Hey! This is my first 2nd Gen fanfic! I'm super excited :) I've always loved all the ideas and freedom for this! What I mean by surprise slash is I'm not going to tell you who she ends up with. It always spoils it and you know who the protagonist's love interest is gonna be. I'm being brave too, you know, starting a fic during exams of all torturous things. So REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW. For the love of all things good and holy, REVIEW! And this is only the beguinning, giving you background etc. So sorry if I bore you, my darlins'.

Read, read, read, read, read on!

I've lost count of how many times I've been called a freak.

The first time was probably… age seven. And it was my older sister, Adelaide, who said it. I had no idea what that meant so, naturally, I asked my best friend Emily down the street what it meant. She had no idea as well, so we stole away fifteen minutes in front of her parents' computer, Googling it.

freak

–noun

1. any abnormal phenomenon or product or unusual object; anomaly

2. a person or animal on exhibition as an example of a strange deviation from nature; monster.

Well, ain't that the truth.

See, I like to think she's bitter from jealousy, or recurring hormonal issues and I shouldn't care what she thinks. But A) she's family and we used to be such great friends and, B) that—that "monster" part… it got to me. And it stuck with me for a long time.

So whenever I had an episode, I made something shoot across the room because I was angry or a glass of water exploded due to random, childish excitement, she's scream "You're a freak," the bones in her neck bulging, face turning red and eyes bugging out. But I never heard "freak." I only heard "monster." And she would stomp upstairs, making angry, frustrated noises and my mom would titter after her saying soothing things like, "Addie! Dear, it's okay."

But no one would soothe me. No one would ask me if I was okay. Adelaide wouldn't even get punished. Because as I sat in the family room, shards of glass littering the floor and water dripping floor to ceiling, getting blamed for everything and told it was entirely my fault, all I could think of was the word "monster."

I'm a monster, I thought as the word echoed around in my brain. A monster…

So you can imagine how ecstatic I was when, at age eleven, I got a letter saying that a representative wizard would be visiting our house on June the 14th to "explain things." I showed it to my parents and they squawked. Seriously. My mom uttered a noise much like a frightened goose and my father just stood there stupidly and gaped at it. Then he ripped it from my grip and threw it across the room, which, you can imagine was a pretty idiotic thing to do as it just glided gracefully to the ground, about two inches away from us. Because it was paper. So, he snatched it up and strode to the sink with an angry huff and my mom remained frozen, a look of pure horror on her worn face.

"Dad! What are you doing?" I screeched, following behind him.

He refused to answer me. He simply shoved the paper down the drain and turned the faucet on, with a look of fierce anger on his face. Adelaide then took that perfect opportunity to come sprinting down the stairs, screaming, "What's wrong? Who died?"

"Dad!"

Then he flipped the switch of the disposal and I heard the horrid sound of ripping paper, crunching and grinding. The blades of the disposal shredding away my naïve hope. And that hurt worse than any word or name Adelaide had ever called me. Before anyone could stop me, I shoved my hand down into the sink drain that was tearing apart the letter. A searing pain shop up my arm as the circling blades began to rip at my finger tips. But I was frozen. I couldn't seem to force myself to pull my hand out.

"Serena!" my dad shouted and roughly grabbed my wrist, yanking my hand out of the Disposal of Death. At the sight of my blood dripping into the porcelain sink, my mother automatically unfroze and rushed to me. Cradling my left hand in both of her hands, she instructed my dad to go get "The Kit." I involuntarily flinched. The kit had what seemed to be a lifetime supply of hydrogen peroxide. Talk about painful. Adelaide just stood there dumb confusion splayed across her face. I looked away.

That night there was a fight.

I laid on the floor of the bathroom, my ear cupped on the freezing tile. Their voiced were muffled, but from underneath room I shared with Adelaide, I heard them just barely.

"But Don how did they find us?" I heard my mom say possibly the tenth time.

"Who is 'they'?" I muttered angrily to myself.

"Serena! Stop making so much bloody noise or I'll tell them you're eavesdropping! I'm trying to sleep!" Adelaide growled from our room. It was nearly midnight and completely dark but I knew she was lying. She was trying to hear the fight because I could sense she was on the bedroom floor as well. She just didn't want to admit that she was interested in something that involved me.

"Shut up! I can't hear!" I muttered back, drowning out my dad's answer. But I already knew what it was. He's said the same thing to her question each time… "I don't know."

"We can't stay here, can we? Serena cannot go to that school! We promised her parents!"

I froze. My body became perfectly still and I waited with bated breath for more information. I heard what I thought was a heavy sigh.

"I know," my father said and I imagined him running a hand through his hair like he does when he's stressed.

So it wasn't some psychotic slip up. My mom hadn't fumbled over her words. My parents… weren't my parents.

I'm adopted? I thought. But I look like the rest of the family.

I immediately dismissed the thought. Dozens of people look like me. Dirty-blond hair, sea blue eyes and an average height. Nothing special. Then another thought flashed across my mind…

What about Adelaide?

