Hey! It's Rachel, for the second time today with another story... I was looking back through my writing tumblr and I remembered this story. I re-read it, and realized how much I liked it, so I figured I'd post it. I would've put it in Scribble but it's over 1k words so I figured I'd make it it's own thing. I really like it. I thought it wasn't great when I first wrote it, but after re-reading it... it's grown on me. I love writing younger Percy.

Prepare for some angst, ladies and gentlemen. This is my favorite kind. c:

Disclaimer: I don't own PJO.

- Three -

Percy hated school.

He hated the teachers, the students, the classes, and even the old, crumbling building. The military school that he attended for fifth grade had looked promising in the brochures, but no such luck. The rules were too strict, the teachers were too apathetic, and the students too rowdy and impolite. Not to mention that Percy was one of the youngest people there—being a delinquent at eleven was, actually, not very common.

None of the teachers cared about him. Some even went as far as teasing him about his dyslexia and ADHD, as if he could help the fact that he'd been born that way. And the kids were merciless about it as well—they came up with new, demeaning things to call him every day. None of them wanted to be friends with him. Even among rejects, he wasn't wanted.

He didn't tell his mother this, though, in any of the letters he sent her. He told her about school in the vaguest way possible, sugar-coating all of the bad parts (everything) and highlighting the things he liked (nothing). He wasn't exactly sure if it qualified as lying, but he still felt bad when he sent the letters. It was better than unloading all of his problems on her when she already had enough to deal with. He made her life so, so hard and there was no way that he was going to make it worse by telling her he hated everything. She was paying good money for him to be there, anyway. Let her at least think it was going to good use.

Today, he'd been sitting in science class, dozing off as his teacher had been droning on about the different things that were necessary to human survival. Food, water, air… blah, blah, blah. As if he didn't know that he'd die if he didn't eat or drink or breathe.

"There's one last thing that few people know is necessary to survival," she said, pacing back and forth in front of the students. They all looked just as bored as Percy was. "Human contact."

Percy blinked and sat up in his chair. What did she mean 'human contact?'

"Studies conducted in the past have shown that children who grow up without proper amounts of positive touches are more prone to becoming involved in illegal behaviors, having depression, anxiety, or being more aggressive," she continued. "Some results have even shown that babies who are fed properly and kept in sanitary conditions can even die if there's no physical contact. Which, I believe, makes it necessary for human survival."

Percy frowned. He has wasn't hugged everyday and he was fine. Right?

"On average, a human needs a minimum of three instances of positive contact each day. More is always better, but three is enough." His teacher's eyes swept across the classroom. "It's been said that positive contact while one is young is a way to subconsciously assure someone that the world is a safe, welcoming place. It's also used to convey positive emotions like love or care."

She looked at the class—a bunch of bored, angry teenagers who'd been dumped there as a last resort. "How do you think not having these things could drastically change a person's life?"

That night, Percy couldn't fall asleep. He tossed and turned in his bed, unable to get the thoughts of his science lesson out of his head. Surely you could be just fine if you weren't hugged. There were tons of people who'd grown up in rough places but turned out great when they got older. Percy shouldn't be worrying about it. He was…

…not fine.

You're in a military reform school, dummy, his mind whispered. You've been kicked out of every other one you've ever been to. You've never had friends. How is that fine?

He suddenly thought of his mother, the one person on the planet that seemed to actually care whether or not he existed. He thought of how she kept sending him to these far away boarding schools, making sure that he was only home a couple times a year and during the summer. He'd always reassured himself that it was because she didn't want him near his stepfather, but he wasn't so sure anymore. It was almost like she was trying to get rid of him.

He was a mistake, after all, wasn't he? Like he believed the load of bull that his father had been 'lost at sea.' His mother had probably just accidentally gotten pregnant, didn't know where the father was, and was just too caring of a person to have an abortion. So she would just send him away somewhere else, let the teachers and principals deal with him.

His eyes stung. No wonder she'd always recommended he'd go to a boarding school year after year. He looked like his father, anyway—she probably didn't want to have that around. A constant reminder. Maybe she figured he'd do better on his own. But he couldn't even do that. He couldn't make friends, or get good grades, or even be good at anything. He couldn't even stay out of trouble long enough to make it through one school year.

Tear stains appeared on his pillow. He wondered how he could end up so lonely even though he tried so hard.

He thought of the three touches again—had he had his for the day? Well, one of the girls a little older than him had shoved him out of her way while she'd been moving through the hallway. That didn't exactly count as positive. Another boy had tripped him in history. A teacher had hit him over the back of the head with a ruler when he'd accidentally fallen asleep in class. Someone had thrown a paper ball at the back of his head at lunch. Someone had 'accidentally' elbowed him in the gut…

Percy gingerly reached up to wipe the wetness off his face with the back of his hand.

One.

He let his fingers rake through his too-long hair, brushing the damp strands out of his face as he rolled over on his side. He could almost imagine that it was his mother's hand, not his.

Two.

His arms wrapped around his body, hugging himself, as if he could hold himself together with just pure willpower.

Three.

I tear up a little whenever I read this, which is rare because I usually only cry while I'm actually writing, since the images of the scene are fresh in my mind. Poor little bby...

Also, I am aware that's it's supposed to be eight touches. I kinda screwed that up when I wrote this...

Did I tell you guys that I'm reading the Chaos Walking series? I mean, everyone on tumblr knows because I don't shut up about Todd (who is now one of my favorite characters) but I really love the books. They're my favorites now, right up there with Incarceron and Percy Jackson. I'm on Monsters of Men, which I plan on finishing on the plane ride Thurday. Thirteen hours... oh god... But oh man I ship Todd and Viola so hard it's not even funny. And Todd is officially one of my bbies...

Anyway, hope you all are having a lovely day. Feedback will forever brighten my day and my gmail inbox. :)