Gabriella's parents split while her mother was pregnant. She has never known her father. But when Gabriella gets sent to Camp Half-Blood after being attacked by a monster, she just might get to meet him. Rated because I'm a hypocrite. Sparrowsong 19:59, February 2, 2010 (UTC)
My name is Gabriella Margalo Grace and I am five years old. Yeah, Margalo. Like the bird from Stewart Little. My mommy thought that was fitting because my daddy ran away before I was born. I didn't like my name very much. If I wasn't being teased about High School Musical and Stewart Little, it was always my last name. People always assumed that Grace was my middle name.
"Gabriella!" Mommy shouted. "It's time to go!"
"Just a minute!" I hollered. "I'm just getting Fluffy!"
I finally found my small, black teddy. He wasn't very fluffy, seeing as I'd had him since I was born, but I couldn't sleep without him.
I then ran downstairs and got in the car, setting my Barbie backpack down on the floor. My stepdad helped me into my carseat.
Mommy looked at me and smiled.
"Your first day of camp," she quietly said. "Yesterday you were a baby, and now you're going to camp."
My mommy was a lot prettier than me. She had black hair, blue eyes, and freckles. She wore black and dyed her hair a lot. Today it had red highlights.
I was one of the plainest, whitest little girls on the planet. I didn't look like Mommy. I was so pale, I looked like a vampire, though Mommy insisted that I looked like an angel. I didn't even have any freckles to make up for it.
I liked freckles. They were cute. Sometimes while my mommy and my stepdad weren't looking, I would sneak into my room and draw freckles on my face with brown and orange markers. Mommy always washed it off, though.
I had blue eyes, too (courtesy of my daddy). But mine were creepy and cat-like. They were more of an ice-blue, not electric blue. I didn't want ice-blue eyes.
I hated my dumb, blonde hair (thanks again, Daddy). People always said I had hair like Tom Felton, probably just to make me feel better about my ugliness. I still wanted hair like Mommy's. Bleach-blonde hair was too boring.
The car trip was about an hour. My mommy opened the door and let me out.
Though my hair was pulled back into a ponytail, it still blew in the wind, which was a bit annoying. But at least it didn't get in my face.
My stepdad took a picture of Mommy and I standing outside camp. Then Mommy took me to camp.
I wasn't wild about it. I would much rather be back at preschool with my friends. But since the teacher turned into a monster and tried to murder me, we didn't really have a choice.
I was a shy girl. I didn't like to be around lots and lots of people. There were a lot of mean-looking older kids, too. I just tried to stay out of everybody's way.
Mommy told me that my daddy would probably be there. Whenever I saw a blonde-haired, blue-eyed guy walk by, I always stared a little and wondered "Is that one my daddy? Is that one my daddy? Is that one my daddy?"
I noticed that at the Hermes table, a lot of the kids looked like me. Maybe one of them was my daddy.
"Hey, where'd you get all that money?" a girl about my age asked.
I smiled at her.
"Sometimes, while my mommy and my stepdad aren't looking, I steal from their wallets," I whispered. "Don't tell anyone, though."
"Wow, that's awesome!" she exclaimed, seeming impressed. Her light green eyes got huge. "How much do you have?"
"Around a thousand dollars," I replied. "I've been stealing their money every day since I was two, and they still haven't noticed. I can't believe how dumb some grown-ups are."
"What's your name?" the girl asked. She seemed friendly. "I'm Harmony Jackson."
"My name is Gabriella Grace," I responded.
Harmony looked kind of familiar, though I didn't think I'd met her.
I saw a guy staring at me. He had blonde hair and a funny scar over his eye.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"Uhh, Gabriella Grace," I replied. "Who are you?"
Then I realized. This man was my father.
Mommy and Daddy fought over me a lot. Something called "custody."
Since Daddy's name (which, as I later found out, was Luke Castellan) wasn't on my birth certificate, we had to get a paternity test. I didn't know what it was, but it said he was my daddy.
Finally, it was agreed that I would still mainly live with Mommy and my stepdad, but I'd get to visit my real daddy a lot.
I heard Mommy mutter something about "joint custody." I didn't know what that was.
