Random: Write down 3.14 (also known as pi) on a piece of paper and then look at it with a mirror. YOU WILL BE AMAZED.
Hi! This is my first fanfic. That being said, I apologize for any mistakes I may have overlooked. I'm not sure how long Dimensions will be, but I believe it will be more than 20 chapters. I have most of the plot figured out, but I'm going to be winging (get it? Winging? Heh heh) things a lot. This story focuses mainly on my own characters, but the Flock plays very important roles.
A few things you might want to know about my characters:
The main protagonist, Dove, is sarcastic, extremely immature, and likes to lighten the mood by joking around. Although her mature level is often compared to a six-year-old's, she hates seeing people being bullied and will not hesitate to kick the bully's butt. She loves reading and is extremely smart, but she doesn't really believe it.
Mason, one of Dove's close friends, is basically a fifteen-year-old Einstein. He loves computers, and he has a very dry humor. Don't put flammable stuff near him. It can be fatal.
Michael, Dove's other best friend, is a human cinnamon roll. Get on his bad side, though, and you will regret being born. He's intelligent and witty, but also pretty shy.
I hope you enjoy! Reviews are appreciated!
MAY THE BACON BE EVER IN YOUR FAVOR.
Introduction:
Alright, I'll be honest.
I think it's extremely dangerous for you to know all of this, but Dove thinks you should know about it, and once Dove makes up her mind, you don't want to try to change it unless you fancy sporting a black eye for the rest of the week.
Anyway, if you don't want to have any part in this—or don't think you can handle it—my advice is this: stop reading now. Because we aren't just dealing with the queen bee in your school or your evil math teacher; we're dealing with things that come right out of your nightmares—and sometimes even worse.
If you still want to be a part of this, then you are beyond hope. (That's okay, though, because most of us are, too.)
I just need you to promise me one thing: you can't tell anyone about this. You can put everyone's lives at risk if you do.
By reading the following chapters, you can save—or end—the world. (Little word of advice: I would really, really like to not die soon. I want to read The Trials of Apollo, and I'm still on Season 3 of Doctor Who.)
You'll have to make sacrifices, and you'll experience pain worse than paper cuts. (Those little suckers hurt.)
In other words, it'll pretty much suck (most of the time, anyway).
But it's worth it, I promise.
The only question is, as one of my close friends would say…
Are you up for the ride?
-Mason Hoffman
"Yo, Dove! Wake up, you unbelievably loud snorer. I'm surprised your neighbors can sleep through that. Sweet Nutella, look at your hair! You sure there are no bats living in it? Anyway, I think Michael and I finally got it! Wait… is that drool?"
Those were the first words I heard the day the world—and possibly the universe, but no biggie—changed forever. Encouraging, right?
"Huh?" I said groggily, trying to wipe drool off my chin and sit up at the same time without falling.
"I think Michael and I finally got it!" The voice said.
I looked over at the clock. 4:36. In the morning. I was about to rat out whoever thought it would be a good idea to wake me up at such an ungodly time, until I realized who it was. "Holy—Mason, what are you doing in my room?"
Mason rolled his eyes. "I've already told you: I think we figured it out. I'll explain on the way to my place. You go change, and I'll wait in the kitchen. By the way—did you buy more of those chocolate raspberry bars? They're awesome."
I groaned and threw a pillow at Mason, and he laughed. "I'll be in the kitchen."
After he left, I reluctantly got out of bed and changed. I attempted to brush my hair, but after a few tries and a whole lot of cursing, I gave up and pulled it into a ponytail. When I arrived at the kitchen of my (okay, my mom's) apartment, I saw Mason stuffing his face with Ghirardelli raspberry squares. I smiled. Mason's been my best friend since first grade, and he's always been a fan of sweets. He has blue eyes and light brown hair, which, according to my friends Vera and Anne, is 'extremely adorable'. I don't see it, that being because I think of him as my brother, and he thinks of me as his sister.
"Someone's hungry," I said, trying to stifle a laugh but failing miserably.
Mason stopped mid-bite and smiled. "I haven't eaten in, like, five hours. I could eat a chocolate-raspberry elephant right now."
I rolled my eyes. "I don't doubt it. So, you guys think you finally figured it out?"
Mason's eyes brightened. "Yeah. I haven't gone through yet, but I pushed a rubber duck through, and Betsy—"
"You named your computer Betsy?" I snorted, but he ignored me.
"—didn't report anything weird—or weirder than normal, at least." He concluded.
I nodded, trying to get my brain to be in serious-mode for at least five minutes. "So, what are we waiting for?"
A few months ago, Mason, Michael, and I made a theory when Betsy caught some unusual activity in the time and space continuum. We did a whole buttload of research and discovered a "crack" in the continuum, which could possibly lead to another dimension. A week later, Betsy the supercomputer caught a few sound waves and vibrations, which turned out to be voices talking. (That's all I really know. Heck, Mason could give you a four hour explanation, but I seriously don't think you'll want that.)
Guess who the voices belong to. (10 bucks says you aren't expecting this.)
Have your guess? Okay, drumroll please…
The voice belongs to…
MAXIMUM RIDE.
