my dad said cheerfully.

"Uh-huh," my mom agreed in a detached sort of tone. I looked over and found her eyes still glued to her stupid show. My dad and I are the intelligent type of people. My mom, not so much.

I put on my signature half-smile and helped myself to some scrambled eggs and toast.

"Ready for softball today?" my dad asked me.

I smiled all the way. "You bet." I was the starting pitcher on my softball team. I sat down in a chair and caught up in my rereading of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.

I had just finished school a few weeks previously, managing straight A's again. Despite my minor ADHD and dyslexia, and the fact that trouble seems to follow me, I'm a model student.

My mom suddenly cried, "No, Angela! Don't fall in love with that idiot!"

My dad and I snickered, but my mom didn't seem to notice.

A few hours later, I was in my softball uniform and heading for my playoff game.

After discussing strategy with the rest of my team, (I was captain) the game started.

"Eew," I told my friend, Kyle, in the stands as I looked at the opposing team. They seemed incredibly big and ugly.

I kept walking until I reached the pitcher's mound. The umpire handed my the big, yellow softball and grunted, "PLAYBALL!"

The first batter seemed the biggest and the ugliest. I started my windup and released the ball at the correct time. Still, I didn't know what went wrong. As it approached the batter, it seemed to catch on fire. I could hear the rest of my team screaming. The umpire didn't seem to notice. The batter batted the fireball right at my head.

I ducked, instantly regretting it. The rest of the other team threw more flaming softballs at me. I must have looked like I was doing some weird tribal dance, the way I had to avoid the fire.

My dad ran up to me from the stands. The umpire protested but my dad yelled, "Shut up!" He told me, "Come on. We have to leave. You're going to a special summer camp your mom wanted you to go to."

"Why would Mom want me to go to a summer camp? She can barely make up her mind about which-"

"Not her, your real mom. I'll explain more in the car. Run. Now."

I ran for my life towards my dad's sports car. I didn't run track for nothing. What did he mean, my real mom? Did that mean that my soap opera obsessed "mom" wasn't my biological mother? The thoughts continued to run in my head as I got inside the car. My dad, already waiting for me, pulled out and raced towards the highway that connected to New York City.

I heard a moan from the back seat.

I turned around and found Kyle.

"What are you doing here?!" I practically yelled at him.

"Should we tell her?" he asked my dad.

"Tell me what?!" I screamed.

My dad gave a stiff nod.

Kyle sighed and said, "You know about Greek mythology?"

"Duh," I huffed, calming down.

"Greek mythology exists. Well, I'm really a satyr," he continued.

I gave a laugh. "HA! No, really. What did you want to tell me?"

"Your mom is a Greek goddess."

"WHAT?!" I screamed so loudly that my dad pulled over.

"I told you the truth!" Kyle bleated helplessly.

"Prove it," I commanded.

My dad started driving again.

Kyle gave a sound of exasperation and pulled off his sneaker. There was a hoof.

"Wha-? No! How?" I stammered.

"I told you I was telling the truth!"

"Fine, maybe you're a goat, but how could my biological mother possibly be a Greek goddess?"

"That's satyr. Anyway, I'll explain at camp."

"What camp is this, exactly?"

"Camp Half-Blood."

"Like in Harry Potter?"

"No, like in real life! A camp for people like you with gods or goddesses for parents!"

"There are others?"

"At least a hundred known ones."

"Where exactly do you come in?"

"I have to get you to camp safely."

"And the alternative is..."

"Getting eaten by a bunch of cannibal monsters."

"I'll take camp."


I settled back in the passenger's seat, thinking how much I now knew. What a half-birthday.