Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew they were trying to talk to me. Unfortunately, my brain was not processing anything at the moment. The world was fuzzy and every sound was distorted and muddled. Movement lagged jaggedly, like a video being played on crappy internet. For the first time in my life I sat completely still, my ADHD momentarily defeated by utter shock. I tried to focus but there was a distracting rushing sound in my ears, like driving on the interstate with the windows rolled down. After what felt like hours but was truthfully only a few seconds, the world began to come back into focus. The rushing sound died down, and the conversation going on in front of me began to sound like recognizable English again. Two voices, one male and the other female, were attempting to speak to me.
"Mina. Mina! You in there?" The man said. His blurry features were slowly sharpening, big brown eyes, shaggy brown hair, and the ever present Cardinals baseball cap. He was familiar; he was my friend.
"Barker, I think you broke her." The female voice said. Barker! That's who it is, my friend Louis Barker. The girl was unfamiliar. She had sun-kissed blonde hair and sky blue eyes. She was pretty, beautiful actually, and immediately made me feel self conscious. A hand with chipped yellow fingernail polish appeared in front of my nose and snapped. I jumped and the world was suddenly in focus again. Louis Barker and the mystery girl were looking expectantly at me. Had they asked a question? What was the question?
"Well, what do you think?" Mystery girl asked. I didn't know what she was talking about, but all I could think was that my life had been relatively normal only a couple of hours earlier.
5 Hours Earlier
The sky was a field of clear blue, dominated by steep swollen clouds that promised rain. The air was dusty and humid at the same time. A swift wind heralded the coming storm, and made up for the uncomfortable combination of sun and humidity. I sat at a picnic table in the baseball complex. The sounds of the complex surrounded me in a comforting babble. Car engines, conversations, and shouts of "Hey, Batter!" swelled up over the cracks of baseball bats and the cheers of the fans. The complex was just a short walk from my house, and while I had no one to watch, the noise and activity of the ballpark was much preferable to the silence I would find at home. A can of coke was on the table next to me. The air smelled like sunscreen and popcorn, like summer. My foot tapped the ground as I read the fifth Harry Potter book for the tenth time. My mom and I had been in this small Southern Illinois town for eight months. A new record, I think. We never stayed in one place for very long. I had long grown accustomed to new towns, new schools, and new faces. Unfortunately, I never made many new friends. We never stayed in one town long enough for me to make good friends, and eventually I found that staying distant from my classmates and neighbors made it easier to say the inevitable goodbye.
This town was different though. My mom had a boyfriend here. Bill was a nice guy. He treated my mom, Andrea, well. Bill had a pleasant way of speaking, words just rolled off of his tongue, never fully formed; his southern twang was easily heard. When we talked, he spoke to me as he would speak to an adult, not a child. On weekends, he took me out onto the back roads in his truck and we drove fast, exhilaratingly fast, with the windows down. The wind ripped through my hair and an elated scream would tear out of my mouth, only to be left behind in the dust. Bill would let out a woop and go a little faster. He taught me and my mother how to shoot a gun and was the one to rescue us when our car stalled in the big snowstorm over Christmas break. I liked it here. I had a few friends, and a room that overlooked a pretty little pond. I had even let my hopes up that we would stay for once. I hoped that I could start the eighth grade in the same school that I had completed the seventh. I hoped that Bill would marry my mom, and would eventually let me be the one to speed down the back roads in his dented pick-up when I turned sixteen. I hoped for a sense of family that I had never felt before. And I hoped for the ability to come back to the same ballpark tomorrow and sit in the same spot and read the same book. Sometimes hope is futile. I was knocked out of my thoughts and the world of Harry Potter by the sound of approaching footsteps.
"Hey, Philomina, what are you doing here?" My hands tightened on the cover of my book, my foot tapped a little faster. I hated my full name. Philomina, it was a horrid. I never told anyone my full name, but Kelly Adams had somehow discovered it. Worse, she knew that it bothered me.
"Don't call me that." I said, looking up from the comforting pages of Harry Potter. Kelly raised her eyebrows innocently.
"What? I thought that was your name." She said sweetly. Kelly was probably the fakest person I had ever met and was one of the only parts of this town that I didn't like. Her foundation made her look like a tangerine and every part of her pretty façade was bought, from her highlights to her fake nails. Her boyfriend of the week was trailing behind her, trying to covertly look at her butt. Her shorts didn't leave much to the imagination after all.
"I've told you before that I don't like to be called that." I told her, slowly turning the page of my book, hoping that she would leave. Kelly sat down, and the boyfriend stood awkwardly off to the side, unsure of his role in this little scenario. I sighed inwardly, she meant to stay.
