Hi, my name is Atty Jackson. Short for Atalanta, like the Greek hero. I’m also a demigod. What’s a demigod? Half human, half god. Sounds sweet, right? Not really, no. It sucks. Most of the time it gets you killed in some pretty gruesome ways (there’s a good reason I’m not into vore).

In this story, I’m 16 years old. I’m a trans girl from New York City. I was a student at Yancy Academy, a boarding school in upstate New York for troubled kids.

Was I a troubled kid? Oh for damn sure I was.

It’s hard to tell how much of my life had been fucked, but it was definitely a majority. I had a tendency to get kicked out of schools for some of the strangest shit. Like that time I managed to blow up a school bus with a canon that definitely should not have been loaded. I don’t even know how I managed to make it fire, it just did. There was also the time I once hit the wrong lever on a catwalk during a behind-the-scenes tour at an aquarium, and managed to make my entire class take an unplanned swim with the sharks. I was weirdly calm about the whole incident. Those were more accidental. Then there were things that were much more my fault, such as the many times teachers caught me smoking, a habit I picked up a couple years earlier. Was it healthy? No. But it helped me deal with my shitty life. I did try to stop, for my mom at least, but it was hard. That time I got caught in a compromising position with another student was probably a good reason for me to be expelled the year before, at least. Might not  have helped my case that the student in question was a guy and the teacher who caught us happened to be very homophobic.

‘But, wait a second, Atty,’ I hear you ask, ‘aren’t you a girl?’

Yes I am! But was that teacher accepting that? Hell no!

Whatever, it turned out the guy was an ass anyway, claiming I had ‘tricked’ him and he didn’t know. Oh he fucking knew, alright, he just didn’t want to get in trouble. And, of course, he got off scot-free while I was stuck with in-school suspension for the remaining two months before exams.

This year, I was determined to be good, or at least seem that way. I did my homework, at least trying to do it on time. I tried to make sure I actually looked at people talking to me, despite how much torture it was. I did still smoke sometimes, but I at least never got caught. I also didn’t make out with any of my classmates again - not that I even wanted to, most of them were rich assholes, and the only one I really considered a friend, Grover, wasn’t really my type. He was a sweetheart, sure. Just not my type.

He was scrawny, he cried when he got frustrated, he had this wispy little goatee on his chin and some bad acne. He also has some sort of muscular issue with his legs, so he was excused from PE (lucky bastard), and always walked with a limp. Don’t let that fool you, however. You should have seen him run when the cafeteria was serving enchiladas (oh yeah, one of the benefits of a private school like this was actually decent cafeteria food).

And he was my best friend. Well, he was my only friend.

I didn’t get along well with other people - Grover and my mom being the exceptions. Sure, I had this cool aloof skater girl vibe going for me, but unfortunately, due to me being trans, anything I got from that was basically nullified in the eyes of anyone who found that out. Even if they never found that out, me ranting about something I really liked, like Pokémon, tended to give them pause.

See, I’m what’s called autistic, which means my brain is wired so differently from most other people that I genuinely could not understand what could possibly go through their heads. Most normal social cues would fly right past me. I also have ADHD, which makes it very difficult for me to focus on one thing at a time. Unless of course I was actually into the thing. Then I could go for hours looking into the thing to the point where it was suddenly 4 in the morning and I didn’t even finish my supper that was right next to me. I also have Dyslexia, which made actually absorbing the information about things I liked really hard since most of the time it was all in written form. There was this one website, YouTube, which was starting to get big, and everything on there was in video form, so that at least was nice, even though I never found that much of interest to me.

One day that school year, near the middle of May, my class was taking a field trip out to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in Manhattan. What an amazing idea, Yancy, sending a bunch of irreverent teens to go see ancient greek pottery and shit.

I did have some hope, however. Our Latin teacher, Mr. Brunner, was leading the trip after all.

Why did I have hope? I’m glad you asked.

