I found myself running home from school that day, my bullies chasing after me until I reached Hibiscus Road, deciding to magically disappear as I neared the crossing guards. I slowed my run to a walk, cringing in disgust as I pulled pieces of gum and spit balls from my dark curls, thrown there no doubt by Holly and Carol, the biggest tormentors in my life.

I ignored the signs that were taped onto my backpack, ripping them off and throwing them into a nearby trash can as I walked by the village bakery without reading any of the nasty comments on them. Mrs. Silva, the nice old lady who owned the bakery, waved as I passed by, and I couldn't help but return the gesture as she was the closest thing I had to a grandma.

You see, I was an orphan, abandoned in a cardboard box on the steps of the Stetson Orphanage for Girls. From Mrs. Stetson's guess, I was left when I was around six months old, but luckily for me, the hospital bracelet that had been attached to my ankle was still there, and she was able to find out more information about me.

Apparently, my father had died from a drug overdose, and my mom was incarcerated for being caught drug dealing. I guess she thought leaving me in an orphanage would give me a better life than living on the run with her.

But, come on, she didn't leave me so much as a token to remember her by, unlike the other girls I lived with. They all had something they came in with, whether it be their childhood blanket or stuffed animal, a photograph, a letter, or even a family heirloom like their favorite Christmas ornament. And then there was me, the outcast even amongst a group of orphans.

Everything I owned came to me through Mrs. Stetson, who treated me like her own daughter as she had raised me. According to her, I was the only girl in the orphanage who had been abandoned as a baby, the rest of the girls ending up in the home through the death or the incapability of their parents.

Of course, this opened me up to a whole new wave of attacks, especially from the new girl, Kathleen, who gave me one look and decided I was the scum of the earth. I'd constantly find the remains of her pranks in my stuff: bugs in my bedsheets, superglue in my conditioner, marker lines defacing the paint on my walls, and the like.

Kathleen had ended up in the orphanage after her parents had died in a plane crash. Although they were super rich, something had gone wrong with their private jet's engines, and it went down in the middle of the Pacific. A month later, a sailor off the coast of Hawaii said he found some remains of a plane, causing a police investigation. Within a week, the plane was deemed to be the same one that had been destined to take Mr. and Mrs. Fredrickson to their getaway in Japan, leaving Kathleen an orphan. None of her relatives wanted to take her in; I understood why.

I eventually reached my home, punching in the four digit passcode that opened the black iron gates leading into the garden in front of the building.

The orphanage wasn't brand new, but it wasn't falling apart at the seams either. The building itself was four stories high and painted dark green with white trim around the windows and doors, giving it a welcoming appearance. In front of the house, we had a garden that Rebecca, Jade, and I took care of. Each of us had a different plot of land, in where we were allowed to grow anything we wanted with the exception that the plants closest to the iron gates had to be some type of flower.

Rebecca decided to grow hydrangeas, Jade chose peonies, and I chose zinnias, giving the garden a very asymmetrical vibe. Behind our prized flowers, we grew the fruits and vegetables that we ate, cutting back on the costs of running an orphanage greatly. That meant that Mrs. Stetson could take us out into the city every once in a while and have enough money for the thirty of us to go watch a movie or to order in pizza from Mr. Diaz's pizzeria from down the street. It also meant she gave each one of us an allowance of five dollars a week.

Sure, five dollars means nothing to most kids, but for an orphan, five dollars meant everything. Personally, I chose to save up my allowance, knowing that what I planned on buying was more special to me than any candy bar or makeup.

I planned on going a few blocks down, where Mrs. Jones had her bookstore, to buy my favorite series that ever existed in its full glory. A couple months ago, I passed by Mrs. Jones's store and entered, completely enamored by the huge posters and drawings surrounding a certain collection of books. The covers on the books were absolutely beautiful, and hanging above the main display table was an oval-shaped sign that read: Camp Half-Blood in black print on an orange background on one side. On the other side, the sign read: Camp Jupiter yellow print with a purple background.

