Chapter Text
Disclaimer: I am not Disney
Uncanny
Chapter 1: The Water’s Edge
New-York Historical Society Museum
Manhattan, New York City,
New York
United States of America,
November 15th, 2008
Two long lines of students snaked up the gray stone steps of the New-York Historical Society Museum. They shuffled forward with all the enthusiasm that prisoners have on a drizzly day. The granite facade loomed above them with its grand columns, but none of the twelve-year-olds in line were paying attention to the architecture. Percy Jackson certainly wasn’t; he was too busy wrestling the knot of anxiety that was growing in his stomach.
He trudged along near the middle of the pack, shoulders hunched under his wrinkled blue Yancy Academy polo shirt. A security guard at the museum’s glass entrance gestured for him to step forward. Percy handed over his beat-up backpack for inspection and stepped through the metal detector. It buzzed once, but the guard waved him through after Percy showed him his empty pockets.
Behind him, a loud beep rang out. Percy glanced back to see Jack Kellystriding through the detector with a smirk as the alarm sounded. Jack casually emptied a fistful of coins from his pocket onto the tray the guard held out. Sauntering through on the second try, Jack smirked at everyone who would look. Mrs. Watt, the chaperoning teacher, pursed her lips but didn’t scold him. If it had been anyone else in the class, especially Percy, they’d already be getting an earful from her. But since it was Jack Kelly, nephew of the ever-so-important Senator Robert Kelly, he wouldn’t get into any trouble, as he could do no wrong.
Jack caught Percy’s gaze and gave the smaller boy a shoulder check, making Percy stumble from the force of the impact as Jack passed. “What’re you staring at, Jackson?” he muttered, just loud enough so only Percy could hear.
Percy's hands tightened into fists. A retort burned on his tongue, but he swallowed it. It’s not worth it, he told himself. He stepped aside, letting Jack swagger his way ahead to join his buddies at the front of the group. A couple of them snickered as Jack joined up, throwing Percy mocking glances. He forced himself to ignore them and instead fell back into line with the back of the group.
Inside the museum’s lobby, the students fanned out into their assigned tour groups. Percy, in an ironic twist of fate, ended up in a group with Jack, two of Jack’s friends, and some quiet girl from his homeroom. Great, Percy thought to himself grimly. Stuck with the resident bully and his minions. Mrs. Watt gave their group a stern once-over, her gaze lingering on Percy as if he were the troublemaker to watch. Once she seemed satisfied with her warning, she turned them over to the museum guide, Mr. Jennings.
The tour began uneventfully enough. Mr. Jennings led them through the museum's echoing halls, which were filled with Revolutionary War artifacts. Percy tried to listen to the guide and his spiel about colonial New York, but his mind was elsewhere, and his attention began to wander. It felt like every adult in the building was on edge. He caught snippets of the hushed, whispered conversation among the museum staff about the need for extra security. They were talking about “that incident in Washington last week” and the destruction that followed. And it might have just been Percy’s imagination, but every time the word mutant was mentioned, whether it be by a guard talking into his radio, or by a couple of old ladies by an exhibit. But every time that word was mentioned, their voices would drop to uneasy murmurs. There was a heavy tension in the air that clung to everything, no matter how hard people tried to ignore it.
As they moved further into the museum and into a quieter gallery, Percy began to become aware of something that most of the others wouldn’t have even thought about, let alone noticed. The steady rush of water through the pipes hidden behind the walls. He had always been oddly attuned to the sound of water, but since he had turned 12 a few months prior, it had begun to distract him more than usual. The whisper of plumbing in this old building hummed at the edge of his brain, pulling his focus away from Mr. Jennings and his lecture.