Mr. Brunner was middle-aged. He used a motorized wheelchair. He had thinning brown hair with some gray and a scruffy beard. He always wore this frayed tweed jacket, which for some reason smelled like coffee (as for how I knew that - it was a pretty strong smell). You wouldn’t get the impression he’d be all that cool, but you’d be wrong. He would sometimes hold these tournament days where he’d dress up in this set of Greek armor he had and challenge us sword point against chalk to run up to the board and list every Greek figure we could think of. Fortunately, he never marked me down for misspellings, so I actually did alright most of the time. Even outside of that, he had this way of speaking that managed to keep even me engaged. I actually found I enjoyed his class, despite all my difficulties.

The actual stories he told? All those ancient Greek legends and myths? They were endlessly fascinating; horrifying, but fascinating. Something that especially fascinated me was the story of that guy who once accidentally spotted Artemis - the virgin Goddess of the Hunt - taking a bath, and as punishment he got turned into a woman. I always figured younger me would’ve loved to have that happen, but as it was now, I basically had no more dysphoria, so it was no more than an idle thought.

All the way there on the bus I had to put up with Nancy Bobofit - this crazy kleptomaniac girl with bright red hair and freckles - chucking bits of crackers and her peanut-butter-and-ketchup sandwich at the back of Grover’s head. What a waste of food. And I couldn’t even do anything about it.

Remember how I mentioned I was trying to be good that year? Well, easier said than done. I had gotten into a fair few fights, not to mention being disruptive in classes (excuse me, but those cramps are killer, ask any of my cis girl classmates, Mr. Nichol you motherfucker). As it was, for the duration of this trip, I was on probation. The headmaster had threatened me with death by in-school-suspension if anything bad, embarrassing, or even mildly entertaining happened on this trip... Asshole.

Regardless, I wasn’t going to finish off the school year in ISS again, so I was determined to not do anything except listen attentively to Mr. Brunner, follow the tour, eat my lunch, get back on the bus, and sit in my seat for the trip back. Obviously I figured my luck wouldn’t hold up the whole trip, but I let myself hope - big mistake.

Grover dodged another chunk of sandwich.

“I’m gonna fucking kill her,” I mumbled. Grover heard me anyway.

“It’s ok, I like peanut butter.”

Nancy threw another bit of her lunch at Grover, but missed and hit me instead.

I turned around. “What is your problem?”

Nancy smiled sweetly at me. “Oops.”

I snarled, and started to get up, but Grover grabbed my arm.

“Atty, no. You know what will happen if you do anything.”

I grudgingly sat back down. Fortunately, Nancy had hit me with a cracker instead, so I just brushed the crumbs out of my hair.

I half expected her to say some shit about me being some pervert who just wanted to watch girls change - it’s not my fault the school decided against giving the changing rooms stalls - but instead she just tossed another chunk of sandwich at Grover. I was seriously beginning to wonder if she actually planned on eating lunch.

About the changing room bullshit. Technically the school couldn’t actually prevent me from using the girls’ bathrooms and changing room, and had to use my name, Atalanta Jackson, instead of my dead name - which I do not plan on telling you, thank you very much - thanks to my mom finally managing to push through all the paperwork and get my name and gender legally updated over Christmas. Of course, half the teachers found other ways to show their displeasure at having to accommodate my ‘delusion.’ Fortunately, Mr. Brunner had been great about calling me ‘Atalanta’ and ‘Atty’ the whole school year. It would kinda suck when I inevitably had to move schools again and leave him and Grover behind. It wasn’t just the teachers taking issue with my transgender status, but plenty of students as well. Fortunately, next year, my second to last year of high school, no one would know I was trans. I could successfully present as a girl without anyone suspecting anything. Small mercies. That’s assuming I did have to move, which was absolutely a guarantee.