Immediately curious as to why readers had to pick between two camps, I found the first book titled Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief and sat down in a nearby beanbag chair. By the time Mrs. Jones had found me, I had already finished the book and found myself wanting to devour the rest of the books in the same way Meredith devoured Kit-Kats, which is to say, with a monstrous appetite.

"Goodness me!" Mrs. Jones had yelped when she found me, dropping her broom that had been in her hand. "I didn't know you were here, Andy."

"Sorry to scare you, Mrs. Jones," I had apologized, feeling heat rise to my cheeks in embarrassment. I stood up from the beanbag chair and set the book back onto its rightful stack amongst its copies, my fingers resting on the cover for a few more seconds before I pulled my hand away. "I was just leaving," I had told her as I hefted my backpack over my shoulders, already dreading the chewing out I would get from Mrs. Stetson as it was long past curfew.

Mrs. Jones smiled knowingly at me and said, "You're hooked, aren't you?"

I had nodded sheepishly, rubbing my arm like I did when I was embarrassed. "The way the story is written…it makes me want to read every single thing Rick Riordan has ever written in his life. I love how relatable the characters are, and I love the humor and action and absolutely everything."

"You sound like me once I read The Count of Monte Cristo," Mrs. Jones said, a bright smile illuminating the woman's face. Her blue eyes were shining with joy, as if she had finally found someone else to enjoy books with. "Read everything Alexander Dumas wrote afterwards, and that opened up thousands of different worlds for me."

"You understand!" I had exclaimed, breathing a sigh of relief. Ever since I was younger, I took to reading like moths to a flame. By the time I was eight, I had read every book in Mrs. Stetson's library, down to the Latin-to-English dictionary that had been collecting dust for at least a decade. While my nerdiness made me the obvious target for bullying both at the orphanage and at school, I was happy as long as I had a good book in hand.

"Of course I do, my dear. Otherwise, I wouldn't own a bookstore."

"Would you mind if I came in some other time to read the rest of the series? I promise I'll take very good care of them!"

Mrs. Jones threw her head back and laughed, one that reminded me of beautiful music and the scent of freshly baked cookies in the sense that it made me feel warm and fuzzy inside. "You're welcome here anytime, Andy, just make sure you get permission next time. I'm sure Mrs. Stetson's had three heart attacks by now."

I remember paling at the reminder of my guardian, but still paused to hug and thank Mrs. Jones one last time before tearing down the sidewalk like Hades himself was chasing me. Mrs. Stetson had been relieved at first, hugging me fiercely, and then lashing out, calling me irresponsible for breaking curfew. I hadn't argued, knowing it wouldn't do me any favors. As a punishment, I had to clean the bathrooms for a week, but in the end, it was totally worth it as I spent my afternoons in the safety of Mrs. Jones' store, happily reading.

After I had finished the newest book Rick Riordan had written in the world of the Greco-Roman myths, The Burning Maze, I asked Mrs. Jones how much it would cost to buy the whole series including the accompanying books like The Demigod Files and Percy Jackson: Greek Gods. She gave me an estimate of around three-hundred fifty dollars, and I had smiled, already having two-hundred seventy-five dollars saved up in allowance money.

Now, as I entered the orphanage and left my backpack in my room, I smiled to myself as I picked up the five dollar bill and slid it into the plastic jar I had concealed under my volleyball gear. I had finally reached the amount of money I needed to call those beautiful books my own, and I couldn't be happier.

"Andy!" Mrs. Stetson called from downstairs – unnecessarily, might I add, as I was already making my way down the stairs.

"Coming!" I replied, redoing my hair into a sloppy bun, keeping my hair off my neck. I ran into the kitchen and quickly washed my hands before picking up a knife and a crate of tomatoes, slicing and dicing them into small cubes. It was Taco Tuesday, after all, and I knew for a fact at least ten of us wouldn't touch a taco if there wasn't tomatoes overflowing the shells.

"Where have you been?" Rebecca asked me, pausing to wipe her eyes with her sleeve. Yeah, I hated onion duty.

"Practice ran late," I replied, expertly sliding the chopped tomatoes into one of the three large bowls I had to fill up. "Then I had to deal with Holly and Carol. You know how they are."