"But Philomina fits you." I raised an eyebrow at the poorly crafted insult. Kelly knew I thought it was an ugly name. Sensing the weakness of her offensive blow, she changed the subject.
"What are you reading?" She asked, and snatched the book before I could react. The she-devil turned the book over, confusion settling on her face. "What is this?" I roughly yanked the book back.
"It's Harry Potter." I said, "In Italian." Kelly's face was incredulous and for a moment I felt a wave of smugness settle under my skin. The boyfriend looked mildly impressed.
"You know Italian?" She sneered. I gave an exaggerated eye-roll.
"No, Kelly, I was pretending to read Italian. Of course I know Italian." And with that little statement I rose from my seat and walked off, for once in my life getting the last word.
I had found that I picked up languages remarkably easy. It had started with my Mexican neighbor in Texas. The Spanish came to me mostly from listening to the motherly woman speak on the phone with relatives as she babysat me. When she realized how much I had learned, she set to teaching me the finer points. By the time we moved a mere three months later, I was fluent. That was at age seven. Next I learned Italian, which was quite similar to Spanish, from my third grade teacher in Ohio who was astonished to watch me learn the language in six months. Now I was teaching myself German. However, I still enjoyed my copy of Harry Potter in Italian, which led me to read at the complex. Now that Kelly was at the ballpark it was no longer safe and private. I might as well go home. I cut through several backyards to reach my house. It was rundown and shabby looking. There was only one floor and no basement. During the frequent tornado alarms, we sat in the bathtub. However, it was my favorite house I had ever lived in. The other houses and apartments were temporary living spaces. This house was becoming home. My neighbor's ancient dog barked halfheartedly from the shade of an oak tree as I walked into my yard and bounded up the wooden porch steps. I swung open the ripped screen door and set my book on the kitchen table, next to the mason jar of daisies Bill had brought my mother last week. The happy little daisies were slightly wilted now. It was hot outside; the humidity was smothering me so I made a beeline for the tub of lemonade I knew was in the fridge. The refreshing glass was half way to my lips when my mother came storming through the kitchen. I froze. It was four in the afternoon. My mom's shift at the local diner didn't end until six. She shouldn't be home.
"Mom?" I called, trailing down the hall after her, lemonade forgotten on the kitchen counter. I found her in her room, madly throwing her belongings in the patchy suitcase we use. "What are you doing?" I asked frantically. She couldn't be packing. Packing means leaving. I don't want to leave; I like it here. She ignored me, and pushed me to the side as she retrieved her toothbrush from the bathroom.
"Pack your stuff." She said shortly.
"What!?" I shrieked. I small part of me wondered if I was truly her daughter. She stood tall and curvy, while I was tiny and all edges. Her hair was a thick, curly auburn, while I had mousy brown waves that weren't much of anything. Her skin was pale and flawless, and mine was tan and freckled. Mostly, though, she had an insatiable urge to keep moving, while all I wanted was to find some stability.
She paused for a moment. "You heard me. Pack your stuff, we're leaving."
"Mom, no! We can't, I like it here. I want to stay." I pleaded with her. She didn't listen. Already a good portion of her things were in the suitcase. My mom was the master of traveling light.
"Mina, pack your stuff."
"No." I wouldn't leave, couldn't leave. Not again. She froze, hand reaching for the only picture she ever took with us. It was a picture of her and me. I was young, my eyes bright, as though I still thought that the unending moving was an adventure to be enjoyed.
"Excuse me?" She said, her voice dangerously quiet. I swallowed hard.
"I don't want to leave." Her eyes narrowed. An uncomfortable silence filled the room. When she broke it her voice was low and tense.
"Philomina Elaine Braddock, go pack your things right now." Normally, at this, the use of my full name, I would relent and leave to pack. But not today, not this time.
"Why? Why do we always have to leave? Why are we always running? I want to live in one place, Mom. I'm sick of moving. I'm sick of having to start over all the time. I want a family! I thought we had a family this time." I was waving my arms madly and tears were threatening my vision, but I was not going to cry. Mina Braddock does not cry. My mom opened her mouth to say something but I didn't want to hear it. Turning on my heel, I stormed out of the house, past the forgotten glass of lemonade and the daisies that were dying on the table. I stomped across my yard of curling yellow grass and broke into a run when I heard my mom shout my name from the porch. My feet slapped the pavement as I turned onto our road. I was always good at running. I had speed and endurance. I could have been the best on the cross country team, I thought ruefully, if only we stayed long enough for me to join. I didn't realize where my feet had unconsciously taken me until I recognized Bill's home. I slowed and walked up the cracked pathway to his front door. I knocked the secret knock we had made up together. Knock, pause, knock, knock, knock. I head a shout of "Kid, its open" and entered the house. Bill was slumped forlornly in his favorite recliner. ESPN was on, but he paid it no attention.
