Chapter One: Fairy-tales
In every fairy-tale ever told, there is a damsel, a hero, and a villain. They embark on exciting adventure after adventure until at last the story is finished, and the day is saved by the hero, the villain defeated, and the damsel ranting and raving to her friends about how terrified she was about being captured, when really, it was a rush for her.
Fortunately for me, my world revolves around these three things on a daily basis.
As a little girl, my mom would read me stories or tell me events of her past when she and my dad—the well known hero and sidekick who fell in love—would save the day. My heart grew like the Grinch's did at Christmas whenever I heard these stories, wanting so very badly to have those grand adventures too. When asked, however, I didn't want to be the damsel in distress or the evil villain. No, I wanted to be the strong and brave hero who defended the weak. I wanted to be a super hero. Of course, being only fourteen, that future was so far off it was just a distant wish that had yet to even be close to starting.
Speaking of, my name is Melody Shard, fourteen, and on the edge of becoming a Freshman in high school. My mom and dad are super heroes. That is, my mom is a hero, with the extremely awesome ability to control ice and frost. My dad, though, is a sidekick. He can float three feet off the floor for about an hour or two. No seriously. Three feet. He once managed to get to four feet around the time I was nine, but we had to call the paramedics because he nearly fainted from his fear of heights. Oh yeah, he is absolutely terrified of heights. Fantastic power, right?
Somehow, he charmed and romanced my mom with his lame three feet of floating and later they married and had me and my two siblings, Sarah and Jesse. This, of course, has gone down in the super hero history books as one of the worst cliched romance stories ever written; the sidekick who charmed the super hero. In super hero society, they pretty much were disgraced for a while, because sidekicks and heroes just didn't go together, but eventually they were accepted into the fold of a perfect super hero lifestyle.
After marriage and having three kids, my mom and dad have left the hero business to younger generations, retiring only a few years ago to be just your average parents and worker bees. Mom still used her powers from time to time, but dad pretty much refrains from his floating ability as much as possible. They're quite busy anyways, with my seven year old brother and ten year old sister to deal with. Both of my siblings are wild and practically insane, in my opinion, so they definitely need both parents around twenty-four seven.
Right on cue, a loud banging and array of shouts began coming from the room next to mine. I grumbled and turned over, shoving my pillow over my head to drown out the noises of my annoying siblings as they started their morning ritual of wrestling over whose was whose in their shared room. In a few years, I had no doubt they would be arguing over something completely different, and yet somehow still the same.
"Shut up!" I shouted angrily.
It was quiet for a moment, and then the noise got suddenly even louder than before. Groaning, I sat up and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes.
My room was dark, with tiny specks of light floating in from the half closed blinds of my window. My hanging lights attached to the wall flickered slightly, having been left on all night after I fell asleep reading Nancy Drew again.
Generally, one could say my room was clean, but to my mom, it looked like a tornado swept through it. My desk was piled high with books, papers, and my laptop was trapped against the wall with my cell phone sitting nearby. My bookshelf was overflowing with books and little nick-knacks my mom collected from when I was a toddler. The closet door across from my bed stood open, revealing my wardrobe of ripped jeans and jean shorts, about two dozen graphic tees, sweaters, and tank tops all strewn about in hangers or in the dirty clothes hamper. Other things, like my PSP, my sketchbook, or my iPod, were scattered across the white carpet floor, proof that I was often hauled in my room and not outside in the sunlight like any normal teenage girl should be. My complexion was evidence of my hermit habitual nature, by far.
The only thing my mom claimed she liked about my room, despite the fact it was constantly 'dirty', was that I'd let her redecorate last year. Instead of the old bright pink walls and sunflower yellow highlights, the room was now off-white, with shades of chestnut brown and light honey here and there. Even my bed sheets were themed with the room, thanks to my OCD mother.
Frowning, I hopped out of bed and rummaged through my dresser, searching for clean clothes and my hair brush. I ran to the bathroom and hurried to get ready, combing through my white-blonde hair as fast as humanly possible, yanking out knots and skimming through the tangled mess with frustrated calls of outrage. After pulling my hair into a semi-smooth ponytail, I jerked on a pair of dark denim shorts and a white collar button up shirt, something simple and a little conservative, for my dad's sake. Then, I hurried to brush my teeth, happy to be rid of the repulsive morning breath that came every so often, and slipped on my light purple Vans shoes. Knowing my mom would complain about me not acting as a normal girl should, I also put on a little slab of makeup and pulled a gray plaid vest over my cotton shirt.