Rebecca scowled in response, her hatred towards those two stronger than my own. Ever since the duo had found Rebecca's lyric book in her backpack and then published all her deepest thoughts and feelings all over the school newspaper and social media, she's wanted to decapitate the both of them with Jade's favorite knife. Frankly, I would join her in a heartbeat.

Those two had had it out for me ever since I creamed them at volleyball during tryouts. Not my fault that I could serve and set better than them, but of course, while Coach Furtado beamed at my performance, Holly and Carol conspired to make my life a living nightmare. They tagged my locker with vulgar insults, spread rumors about me at school, and wouldn't hesitate to punch my lights out among other things.

The rest of the time, Rebecca and I worked in silence while Jade hummed under her breath, the musings of a new song. I smiled to myself as Jade's humming grew louder until she was vocalizing a melody I'd never heard before. Once she finished, Rebecca and I clapped, causing for our friend to blush brightly at the praise.

"Knock it off, you two," Jade hissed, but there was no malice in her voice. "If we don't hurry, Kathleen and her lackeys are going to have our heads."

"I'm already done," I said, moving to show my best friends my finished tomatoes. "But that doesn't mean I'm done helping. What else do we need?"

"Would you be a dear and grab the guacamole and sour cream from the fridge in the garage?" Mrs. Stetson asked, walking into the room while wiping her hands on her flour stained apron. "The tortillas, beef, and tofu are almost done, so all I have left is to shred the cheese."

"On it," I answered, depositing my knife and cutting board into the sink before running out of the kitchen.

It was just my luck as the second I walked into the hallway I would run into Kathleen, Mandy, and Ilene, the queen and her favorite minions. "Watch it, freak!" Kathleen screeched, shoving me into the wall. "This is a real Gucci jacket, not a welcome mat!"

"Not that she would know the difference," Mandy teased, pressing her forearm tightly against my throat, giving me enough space so that I could barely breathe yet still completely panic. I refused to give them that satisfaction, so instead I glared directly back at Mandy's beady brown eyes, smirking inwardly when I saw her flinch.

"Right, her mommy was a big dealer and left her here, all alone like the pathetic piece of trash that she is!" Ilene added, kicking me directly in the shins. Luckily for me, I had my kneepads under my pants, so I felt no pain.

All of a sudden, I saw something flying out of the corner of me eye, and it caught the three jerks in the head as well as take out the Welcome sign we had hanging on the wall. The weapon returned to the owner, and I saw Jesse standing there, her polka-dotted covered boomerang returning to her outstretched hand.

"Leave Andy alone, you dirty wenches," Jesse said, her Australian accent more profound than ever, "or would you like another taste of what my boomerang can do?"

The three girls couldn't escape the stairs fast enough, cursing the entire time. "Thanks," I told Jesse, smiling at her as the two of us hung up the fallen sign again.

"No problem," she shrugged, tossing a hand over my shoulder. "So, what are we off to do?"

"Get some guac and sour cream from the fridge in the garage."

"Yes!" she shouted. "I forgot today's Taco Tuesday!"

The two of us laughed at her enthusiasm and quickly returned from the garage with the various containers of guacamole and sour cream that were needed to feed thirty hungry mouths. Jesse set the sour cream on the kitchen countertop and went to help Rebecca set up the dining room, leaving Mrs. Stetson, Jade, and me to finish in the kitchen.

Just as the clock struck seven-thirty, we finished and set out the various bowls out onto the tables. While it would've been nice to have one long table, we simply didn't have the room in the house to do that, so we had three tables big enough for fifteen people each. Seeing that we mostly kept it to ten people per table, there was more than enough room for us to sit comfortably and hold conversation with our friends.

Mrs. Stetson rang her silver bell, signaling that the food was ready.

If you've never seen twenty-six girls – not counting Jesse, Jade, Rebecca, or me – running from three different flights of stairs, it's honestly one of the funniest things I've ever witnessed. Girls are all prim and proper until food is mentioned and then we turn into beasts.