They entered a new exhibit, this one focused on the early 19th century and the city's early water system. In the center of the room stood an old wooden water pump, mounted behind a rope barrier. Almost subconsciously, Percy drifted toward it. The iron handle was rusted in place, with a placard attached to the rope that explained the pump's significance. Percy ran a finger along the rope, his mind wandering back to just how hard people had to work then just to get a drink of water,
He exhaled slowly, trying to brush off his tension. This morning, he had woken up feeling out of place and on edge, something that hadn’t let up as the day drifted on. He missed his mom. He missed his little sister, Bella. He didn’t miss stepdad, Gabe. Boarding at Yancy Academy always left him feeling homesick, and now, as he listened to the guide drone on, and on, while Jack and his friends sniggered about something behind him. He felt more and more frustration build and swell within him. What am I even doing here? He thought. A kid born with too much pressure and not enough patience, or that's what his mom always joked about him being. Today, he didn’t find that joke as funny as he normally did.
He turned away from the pump, intending to rejoin the rest of his classmates and the group. As he did, he caught the voice of Jack Kelly again, snide and low. “Must be tough, huh, Jackson?” Jack’s voice was dripping with faux concern for Percy. “Not knowing who your dad is and all.”
Percy froze at the bully’s comment. His jaw tensed as nerves began to fire through his neck. He pivoted to glare at Jack. “Shut up,” he muttered, keeping his voice hushed so the adults in the group wouldn’t notice.
Jack stepped closer, emboldened by Percy’s response. “I’m just saying,” he whispered, his eyes gleaming with malice. “Your mom’s got, what, two kids with two different daddies? Does she even know who your dad was? Or was he just another one-night stand in her life?”
Percy's heart hammered in his chest as it slammed against his ribs. Jack had overheard more than one conversation between Percy and the teachers or the headmaster regarding Percy's struggles with his home life. It was no real secret that Percy’s father was absent, but hearing Jack drag his mom into it made Percy’s vision turn red. Still, he forced his jaw to unclench. “Don’t talk about my mother,” Percy warned, a dangerous quiver in his voice.
Jack smirked. One of his friends glanced toward the front of the group, where Mr. Jennings was engrossed in explaining a diagram to Mrs. Watt. No one else had noticed or cared that the four boys were lagging behind the rest of the group. “Or what?” Jack sneered. “What’s little witty Percy gonna do> Face it, your mom’s a nobody who—”
“Shut. Up.” Percy’s whispers turned harsh and ice-cold. He stepped closer to Jack, staring up at the taller boy with his teeth bared. His hands were trembling at his sides. He could hear the water flowing through the pipes along the wall, and bizarrely enough, it felt like the pipes were echoing the blood rushing to his ears,
Jack's grin only widened. He had Percy right in his grasp, and he knew it. “Hit a nerve, did I? Fine, let's talk about your sister instead.” Jack’s voice dripped with cruelty. “Bell, right? Heard she had some kind of episode at her school. Flipped out and got herself kicked to the curb. People are saying that she’s nothing but a real psycho. Maybe she’s a mutant freak, and like those freaks, someone should teach her a lesson.”
Percy didn’t remember moving, but suddenly he had a fistful of Jack’s shirt. “Take it back,” Percy hissed, fury spiking through him. No one insulted Bella. No one.
Jack’s eyes flickered with momentary surprise, but a split second later, he snorted instead. “Touchy, touchy,” he mocked Percy and his rush to aggression. “Guess the truth hurts, huh?”
Before Percy could even think about what he was doing, he gave Jack a hard shove. Jack stumbled back into the old pump display, letting out an audible grump as he crashed into it. One of Jack’s cronies let out a muffled curse. “Yo, Jackson, what the hell, man?” the kid asked, still laughing like it was a joke.
But Percy wasn't laughing. All the anger and the hurt that had been coiling within him since the day began suddenly surged forward like a wave.” He stepped towards Jack, his fists clenched and shaking with rage.
“Hay! What’s going on back there?” Mrs. Watts shrill voice cut through the air. Up front, Mr. Jennings paused his talk about some boring display to cast a disapproving look towards the commotion.