Looking in the mirror, I stifled a yawn and began chewing my lip, satisfied with my look. A bucket of doubt splashed over me as I realized just why I was getting so dressed up, soon after I started downstairs towards the kitchen, hopping two steps at a time. Like ice water, it woke my fuzzy brain up with a shock, and my hands started getting clammy. I breathed on them a little, making sure not to be seen by my mom. Part of living under my mom and dad's roof meant no powers inside. I didn't always follow that rule.
"Good morning sweetie," came my mother's sing-song voice.
I smiled and skipped over to the island counter, snatching up a ripe orange from the bowl of fruit centered on the marble top. "Morning," I mumbled, peeling off the skin and biting into the bittersweet citrus fruit.
My mom was quietly busy with her organizer and smart phone, tapping the screen every once in a while or writing down some quick note on her day planner. As usual, she was consumed with her interior design job, her mind entirely focused on one thing. "Ready for school?" She didn't look up as she asked her question, a clear indicator that she was distracted by either an annoying client or more clients than she could handle.
I shrugged, knowing she wouldn't catch the action. She let out a small smirk and flashed her ice blue eyes up at me. "Don't think I didn't see that sarcastic look. I'm sorry honey, it's that Mrs. Beavora, the one with a bird obsession and snap-turtle personality. She's unhappy with her parlor color palette...again." With a deep sigh, she shut her planner and laid her phone on the counter, looking fully up at me. "So. Ready for school?" she repeated.
Grinning lightly, I nodded. "Yeah."
"Nervous?" Her eyes were flashing something like excitement and pride. I smiled wider.
"A little."
One thing about my mom was that you could not lie to her. Oh, you could exaggerate or be modest, but she always seemed to know when someone was lying. That was why, when she asked a question, you gave an honest answer. Beating around the bush was fine, just make sure you tell her the truth, otherwise you're in for a world of hurt.
"You'll be fine," she chastised, and then jerked her purse from the counter when her phone let off several sharp, annoying beeps. "Gotta run! Have fun today!"
She was gone in seconds, and when the door slammed behind her, pounding footsteps told me my two siblings were fighting their way downstairs. "Guys, would it call it quits for one day?"
They were pushing and shoving each other into the wall, and when Sarah had the upper hand, she pushed Jesse's face to the side and squeezed past him, not even blinking as she grabbed a box juice box and bolted out the door to catch the bus. Jesse, red and flustered, hurried after her, not even bothering to get something for breakfast. I shook my head at the pair, grabbed my old backpack, and made my way out of the house too.
Standing in our drive way, I stretched and thought longing how I would like to go for a morning run with my dad, but he was away on business somewhere in Europe. He was always away it seemed, lately. I hoped whatever business he was doing was worth not being here.
A loud, obnoxious beep set off as a bulky yellow bus swiveled around the corner and parked a ways from my front lawn. Across the street, a few teens emerged from their houses, and two houses down from mine, another came out and made his way over to the bus.
As a kid, I'd loved watching these would be super heros rushing off to their super hero bus and going to their super hero school, begging my parents to let me go with them. Their response was, 'when you're older, Melody,' and I was forced to stare in awe day after day. Until I started doing morning runs in middle school with my dad, and told myself that patience would get me further than anxiousness.
I inhaled the cool morning air and smiled proudly to myself. I'd made it. It was my turn to rush off to super hero school and not look back. Well, at least until I got home later.
The bus beeped loudly again, as if it were irritated that I was taking so long. I jogged up to the bus and up the steps, greeting the bus driver with a smile. He was an older, thin man with watery eyes that popped out like a bug, and a warty face that was set in what seemed like an eternal frown. He looked me up and down and sighed. "In or out, vermin." Taken aback by his hostility, I made my way to the back of the bus, finding the same comfort I did as a middle school student in the furthest back seats.
Unfortunately, there was only one seat open, next to some brooding teen in leather clad angst, and in that seat was a ragged old backpack. I stopped and politely said, "Hi. Would it be all right if I sat here?"
The angsty, annoyed guy turned to me and let out an eye roll, moving his backpack to the floor. I squeezed into the seat and held tightly to my backpack, feeling an awkward tension ignite. Oh, great, my social anxiety was transferring to high school. My worst fears were going to be realized if I didn't buck up the courage and rid myself of my social terrors. It's now or never, Mel, I told myself. "So are you a Freshman?" I gulped and faced my seat partner.
The bus began moving, passing by flashes of streets and trees and sidewalks. He glared out of the window like he hated the nice scenery, and sighed. "Just because we're sitting next to each other, doesn't mean we have to talk to each other." With that, he shoved on a pair of headphones that were blasting a familiar rock band's song over his ears and proceeded to ignore me.
