Ria Strike

Chapter 1 The World as I Know It

I bite my lip in apprehension, as I inch toward Mrs. Huntingdon's desk. My language arts teacher is sitting stiffly in her swivel chair, and delicately holding a small piece of paper in her hand. I avert my gaze as she gives me a cold stare, allowing me to just glimpse the cramped handwriting that fills the first couple of lines before stopping abruptly in the middle of a sentence.

Maybe she just wants to wish me a happy summer vacation, I allow myself to hope. She does compliment my writing sometimes, and she respects me, if not her other students. That paper probably has nothing to do with me at all. The rational part of my mind easily rules out that possibility. The miniscule print is in a shade of light grey instead of the more common black, and the title is written in my favorite pink highlighter. I don't know what I was thinking when I decided to use those particular colors, seeing that Mrs. Huntingdon will make you fail any writing assignment that you do in colored ink. The only color she lets her students use is the bland black typing that one normally finds on business contracts.

I was probably not thinking at all, now that I look back on it. Yesterday, my best friend Kathleen O'Connell and I had just watched the movie The Mask of Zorro for the eleventh time this month, since we had signed up for fencing lessons two weeks ago. I've been inspired by Zorro. There's something seriously cool about running around in a black cape and cutting Zs in people, and it had compelled Kat and I to attempt to stand up for people's rights like our hero. Of course, if Zorro wanted to make Mrs. Huntingdon have mercy on her students, he would probably draw his sword and jump gallantly into the classroom and demand her to change her ways immediately, but Kat and I can't bring our fencing swords to school without getting expelled. So idiotic little me came up with this marvelous plan to simply disobey the rules and use multi-colored ink.

I should've known that giving Mrs. Huntingdon an excuse to punish me wouldn't do me any good. Now that I am standing before her, I didn't feel so invincible anymore. My rational mind is on overload. What can she do to you? This is your last day of high school, you moron! You'll be leaving it forever the moment you walk out of that building. Would Zorro be afraid? Of course he wouldn't be, but I am. I will never see Mrs. Huntingdon in the future, but the 'future' hasn't exactly occurred yet.

"What has gotten into you, Liseta Chavez?" Mrs. Huntingdon sounds as if she has a slight head cold, but is intimidating never the less. I seem to have forgotten how many angry wrinkles can fill her face at one time. She drops the paper, and it hits her clean desk facing me. "You have never disobeyed my policies before. Are you getting cocky, now that you have graduated from high school?"

"No, Mrs. Huntingdon," I answer meekly. Forget what Zorro would do! I'm still just little old me. "I must have been careless, that's all." At least you're telling some of the truth. I shift my weight nervously from foot to foot.

"I thought so." Some of the wrinkles disappear form her face, which is a pretty good sign if you're in the habit of being severely optimistic. "Miss Chavez, as much as I see fit to fail you for violation of my policies, I cannot help but notice the unique content of this first paragraph."

Thoroughly confused, I glance down at my paper.

Ria Strike

'A tall slim figure stood motionlessly on the roof of a building. Ignoring the burning sunlight overhead, her sole focus was on the empty street below. It was the road that led to this single house, so no one normally rode their horses up this far. But today, she could hear the distant pounding of horses' hooves, and saw the cloud of disturbed dust and dirt that announced the arrival of them and their riders. Upon seeing the riders' leader, she quickly ducked behind the chimney. It was her sworn enemy. He and his soldiers had come for her-Ria Strike. She was…'

I had never figured out what she was before I had to hand in the paper. I just know that she's a hero of sorts, kind of like Zorro or Robin Hood, who lives in some past era. I'm not even sure what I thought was going to happed in the plot. I guess that the Zorro movie has a bad influence on my creativity.

Now, it's the time for me to say something really clever, but I'm not very gifted in improvising. "What?" Yeah, that's seriously all I can think of.

"This is a very nice piece of work, Miss Chavez. You use good adjectives to describe what Ria Strike sees and feels, and all you need is a good description of what she looks like. If you work hard, I can see you as a published author someday."

Okay, that's just weird, coming from her. "I don't know about that." Did I mention that I also had issues accepting compliments, too? They make me feel nervous.

"I'm serious." Mrs. Huntingdon certainly looks serious. She stares at me intently, making me want to shrink into the floor and never be seen again. "If you make money from publishing books, you could add a little more of it to your college fund. That way you can study abroad with your friend Miss O'Connell."

