Daughter of Wine

Leo

I wish I could invent a time machine. I'd go back two hours and undo what happened. Either that, or I'd invent a Slap-Leo-in-the-Face machine to punish myself, though I doubt it would hurt as badly as the look Annabeth is giving me. 

"One more time." She says. "Exactly what happened?"

I slump against the mast. My head still throbs from hitting the deck. All around me, my beautiful new ship is in shambles. The aft crossbows are piles of kindling. The foresail is tattered. The satellite array that powers the onboard internet and TV is blown to bits, which has made Coach Hedge really mad. Festus is coughing up smoke like he has a hairball, and I can tell from the goraning sounds on the port side that some of the aerial oars have been knocked out of alignment or broken off completely, which explains why the ship is listing and shuddering as it flies, the engine wheezing like an asthmatic steam train. 

I choke back a sob. "I don't know, it's fuzzy." 

Too many people are looking at me. Annabeth, who scares me. Coach Hedge with his furry goat legs, his orange polo shirt, and his baseball bat. The newcomer, Frank. And Calli, who I has awoken just in time to see collapse on the deck in exhaustion. I had been worried that I'd killed her, but after a brief time in the infirmary, she had come above deck, wrapped in a blanket, looking pale and sickly, but alive. She has her eyes fixed on me intensely, as if waiting for me to jump up and attack, which I definitely won't.

Annabeth crosses her arms. "You mean you don't remember?"

Calli sits up a little, as if hoping that's the answer.

"I..." I feel like I'm trying to swallow a marble. "I remember, but it's like I was watching myself do things. I couldn't control it."

Calli looks at me, a mixture of anger and sadness on her face that breaks my heart. "I tried to stop you. Whatever it was, it wasn't psychological. It was something physical affecting you." 

Coach Hedge taps his bat against the deck. In his gym clothes, with his cap pulled over his horns, he looks just like he used to at the Wilderness School. The way the old satyr is glowering, I wonder if he's going to order me to do push-ups. "Look kid," he says, "you blew up some stuff. You attacked some Romans. Awesome! Excellent! But did you have to knock out the satellite channels? I was right in the middle of watching a cage match." 

"Coach." Calli speaks weakly from her spot on the floor. "Why don't you make sure all the fires are out?"

"But I already did that."

"Do it again." Calli says it in a friendly way, but it's most definitely a command. 

Even in her weakened state, Coach listens to her. He trudges off, muttering under his breath. 

Calli sighs and leans back, as if the effort of speaking has knocked the wind out of her. She nibbles on a piece of ambrosia halfheartedly. I can tell she's trying her best to look unaffected by what just happened, but there's an aura of exhaustion and fear that emanates from her. 

She's the one whose expression hurts the most. Calli is my best friend, and I'm totally in love with her. She's so pretty, and so cool, and so fun, and just so... herself, that I can't help it. And she seems to adore me, which normally is cool but now she's staring at me as if I've just killed a litter of puppies. 

Annabeth kneels next to me. Her gray eyes are as steely as ball bearings. Her blond hair falls loose around her shoulders, but I don't find her attractive. I have no idea where the stereotype of dumb giggly blondes comes from. Ever since I'd met Annabeth at the Grand Canyon last winter, when she marched towards me with that Give me Percy Jackson or I'll kill you expression, I've thought of blondes as much too smart and much too dangerous.