I took my usual seat next to Jade and Rebecca. Jesse decided to sit with us tonight, enjoying herself as she twirled her boomerang in her hand, no doubt causing Kathleen and her friends to blanch at the thought of being attacked again.

Once all thirty of us were accounted for, Mrs. Stetson walked into the middle of the room, and said grace. We all shut our eyes and bowed our heads reverently, even those of us who weren't Christian. For example, Samira was a Muslim, so whenever we said grace, she prayed to Allah.

"Amen," she finished, breaking me out of my thoughts.

"Amen," the rest of us repeated, before digging into our taco building supplies.

Mrs. Stetson typically sat at our table, so we always let her get her share before passing the food around, only serving ourselves what we were certain we would eat. We didn't waste anything in the orphanage, using everything up to its full capacity.

I talked amiably to my friends as I ate, but my mind began to wander back to the book I had been reading earlier in Mrs. Jones' store. I was positive we had that same novel in our library, but I wasn't a hundred percent sure.

I quickly finished off my second taco, turned to Mrs. Stetson, and asked, "May I please be excused?"

She looked startled by my request, as I was always the last one to leave since I helped her clean up. But she regained her composure and said, "Of course, my dear. Just remember-"

"It's my turn on dish duty, I know," I said with a smile, knowing Mrs. Stetson like the back of my hand. She loved everything to be precise and orderly. That's why we had different wheels that dictated our chores and shower schedule for the week, to prevent arguments.

I stood up from my seat and made my way to the second floor, walking into the room that was directly next to my own. Seeing that I had seniority amongst everyone at the orphanage, I got my pick of the empty rooms, and I chose the room right next to the library. My roommate, Leah, bemoaned the fact that I loved reading, because I would keep the lights on in our room past midnight to finish my books while she tried to sleep. Eventually, I found it better to stay in the library to read, that way I wouldn't disturb anyone.

Thankfully for me, Mrs. Stetson was so OCD that even the books in her library were sorted alphabetically, so finding what I needed was a breeze. My fingers stopped on a little black book, the author's, Edith Hamilton, name gracing the spine. I pulled the book from the shelf and read the cover, a small smile forming. Greek Mythology the cover read in big, bold golden letters.

Outside of Rick Riordan's books, I'd never really investigated into mythology myself, but there was this nagging feeling in the back of my mind that told me I was going to need this at a later date. Sighing in a feeling of pure bliss, I took a seat by the windowsill and began reading.

The next day was by far the happiest day of my life, surpassing the time Mrs. Stetson had taken me to my school's volleyball championship for my fifteenth birthday. Stowed away in my backpack under lock and key was my jar of cash that would buy me my birthday gift.

It was May 20th, my sixteenth birthday, and I would be getting myself my favorite novels in the entire world.

I walked home after school, relieved that Coach Furtado had canceled practice, meaning I could leave school without having to confront Holly or Carol on the way home. As I reached Mrs. Jones' store, I found myself positively buzzing with excitement at the prospect at being able to call those novels my own.

When I reached Mrs. Jones' store, I saw her standing behind the register with Mrs. Stetson, a myriad of different colored balloons in their hands. As I opened the door, the little bell over the door rang, signaling that I had just entered.

Both women turned to face me, huge smiles plastered onto their faces as they shouted, "Happy birthday, Andromeda Lilliana Collins!" They let go of the balloons, allowing for them to rest against the ceiling, while reaching for those confetti popper things, laughing in joy as confetti burst from the little containers.

I blushed at all the fuss, saying a meek, "Thank you," my face feeling as if it was on fire.

"You deserve the world," Mrs. Jones said, wrapping me in a warm hug. Somehow, I knew that this was how a mother was supposed to hug, making me somewhat nostalgic for a thing I had never known. "That's why I've decided to adopt you."

I felt myself gaping in shock, unable to comprehend what I'd just heard. Suddenly, the money in my backpack meant nothing to me, not when compared to what I was just offered.

"You want to adopt me?" I spluttered out, my eyes burning with unshed tears. "For real?"

Mrs. Stetson and Mrs. Jones laughed at my reply.