GASP!
Don't worry, I flipped out when I realized it was the Maximum Ride, too. This is like those times when you look in the direction of a celebrity and you feel like you have to bow down and go "We're not worthy!"
We didn't know it was her right away, though. We had to actually decipher what the voice was saying ("Now, jump!"), and then we did another round of mind-numbing research. I honestly don't think I can think of the word without puking a little now. After finding absolutely nada, I decided to read the Maximum Ride series to see how the heck Max deals with all the squat she has going on.
That was probably the best idea I ever had.
You should've seen me when I finished reading Maximum Ride Forever. That was the first time I squealed. I called Mason at around two in the morning, which ticked him off until I told him that it was the great Maximum Ride herself that our ears had the honor of hearing.
Mason's scream reminded me of my four-year-old neighbor next door.
After a few phone calls and permanent hearing damage, we met up at the Illegal Science Institute of Teens (ISIT), also known as Mason and Michael's apartment. I honestly don't know how they figured it out, but Mason and Michael managed to build a freaking portal to access the dimension in a month.
A bloody month.
Sometimes Mason and Michael remind me of Gazzy and Iggy.
And that's not a good thing.
As Mason and I headed to the front door of the apartment, we passed by my mom's room. Even though the door wasn't open, I could hear my mom's snores. My mom's great, but her snores—sheesh. I taped a note I had written to her earlier on her door so she would know where I was and wouldn't go crazy and call the cops and the FBI and the president or something.
We started to go down four flights of stairs, and Mason rambled on about some complicated science stuff that could put anyone to sleep.
"—and Michael's over there right now, monitoring the machines and such." Mason concluded, a satisfied grin on his face.
I nodded and tried to ignore the somersault that my stomach had performed. We got our bikes ready and headed toward his apartment. Mason lived a few blocks away, but we liked to bike over there instead of walking, 'cause we're classy like that. Mason and Michael live in a huge apartment, but where they find the money to pay for it is beyond me. The two live together without any of their parents, which is totally illegal, considering they're only 15. I've told Mason this about a thousand times, but every time he flips me off and wiggles his eyebrows. I then proceed to kick him where it counts.
Once we reach Mason and Michael's illegal science bunker, Mason hastily locks his bike and practically skips to the door. He unlocked it and opened the door, then gestured for me to enter.
"What a gentleman," I said in an attempt to do a British accent. Let me tell you, British accents are not my thing.
He rolled his eyes and followed me in. When we walk in we're immediately greeted by the humming of machinery and an off-key voice singing Hello by Adele. Sweet pickles, whoever is singing must be tone deaf.
"Michael!" I yelled, trying to control my laughter at his attempt at singing. (I failed, in case you were wondering. You can't really blame me, though; you should hear Michael sing. It sounds like a dying goat.)
The singing stopped and Michael entered the kitchen, where Mason and I were laughing our butts off.
Michael has dark brown eyes and black messy hair. He's 6'3, which is freakishly tall, considering he's only 15. He's wearing his usual casual I'm-going-to-stay-up-all-night-doing-science-stuff-and-singing-off-key wear, which is a sweatshirt and cargo shorts.
"Hey!" Michael said, blushing and smiling sheepishly at me. "I thought you guys were going to take a bit longer…"
"Nope," I snorted.
"Dude," Mason snickered. "You should totally try out for America's Got Talent. You could be the new Beyonce."
Michaels face reddened once more and he hit the back of Mason's head. After rolling his eyes at Mason's complaint ("You're going to give me a concussion!"), he walked toward me to give me a hug. I stuck my tongue out at Mason, who scoffed and rolled his eyes, and hugged Michael back.
Michael's the huggy person in our kick-butt trio—Mason is the brains, Michael is the cinnamon-roll-of-destruction, and I'm the hurt-any-of-them-and-you-will-deeply-regret-it chick. I gently pulled away from the hug and walked toward the back of the apartment, where Betsy the computer and a bunch of other (possibly illegal, but shhhhh) machines were.
"We think it's ready." Mason said.
"I'm pretty sure it won't explode this time," Michael said at the same time.
"O-okay," I raised my eyebrows. "That was reassuring."
"Yep." Mason said, popping the p. "You're ready to go, Dimensioner. Don't blow up into little pieces. I know you eat a lot of bacon, but I seriously doubt you're bacon-flavored."
After double-checking that I wouldn't blow up into little bacon-flavored pieces (because let's admit it: I would taste like bacon) when I stepped into the portal, I put on my fancy-shmancy leather jacket, 'cause rad for dayz, right?
Ew. I can't believe I just said that. Engage cringe attack mode.
"Wait," Michael said, and my stomach decided it was now the time to try to detach itself from my body. "If you die, does that mean I get to keep your autographed books?"
I raised my eyebrows, wondering whether I should punch him or hug him. I decided I would let him live, for now. "Psh, you wish."
I picked up the supplies and one-arm hugged Michael and Mason. "Don't you dare let me die. If you do, I won't ever be able to make chocolate chip cookies again."
Their eyes widened in horror, and I allowed myself one more small laugh.
I took a deep breath and stepped into the portal.
Time to meet the Flock.