When we got to the museum, Mr. Brunner led the tour. He led us into the Greek and Roman sections, showing us all sorts of items that were several thousand years old. That was mind-blowing to me, the fact that these fragile bits of pottery and whatnot had survived that long. He gathered us around this massive thirteen foot tall column, and explained how it was a grave marker - a stele, he said - for a girl even younger than us. He lectured about the carvings on the side, which was pretty fascinating, since some of them pertained to Greek myths I actually liked, especially one about my namesake, Atalanta. I was trying to listen, but everyone around me kept talking. Like I said, irreverent. Every time I tried to tell them to shut up, the other chaperone, Mrs. Dodds, would give me the evil eye.

Mrs. Dodds was this little math teacher from Georgia, who always wore a black leather jacket, despite being fifty. She looked mean enough to ride a motorcycle right into your locker (which has actually happened before at a previous school, so it wouldn’t surprise me). Honestly, the way she presented herself, I would probably find her hot had she been closer to my age. She had come to Yancy around halfway through the semester, after the previous teacher had had a nervous breakdown. I figured she had intimidated the poor guy into leaving.

From the day she started teaching, she had loved Nancy Bobofit, and despised me - although, she always gendered me correctly, which was odd. I was used to the people who hated me also calling me a man. Every time she caught me acting up, she would point a crooked finger at me and say, ‘now, honey,” all sweet like and give me after-school detention for a week (I mean seriously, a week for doodling?).

One time she made me erase answers out of old math workbooks until midnight (for no damn reason too, it’s not like these workbooks would ever be used again, we all had to buy our own new at the start of the year). Afterwards, I told Grover I didn’t think she was even human. He just looked at me all serious-like and said, “you’re absolutely right.” A little unsettling, I immediately had to excuse myself to go smoke to calm my nerves. Seriously, don’t do shit like that Grover.

Mr. Brunner continued talking about the art on the stele, discussing artwork of one particular hero who I will not be naming because I cringed a little every time he mentioned the name - it was my deadname after all. No one else noticed me, but Mr. Brunner thankfully moved on pretty quickly.

Eventually, Nancy snickered something about the naked guy on the stele (there are several naked guys on the stele, you blind bimbo). I turned around to face her and said, “will you just shut up?”

It came out louder than I intended. The whole group laughed, and Mr. Brunner stopped his lecture.

“Ms. Jackson, did you have a comment?”

I flushed. “Uh, no, sir.”

Mr. Brunner pointed at one of the carvings on the stele. “Perhaps you’ll tell us what this picture represents?”

I looked at the carving he was pointing at,  and nodded. “Yeah, uh. That’s Kronos eating his kids, right?”

“Yes,” Mr. Brunner said, obviously hoping for me to continue. “And he did this because…”

“Well, Kronos was the king god - no wait - king Titan.” I took a breath. “And… he didn’t trust his kids, who were the gods - or at least some of them - because of some prophecy his dad made when Kronos killed him. So he ate them, right? But his wife, I think her name was Rhea, hid baby Zeus and gave him a rock to eat instead - which is weird, since how did he not notice it was a rock and not a baby? Anyway, later, after Zeus grew up, he tricked his dad into drinking something that made him throw up his other kids-”

“Ewww,” said one of the girls behind me. I rolled my eyes. We weren’t in middle school anymore, grow up.

“-who, being immortal, had survived being in their dad’s stomach and had grown up completely undigested, although it probably wasn’t a pleasant childhood. Afterwards the gods and Titans fought, and the gods won.”

Some of the other students snicker at my explanation. Fuck them, this stuff was fascinating.

Behind me, I heard Nancy Bobofit mutter, “oh, like we’d ever need to use this in real life. Like it’s going to ask on our job applications, ‘please explain why Kronos ate his kids!’”

“And why, Ms. Jackson, to phrase Ms. Bobofit’s excellent question, would any of this matter in real life?” Mr. Brunner asked.

“Busted,” Grover muttered.

“Shut up!” Nancy hissed at him.