Percy realized that every student in the group was now looking their way. Jack immediately syraigjtened, smoothing his shirt quickly, and putting on an innocent face. If Percy hadn’t already had the displeasure of knowing Hack, he would’ve thought him to be innocent as well. Something that aggravated Percy as he forced his hands to open and tried to slow his breathing back down to a normal pace. Don’t make a scene. Not here.
“We’re fine, ma’am,” Jack called, with an earnest and innocent tone that immediately infuriated Percy. Mrs. Watt narrowed her eyes at them, but then quickly turned her attention back to the exhibit and to Mr. Jennings.
Jack leaned in towards Percy, his voice a faint whisper dripping with poison. “I’ll deal with you later,” he spat. Then, as if nothing had ever happened, he lifted his chin, holding his head high, and strolled back to the front of the group, his cronies following right behind him.
Percy's pulse was sky high; in fact, he was pretty sure he could feel his blood pressure go through the roof from that interaction. His whole body vibrated with a thin, restrained rage. He wanted to scream or punch something (preferably Jack’s face), but he sucked in a deep breath instead. In his mind, he pictured a crayon drawing that Bella had given him the last time the two of them were home together. It was of the two of them scrawled together in the bright stick figure style that only a then six-year-old could’ve doodled. The memory of her and the absolute faith that she had in him made Percy's chest ache once more, but this time, instead of anger, it was for longing and regret.
Clenching his jaw, Percy fell back into line as the tour moved onto the next room.
By the time they had reached the museum’s lower level, Percy had managed to bottle up his temper again. But the pressure was still there, simmering just below the surface, as a shaken-up soda can just waiting to be opened. The group filed into a dimly lit gallery showcasing the old city's infrastructure from the 19th century. It was filled to the brim with old construction tools, the brick sewer lines, and an old water main. Fittingly, the entire thing smelled like a combination of rust and damp stone.
Mr. Jennings began describing an ancient model of the Croton Aqueduct, but Percy stood at the back, barely listening. He couldn’t stop replaying the insults that Jack had unleashed at Bella in his mind—mutant Freak. The slur gnawed at him, not just because of Bella, but because a small, fearful part of him wondered if it was true. Sure, she’d always been a little different, who wasn’t? But some of the things that she told him about dug at him. Like last year when they were all at Montauk together, Percy and her got into some huge fight, and just out of nowhere, a huge wave surged up, soaking them both. Or the time Percy went to surprise her on her birthday earlier this year, and saw she was being bullied, then out of nowhere, the water fountain broke, drenching the bullies. He had convinced himself that these were just exaggerations of his memory or coincidences. But what if they weren’t?
“Psst.” A hiss from the front of the group jostled Percy from his thoughts. Linda, the quiet girl who was stuck in their group, was staring at him with wide-open eyes. “Percy,” she whispered, pointing urgently towards the center of the exhibit hall, “look.”
Percy followed her gaze. Jack and two of his friends were standing near a glass display case, whispering and snickering about something. Jack was mimicking an old man, who was at the museum, even exaggeratedly mocking the cane that he was using. It was too late for Percy to realize how far behind he drifted from the rest of the class. He was hugging the wall, effectively isolated on the opposite side from the rest of the class; his only company was Lisa and the old metal pipes hugging the wall.
Before Percy could catch up, Jack's voice rang out mockingly loud, the bully having grown bored of making fun of the elderly. “Hey, Percy!” he called out, using a false friendly tone. “Come check this out, man!”
Every instinct within him screamed at Percy that this was a setup. Up ahead, he saw Mrs. Watt and the museum guide occupied with one of Jack's cronies. No one was paying attention to Jack’s little theatrical performance.
Percy set his teeth and approached the bully warily. “What,” he muttered when he got within a few feet of Jack.
Jack slung an arm around Percy’s shoulder in a grotesque mockery of camaraderie and friendship. Percy tried to shrug him off, but Jack held firm, steering him towards the center of the exhibit hall, back towards the roped-off old water main display that loomed in the museum's dim lighting. The rusted iron of the pipe curved beside them, smelling of damp metal and age. Jack’s grip tightened on Percy’s shoulder like a vice.