Good old Kat. We plan to go to Europe together in college the moment we get the chance. I never knew that Mrs. Huntingdon heard us talking about it, but it's nice that she cares. "Ah, college funds. That's the magic words! I'll keep that in mind," I say, allowing grin to spread across my face. I pick up the paper, hardly daring to believe that I got out of trouble so easily.

"Go on, then. Miss O'Connell is probably waiting for you."

"Thanks, Mrs. Huntingdon!" I say, turning on my heel and strolling out of the classroom. The moment I cross the threshold, I breathe a deep sigh of relief. I can't believe I made it out alive! Maybe Zorro did jump into the classroom and order Mrs. Huntingdon to have mercy on her poor students. You never know…

Kat is sitting cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the lockers on the wall, and reading the book Pride and Prejudice. The moment the squeak of the door's hinges can be heard, she looks up at me, flipping her waist-length hair over her shoulder. She's dyed it blue today, and it clashes horribly with her pale skin and freckles. It's the same color as the logo on her shirt, though. It used to be her older sister's high school graduation t-shirt, and it still reads 'California Class of 2060' on it in large bold letters. Why she is wearing it to her own last day of high school five years later is beyond me.

"Lis, you're alive!" Kat shrieks, jumping up to a standing position and closing her book with a snap. I can see that wearing matching outfits isn't her priority today. Along with her shirt, she is wearing a pair of patched up flared jeans that look like they came from the 1960s and a black belt that has way too many scull pictures on it. "Was Mrs. Huntingdon mad at you?"

"Not quite," I say. Kat and I begin to walk briskly down the hallway, passing by the rusty gray lockers that seem to be ready to fall off their hinges. Our school was built back in the year 2005, and it hasn't been repaired since.

My own locker is at the very end of the hallway, between the door to the school parking lot and Kat's locker. We stop on front of it, so I can take down all my Zorro magnets that decorate it and slip it into my pocket, and pick up my black backpack, slinging it over my shoulders. All of my binders are shoved inside, and I can barely stand the pain that the weight makes my shoulders deal with. Relax, Lis. This is the last time you will ever have to carry a load this heavy.

Kat pushes open the heavy red doors that lead outside, and we stroll through them and make way towards my car. It's a black Volkswagen beetle with the bright picture of Zorro that I painted on each side. I always drive Kat home in it, since the only car she can drive belongs to her parents, who both work.

Opening the trunk, we drop our backpacks inside, finally feeling the relief of having no weights on our shoulders and backs. Closing the door with a slam, we climb into the front seats and start the engine.

When the car starts, so does the music. I was playing the Zorro soundtrack on the way to school, and it picks up just where it left off- in the middle of Zorro's Theme. Talk about dramatic!

Kat gives me a sidelong glance. "So what do you plan to do over the summer?"

"Nothing," I said, letting the blissful prospect of laying in my room all day with the windows down and the music up wash over me like a rare desert rainfall. "I'll probably gain, like, ten pounds, but I really don't care right now. There's no one to tell me I'm ugly any more since school's out, so there's no use for obsessive exercise."

"Smooth, Lis," Kat snickers. "How will you keep up with fencing?"

"A miracle," I reply, grinning. "I'll definitely have a pretty sweet tan by the end of the summer, though. I've just got a hot tub installed on the roof of my house, and I'll get to use it a lot. I can go directly to it from the skylights on my bedroom ceiling."

"Shut up, you're making me jealous!" Kat whines.

"Don't worry, you can come over and use it any time you want- within reason." I add the last part when I remember how late at night Kat stays up. Knowing her, I can easily picture her knocking on my door when it's only four in the morning. There is no way I'd be able to answer it. If I don't sleep in until at least nine o'clock, I feel like a zombie.

I can see Kat's house long before we actually reach it. It bears an eerie resemblance to the gothic castle in Edward Scissorhands, and has a winding driveway that looks like it extends five miles. Even though I've known Kat since second grade, this place still gives me the creeps. But I expect that for a Johnny Depp fan like Kat it's a dream come true, so I don't complain.

We've finally reached the zillion mile driveway. Yippee. Time for the most boring ten minute drive in the universe.

"Lis, the ride's not that bad," Kat says. "Jeez, you've been coming to my house since elementary school and you still have the patience level of a piece of taffy!"

