Title: Confessions of a Percy Jackson Fangirl

Genre: Fanfiction—Camp Half-Blood Chronicles (CHBC)

Look, I didn't want to be fangirl.

If you're reading this because you think you might be one, my advice is, close this book right now. Believe whatever lie your mom or dad told you about your books just being books, and try to lead a normal life.

Being a fangirl is dangerous. It's scary. Most of the time it kills you in very emotional ways.

If you're a normal kid, reading this because you think it's fiction, read on. I envy you for being able to believe that books are just books and nothing more.

But if you recognize yourself in these pages-- if you feel your heart racing, eyes widening, muscles tightening, and high-pitched squeals uncontrollably escaping your mouth--stop reading immediately. You might be one of us. And once you know that, it's only a matter of time before they sense it, too, and they'll avoid you.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

~^~

Hi there! If you're reading this, that means you found my diary!

Congratulations!

That mean's you love snooping around in innocent people's stuff!

Aren't you a great person?

Well, since you're going to keep reading this anyways, let me introduce myself.

I'm Kiana, Kiana Kirsten Blackwell. But you can call me Kiki.

And this is my Book O'Feels.

So I guess I should start from the beginning. Okay, not the very beginning, but far enough back so everything makes sense.

I am a fangirl.

There are a lot of fandoms I'm apart of. Like Maximum Ride, Hunger Games, Divergent, Harry Potter, the Kane Chronicles, and the list could go on. But my biggest fandom: Percy. Freaking. Jackson. I'm serious, I cannot get enough of the series. The jokes, the characters, the quests, and the sassiness. And Leo, I am a Team Leoer. Is that even a word? Leoer? Whatever, it is now.

Okay, enough with the fangirling, but don't worry, there will plenty of times to fangirl, trust me. But right now, I need to continue on with my story.

So, I'm in high school. Palmer Woods High School to be exact. Never heard of it? That's because Palmer Woods is in Middle of Nowhere, US of A. I mean, I could tell you what state we're in, but that's kinda useless because our town is nowhere on the maps or Google. You have a higher chance of finding Camp Half-Blood then finding Palmer Woods. And trust me, I've tried looking for Camp Half-Blood. Your chances are pretty slim.

So, since you're already reading this, I might as well tell you now: This story is COMPLETELY true. No joke. If you think it's fiction, then fine. But don't come crying to me when it happens to you. It's like the introduction for the Lightning Thief: Don't say I didn't warn you.

~^~

September 29th, 2014

Dear Diary,

Okay, I'm sorry, BUT THAT WAS THE MOST FREAKING CLICHE BEGINNING EVER. Let me restate that...

Hey Book O'Feels,

Much better. So now that we got that through, I can start writing my feelings and stuff in here like all the other ditzy and dense teenage girls. YAY! Or at least that's what my mom's making me do. But honestly, I'm not as low as them. I don't squeal when somebody mentions One Direction, or faint when I see a picture of Cameron Dallas. But Leo Valdez? Oh my gods, I can't even...

So I suppose we should start in English, since that was where my day began. Oh English class, the place where the teacher tries stop kids in our current generation to not become ratchet, otherwise known as teaching grammar. English, as you can obviously tell, is my favorite subject, but not exactly my favorite class.

The kids in my class, well, let me introduce you to some of them.

We have Lori, Melody, and Abby, the Drew Tanakas.

Then there's the twins, Kyle and Kayla, the Nancy Bobofits.

Oh, let's not forget Bailee, Monica, George, Lance, and Ray, the children of Athena.

And of course there's Cameron and Kenneth, the... Octavians.

Then we have the most disgraceful of them all: Trent, The PJO Hater.

Yes, unfortunately I have to deal with these people. But hey, I do have some friends. I have Avril, she isn't much of a fangirl, but she's freaking awesome. Oh, and Emma, she introduced me to Percy Jackson, so she amazing too. Then there's Brett, he is really into movie making and stuff. I could name more, but these are my, like, besties. They help me get through life and stuff.

Now that you know a little bit about the people I know, I can move on with the story. So today in English, our teacher Mr. Anderson was passing back a test that we took last week.

"Now remember," he stated as he retrieved the papers from his desk. "You can only retest if you got an 84 or below, and the highest you can get on the retest is an 85. The retest times this week are Tuesday morning and afternoon, Wednesday afternoon, and Friday morning and afternoon." Mr. Anderson began to pass back the tests. "If you have any problems with those times, please come speak to me after class."