Percy tensed up. Up close, he could see Jack’s freckled face pulled into a wide grin that didn’t reach or match the coldness within his eyes. Around them, the gallery was momentarily quiet. Mrs. Watt and the guide were still distracted by one of Jack’s cronies asking them dumb questions up front. The other students and groups were keeping their distance from everyone else. Only Linda hovered at the edge of the room, watching with nervous eyes. Everyone else was too busy pretending that nothing was happening.
“What’s the matter, Jackson?” Jack cooed under his breath, his voice cruelly sweet and dripping with condescension. “You look jumpy.” He gave Percy a little shake, his taller frame looming over Percy’s. To any casual onlooker, it might’ve appeared almost friendly, just two boys looking at an exhibit. But Percy could feel the threat as Jack dug his fingers into his shoulder. His heart thudded against his ribs, anger and adrenaline mixing into a volatile cocktail in his veins.
“Get off me,” Percy hissed at the bully quietly. He tried to twist out from under Jack’s arm, but Jack only yanked him closer. The bully’s breath was hot against Percy’s ear.
“Or what?” Jack whispered. Percy scrunched his nose up as he caught a whiff of Jack’s lunch on his breath. The mixture of old peanut butter and something sickened Percy; he actually felt his stomach churn at the smell. “You’ll shove me again? Maybe throw another weak punch? Go ahead.” Jack’s tone hardened as the fake friendliness was dropped and replaced by cold rage. “Give me one good reason, you little punk. I dare you.”
Percy’s hands curled into fists once more. All of a sudden, the room began to feel humid, and then the room began to flood with the sound of churning water, sluggishly dripping through every crevice. But there was no clear sign of any water; if anything, it was like Percy’s senses were suddenly tuned sharply to the pipes throughout the museum. A drop of cold sweat began to make its way down his neck. He didn’t want a fight, not here, not after the warning he had already received from Mrs. Watt. But Jack was leaving him with little choice.
Jack leaned in even closer, until Percy could make out the triumphant glint in his eye. “Yeah, I remember all of that. You must’ve thought you were so tough back there, shoving me,” he snarled under his breath. “You’re going to regret that. Think I won’t hit back just ‘cause we’re in public, and people are watching?” He laughed in a soft sound, emulating a predatory sound. “Think again.”
Percy’s muscles coiled. If Jack swung at him, Percy was fully prepared to swing back, consequences be damned. His simmering anger was starting to boil after tamping it down for so long.
But Jack didn’t hit him. Instead, the bully’s lips twitched and grew into a nasty smirk. “You know, maybe I see why your dad bailed on you,” Jack whispered. “Probably knew what a little freak he knocked into your mom.”
Percy went rigid. “Shut up,” he breathed, his voice shaking with fury. He could feel his pulse pounding at his temples. Jack’s words sliced deep, ripping apart the raw wound about Percy and his absent father, a subject that always hurt, and twisting it with that word: freak. Freak. The same insult that Jack had just slung at Bella, not even five minutes ago, still echoed within Percy’s head.
Jack’s grin widened, clearly happy that he was continuing to needle Percy. The bully had found the tender spots in Percy’s armor and was grinding salt onto the wounds. “What’s the matter? Did I hit a nerve? Maybe your dear old daddy was a freak, and that’s why he ran off, so that nobody would know. Mommy probably never told you that part.” Jack chuckled at the sight of Percy’s trembling body. “Yeah.. that might explain your psycho sister too. A family of freaks pretending to be one happy little family. All headed up by a sick mom who’s into the freaks too, it’s absolutely disgusting.”
Percy couldn’t breathe. A red haze crept into the edges of his vision as anger coursed trough hm. His pulse drummed in his ears. From the corner of his eyes, he saw that Jack’s two cronies were rejoining the group, flanking the bully. All the ambient noise in the museum rushed away. He could barely breathe.