"So?" When I have no comebacks what so ever, using the word 'so' normally works fine.

"So stop making faces as if you're smelling rotten cheese."

Whoops. I didn't think I was that readable. I grin sheepishly, and focus on the road ahead.

The Zorro soundtrack finishes its last song, and the disc is unceremoniously ejected. "Hey, Lis! Can we listen to the new CD I bought yesterday?"

I agree hesitantly. As a rule, I don't really listen to any music that's not on a movie soundtrack, but knowing Kat, the album she has is some rock band from the 1960s. She buys them from the same retro shop where she gets about fifty percent of her clothes.

I'm right. The moment Kat slips in the CD, I can definitely tell its classic rock. It's some band called The Beatles, who played music like a million years ago. The band also broke up a million years ago. Not that I'll break this to Kat. In her little world they're all still alive and well, and she'll have a twenty minute screaming match with anyone who insults them. I don't know about you, but getting into a fight with a blue haired gothic hippie is not on the top of my priorities list.

Kat's singing the words of the song under her breath, and I do my best to follow along. The melody's nice enough, but I don't really get the lyrics. It's something about 'a hard day's night,' whatever that means. Oh well. It makes the drive interesting at least.

My crazy friend would be proud of me. I pretty much forgot how long the drive really is, and I was parking next to the gothic castle in no time at all. Kat puts the CD back in her bag, and hops happily out of my car.

"How about I drop by at your house tomorrow?" she suggests.

"That's fine," I answer, even though it doesn't really matter. Even if I tell her that tomorrow won't be a good time, Kat would probably just show up anyway.

"Thanks!" Kat screams, as she extracts her backpack from my trunk and slings it over her shoulder. She skips off into her house, whistling another Beatle song.

I replay my Zorro soundtrack on the way home. My place isn't nearly as big as Kat's castle, but it's big enough to be considered a mansion I guess. It's just beyond the city water tower, and is only a block away from Starbucks. The building itself is Spanish, and was made in the 1800s, but Mom and Dad built plenty of extra levels and garages on it over the past couple of years.

I can already hear the whirring sound of the machines in my dad's workshop as I park my car on front of the house. I leave my backpack in the trunk for now, as I run up the stone walkway.

Pulling my house key from my pocket, I unlock the front door and stroll into the kitchen. I figure that Mom will probably be upstairs working on her latest history book, a study of ancient Rome, so she won't bother me if I get a little snack.

Grabbing some Doritos from the pantry, I sit at the table, moving aside a stack of newspapers so I have room to lean on my elbows.

I have a pretty strange family when I think about it. I used to wish I could have mundane parents like most people when I was little. I was embarrassed by Mom's love for writing obscure bits of history, and Dad's obsession with machinery. But now I'm used to it. Besides, they're paid a lot for their work. That way I can buy a hot tub and stick it on my own roof!

It's just slightly freaky that the partial reason for their success is that they are breaking the law.

Well it's not like they've murdered anyone. My parents are too nice to do anything that bad. It's just that their passion for machinery and history has brought them to the same thing it did to Americans in the past- invention of time traveling devices.

Back in the 2040s, the first time machine was invented by my super intelligent grandfather Fernando Chavez when he was living in Las Vegas. He made millions of dollars from charging tourists to take trips back in time, and history was changed all over the place.

He met his downfall one day when a scheming little hooligan named Liam O' Connell went back in time to change history- so he would get the credit for inventing the time machine instead of Grandpa Fernando. They both managed to make tons of money and moved to California, but the U.S. government thought time travel was too dangerous. Someone could prevent the Revolutionary war from occurring for all they knew!

So now it's against the law to build or use a time machine, and my parents completely disregard the lovely fines and arrests they would get for disobeying it. They are obsessed with getting more time travel advances for our family, since we never get any credit.

But since the police haven't caught them yet, they keep right on working. They've managed to send these robot things through time to videotape events, so they can have the best accuracy for Mom's stories. Most of our money comes from the amount of schools that buy the books for their students and the mundane inventions Dad sells to cover the fact that he is doing endless amounts of illegal activity.

I finish the last of my Doritos and decide to save the mint chocolate chip ice cream that's still in the freezer for tomorrow. It will be my birthday after all, and I need to have something festive to serve when Kat comes over.