"Just because you're a jerk doesn't mean you have to be rude," I muttered, feeling my clammy hands shake from a cruel mixture of anxiety, nerves, and a tad bit of irritation.
Mr. Rude and Angst frowned and pulled off his headphones slowly, staring me down with furrowed eyebrows. If I had known any better, I would say he looked pissed off. Great job, Mel. "No, I'm not a Freshman. Any more annoying questions?"
"Not right now," I said sharply, my smile a thin line.
"Quiet back there!" shouted the bus driver, but the chatter in the bus only grew louder.
I sighed and held onto my seat as the ride grew a bit bumpy. "Pst. Hey," stage-whispered a voice. I turned and met two identical pairs of green eyes that were wide with joy and mischief. "Don't mind old Bogger, he's just bitter cause he's losing all his hair." The two of them smiled brightly at me as if in sync, and the girl winked. "We're the Porter twins. I'm Vivi and this is Vic." She jabbed a finger at her twin brother, who waved and then poked his sister in the ribs, frowning at her.
"Did you know Cat wore that ridiculous pink skirt today? It so doesn't go with her complexion, but she refuses to listen to me," he vented, tossing in an eye roll for a finish. I watched them, interested in their random gossip banter. "She should have worn that nice cardigan that Aunt Em got her for her birthday. It might have died down the fact that is hideous." With his rant finished, he waited patiently for his sister to respond, which she did almost on cue.
"You have flawless taste, Vic, and she knows it. She's just stubborn, like you, and rejects anything that isn't her idea." Her brother beamed, satisfied, and moved on to pulling out his phone to type a million words a second. Vivi focused back on me, rolling her eyes when her twin wasn't looking. "Sorry about that. My brother has the incessant need to judge everyone's apparel, especially our sister's wardrobe choices."
He harrumphed and set his phone in his lap, still typing without looking. "Yes, and my sister judges me on my choices in life, never thinking that she's scarring her brother's fragile dreams."
"Only because I love you dearly, brother."
He grinned when she mock punched him in the arm, and went back to texting. "You, by the way, whatever your name is, have semi-okay taste in clothing. It needs a little work, but overall I would give it a six and a half."
Vivi giggled. "That's a compliment from him. He rarely gives anything over a five."
"Thanks?" I looked down at my clothes self consciously, and then shook my head. "I'm Melody, by the way."
The two nodded, Vic still preoccupied by his social life on Twitter and Instagram. "We'll call you Mel," Vivi declared.
Already used to nickname because of my little brother and sister, I shrugged off how casual they were with deciding what to call me. When she saw that I was fine with the nickname, Vivi went on with, "So, Mel, are you a Freshie?" I nodded. "Oh, oh, so are we! Isn't it exciting? Super hero school! At last!" Her enthusiasm was contagious, and soon I was going on about how I was sure this year would be amazing.
We talked for the next few more minutes as the bus made its final rounds, picking up another handful of students, when suddenly seat-belts shot from the top corners of the seat, locking in a crisscross formation. "What's going on?" I squeaked, looking to the front of the bus to figure out what was happening.
Vivi squealed happily. "Vic, it's just like she said it would be! Ohmygosh, it's happening!" Her brother remained locked in his texting trance, oblivious to what was going on around us.
I peaked out the window, receiving a side glare from Mr. Rude and Angst, and saw wings on the sides of the bus. Then, as we were lifted into the air, my throat closed up and my heart dropped into my stomach, a feeling of dread and exhilaration tangling in my nerves. Vivi let out a loud, "Weee! Wooo!" as we rose in the air, rocketing upwards as others screamed and shouted.
As we soared through the air, my body lifted slightly off the seat, like when you're on a roller coaster and go upside down, and then I was jerked back down when we landed, roughly. I breathed in heavily and grabbed my bag, the seat belts unlocking and setting me free.
A little wobbly, I stood and made my way down the aisle to the exit, my mind buzzing with adrenalin. Behind me, Vivi couldn't stop talking about her awe and wonder and excitement, until her brother nudged her with his elbow and begged her to stop talking. I laughed at them and almost fell on my way off the bus, a hand reaching out grab me. I blinked up at Mr. Rude and Angst and frowned dizzily. "Thanks," I said politely, if not a little sourly.
"Whatever." He stormed off, his bag hung loosely over one shoulder and his attitude shying away anyone in his angsty path.
Vivi came up to stand beside me. "Ohmygod, was that who I think it was?" Vic looked up from his phone finally and stared, nodding his approval. "Yup." He grinned and went back to texting. "Warren Peace."