“Let me go,” Percy hissed under his breath, trying to wrench himself out from under Jack’s arm. But Jack held firm, his fingers still digging painfully into Percy’s shoulder.
“No, I mean it,” Jack continued, voice still loud and mockingly. “Your mom was too busy sleeping around to know which freak daddy fathered her freak children.” Jack cocked his head, eyes glittering with malice.
Percy saw red. Rage and humiliation ignited within him. Without thinking, he jammed his elbow into Jack’s side, hard. Jack grunyted, his arm loosening just enough for Percy to slip free. “What did you say?” Percy’s voice came out low and dangerous, trembling with fury. He dimly realized that the other students in their group had gone silent, all pairs of eyes fixed now on the brewing confrontation. But he was no longer afraid; he wouldn’t let anyone insult his family like that.
Jack recovered from the elbow jab, and his expression twisted into anger at the feeling of being struck. Still, he managed to keep up the pretense of a friendly scene for anyone watching. “Hey, relax,” he said, laughing as if Percy was the one fooling around. But his eyes were cold. “I’m just saying, you never know. Maybe all of you being mutant freaks runs in the family.”
The slur rolled out so easily from Jack’s tongue that for a brief second, the rest of the class forgot how to speak. Somewhere behind the two of them, Pervy distantly heard Linda sucl in a sharp breath, and one of the other boys in the class mutter, “Oh, damn,” under his breath.
“Take that back,” Percy managed, his voice barely above a whisper. His throat was tight, the words scraped out raw.
Jack gave him a cruel, toothy grin. He took a step closer, towering over Percy by a few inches. “Or what?’ he taunted, keeping his voice down now so that only Percy and his friends could hear. The act was quickly dropping; to any other onlookers, it might’ve looked like a friendly huddle, but Percy could see the hatred in Jack’s eyes. “What are you gonna do, Jackson? You’re nobody. Your mom’s nobody, and your sister is gonna be nobody.”
Percy followed his instincts. One moment, he was trembling, barely holding back his rage, then the next second, his hands were bunched in Jack’s shirt. “Shut your mouth, leave me the hell alone!” he snarled. “Don’t talk about my family.”
Jack's smirk faltered for a second as a look of shock came across his face at Percy’s display of strength. “There he is,” Jack sneered softly. “There’s the real Percy.” He flicked a glance back towards the cronies who inched closer and closer to the two of them. “See? Push the right buttons and the monster within him comes out.”
Percy’s breath was coming out fast and shallow. He wanted to do nothing but rip Jack's head off. The only thing stopping him from acting was the realization of how many eyes were on them after he yelled at Jack. The quiet girl, Linda, hovered several feet away, having put some major distance between herself and the boys once Jack strolled over to Percy. And Jack’s lackeys stood on either side of Percy, blocking him in and covering any escape path he could take to escape conflict. Mrs. Watt was still distracted by Mr. Jennings, as the tour guide was showing her an antique water pump.
Just by looking at Jack's face and the cold expression within his eyes, Percy was dug the wrong way. A cold, electric sensation began to flood through his veins. Suddenly, Percy felt every drop of water in the building, and bizarrely enough, it was like he could see it. A series of interconnected lines throughout the walls of the museum; the plumbing of the museum carries water behind the scenes. He sensed the pressure within the pipes, water urging to get out behind all the old valves, and rusted metal joints.
Jack was still talking, but Percy couldn’t hear him over the blood rushing to his ears. All the pressure, all the tension that had been building throughout the field trip was boiling over. Fury and panic coiled around his chest, telling him to look for a way out.
He shovedJack hard. Jack stumbled back, nearly losing his footing on the polished marble floor. One of Jack’s friends lunged forward, trying to grab Percy. “Yo, chill,” the kid started, his voice filled with nervous laughter.
Percy ducked, avoiding the other kid’s grasp. “Take. It. Back.” Percy’s words came out as cold as ice, each syllable vibrating with barely restrained emotion.
Jack straightened, rubbing his chest where Percy’s fistful of shirt had choked him. His face contorted into rage to match the look that was building within Percy. “Don’t touch me, you little freak!” he began, then lunged.