Well, I was pretty happy with that. I'd still get to live in my normal house and my same old room, but I would also get to live with my daddy.
On Tuesday, Daddy drove to my house and picked me up. I'd been pulled out of Camp Half-Blood because of this whole meeting him thing.
He opened the door and let me in. I noticed that he had a carseat just for me.
"Hi, Daddy," I said. Things were still kinda awkward between us. "Guess what I learned at school today?"
"What did you learn, sweetie?" he asked.
"Two plus two is four!" I responded.
"That's so cool, Gabriella!" Daddy exclaimed. "What a smart kid you are!"
I was quiet for a minute.
"This is an improvement from Mommy's car," I pointed out. "Mommy's car smells like the zoo."
"What does the zoo smell like?"
"Gorilla poop," I replied. Then I laughed, too. "I said poop!"
Daddy thought that was kinda funny.
Finally, Daddy pulled over in front of a blue house and let me out. I kinda liked his house.
I walked up the steps and went inside with Daddy. He let me watch him play Super Smash Brothers Brawl.
"Why is that monkey wearing a tie?" I asked.
"That's not a monkey, that's Donkey Kong," he answered.
"Looks like a monkey to me," I shrugged.
He had to go use the potty. Suddenly, I heard the doorbell ring.
I opened the door and saw this guy who looked a lot like Daddy. He had snakes on his shoulder for some reason.
He was, as usual, surprised to see a little girl my age answering the door.
I could have sworn I'd seen him before somewhere.
"Hi," I finally said.
He stared into my eyes. I noticed that he had the same ice-blue eyes as me.
"You look just like my son!" he gasped.
"What's your name?"
"Gabriella Grace Castellan."
Suddenly, Daddy came back from the potty and got really mad.
"Hermes!" he screamed. "What the fu--what the heck are you doing here?!"
"Trying to talk to my son!"
They argued for a while.
I didn't like it when grown-ups fought. It made me nervous and uncomfortable.
I clung to Daddy's leg, kinda hiding behind him.
"Hermes, you stupid asshole!" Daddy blurted out.
Daddy and the guy at the door, who was apparently named Hermes, gasped and looked at me.
"Daddy?" I asked. "What does 'asshole' mean?"
"Gosh darn it, Luke, stop being such a player!" Hermes said, kinda mad. I had a feeling he would have used more grown-up words if I hadn't been standing right there.
"I've got so much explaining to do," he grumbled, looking down. "Hermes, that's Gabriella, my daughter from my ex-girlfriend. She's five, and up until maybe a week ago, I didn't know she existed. But, as you can clearly see, she does. Gabriella, that's your grandpa."
That night, Mommy and my stepdad came to pick me up. I was spending the rest of the week with them.
"Hi, honey," Mommy said. I could tell she was glad to have me back. "How was your dad's?"
"Great!" I responded. "He let me watch him kill Donkey Kong on TV. And this guy that said he was my grandpa came to Daddy's house, wanting to talk to him. Daddy got really, really mad at Grandpa for some reason."
Mommy exchanged a glance with Stepdaddy, shaking her head.
"Hermes, I'm guessing," she mumbled.
"Grandpa said 'You look just like my son,'" I mentioned. "For some reason. Mommy, what does 'asshole' mean?"
Mommy gasped and stopped the car.
"Where did you hear that?!" she cried.
"Daddy," I answered. "He called Grandpa an 'asshole.' What does it mean?"
"Honey, remember the cheeseburger incident?" Mommy asked. (A/N: Calvin and Hobbes reference here!)
"Yeah," I replied.
"Well, 'asshole' is a swear word too. It's not very nice, and even if you hear a grown-up say it, it's never okay to say it. Got it, Gabriella?" she lectured.
"But what does it mean, Mommy?"
"Nevermind, sweetie. Let's just go home."
I crossed my arms and pouted. I hated when grown-ups did that.
I wondered what a 'player' was, too, but I didn't feel like asking her stuff like that. I had a feeling 'player' didn't mean someone that liked games.
When we got home, I ran to my room and drew a cute spray of freckles on my nose, just like Mommy.
I hoped I wouldn't get caught again. But I just knew I would.
More coming soon...
(So sorry! I have homework!)