“Ms. Bobofit, please refrain from using such rude language when conversing with other students, thank you. Ms. Jackson?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know, sir. I mean, it’s all interesting, but I suppose it wouldn’t matter unless you were an archaeologist in Greece or I suppose if those stories were real. But they aren’t, and I don’t really want to be an archaeologist.”

“I see. Well, Ms. Jackson, you are indeed right that this would matter a lot were these stories real, as that would make them actual ancient history. You are also indeed right in your recounting of the story itself, although you did miss the detail of the mixture Zeus gave his father being that of mustard and wine, a rather nasty sounding mixture in my opinion. When the gods then defeated their father, they sliced him into small pieces with his own scythe, and scattered his remains in Tartarus, the darkest part of the underworld. On that delightful note, it’s now time for lunch. Mrs. Dodds, would you please lead us back outside?”

The class drifted off, some students looked nauseous, not that I entirely blamed them, and some of the guys were shoving each other around and acting like doofuses. So glad I wasn’t actually a part of that demographic.

Grover and I were about to follow, but Mr. Brunner called, “Ms. Jackson.”

I knew that was coming.

“Keep going, Grover. I’ll be ok.” I turned towards the teacher. “Sir?”

Mr. Brunner had this look in his eyes that wouldn’t let you go - intense brown eyes that seemed thousands of years old and had seen more than you could ever imagine.

“You must remember the answer to my question,” he said.

“About the Titans?”

“About real life, and how your studies apply to it.”

“Oh.”

“What you learn from me, believe it or not, is vitally important, to you especially, and I expect you to treat it as such. I will accept only the best from you, Atty Jackson.”

I wanted to get angry, but couldn’t. He pushed me so hard. Sure, the tournament days were cool and all, they were fun. But Mr. Brunner expected me to be as good as everyone else. Sure, I could remember all the things he lectured about, but focusing enough to complete assignments or write the tests was next to impossible. I had so many difficulties with learning in any normal school environment, and I barely ever managed to get above a C- in my entire life. No, he didn’t expect me to be as good, he expected me to be better. And that pressure was a bit much for me.

I mumbled something about trying harder, while Mr. Brunner took a long sad look at the stele, as if he had been to this girl’s funeral.

“Go outside. Eat your lunch. Relax before we need to go back.”

The class had gathered on the front steps, which basically made us a hazard to anyone else trying to visit the museum, which wasn’t many people.

Overhead, a huge storm was brewing, with clouds darker than I had ever seen over New York. I figured it might have been global warming or something, because the weather had been completely bizarre since Christmas. I once brought it up to Grover, and some asshat religious kid had overheard and said it was God, trying to tell me I should be a boy. I had decked him for that. Got detention, but it was worth it.

We’d had snowstorms in April, flooding, and wildfires started by lightning strikes. I wouldn’t be overly shocked if this was a fucking hurricane.

Nobody else paid any attention. Some guys were throwing crackers at some pigeons. Nancy Bobofit was trying to pickpocket some lady while she was on the phone, and, of course, Mrs. Dodds didn’t see a thing.

Grover I sat on the edge of the fountain, away from the rest of the class, as if somehow people wouldn’t think we were part of that group - the school for loser rich kids who couldn’t make it anywhere else - despite the school uniforms definitely giving us away. I hate school uniforms. When I had turned up in a girl’s uniform at the start of the year, I had basically immediately been given detention and forced to wear a boy’s uniform. Fortunately, after my documents were updated, I was able to wear my proper uniform unharassed, but I still hated it.

“Detention?” Grover asked.

I shook my head. “Not from Brunner. I just wish he’d lay off me sometimes, I’m trying my best.”

Grover didn’t say anything for a while. Then, when I thought he was going to say something inspirational and philosophical to cheer me up, he said, “can I have your apple?”

In spite of myself, I cracked a smile. I handed the fruit to him.