He swung his fist at Percy’s face. Percy, reacting on instinct, ducked. Jack’s fist whistled past him, close enough that the hair on the side of Percy’s head was moved by the air. Off-balance from missing, Jack’s fist kept going, crashing into the glass display case behind Percy. The case rattled, and Jack let out a loud grunt of pain as his fist bounced off the gasp. The rest of the kids gasped.
For a split-second, everyone froze. Percy found himself standing a few feet away from Jack, chest heaving, hands still balled into fists. Jack pressed his hand softly into his other hand and winced, anger blazing in his eyes. The injury wasn't anything serious, but it wasn’t the physical part of it that caused Jack to be this angry; it was the wound to his pride. But Percy didn’t care about Jack’s pride. The fear and adrenaline coursing through him had fully morphed into fury.
Jack recovered and growled at Percy. “You’re dead, Jackson.” Then, he lunged again, both arms outstretched as if he intended to grab Percy by the throat.
But in that exact moment, something burst inside Percy’s head, much like a dam giving way. Whether it was the insults or the threat on his life, he didn’t know. All he knew was that one second he was glaring into Jack’s gloating face, and the next a deafening crack split the air.
For a frozen heartbeat, neither boy moved. A spiderweb of fractures raced along the length of the ancient water main beside them, splitting the rusted metal like glass. Percy had the distant thought that Jack must have damaged it when he shoved him, because now the pipe was bursting apart at the seams. Then came a high-pitched whine of pressure escaping, and the entire display exploded in a torrent of water.
Ice-cold, foul-smelling water erupted out of the shattered pipe with the force of a cannon. Percy saw Jack’s eyes go wide, saw his mouth open in a startled scream, but the scream was lost as a wall of water blasted directly into Jack’s chest. The bully was flung off his feet and sent flying backward as if hit by a truck. He crashed into a glass display case behind him with a sickening thud, shards raining around him as he slumped to the floor, drenched and gasping.
The initial explosion was followed by a continuous geyser of water gushing from the broken main. Years of sediment and rust came with it, the spray murky and powerful. Percy stood at the epicenter, soaked to the bone in an instant. The water struck him, too, but strangely, it didn’t knock him over. It swirled around him, surging outward as if he were merely a conduit. He staggered, legs braced, sputtering and trying to see through the sudden deluge. The whole gallery was transformed into chaos: alarms began blaring as water pooled across the floor, and students were shrieking in panic.
Percy wiped his eyes just in time to witness one of Jack’s buddies scrambling away on all fours, completely soaked and swearing in terror. Another one of Jack’s friends had been knocked flat and was crawling behind an exhibit pedestal. The same old man with a cane Jack had been mocking moments ago was lying on the wet floor, struggling to sit up as water rained down. Percy’s stomach lurched with guilt.
He didn’t remember willing any of it to happen, but on some level, Percy knew he was responsible. There was no denying it. The water had listened to his anger and reacted as violently as he felt. It had exploded outwards in his defense, and everyone he was witness to it.
Through the ringing of the alarm, Percy heard Mrs. Watt’s voice screech out, panicked. “Everyone, get back! Get away from there!. The teacher came running towards them, her feet sloshing in the standing water that filled the exhibit hall, stopping short a few feet away from the students. She stared at Percy in horror as he remained standing in the deluge, while Jack was sprawled out on the ground, miraculously avoiding all the broken glass. Mr. Jennings rushed over as well, his pants soaked and sticking to him. He looked at the fountain, to Percy, then to Jack as the bully moaned and rolled on the ground. The guide's eyes were huge with confusion and fear.
Jack coughed and sputtered, trying to pull himself upright. Water rained down on him, his expensive Yancy uniform now stained brown from the age and rust of the water. “H-he did that,” Jack hoarsely shouted, jabbing a finger towards Percy. His face had contorted into actual fear now. “Percy did it! He’s a mutant! He just attacked me!” Spittle flew from Jack's mouth as he scrambled to get away from Percy, almost cutting himself on the shattered glass as he made a hasty retreat.
