CHAPTER 1

"Five…. more minutes…" mumbled the lump under the star-spangled covers on the bed. It seemed the girl underneath really didn't want to get up. The sun was barely beginning to light up the world, so she should've gotten to stay in bed. It was only fair, right? Alas, school waited for no one, so Roxanne Lockwood threw her comforter clumsily to the side, sat up, stretched, and began to get ready for her day. First on her to-do list: find her glasses.

She felt around on the bedside table for the lamp switch, and upon finding it, turned it the wrong way before realizing her mistake, and the lamp flickered on without another hitch. Unfortunately, the next step was a hitch in itself, for her glasses were not in their usual place. A frantic scramble for the spectacles ensued. "Of course I could find my damn glasses… if I had them!" she whined to nobody in particular. Nobody in particular responded with silence. At last, however, the pesky optical enhancers were found- just a little further left than their usual spot. And not a minute too soon, as it was 30 minutes to the bus. Glasses? Check. Next item: getting dressed.

Roxanne pawed through her wardrobe in search of something that suited her fancy- it was surprisingly warm for February, so she picked her outfit based on her fashion sense as opposed to warmth and comfort levels. Cute lilac tee, denim shorts over black tights, black suspenders, and sneakers that matched her shirt in color- perfect! She changed out of her sleep-clothes and into her chosen coordination, cleaning her glasses afterward. They smudged so fast, it was really quite irritating… Outfit? Check. Next item: face and hair care.

Making a couple of faces in the mirror was a morning ritual, followed by a facial cleanser to ward off awful acne. It sucked to be going through puberty, but what was a fourteen-year-old girl to do? Once finished with that, she rummaged through the bathroom drawer for a brush, then smoothed out the mild bedhead she tended to have. Combing her bangs into their typical wavy swirl, and making sure the back of her short hair wasn't standing on end, she completed her brushing session. She smiled proudly at herself in the mirror, then grimaced. Toothbrush time.

After that was taken care of, she was finally ready to head downstairs. Quickly, she grabbed a snack crumb cake from the kitchen and stuffed it into one of her backpack's many pockets. Browsing its other contents, she checked to make sure everything was in order. In the main pocket was her book for English, her math homework ( for missing a day, blech ), and her red-covered sketchbook. In her secondary pocket lay the small box containing her flash drive and some video game cartridges for her DS, the DS itself, and some assorted styluses and lead-starved mechanical pencils that served as backup- not to mention the snack cake. Lastly, in the smallest pocket hid her myriad of pencils, pens, and erasers ( her special stash, if you will ). Roxanne was well prepared.

She unplugged her phone from its charger and placed it on the living room table, tugged her winter jacket on just in case, and shrugged her backpack onto her shoulders. She snatched her headphones off the table, plugged them into her phone and adjusted the tightness of the headband. Just in time for the bus, she kissed her mother goodbye and stumbled out the door.

Roxanne "Proxy" Lockwood was, in many aspects, a regular teenage girl. She was also not your average chick. And things were going to get rather strange for her in the very near future.

"Are you sure I have to read this?" grumbled the bespectacled girl as she slid down in her seat. Classics did not appeal to her fantasy and scifi-oriented mind, and she really didn't want to have to sit through another depressing story like Of Mice And Men again. But with The Outsiders staring at her miserably from the desk, that dream seemed to vanish with her enthusiasm.

"I'm afraid so, Proxy," drawled her teacher as he scribbled away at grading some essays. "One classic per year is assigned here. Still, I think you'll like this one. It's got some very well-written characters, which I know appeal to you."

"I guess…"Proxy whined, but opened the book anyway. Best not to trouble her grade too much; with her math grades as they were, she was barely squeaking by in that department. English was one class she did well in, and she didn't want to risk losing that to any extent. She flipped through the foreword to the first page and began to read…

BRINNNG! BRINNNG!

Proxy jolted in her seat at the sound of the dismissal bell. Was it that late already? English was the last period of the day, but it was just starting when she had picked up the book! No time to dwell on that, though, she was already swinging her bag over her shoulder and heading out the classroom door. She scanned the crowded hallways for her merry band of misfits; she found the two friends waiting for her by the front door of the school, as usual. "Yo! NJ, Lynne! Let's 'blow this popsicle stand', shall we?" she shouted to them with a grin.

NJ raised a thin eyebrow. Everything about him was long and thin- he was very tall and gangly, and his platinum blonde bangs were rather unruly, as he refused to get the front of his hair cut. He looked down his nose at Proxy, who stood before him, as cheerful as ever. "One, could you tone down the brightness a bit? You're hurting my cynical soul." That earned him a look from the girl in question, so he quickly moved on. "Two, since when do you say things like that? 'Blow this popsicle stand'? What is this, Outdated Slang Day?"

"Oh, heck off, NJ. She can use outdated slang if she wants," reprimanded Lynne, tugging at a springy curl of dark hair. "Besides, this is Proxy we're talking about. The same girl who cusses in Elizabethan English." She laughed, showing her straight white teeth.

"Verily, thou art a dankish, lily-livered flap-dragon. Ye both be that," huffed Proxy, pouting and crossing her arms. "Fie upon you."

NJ smirked. "Ouch. I'm wounded," he responded, completely deadpan. They all laughed and went out the door to wait for their bus, chattering and playfully squabbling as they walked. When their short bus arrived, they boarded it and sat in their usual zigzag fashion, chatting as the yellow vehicle lumbered down the highway.

Proxy leaned back in her seat, quickly texting her mother that she'd be out and about until later. Though school exhausted her and she just wanted to get home and sleep, she had an objective today; she was going to the woods by the train tracks to hunt for butterflies. She'd heard they'd been flocking there in large numbers lately, and she wanted to see for herself their vibrant colors. She jumped out of the bus at her stop and waved goodbye to her friends, stretching and taking the path down the hill into the woods.

Those woods, as the girl would soon find out, held a secret unlike any other.