Her being adopted… that just didn't seem right. She has always been better at fitting in with this family, I thought. Maybe that's why they always treated her better than me. Maybe that's why everything was always my fault.

"What do we do, Don? We have to protect her! They didn't tell us this would happen!" my mom cried, near hysterics. I shoved my ear into the tile, desperate for more information.

"I don't know. But I do know were not meeting this person. Let's get to bed. It's late."

Sensing the end of the discussion, I sat up and slumped against the bathtub, playing with the four cloth Band-Aids on four of my fingertips that represented my rash decision.

Protecting me? From who? My own kind?

Yes at a very young age, I determined I was a witch. That's why I accidentally made all those weird things happen. And it was then, in that moment, in the pitch black, my butt bones driving into the cold tile of my bathroom, that I determined I didn't belong here. I would meet that wizard, like it or not. I would be whomever I chose… and my parents couldn't stop me.

I stood, stretched and fumbled to my room. I heard an undignified snore from the ground and my suspicions were confirmed. In the dim light streaming in from the full moon outside our window, I saw Addie sacked out on the hardwood floor of our bedroom. I laughed but didn't wake her. I had something I needed to do.

Producing a pen and a sheet of paper from my bedside table, I wrote:

Dear Mr./Mrs. Wizard Representative,

My parents seem to be terrified of you so they won't let us have that meeting. I know for a fact that I don't need protecting from witches and wizards. I don't belong in the human world. Please meet me at the Kindrall Park by the picnic tables June 10th at 10:00 pm (Which was the next night). I'll try my best to come alone.

—Serena Thyme

I quartered the paper and wrote on one side "Representative Wizard." My handwriting was barely legible because I wrote it in relative darkness.

Then I grabbed a magnet and tiptoed over to my window. I looked for the sensor and found it on the left side of the pane. Praying it worked, I placed the magnet as close to the immobile sensor as possible. Then, I slowly unlocked the window and slid it up an inch, maybe, replacing the one sensor with the magnet. No alarm pierced the air so I knew it had worked. That, or my dad forgot to turn on the alarm.

After I made sure Adelaide was completely dead sacked out, I slipped out of my window and onto the roof. Keeping low to the shingles, I stealthily made my way to an oak tree by the side of our house. Its tall sturdy branches layered close together made a virtual ladder down to the ground. I bit the letter and meticulously made my way down to the ground, suppressing the urge to scream "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRGGGGG!" when my foot slipped 30 feet up in the air. I finally, finally, made it down to the ground and I shimmied my way, tree to tree, bush to bush, over to the mail box.

The letter I had received said, "If there are any questions, please feel free to mail us." In theory, that's simple enough. Problem was, there wasn't a return address. So praying this ninja mission wasn't futile, I placed the letter in the mail box and left the flag down.

I hoped, I prayed, I wished with all my being that I made the right decision.

Back in my room, I packed a bag of clothes, essentials and things. I set it under a pile of old clothes in our closet and went back into our room. Sitting on the edge of our bed, I stared at Adelaide, asleep on the ground. The beams of moonlight did wonders to her skin and she looked so quiet, so serene. She never looked that happy awake. That got me to thinking.

What if I wasn't the witch? What if I was the human and she was the gifted one?

I knew my answer. I knew that I'd be calling her a freak, too.

I knew I would be insanely jealous.

Something in me clicked. So out of pity, I knelt beside her and shook her shoulder slightly. She shifted, her eyes fluttering open. Then she saw me and scowled.

"What are you doing?" she spat, sitting up and leaning on her elbows.

"I woke up and saw you were on the ground," I lied. "Thought I'd wake you up so you weren't stiff in the morning."

She glared at me, "How'd I get down here?"

"I dunno," I replied, standing up and making my way to my bed. Adelaide stood as well and continued to glare at me suspiciously. So I said, "Look, I was only trying to help."

I pulled back my sheets and slid in, savoring the cool fluffiness. I glanced over at my sister. She had a hand perched on a cocked hip and was glaring at me fiercely, almost like she was trying to set me on fire. Come to think of it, maybe she was trying to set me on fire. I just rolled my eyes and turned my back on her. I needed my sleep.

The next day, I was running away.

So... ya like? TELL ME IF YOU DID OR DIDNT I DONT CARE IF YOU HATE IT OR NOT JUST REVIEW! Gosh, I'm desperate. Review! Just do it! ("Nike... *swoosh*") I reply to ALL of my reviewers in my next update so BAM! Another reason to review! PSSSH! Imagine that! :O Wow... so. REVIEW!

Conscience: I can tell you're getting tired of this. I'll stop now-

Impulsive self: REVIE-

Conscience: *slaps hand over impulsive self's mouth, muffling words* I really am sorry, she can be soooo rude!

Impulsive self: *rips hand off mouth* REVIEW! AAAAAAGHH!

Conscience: I am so sorry. We'll be off to counseling now... *leads Impulsive self away, against her will*

Impulsive self: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! REVIEWWWW!

Just do it.

*swoosh!*