Mutant. The word rippled through the exhibit hall like a lightning bolt. Mrs. Watt visibly got sick, and one hand flew up to her mouth to cover it. A handful of the other museum guests and the students all began to whisper frantically. Percy couldn’t hear what they were saying, but from the fearful looks they gave him, he got the gist.
He took a shaky, small step forward, hands raised in surrender. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” He stammered out, opening his mouth to apologize more, but the shrill command from Mrs. Watt quickly cut him off and silenced him.
“Percy Jackson, don’t move.” Her voice shook, high and thin with panic. Just as Mr. Jennings was, she was drenched from the knee down, and her eyes were round, showing unmasked fear. She looked at Percy warily, as if he were wielding a live firearm in the Museum. “Just… just stay right there.”
Percy's heart was in his throat. All around, the museum was filled with the sound of marching footprints as museum security guards began to flood into the hall. One of them uttered a command into a walkie-talkie, as two others began to wade through the water towards Percy. “Code M,” he barked into the walkie-talkie. “Possible Mutant incident at the infrastructure exhibit. Send backup.”
Mutant. Hearing that word again sent fresh spikes of dread throughout Percy. He glanced around desperately, praying someone would defend him. Linda, the quiet girl from earlier, was huddled near the doorway with the rest of the students. Her eyes were frightened and locked on Percy. She looked like she wanted to say something in Percy’s defense, but one of Jack's cronies yanked her by the hood of her jacket, positioning himself between Percy and her, treating Percy like he was a wild animal.
Percy opened his mouth, searching for the words that would free him from this nightmare. But what could he possibly say? The evidence was literally raining from the ceiling, from the walls, and they were standing in 2 inches of it. The echoing of the alarm made it hard for Percy to think; even covering his ears, he could still feel it pounding within his skull. His breath came fast and shallow. He could feel everyone’s eyes on him, his classmates, the teachers, the other museum goers, everyone. And he hated it. The whispering of the word “mutant” and the pointing made him wish he were literally anywhere else in the world.
Percy tried once more. “I…” his voice faltered again. He wanted to say that it was just an accident, something within the old piping just broke. But even he didn’t believe it, no matter how much he wanted to. The truth was written on the face of every other person in the museum. Percy wasn’t normal. He’s one of them, the ones that everyone fears. A freak. Jack was wrong; it wasn’t Bella who was the “mutant freak” in the family. It was him.
Jack, having recovered some of his earlier bluster and bravado, scrambled back up to his feet. He was trembling, drenched from head to toe, and covered in shallow cuts from where the glass had nicked him. But still, he pointed accusingly at Percy, holding one trembling finger out at him again. “Get him away from me! That freak is nothing but dangerous!” His voice cracked, and fear was evident. Percy realized with a mixture of grim satisfaction and despair that Jack, the worst bully he ever experienced, was terrified of him now.
The guard who first reported Percy as a suspected mutant stepped forward. “Son,” the man started firmly. “I need you to come with me, and slowly. Don’t try anything stupid.” The other two guards had their hands resting on their guns, their eyes never leaving Percy.
For a split second, Percy was sure he was going to hyperventilate and pass out in the water. His entire body felt shaky and weak now that the burst of power had passed. He raised his hands back up in surrender, still shaking as he did. “I, I’m not dangerous,” even as he said it, he didn’t believe it. His eyes drifted around, taking in all the damage he had caused just by losing his anger. A fresh wave of guilt washed over him.
“It was an accident,” Percy repeated, his voice small and frail. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”
Mrs. Watt just shook her head sharply, cutting him off with just a look. “Quiet.” She was attempting to regain even a small modicum of control, but her face was ashen, and defeat was evident across it. “Percy, just be quiet. You’ve done more than enough damage for one day.”