"Yes, for real," Mrs. Jones said, holding up a blue folder with my name on it and a bunch of papers clearly filling its insides. "You're such a joy in my life, and I would love for you to come live with me. Will you?"

"Yes!" I said, launching myself at Mrs. Jones, pulling her in for another hug as tears made their way down my face. "A thousand times, yes!" Once I composed myself, I wiped my tears away and quickly added, "No offense, Mrs. Stetson."

Mrs. Stetson shook her head fondly. "Don't worry about me, dear. I told you this day would come!"

"And, if I'm not mistaken, today's your birthday," Mrs. Jones said, a mischievous smile gracing her lips, the look that said I know something you don't. "Close your eyes."

I did as she asked, and she reached for my hand, leading me into the store. I already knew the place better than the orphanage, but I allowed for myself to be led towards the back of the bookstore, where I knew my favorite display was.

"Don't look yet," Mrs. Stetson said as Mrs. Jones let go of my hand. I heard some shuffling, and a few seconds later, I heard, "Open your eyes!"

I opened my eyes, and instantly, my hands flew to my face in complete and utter shock. Resting on the display table was every single Rick Riordan book ever written, including his adult-targeted series, wrapped up in a huge orange and purple bow. Like a baby, I started crying again, a blubbering mess as I tried to thank both of the women for what they had done for me.

"I know how much you wanted the books, so I thought to give them to you as a birthday present!" Mrs. Jones exclaimed, clearly as excited about my gift as I was. "And we're not done yet!"

"What more could you possibly give me?" I asked, shaking my head in shock. "I've done nothing to deserve this."

"You're my daughter now, and that means I get to spoil you," Mrs. Jones said with conviction, turning to Mrs. Stetson for approval. "Now, follow me. We have one last surprise to show you."

"You're going to love it," Mrs. Stetson assured me, patting me on the back and gently guiding me to the single computer that Mrs. Jones had up at her register.

Mrs. Jones furiously typed away at something on the keyboard before turning the display to face me. What I saw had me reeling in shock, and I stumbled back, bumping into the Harry Potter display that was by the window.

"Y-You're him!" I exclaimed, my face brighter than a tomato. "You're Rick Riordan!"

The man on the display laughed at my reaction, his smile just as friendly as it appeared to be in the pictures on the back of his books. "Yes, I am," he said jovially. "And I heard that it was your birthday."

I nodded rapidly, trying to prevent myself from passing out in front of my favorite author. "I love your works," I said in a rushed breath, like I was afraid his image was going to disappear before I could tell him anything. "I love all of your books, the way you can get anyone hooked in a few sentences and create amazing story lines. I love your character development, even though I'm still upset over some deaths, but I know they were important. Thank you for sharing these amazing worlds you've conjured up with the rest of the world."

Rick Riordan laughed and smiled, blushing slightly at the praise. "I'm glad to hear you like my stories. And as for the character deaths," he stuck out his tongue, causing me to laugh. "No, but honestly, I wrote these books in the hopes that people who don't like to read would learn to love reading or for the people who need a little magic in their lives."

"Job well done," I said, giving him a slow clap. "Once again, thank you for writing what is my favorite series of all time."

"No, thank you for reading. Have a happy birthday! And I hope to hear a response from you once the new book comes out!"

"Don't worry, I definitely will," I said with a small laugh, already imagining his response to what I would write. "Bye!"

"Goodbye!"

And with that, the video call with my favorite author ended. I was still smiling so wide that my face hurt, and I hugged Mrs. Jones and Mrs. Stetson again, thanking them over and over again for that once in a lifetime opportunity.

"How did you manage to do that?" I asked the two of them. "He doesn't respond to anyone on anything!"

"Let's just say, I have some connections," Mrs. Jones said, her blue eyes flashing mischievously.

After that, we decided that Mrs. Jones would take my new gifts back to her house, where I would be moving in at the end of the week after all the proper paperwork was taken care of. I followed Mrs. Stetson back to the orphanage, smiling the whole way back.

That night, I went to bed smiling at the ceiling, overjoyed with how my birthday had gone.