"Hey Phils, I guess your mom broke the news to you." He gave me a weak smile that didn't reach his warm brown eyes.
"Can't you talk any sense into her?" I asked desperately. Bill shook his head sadly and my heart dropped.
"You still remember how to shoot a rifle?" He asked. I nodded. "And you remember how to spot a man's tell in poker?" Another nod. "Good. That's all ya need to know in life." Bill stood up, and enveloped me in a hug.
"I don't want to leave." I muttered into his shirt. He patted my back.
"I know, Phils, I know." We pulled out of the hug and he bent down so that we were eye to eye. "I'll miss ya, Kid." He clapped me on the shoulder and told me that I should be getting back to my mom. I nodded. The anger was mostly gone now. It had been replaced by a heavy sadness. Bill stood and offered his hand for me to shake, like an adult. I shook it and we left the goodbye at that. One would think that I would be unaffected by goodbyes by now, but I still hated each and every one. I left the house and only looked back once.
When I got home the house was dark and empty, already reminding me of the state it had been in upon our arrival. My mother had left me a note saying that she went to pick up her last check from the diner and would return home with dinner. I walked down the hall to my room, footsteps heavy with resignation. To say the least, my room was sparse. I could pack everything I owned into one suitcase. As I looked around the little room that I had grown quite fond of, I realized that I would never see it again. My mother and I never visited the same town twice. The anger began to seep back into my bones. I was sick of this. I was sick of the packing, the moving, the short notice, the goodbyes, or more often, the lack of them. And then, I let my ADHD compulsiveness get the better of me. In a flash of white hot rage at my mother and her lifestyle I dumped the contents of my half packed suitcase on the floor and grabbed my school bag. It was an old thing my mom got from the Salvation Army, but it was big and sturdy and hadn't let me down in eight years. My brain went into autopilot and before I fully realized what I was doing, my bag was packed and I was standing in front of the ripped screen door overlooking my backyard. My mother had decided that we were leaving. Fine, I'm leaving. But not with her. I was done with her telling me when I had to pull up my roots, abandon everything and leave. I spared only a second thought to grab my Italian copy of Harry Potter and some money from the jar on top of the refrigerator. And then I walked out of the door. This time, I didn't look back. Not once.
I stopped in the town park. It was small, crisscrossed with jogging trails, and played host to a sad excuse for a playground. At the moment it was devoid of shouting children and, as a result lay under a stifling silence. I slung my backpack into the dust and sat down on a rusty swing. Its' chains squeaked as they took my weight.
"What now?" I asked myself aloud. No answer came to mind, and I toyed with the idea that I probably should have thought this through a bit more thoroughly. The way I figured it, I had three options. The park stood at the edge of town. Where the oak trees of the park gave way to endless rows of corn, and the corn eventually gave way to the Shawnee State Park. I could follow the highway out of town (not an appealing notion), cut through the fields and then eventual forest (where I would inevitably get hopelessly lost), or turn around and head back to town (admitting defeat). The last option was unacceptable. The first two weren't looking that great either. My thoughts were interrupted by an ominous growl. The hairs on my arms stood up as I realized I wasn't as alone as I had thought. Slowly, I turned to face the noise, and almost screamed. Stepping out of the shadow of a thick sycamore tree was a huge, and I mean huge, dog. It had eyes like glowing coals, and looked big enough to snap me up in one massive bite. Judging from its attitude, I felt as though it was considering how to do just that. I stood up slowly, not turning my back to it.
