Chapter one of The Green Bean Machine

A Nervous Wreck

I sat in a cabin of a train, solitary, listening to the humming sound the train produced with an occasional clack, clack. I viewed the landscape of England, the moors, to the mountains. Two girls were sitting on the long bench across from me all the way down, trying to ignore me. A giggle turned my head. The girls were eating Bertie Blotts every flavored beans. I was very curious if she consumed one the taste of shampoo or something like blueberry muffin. How I yearned to sit with them, to have another friend, but the chances of that were slim, or fat, however you would say that. So, I read their minds. It is a very long story, but I wanted to tell myself how special I was. When I was around eight, my Aunt Melinda made the most putrid green beans the Milky Way has ever had in existence. I held one between my skinny forefinger and thumb, and wondered how Auntie managed to make these and invite us every Thanksgiving to dine on these most unsavory veggies. The next thing I knew, I found myself inside her head, a large room full of filing cabinets with a light bulb hanging from a chain to illuminate the room. I had to be careful to dodge opening and closing cabinets, as I person is always thinking with information from their head. After searching, I found out why she makes those disgusting vegetables every year. They had run in the family since the fifteen hundreds. Now, those green beans aren't as bad as they were, now that I have found the meaning behind them. I've got the hang of the mind-reading thing now, and know which drawers to be careful around because topic the person is thinking about is very much related to the drawers I am avoiding. I have the hang of it now. I know exactly where to look in each person's brain. That's the way I learn people, by reading their minds. I'm too shy to go up to them. I'm too shy for anything. I don't why I'm even on this train. I don't know why I go to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I don't know why I'm in Gryffondor. It's for the brave at heart, not me. My stomach always churns on the train to school each year, and fulfilling its duty, my stomach is once again churning. I wish ever so much it would stop. It is my sixth year. I should be over this by now. I only have one good friend, Hermione Granger. My grades just barely trail hers so we study a lot together. She started talking to me in the fifth year because no one else had. She is an absolute feminine humanitarian. Hermione is the only friend I have ever had. I peered into my rat's cage and looked at the back wall, which was a mirror. I saw a gentle face staring back, with kind blue eyes and wavy brownish blond hair pulled up in a low pony tail at the back of my head, but was pulled over to cascade down my left shoulder. That was me. The pair of girls who sat cattycorner silenced. I looked up to find Hermione and one of her friends, Ron, I believe his name is. I've always had a thing for red heads myself-my hair having the look of a reddish hue.