I started eating my sandwich. Yummy bacon and cheese. Just what I needed. I watched the cars on Fifth Avenue, and let my mind wander. I thought about my mom, only a few blocks away from where we were sitting. I hadn’t seen her since Christmas, and was missing her quite a bit. I was sorely tempted to jump in a taxi and head home. She would be overjoyed to see me, but she would also be disappointed. She’d send me right back to Yancy, reminding me that I had to try, even if this was the 10th school in 10 years, and I was almost guaranteed to get kicked out again. I wouldn’t be able to stand the sad look she’d give me.

Mr. Brunner parked his wheelchair just to the side of the handicap ramp. He ate some celery while reading a paperback novel - I couldn’t make out the title. A big red umbrella stuck up from the back of the chair, making it look like some sort of motorized cafe table. I couldn’t help but giggle a little at the sight.

I was about to start on the granola bar in my lunch when Nancy Bobofit appeared in front of us with her friends - I guess stealing from the tourists was getting boring or something - and dumped her entire half-eaten lunch (what was left of it) in Grover’s lap. Seriously, what was with my classmates and wasting food? Those perfectly good pickles!

“Oops.” She grinned at me.

I tried to stay calm. The school counselor had told me millions of times, ‘count to ten, get control of your temper.’ Real useful advice, I know. It never worked. My mind went blank. A wave roared in my ears.

The next thing I knew, despite not remembering touching her at all, Nancy was on her butt in the fountain, screaming that I’d pushed her. Using my deadname of course. Bitch.

I was tempted to shove her under the spray, but just then Mrs. Dodds materialized next to us.

Some of the other students had come up to see what was going on. Some were whispering: “Did you see?” “The water…” “like… it grabbed her.”

I didn’t know what they were on about. All I knew was, I was going to be in ISS until the end of the year again. Hooray.

As soon as Mrs. Dodds was done making sure Nancy was ok, promising to buy her a new shirt from the gift shop, she turned to me. There was a fiery look in her eyes, as if I’d done something she’d been waiting for all semester. “Now, honey.”

My heart sank. “I, uh-”

“Come with me,” she said.

“Wait!” Grover yelped. “It was me! I was the one who pushed her.”

I stared at him, sure my ears had malfunctioned. He was trying to cover for me? Mrs. Dodds scared him to death!

She glared at him so hard he started trembling.

“I don’t think so, Mr. Underwood.”

“But, I-”

“You will stay here.”

Grover looked at me with desperation.

“It’s ok dude. Thanks for trying,” I said.

“Honey, now!” Mrs. Dodds barked at me.

Nancy smirked. I gave her a look promising death. I turned to face Mrs. Dodds, but she had disappeared. She was now standing all the way at the top of the stairs, by the museum entrance, gesturing impatiently at me to hurry up.

How on earth did she get up there so fast?

I have moments like this a lot, where it feels like my brain just fell asleep and the next thing I knew I’d missed something. The school counselor told me this was part of ADHD, my brain misinterpreting things. Another had told me it was because of my autism. Still another had said it was both.

I wasn’t so sure.

I quickly jogged up the steps after Mrs. Dodds.

Halfway up, I glanced back at Grover. He was pale, his eyes cutting back and forth between me and Mr. Brunner, as if he was hoping Mr. Brunner would notice the situation, but the Latin teacher was absorbed in his novel. Must’ve been a good book.

When I turned back to look at Mrs. Dodds, she was no longer just outside the entrance, but way back inside the entrance hall.

Ok, I thought. So she’s going to make me buy Nancy a new shirt. I had no idea how she planned on doing that since I didn’t have any money on me.

But that wasn’t the plan.

I followed her deeper into the museum, confused out of my mind. What the fuck is going on?

When I finally caught up to her, we were back in the Greek and Roman section.

Except for us, the room was empty. She stood, staring at a big marble frieze of the gods, her arms crossed. She was making this weird noise in her throat, like growling.