"N-Nice Dog." I stuttered, stepping away from the swings. It took a threatening step forward, still sizing me up. Now I should have known from my unhealthy addiction to horror movies that it is never a good idea to walk backwards, like, ever. I mentally cursed myself for being stupid as I tripped over a root and fell backwards. The dog took this golden opportunity to lunge at me, eyes burning, mouth frothing. I yelped and barely dodged the attack. The breeze the dog created when it flew by me blew back my hair. That was close, too close. I scrambled to my feet and took off. My backpack lay forgotten by the swings. The dog was after me in a heartbeat. Trees and playground equipment flew by in a blur as I ran. Blood pounded in my ears and a single sentence ran on repeat through my head. I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die. My lungs burned and my eyes darted frantically around the park as I looked for shelter. I could practically feel the dog's breath down my neck as it chased me. I faked a left and hooked right. The dog fell for the trick and its' momentum sent it flying into the monkey bars. I used the few seconds of reprieve to run through my options. There weren't many. And then I spotted a massive oak with low branches. If I could only get to it, I could climb out of the demon dog's reach. I found only one problem in my plan: the dog stood in between me and the tree. It had finally pulled itself from the bars, leaving them twisted. The look in its eyes told me that I had just made it personal. A snarl twisted the dog's lips and it charged. I tried to dodge to the side again, but this time it threw a paw out. A claw raked down my arm and I gasped as white hot fire flared up along the cut. Gonna die, gonna die. I made a beeline for the tree, trying to ignore the pain that was now clouding my vision. I reached the tree and heaved myself onto the lowest branch. The action caused the pain from my arm to flare up again and I gritted my teeth. The dog was only seconds away, and I had to climb higher. Gonna die. I made it by mere inches. The demon dog from Hell paced below me, eyes flashing murderously. I sat on my branch and leaned against the trunk of the tree. Deep breaths, I told myself. The adrenalin was wearing off and I realized I was shaking. The pain in my arm came back with a vengeance. I let out a strained laugh.
"I am so screwed." I said to no one in particular. "Great job, Mina, you went and got yourself treed like a raccoon. Brilliant." Time inched by; the demon dog showed no signs of leaving. The pain from my wound had settled into a dull throb.
Suddenly I heard voices approaching my direction.
"Hey!" I shouted, "Help, this dog is attacking me!" The voices paused, and then I could see a boy and a girl running towards me. I recognized one as a friend from school, Louis Barker. But who was the girl? I had never seen her before, which is saying something, because in a town of six thousand you've seen everyone. I waved frantically, and pointed at the demon dog. Louis and the mystery girl jumped back.
"Oh, Styx! That's a hellhound!" The girl cried. A what? The hellhound whipped around at the sound of her voice and snarled. Before I could even comprehend what had happened, the hellhound pounced and the girl rolled to the side. As she stood she pulled a bow from God knows where and knocked an arrow from a quiver that was definitely not on her back three seconds previously. A series of twangs sounded through the air and four bronze arrows sprouted from dog's neck. The hellhound yowled and burst into fine gold dust. I pinched my good arm. Considering what I had just seen, there was a good possibility that I had passed out from blood loss and was hallucinating. Louis jogged over to the base of my tree with his awkward gate while the mystery girl gathered her arrows.
"Mina, is that you? Oh, gods, you're hurt!" I was too dazed (and convinced I was hallucinating) to notice that he had used gods in plural form. Mystery girl joined him by my tree.
"Can you get down?" she asked. I nodded and gingerly began to descend. Once my feet touched the ground the last of my strength finally left me and I started to collapse. Mystery girl- I needed to stop calling her that and find her name- caught me and led/carried me to the nearest picnic table. Louis sucked his breath in through his teeth when he caught sight of the gash on my arm.
"Here, let me take a look at that while you tell us what happened." The girl said kindly, apologizing as I winced when she touched my arm. I told them and Louis went to go fetch my backpack. While he was gone, she pulled a water bottle and a rag from her own pack. She wet the rag and handed me the bottle to drink what water remained. I took it with my good arm and drank gratefully. She began to gently clean my arm and I soon saw that the cut wasn't as bad as it looked. Louis returned with my backpack.
"Does your mom know you're here?" He asked. I looked down guiltily and explained the situation. Mystery girl and Louis exchanged what seemed to be a series of significant looks. My fingers drummed the paint chipped table anxiously.
"You're not going to make me go back, are you?" I blurted out.
"No, you can come with us, if you want." Louis said. He and the girl smiled at me reassuringly. I almost said yes immediately, and then stopped myself. What was I doing? Sure, Louis is my friend but I didn't even know the girl's name.
"Actually, it would be best if you did come with us." The girl added.
"Where are you going?" I asked. She and Louis exchanged another meaningful glance.
"A camp, of sorts. It's the only safe place for people like us." I frowned. What was that supposed to mean? I voiced my question. Mystery girl bit her lip, thinking.
"Ok, don't freak out."She then proceeded to tell me the oddest, craziest, most impossible thing I've ever heard.. And that's how I ended up sitting on an old park bench, staring blankly at two people who were looking at me expectantly. I narrowed my eyes, trying to discern if I was the victim of some elaborate practical joke (or if I needed to make a call to the local nuthouse).
"Well," Mystery girl repeated, "what do you think?" For a moment, I couldn't find any words.
"You think I'm a what?" She sighed, with a look on her face that said did-you-not-pay-attention-to-anything-I-just-said?
"A demigod. You're a demigod."