Chapter One: Katrina

I yawned and stretched out on the narrow cot. I shared the room in the orphanage with five other girls, but I only remembered Saharah, Sable, and Mable.

I got out of bed and smoothed my purply-black fur and rubbed my purply-black eyes. I looked around the room. On the wall by each cot were posters and things that the girls tacked up to personalize their space. My bed was covered with a warm purple-and-gold blanket with little black tassels hanging from the corners. I had gotten it from a gypsy at the Brock County Fair two years ago. I had a wooden toybox painted midnight blue with a pattern of silver moons and stars on it that held all my clothes, toys, and belongings. It was what I was allowed to bring with me when my mother died in a fire. On top of it was a candle in a gold-painted candlestick that I was allowed to light, being a senior orphan, or one of the oldest people in the orphanage, not counting the staff.

At that moment Saharah came in, and she stared as she saw me still standing in my purple nightclothes.

"Like, omygosh, WHAT are you still doing in PJ's?! It's nearly 7:15, Kat!" Saharah scolded, and I hopped to with getting dressed. My full name was Katrina, but most people called me Kat. As I threw on some faded black jeans and a silver shirt with the autograph of the renowned Madame Zana marked on it in purple-gold paint. The rest of the shirt was streaked with entertwining black leaves and silhouettes of tarot cards, the symbol of Madame Zana. She came to the Brock County Fair sometimes. I preferred crystal balls myself. They seemed...more mystical, somehow. But then again, I wasn't a fortune teller like Madame Zana. She knew what she was doing.

Carefully I spiked some of the fur on my head into little random points, and fastened my gold hoop earrings in my ears. Finally, I lined my eyes with some silver eyeliner and sprinkled some gold glitter on the rest of my fur.

"Jeez, Kat, do you have to be so goth?" Saharah asked. I snorted and turned to look at her. Khaki cargo pants, sand-colored shirt, mud-brown shoes. Her backpack was more like something you'd see Arabian magic carpet dealers using.

"Jeez, Sarah, do you have to go all explorer on me every day?" I shot back. Saharah rolled her eyes, and turned to make her bed. Saharah was a camel. It made sense that she would wear something to remind her of the desert.

I quickly grabbed my black-and-white backpack that looked as if it had seen one too many years of service, slipped on some black converses, and dashed through the door to the breakfast hall of the orphanage.

Sable and Mable, the two hedgehog sisters, were gobbling down their breakfasts and wearing the latest in fashion. They only bought paw-made clothes, and they still were the most fashionable people in school. I ran past them, grabbing one of the premade bag lunches set out for all school-attending orphans, and a cinnamon muffin as a quick breakfast on the way to school.

"See ya at school, Sable, Mable!" I called over my shoulder as I ran for the doors. I didn't see Crazy Redd until I crashed right into him.

"Sorry, cousin! And by the way, I've got a set of nice watches if--" Crazy Redd pulled out a set of pretty nice watches, though I doubt his means of getting them were nice.

"Not interested," I cut in, and ran by the fox, leaving him completely unhappy that I refused to buy his goods.

Finally I slowed down and munched a bite of muffin. The school was about five blocks down, within walking distance. I hurried as fast as I could go without running, becaus our school started at 7:45. Insane, I know. I reckoned I had about 15 minutes to get to homeroom.

"Oi, wait up!" Saharah was running after me. I slowed and waited for her to catch up, then walked in step with her until we got to the school.

"Aaah, Bromesville Middle, home to the zombie teacher of doooommm!!" Saharah wailed. We all called Mr. Osborne the zombie teacher, because he was pale, often had dark circles under his eyes, had sparse grey hair, and one of his legs was wounded from a war a long time ago, so it wouldn't bend at the knee. Plus he was insane and frightening. He was the oldest squirrel in the history of Bromesville. Unfortunately, he was almost everyone's eighth grade science teacher.