One of the guards splashed past Percy, marching over to the still sputtering water pipe. With a heavy crank, he turned it. After a few seconds, the water slowed to a drizzle before silencing all at once. The alarm fell silent shortly afterwards, though the terrified murmurs of a scared crowd continued.
“Everybody out now.” Mr. Jennings ordered, wanting to get rid of the students. “Back to the buses now.” The fear was evident in his voice as well, especially as he continued to cast scared glances at Percy. Percy saw his classmates shrinking away from him as well, skirting the edges of the fully destroyed exhibit hall to avoid him. A few shot himlookeds that were a mixture of fear and morbid fascination, but the rest couldn’t even look at him, refusing to meet his eyes.
Linda lingered near the doorway, her brows knitted in concern. She opened her mouth to speak, but one of the other kids in the glass grabbed her wrist and pulled her away with the rest of the class. “Come on,” Percy heard the girl mutter to Linda. “Don’t go near the freak.” Linda cast Percy an apologetic, terrified look as she was dragged away with the rest of the students.
Within moments, Percy was stuck, alone in the museum, his only company was the security guards and Mrs. Watt. Water began to slowly flow past their feet, the nearby drains on the museum floor finally being opened. The old man with the cane was being helped up by one of the security guards. He wasn’t physically harmed, but he was staring at Percy in a way that made the boy feel like he was a monster. Percy couldn’t blame him; he felt like a monster.
Mrs. Watt swallowed hard before assessing the guards. “We have buses outside; we need to take our students back to the school immediately.” She then flicked her gaze at Percy. “Even this one.”
The first guard frowned, the radio still clutched in his hand. “Ma’am, we can’t let him go. He just cost over a million dollars in property damage.”
“He’s twelve,” Mrs. Watt snapped, though her voice was strained. Percy could tell she was trying to avoid more of a scene than had already happened. The last thing that Yancy Academy needed was headlines about their student. Or maybe she was just desperate to pass him off to someone else. She drew a shaky breath. “We’ll…report the incident to our headmaster. And the authorities, of course.” Please. Let us return to the school. The headmaster will handle this internally.” Her tone suggested that the term ‘handle’ meant something very final for Percy’s time at Yancy.
The guard hesitated, then exchanged looks with his two partners and the museum staff that was moving in to start the cleanup process. “Fine, go,” he conceded with a curt look at both Percy and his teacher. “But don’t think we won’t be calling the school about this.” He pointed a finger at Percy, jabbing the boy in the chest. “And you, stay out of trouble. Next time it could end worse for you.” His meaning was clear: if Percy screwed up again, he could end up in jail or worse. Instead of verbally reposing, Percy just lowered his gaze to the ground and gave a shameful, stiff nod.
Mrs. Watt didn’t wait for a second moment, already turning on her heel and nudging Percy to move ahead of her. “This way,” she ordered Percy, her voice taut. She maintained a good four or five-foot distance between her and her student as she ushered him out towards the bus. Percy could see the pale and anxious faces of his classmates as he stepped through the doorway to join them. A hush fell over them as he walked up to the bus. Some were edging themselves away from him, as if at any moment he might explode again.
The walk to the bus was a blur. Percy felt numb, his ears still ringing from the alarm. He was soaking wet, shoes squelching with each step, and he wrapped his arms around himself to combat the cold November chill. The class filled in behind Mrs. Watt in an unusual and uneasy silence. Normally, after a field trip, the students were loud and as boisterous as could be, but not now. Instead, the sixth-grade class of Yancy Academy silently and stoically climbed on board the bus, shooting glances at Percy, as if he carried the plague.
Percy took the empty seat by the window and didn’t look back. The bus doors folded shut with a hiss, sealing him in with the silence and the stares. Rain streaked down the glass, blurring the museum lights into pale smears as the bus lurched forward. No one spoke to him. No one sat near him. Percy wrapped his arms around himself and stared out at the city sliding past, the word mutant still ringing in his ears. Whatever he had been that morning, he wasn’t that anymore. And he had no idea what he was supposed to be now.