Even without that, I would be incredibly creeped out. Being alone with a teacher is something I prefer to avoid, especially after something that had happened a couple years before which I will not be going into. Being alone with Mrs. Dodds was especially weird. The way she looked at the frieze, scowling as if she wanted to pulverize it. I half wished she did. Maybe if she got arrested, I could avoid detention.

“You’ve been giving us problems, honey,” she said.

“Uh, yes ma’am.”

She tugged at the cuffs of her jacket. “Did you really think you would get away with it?”

The look in her eyes was beyond mad. It was evil. It terrified me.

She’s a teacher, it’s not like she would hurt me, right?

I said, “I- I’ll try harder, ma’am.”

Thunder shook the building.

“We are not fools, Atty Jackson,” she said, her voice gaining a strange, snarling quality to it. “Confess, and you will suffer less pain.”

What the heck?

I had no idea what she was talking about. Had my smoking habit somehow been found out? This seemed like a bit of an overreaction. Or maybe they’d figured out I got my essay on Life of Pi off the internet and never actually read the book, and now they were going to take away my grade. Or worse, make me read the book.

“Well?” She growled.

“I, uh-”

“Your time is up!” she hissed.

Then things got really strange. Her eyes started glowing. Her fingers stretched, becoming monstrous talons. Her jacket shifted into large leathery wings. She really wasn’t human. She was a shriveled up hag with bat wings and massive claws and a mouth full of fangs, and she was about to slice me to pieces.

Things continued to get even stranger. Mr. Brunner, who’d been out in front of the museum not long before, wheeled into the doorway to the room, a pen held in his hand.

“What ho, Atty!” He shouted, throwing the pen to me.

Mrs. Dodds lunged at me.

I yelped and dodged talons, slashing the air next to my ear, barely missing getting caught in my hair. I snatched the pen out of the air, but when it hit my hand, it was no longer a pen. It was a sword, Mr. Brunner’s bronze sword from tournament days.

Mrs. Dodds spun around to face me again, a murderous look in her eyes.

My knees felt weak. My hands were shaking, but I took a deep breath, steadying myself.

“Die, honey!” Mrs. Dodds flew straight at me.

My blood ran cold. I was absolutely terrified, so I did the one thing that felt natural: I swung the sword.

The blade hit her shoulder and passed through as if she were made of water.

She exploded into yellow dust, vaporized instantly, leaving nothing but the smell of sulfur and a dying screech.

I was alone again. There was a ballpoint pen in my hand. Mr. Brunner wasn’t there, nobody was there except for me.

I had never before smoked something that could cause hallucinations. What the hell had that been? Had someone spiked my lunch?

I quickly ran back outside.

It had started raining.

Grover was still sitting by the fountain, a museum guide tented over his head. Nancy Bobofit was still there, soaked from her dip in the fountain. When she saw me, she said, “I hope Mrs. Kerr whipped your butt.”

I blinked. “Who?”

“Our teacher! Duh.”

I was baffled. We had no teacher named Mrs. Kerr. I asked Nancy what she was talking about.

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever, pervert.”

I asked Grover where Mrs. Dodds was.

He hesitated. “Who?”

The hesitation, coupled with him not looking in the eyes made me think he was messing with me.

“Not funny dude. This is serious.”

Thunder rumbled overhead.

I saw Mr. Brunner sitting under his big red umbrella, still reading his novel as if he’d never moved.

I walked over to him.

He looked up at me. “Ah, that would be my pen. Please bring your own writing utensil in the future, Ms. Jackson.”

I handed him the pen. I hadn’t even realized I was still holding it.

“Sir, where’s Mrs. Dodds?” I said.

He gave me a blank stare. “Who?”

“The other chaperone, Mrs. Dodds. The functions teacher.”

He frowned and leaned forward in his seat, looking concerned. “Atty, there is no Mrs. Dodds on this trip. As far as I know, there has never been a Mrs. Dodds teaching at Yancy Academy. Are you feeling alright?”