Mr. Anderson made his way to the back of the class, where I was seated. He put the tests on our desks face side down and strolled off. I quickly turned the test over, heart racing. I prayed that I got at least an 80, my parents would kill me if I got a C or below. My eyes were glued to the top of the paper, where it said in bright red writing: 71. Typical. I'm dead.

Emma glanced up from her test and leaned over. "What'd you get?" She whispered. We weren't allowed to tell each other our test scores while in class but she asked anyway. "I got a 93."

Of course she got a 93, all she did at home was study. Her parents pushed her 24/7, they wanted her to go to Harvard like they did. I took a deep breath, "71." She low whistled as she put her test in her binder.

"I can help you study for the retest if you want," she offered. Emma and I usually study for test together, but we didn't study last week because I was busy. I smiled and nodded, I hope my parents didn't check my grade online before I retest.

Mr. Anderson was back up at the front of the class, pulling up a powerpoint. He grabbed the remote and pressed a button. The title slide popped up, making my heart stop: Unit 2: Greek Mythology.

Okay, I know what you're thinking: you're making this up, there's no way you're studying Greek Mythology in English. But I'm not lying, that's what it said. And I'm not dyslexic either.

"Greek mythology is all around us," Mr. Anderson pressed a button on the remote to change the slide. The slide had a picture of Nike shoes, Good Year, and the Olympics. "Many of people companies use references to Greek mythology on their products, like Nike is named after the Greek goddess of victory." He kept clicking through slides and talking about the history of Greek mythology, popular Greek myths, and other stuff that you and I both know from reading Percy Jackson. Gods, I'm gonna ace this unit.

"I want everyone to turn to page 119 in their textbooks," Mr. Anderson commanded as he put his textbook under the document camera. I pulled out my green Nike drawstring bag and search through it for my textbook. Schist. I left it in my locker.

I rose my hand as Mr. Anderson looked up from his textbook. "Yes Kiki?"

Nervously twirling my dark brown hair around my finger, I asked, "Can I get mine from my locker?" He nodded and I took my hall pass and left the classroom, getting looks from my fellow classmates.

I strolled down the hallway with my thoughts swirling and in my head like a vortex. I couldn't believe my luck! Seriously, I mean, GREEK MYTHOLOGY FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! HOW COULD YOU NOT? I dialed the combination on my lock and opened my locker. Unlike most of the stupid girls who spend thirty minutes decorating their locker during the school tour, my locker is pretty plain (If you don't count all the books in there). I dug through a pile of books before grabbing my textbook for English. Then I grabbed another book (Flipped by Wendelin Van Draanen) for good measure before slamming my locker shut. Then I strutted (Yes, actually strutted. What? I was bored!) down the hallway back to the classroom. Mr. Anderson was talking about popular Greek pieces like The Odyssey when I came in.

"Now, does anyone know who wrote The Odyssey?" Oh puh-lease Mr. Anderson, seriously? As soon as he said that, mine and Emma's hand shot straight into the air (which was kind of awkward for me since I was still walking to my seat). But can you guess who he called on? Nope, not Sally. No, not Bob either (OMGS I'M CRYING NOW). I'll give you one more guess--Haha, it wasn't Billy, but nice guess. No, it was Trent. OF ALL PEOPLE! HE WASN'T EVEN RAISING HIS HAND! I HATE IT WHEN TEACHERS DO THAT!

"Uh, Hamlet?" Oh my freaking gods of Olympus, HE DID NOT JUST SAY HAMLET! Maybe I heard him wrong. Nope, because everyone gave him The Look. "Like I care about stupid Greek mythology, it's not going to help me with lacrosse." Oh yeah, I forgot to mention, Trent plays lacrosse. THE MOST RANDOM FREAKING SPORT IN THE WORLD! Seriously, tell me one person you know who plays lacrosse. Yeah, I didn't think so. Trent is so hopeless that not even Athena's blessing could help him. I mean, come on, HAMLET FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!

Sorry, I keep letting my rant side come out. Anyway, Mr. Anderson gave Trent a look that said Why are you even in pre-AP? Emma groaned before impatiently answering, "It's written by Homer, Hamlet was a character in William Shakespeare's revenge tragedy Hamlet. It is also believed that Homer was a pseudonym for a group of people writing the epics. Gods Trent, GET YOUR FACTS STRAIGHT!" Yep. That's what happens when somebody messes up something Emma deeply cares about.

Mr. Anderson cleared his throat, "May we continue?"