I trudge nonchalantly into the hall. Just up the stairs is my bedroom door and I make a beeline for it. It's my favorite part of the house. Behind the door is a lounge room with another set of stairs in the back, and they eventually lead to the next level where I actually have a bed, desk, and closet.

Both levels are undisputedly cluttered. The light green carpet is covered in scattered items, and every inch of desk space is full of papers.

Moving to my computer desk, I type in my favorite search engine, and keep myself occupied for about three hours by searching for random words like 'the' and 'Zorro.'

When I finally decide that it may be a good idea to go eat some dinner and prevent my own starvation, it seems that Mom and Dad have already eaten. I can hear their excited whispering in the next room, but I pretty much ignore them. They get like this every time they complete a step in their latest project. Pouring myself a glass of milk and spooning some spaghetti onto my plate, I eat in silence. What Mom and Dad are planning is their business, not mine.

But when my parents suddenly stride into the room with wide grins plastered on their faces, I almost choke on my mouthful of milk. What the heck are they happy about? The only time I can remember that they were this happy was when they bought their first time machine equipment back when I was seven.

"So… what's with the smiles?" I ask sarcastically, pretending that I don't care. They moment you show someone that you don't want to hear what they have to say, most people get this urge to talk to you for the next half hour. Kat says it's reverse psychology or something.

I don't really know if this technique works on anyone else, but it sure works on my parents. Mom is beaming, and shifting her weight from foot to foot as if she can't bear to leave me in suspense any longer. "Well, Lis, your father has had a serious breakthrough in his work that will mean the undisputed success of my new book!"

Okay… well that's news. What's more of a breakthrough then sending freaky camera robots back in time?

"You can't tell anyone, Liseta," Dad insists. "We'll be arrested for sure if word gets out."

Can they spit it out any slower? "What is it?" I ask lazily.

"Our time machine is now big enough to transport people!" Mom exclaims. She's jumping up and down excitedly, and I'm pretty glad that no one else id here to see it. I've always been told that transportation of living organisms is harder to achieve, so that's pretty sweet.

"So… have you tested it out?" I ask them. I should try to find out how much damage they have caused already.

"Once," Dad says lightly. "We took a quick trip to the American Revolution. It wasn't anything major, just about five minutes."

I smirk. Guess the government's worst fears have been confirmed. Normal people would be either outraged or flabbergasted. I'm just indifferent. "So when are you going to have your first 'major' trip?"

"Well… we want to do it as soon as possible, really," Mom replies, sitting in a chair across from me. "Except we wouldn't miss your birthday tomorrow, of course!"

"It doesn't matter." The words come out of my mouth before I realize what I am saying, but I rather like the idea as I grow used to it.

Mom and Dad both give me quizzical looks.

"Honestly!" I say nonchalantly. "Go wherever you want. I'll probably just celebrate with Kat or something, anyway. I don't want to interfere with your research."

I see identical smiles spread across my parents' faces, and I know I convinced them. Their only daughter might be celebrating her birthday, but they are all too happy to miss it and go off on a crazy illegal business trip instead. Those two are awesome, even with their whack priorities.

"Thanks, Lis!" Dad says enthusiastically. "Take care. And don't answer the door unless it's someone you know."

By 'someone you know,' he means Kat, which is surprising. Mom and Dad have always been a bit astonished at my relationship with my strange friend. Liam O'Connell was her great-uncle, after all, and our families haven't exactly been on the best of terms since the time machine incident.

"All right," Mom says abruptly. "We are going to ancient Greece. Now there is a slight difficulty in the arrangements. As long as there are people traveling through time, the government can track us. If anyone who enforces the law comes to the door, you must go to the roof and switch the emergency control we've set up there."

I give her a quizzical look.

"If you need to run from the law, the switch will take you and the entire house back in time."

Dad clears his throat. "Not that we'd want to teach you to run from the law of course," he adds hastily. "We just want you to be prepared."

"Yeah… right." I twist my face into what I hope is an expression of understanding.

"We're wasting time," Mom says briskly. "Bye, Lis. See you soon." She crosses to my side of the table and gives me a kiss on the forehead. Dad feels too awkward to kiss me, but he gives me a huge hug instead.

"Take care," he whispers. "And happy birthday in advance!"

Then they stride out of the room, and I try to tell myself that I only imagine the guilty looks on their faces.