After Megan and Kaleb left the beach, Brad stared vacantly at the waves tumbling onto the sand. His eyelashes were heavy with glue, and his leg still burned from where Kaleb ripped off his blonde leg hair with duct tape. Why does it have to be me? Fuck Kaleb. Fuck him. The waves roared in Brad’s ears. It was all Kaleb’s fault. The abuse. The tormenting. Like his very presence set off a chain reaction that sent all the campers to humiliate Brad and Brad only because Brad was powerless. And power was the only way to survive in camp. “The camp is a safe haven-” The sayter said, his brown face the epitome of sympathy. “-For children like you.” 12 year old Brad blinked. “But no one’s like me. I am better than anyone else in the whole world.” He said, repeating his stepmother, word for word. Being at the camp made him realize how untrue that was. Brad was certainly not better than the people there, and meeting Kaleb for the first time certainly proved that. The first thing noticed little Brad noticed when he stepped into the Hermes cabin was (besides how crowded and drab everything was) a ten year old boy, sitting on the floor. Everybody was chattering with their cabin mates, except him. He had toothpick arms and chickenbone legs and wore an orange Camp Half Blood shirt that was two sizes too big. The boy’s hair was a black, curly mess, and his skin was so white, Brad could see tiny purple veins in his hands. Brad averted his eyes and stared forward at the cabin’s wooden walls, but it was too late. The boy had noticed Brad. The absolute last thing Brad wanted to do was talk to him, but he had to, “What.” Brad asked, crossing his arms. The bone thin boy stared at Brad under his jungle of black hair with intense green eyes. “What can you do?” Brad sighed. He was so tired. All he wanted to do was sleep and cry and dream homesick filled dreams. “What can I do? What do you mean?” The boy stood up. “What can you do better than everyone else?” Brad couldn’t think of a logical reason why the kid would ask that question. Why did it matter? Why was this place so weird? Why coudn’t everyone be normal? “I…” Brad started, thinking. “I’m good at volleyball.” The boy narrowed his eyes. “Everyone here is good at volleyball. Man, you really must be a Hermes kid. They’re useless.” Red rushed to Brad’s face, and hurt stung like acid in his stomach. The urge to cry burned more than ever. “What can you do?” Brad sniffed. The light in the boy’s eyes shined, as if he was waiting for Brad to ask that question all along. “I can do this!” There was a loud crunch, and the room got significantly colder. The boy shoved his arms in a 90 degree angle in front of Brad’s face. They were covered in large, pointy chunks of ice. Brad blinked again as the wind pushed sand across the beach. That memory was incredibly painful, and one he would rather not revisit. If Brad had to guess, it was a year before Kaleb’s exile. The coldest year in winter since the Ice Age. The child of Aphrodite stood up from the beach chair, fueled by a new passion. What can you do better than everyone else? That was an easy one. Brad could plot revenge.
Why does it have to be me? Fuck Kaleb. Fuck him.
The waves roared in Brad’s ears.
It was all Kaleb’s fault. The abuse. The tormenting. Like his very presence set off a chain reaction that sent all the campers to humiliate Brad and Brad only because Brad was powerless. And power was the only way to survive in camp.
“The camp is a safe haven-” The sayter said, his brown face the epitome of sympathy. “-For children like you.”
12 year old Brad blinked. “But no one’s like me. I am better than anyone else in the whole world.” He said, repeating his stepmother, word for word.
Being at the camp made him realize how untrue that was. Brad was certainly not better than the people there, and meeting Kaleb for the first time certainly proved that.
The first thing noticed little Brad noticed when he stepped into the Hermes cabin was (besides how crowded and drab everything was) a ten year old boy, sitting on the floor. Everybody was chattering with their cabin mates, except him. He had toothpick arms and chickenbone legs and wore an orange Camp Half Blood shirt that was two sizes too big. The boy’s hair was a black, curly mess, and his skin was so white, Brad could see tiny purple veins in his hands. Brad averted his eyes and stared forward at the cabin’s wooden walls, but it was too late. The boy had noticed Brad.
The absolute last thing Brad wanted to do was talk to him, but he had to,
“What.” Brad asked, crossing his arms.
The bone thin boy stared at Brad under his jungle of black hair with intense green eyes. “What can you do?”
Brad sighed. He was so tired. All he wanted to do was sleep and cry and dream homesick filled dreams. “What can I do? What do you mean?”
The boy stood up. “What can you do better than everyone else?”
Brad couldn’t think of a logical reason why the kid would ask that question. Why did it matter? Why was this place so weird? Why coudn’t everyone be normal?
“I…” Brad started, thinking. “I’m good at volleyball.”
The boy narrowed his eyes. “Everyone here is good at volleyball. Man, you really must be a Hermes kid. They’re useless.”
Red rushed to Brad’s face, and hurt stung like acid in his stomach. The urge to cry burned more than ever.
“What can you do?” Brad sniffed.
The light in the boy’s eyes shined, as if he was waiting for Brad to ask that question all along. “I can do this!”
There was a loud crunch, and the room got significantly colder. The boy shoved his arms in a 90 degree angle in front of Brad’s face. They were covered in large, pointy chunks of ice.
Brad blinked again as the wind pushed sand across the beach. That memory was incredibly painful, and one he would rather not revisit. If Brad had to guess, it was a year before Kaleb’s exile. The coldest year in winter since the Ice Age.
The child of Aphrodite stood up from the beach chair, fueled by a new passion.
What can you do better than everyone else?
That was an easy one.
Brad could plot revenge.