Waking up was not fun. If I was to write a review of my experience, it would be: 0 stars, would not recommend.
I came to with the worst headache of my life, my entire body sore like I'd been hit by a car - which of course, considering my luck, wasn't entirely out of the question. My eyes fluttered open to the blazing sunlight and a ceiling that looked way too fancy to belong to my bedroom.
No posters. No fairy lights.
Just carved marble and gold (seriously who has a room like that nowadays.)
That was the first clue that something was very, very wrong.
The second was the fact that I wasn't in my school uniform anymore. Instead I was wearing some kind of white tunic, the type that's belted at the waist, with sandals strapping around my feet. Which was a huge problem, because I definitely did not own sandals like this. Also I didn't sleep with shoes on and no one sane does.
And the third clue?
The massive Roman looking guy standing over me, looking very unimpressed.
"You're awake," he said, crossing his arms. His Latin accent was thick, but somehow, I understood every word perfectly (maybe I'm secretly smart with languages, though I highly doubt that.) "Took you long enough. Caesar doesn't tolerate lazy servants."
I blinked at him.
Servants?
Caesar?
Is this man ok? Or am I hallucinating?
"I-" My throat was dry. "I think there's been a mistake."
The man sighed dramatically with hints of exasperation in his voice. "They always say that. 'Oh no, I don't belong here, I'm not a slave, I have no idea how I ended up here-'" He waved a hand. "Typical."
Slave? No. No way.
I shot up so fast I nearly smacked my head on the wall. "Hold on. Where am I?"
The man raised an eyebrow. "The Domus of Julius Caesar. Where else would you be?"
Oh. Oh no. This was not right.
I took a second to process. I inhaled. Exhaled. Freaked out internally.
Okay. Let's just go over the facts here.
One: I drowned. Probably.
Two: A creepy, glowing bracelet was involved.
Three: I had woken up in Ancient Rome, dressed like I belonged here, in the home of actual Julius Caesar.
Four: No, seriously, WHAT.
I grabbed the man's arm. "This isn't funny. I was just going home. I need to get back. Where's my phone? My parents are going to-"
I stopped.
Because, of course, my phone was gone.
Instead, the bracelet was still there-except now, it wasn't glowing. It looked just as ordinary and stuck to my wrist as before. Fantastic.
"Your phone?" The man looked at me like I was an idiot. "Whatever that is, I assure you, you don't have it."
Of course not. Because this was Ancient Rome.
I took another deep breath. "Okay. Okay. I need a minute."
The man did not care.
"Well, you're out of time," he said briskly. "Caesar is expecting you. And I'd rather not be executed today, so let's go."
I froze.
"Executed?" I echoed.
"Yes. Killed. Dead. Ceased to exist." He clapped his hands. "So hurry up, because if you make him wait, I'm throwing you to the lions myself."
Now, I knew he was exaggerating. Probably. Hopefully. But still, I was not about to test my luck.
So, against my better judgment, I let myself be dragged through a maze of corridors-all ridiculously fancy-until we finally emerged into a grand courtyard. And there, seated on a ridiculously luxurious couch, was-
Julius Caesar.
Yeah. That one. The guy from history class. The real one.
Nope. Too much. Brain short-circuiting.
I stared, unable to believe what I was seeing. The dude was exactly how I imagined: regal, intimidating, with piercing dark eyes that immediately locked onto me.
"You," he said, pointing at me with a goblet in hand. "You're the one."
I wanted to go home, I didn't want to be the 'one', I really did not want to talk to this 2000 year old man.
"Uh…what?" Was all I managed to stutter, but with my shock and paralyzed mouth, it sounded more like 'Guh gwah?'
"You," He continued, "have been sent by the gods."
I blinked. Then blinked again.
Sent by the gods? What gods? Did I miss an email?
Julius Caesar sipped from his goblet like this was all perfectly normal. "Yes, you have been chosen. The gods have sent you to aid me in my conquest."
Maybe I wasn't in Ancient Rome.
I looked around, expecting cameras. Maybe this was some absurdly elaborate prank show. Maybe I hit my head so hard I was hallucinating.
"Uh," I said, choosing my words carefully. "I think the gods made a mistake."
A few people around the courtyard gasped like I had just declared war on the entire empire. Caesar simply raised an eyebrow. "You doubt the will of the gods?"
"I mean, if they sent me," I gestured at myself, "then yeah, probably."
He leaned forward, studying me. I did not like being studied.
"You don't seem particularly remarkable."
Okay, rude.
"Yet the gods rarely make mistakes."
I could think of at least one mistake right now, and it was the fact that I was standing here instead of waking up in my actual bed.
"Tell me," he continued, "what divine skills do you possess?"
I racked my brain. Divine skills? What did that even mean? Was I supposed to lift a boulder or summon a thunderstorm?
"Well," I said slowly, "I can recite the quadratic formula from memory."
Dead silence.
Caesar frowned. "The what?"
"The quadratic formula. You know, ax² + bx + c = 0? It's really useful for solving-never mind."
His expression didn't change. It was the same unimpressed stare my math teacher gave me when I got every answer wrong but still tried to explain my 'unique' method.
"Do you possess strength?"
"Not really. Unless you count being stronger than my cat."
"Wisdom?"
"I once tried to microwave a metal spoon, so…no."
"Battle skills?"
"The only fight I've won was against a vending machine."
Caesar exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples like I was the cause of all his problems, which was unfair. "The gods sent me a fool."
"Hey, that's harsh."
"I expected a warrior. A prophet. A visionary." He waved a hand, already bored. "Instead, I get a lost child in ridiculous sandals."
I looked down at the sandals. He wasn't wrong.
Caesar sighed. "Fine. If the gods insist on sending me useless gifts, I will at least put you to some use. You will join my servants."
"Wait, what?"
"Congratulations," he said flatly. "You are now in charge of cleaning the atrium."
A mop was shoved into my hands. A very, very dirty mop.
"You can't be serious," I spluttered.
But he had already turned away, muttering something about divine incompetence.
And that was how I, a modern teenager, got stuck mopping floors for Julius Caesar.
The gods had some explaining to do.