As soon as Percy stepped off the yellow bus he was overwhelmed with a sense of dread. It wasn't as if he'd even walked out into a desolate wasteland, he just knew something was wrong. In fact, the scene in front of him seemed perfectly normal – or relatively so. The only thing that seemed even slightly abnormal were the cannons that sat in random places among the grass, but it was a battlefield, after all.

His classmates oohed and ahhed around him, clumped in small groups around the side of the bus as the Teaching Assistant, Miss Carron (though most students had dubbed the red-head Miss Carrot) tried to shepherd them into an organised line. It was a pointless attempt, if Percy was honest, they were going to be moving in a minute anyway to get a boring lecture about the battlefield from some bland-voiced tour guide leader in the visitor centre, Mrs. Kerr could just ask all of the class to get into a line and they would too – they all thought she was much nicer than the Teaching Assistant, except... well, Percy, who hated them both.

His eyes strayed to the ground as he stood a few feet away from the group, trying to pretend he wasn't part of their rambling madness. He closed his eyes and stood still, the wind blowing into his side as he absorbed the smell of the woods surrounding the car park. Coming from the city, Percy didn't often get the chance to just inhale the smell of dewy grass and pine leaves, he usually just breathed through his mouth as he walked past the subway stations and factories.

He liked the peace, or well... he did until he was shoved to the ground.

"Hey, Jackson!" Edward Gales – a blonde-haired boy with a rat-like face and personality – called out with a sneer, his gang behind him, "Whatcha doin' on the floor, now? Don't tell me you's about to cry to daddy, are ya?"

Percy's hands balled into fists as Edward continued, his gang laughing behind him.

"Oh wait, your daddy's dead. Oops, my bad," Edward kicked him in the side as his gang cheered him on.

A whimper of pain escaped Percy's lips, quiet enough that no one heard it. He defiantly stared up at his bully's face, "Not dead, Lost At Sea."

The case of Percy's father was a sensitive topic to his Mom, so he didn't know that much about him. When he asked, she always told him the same things as she always did, but he never got tired of hearing them.

He was kind, Percy, Sally would say. Tall, handsome and powerful. But gentle, too. You have his black hair, you know, and his green eyes. I wish he could see you, Percy. He would be so proud.

Percy didn't remember much about his father. A warm glow. A smile. He often wondered why his Mom said his father would be proud – what was so great about him? A dyslexic, ADHD kid with a D+ report card, kicked out of school for the fourth time in four years. He often found himself feeling angry at his absent father, he resented him for not being there, for not marrying his Mom.

His words seemed to only push Edward further, his kicks relentless as Percy curled up into a ball. His kicks were like slamming weights as they made contact with his sides, painful and most likely going to bruise. The trees around him blurred for a moment, merging with the dull grey clouds that had swept over the sky mid-morning and the gravel on the ground that had bit into Percy's skin as he was pushed onto it.

Then it all stopped, the kicks ceased and the group of boys taunting him formed a wall that blocked him from Mrs. Kerr's view as she stepped out of the bus, a clipboard in her hand as she smiled brightly to the ten year-olds crowded in front of her. A stand of blonde hair flew freely in front of her face, having escaped the tightly-woven plait that trailed down her back. She tucked it behind her ear and addressed the class, her voice soft but loud, capturing the class' attention without shouting – a feat hard to achieve when dealing with younger children.

"Alright, class," she spoke. "We're going to walk over to the visitor's centre where we'll meet up with our Tour Guide, and from there we're going to have a small introductory speech before we start the first activity."

She gave each child a stern look, "I will walk at the front and Miss Carron will take the rear, keep on the path and stay in single file, got it?" Mrs. Kerr received a sea of nods and she smiled, "Great, let's go!"

The group of boys blocking Percy from her view discreetly ran off, blending into the middle of the group and leaving him lying there. He pushed himself onto his knees and shakily stood up, wincing as his ribs ached in protest. His knees shook under him as he walked, pain shaking through him with each step.

Two more weeks, he thought. Two more weeks and you're free 'til September.

A few feet away, Miss Carron barked, "Jackson! Hurry up!"

Percy grunted, "I'm trying, Miss."

Oh, how he wished the end of the day would come.

***

Percy wouldn't call the walk in woods magical, but from the remarks of his classmates one would think it was. He was sure that if he heard one more witty comment about how the sun made like a tree and leafed he would punch somebody, or a tree. It's not as if the sun had even gone anywhere, it was just that the grey clouds starting to roll in had blocked it, a sad reason for the kids in his class to crack jokes.

He kept his eyes to the ground and looked at the tarmac path beneath his feet, sticking out like a sore thumb in the green hues of the trees towering above them and the grass dancing in the short gusts of winds beneath them; it crunched into his trainers and made a small squelching sound as smaller pieces of dislodged rock were pressed between his feet and the ground, creating a scraping noise as Percy walked onwards. The wind, as weak as it was, ruffled up his hair, sending raven-black locks of messy hair randomly shooting sideways or blocking his eyesight as it blocked his vision, the bursts of cool air raising the hair on his bare arms as he contemplated putting his green hoodie back on. He eventually decided not to.

He occasionally glimpsed up at the line in front of him, but quickly resumed his staring at the ground. His Mom told him that if he did the journey would feel faster and there would be less chance of him getting distracted and walking off. Percy heeded her advice, after all, he didn't want to disappoint her so near to the end of the school year. And so the walk continued on, time slipping slowly across watches, making the five-minute walk feel an hour away.

Eventually, Percy looked up, but only after a long period of deliberation after hearing his classmates' excited whispers. He wasn't disappointed, however.

Looking at the building in the centre of the clearing, he couldn't decide what he thought about them. Sure, they weren't shabby old huts, but he didn't really see anything particularly amazing in the Saratoga Visitor Centre. It was surrounded by tall leafy trees, making the one-storey building feel a lot lower to the ground than should; and the way it camouflaged into its surroundings when the clouds blocked out the sun didn't exactly help its case, in Percy's opinion.

There were several paths that followed in and out of the centre, most leading into the small concrete gathering area where he assumed was for greeting classes and large groups of people. A dirt footpath that carried into the woods caught his eye, broken twigs and tree roots littering it. Percy shook his head and looked away, figuring that they'd either use the shadowed trail or they wouldn't, he didn't want to waste his time thinking about something that would only lead him into trouble.

A billowing American flag towered proudly above them, symbolically dangling from a white pole, many metres above their heads. It was dizzyingly high up, forcing Percy to avert his eyes as his head spun. He looked instead to the wooden benches in the shade beneath the roof – not to say there was any sun to start with – looking forward to a chance to stop moving.

As the class approached it, Percy's instincts screamed at him to run, to leave and get as far away from the building that grew dauntingly taller before him. His fingers tingled painfully but he clenched them into fists and ignored the stabbing sensations within them. He crossed his arms across his chest and held them there tightly, forcing his feet to keep moving as he neared imminent doom.

Okay, there's a chapter.

So, to start off, I'm sorry if all of my information about Saratoga Battlefield is/going to be wrong – I have never been there before nor learnt American History (#England). I'm completely winging this with a few pictures of buildings and a few history websites.

Next, I'm trying to keep to an updating schedule for now, but this is probably not going to last very long as these chapters are pretty long compared to what I usually do and I also have to plan these chapters, which I don't usually do.

So, see you all in three days when I hopefully update! 😉