Hello, readers! I am re-dividing some of the chapters, but the content is all the same. New chapter coming soon! Please rate and Review!
Chapter One
I was running through the streets of Annapolis, panting heavily as I sprinted. The air felt thin and cold in my lungs. My heart pounded in my ears as if it were racing my footsteps. I didn't know how long I'd been running like this. It couldn't have been more than a few minutes, but it seemed like an eternity. And yet, it seemed like no time at all. It's funny how time bends when you're running for your life. I saw people casting quizzical glances towards me as I barreled past them. It didn't matter. I couldn't stop. Something that I couldn't see was chasing me and it would catch me if I did. I didn't need to look back to know I was already losing ground.
I made a sharp turn off of the brick path onto a side street, hoping this thing wouldn't be able to follow. No luck. I continued to weave in between and behind buildings, always aware of the threat at my back. I couldn't keep this up for much longer. I needed to breathe. Desperately, I flung myself down another alleyway before skidding to a halt.
I found myself facing a brick wall with nowhere to turn. A shadow grew on the wall before me. A terrible screech filled the air and I turned to see what was chasing me. I couldn't see it. It hovered above me, but the bright sun blotted out my view of this strange creature. Another screech filled my ears and it swooped down towards me.
"RORY!"
Startled, I sat bolt upright. I glanced at the clock beside my bed. 7:13. On a Tuesday. School day.
I put my head in my hands and took a few deep breaths to steady my heartbeat. What a nightmare! It had been so vivid, so real. I could still hear that dreadful sound that the creature had made. What had it even been? Even with the faint glimpse that I had gotten in the dream, I knew it was not something I had ever seen before. But how could I have dreamed up something like that?
"Aurora Sullivan, if you don't get up now, you're going to be late! Again!" I heard my dad call from the hallway. He was right. I couldn't be late again without getting detention. Besides, he used my full name. Never a good sign. I'd have to worry about the dream later.
"I'm up!" I called back. I turned and let my feet rest on the floor for a moment before rising from my bed and started to get ready for school. After a quick shower, I combed and blow-dried my hair. I glanced at my reflection in the mirror. My golden blonde hair fell over my shoulders with a gentle curl. I stared into my own pale blue eyes. My dad was always telling me how much I looked like my mom, but I'd never met her. "You've got sunshine in your hair and the morning sky in your eyes," he'd tell me. "Always so bright and hopeful." But today, my eyes still held a sliver of the panic that I'd felt in my nightmare. It was just a dream, I thought to myself. Calm down. I shook my head as if to brush the memory from my mind. I brushed my teeth and headed downstairs to the kitchen.
Dad was waiting there with my backpack and a pile of toast wrapped in a napkin. "Ready to go?" he inquired. I nodded. He handed me my backpack and we headed out the door.
We pulled into the parking lot of Chesapeake Bay Middle School. I'm in seventh grade, and at twelve years old, I'm one of the youngest people in my grade. Before I got out of the car, my dad reached over and brushed my hair back behind my ear.
"Are you okay?" he asked. "It seems like something is bothering you." My dad is one of the most perceptive people I've ever met. Somehow, he always knows when I'm upset. I really don't know how he does it.
"I'm fine. I just had a nightmare and it freaked me out a bit. It was nothing," I told him. He looked at me in silence for a moment, trying to discern whether or not I was really okay. I guess he decided I was telling the truth, because he simply leaned over to kiss me on the cheek and said, "Have a good day."
"I'll do my best," I replied. I got out of the car and waved as he drove away. Then I turned and walked into school.
I slid into my seat just as the bell rang. "Well done, Miss Sullivan." My teacher, Mrs. Heath, smiled at me. I smiled back at her, knowing I'd narrowly avoided detention. She started to call the role to begin class. I had first period English, which was probably my favorite class. It's odd that I like it, though. I'm dyslexic, so reading is really hard for me. But my dad is the Editor in Chief of his very own publishing house, Ross Sullivan Publishing. Creative name, I know. Anyway, when I was really little and my dad realized that I was dyslexic, he started reading with me every night to help me practice. Sometimes we'd use the manuscripts that came across his desk, but sometimes we'd read other stories, especially fantasy novels. Thanks to him, I have gotten pretty good at reading, despite my dyslexia. I love reading. Stories give me a way of spending time with my dad.
"How many of you did your reading last night?" Mrs. Heath asked. The whole class raised our hands. "Good," she said, "because you have a pop quiz on it." The class groaned, but I didn't. We were reading Where the Red Fern Grows. When I had been doing the assigned reading, I forgot that I was reading for class. I was so engrossed by the book that I just finished it. I wasn't really worried about doing poorly on this quiz.
Class after that was pretty uneventful. We talked about the story for the whole class. When the bell rang we all gathered our things and left. I walked to my locker to grab my books for my next class. I saw a girl with dark brown hair and bright green eyes standing there in front of my locker, waiting for me. It was my best friend, Laurel Thatcher. She had a bad knee, so she had to use a cane to walk most of the time. That never seemed to bother her, though. She'd moved to Annapolis in the middle of last year, and a lot of the kids had made fun of her for knee. One day, an eighth-grade boy actually stole her cane. His whole posse just laughed at her as she limped around trying to get it back. One of the teachers got it back for her, but several of the kids were still making fun of her about it at lunch. I saw her sitting alone and crying. I went to sit with her and spent our whole lunch period trying to cheer her up. We've been friends ever since. When she saw me, she grinned and waved enthusiastically. Once I got close enough to hear her over the roar of students' conversations and laughter, she greeted me.
"So, how was your morning?" she asked.
"Oh, you know. I woke up late again and—"
"Please tell me you didn't get detention!" she interrupted.
"Nope! I barely dodged that bullet. How have you been?" We started walking to our next class.
"Not bad. I'm pretty sure that science test today is going to kill me, though."
"Don't worry. I'm sure you'll do fine!" I told her. We reached the door to our next class.
"Yeah. I hope so," she said, biting her lip, as we slipped into our seats, side by side.
It was one of the few classes we had together. Our teacher, Mr. Kessler, was an elderly man with a crooked nose, but he was surprisingly fun. He always tried to make our second-period history class more interesting for us. He stood and addressed the class.
"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I trust everyone's first class went well?"
"Yes, Mr. Kessler," we chorused.
"Wonderful! Now, who remembers where we left off yesterday?" he inquired.
"We were talking about ancient Greece," a boy called from the back of the room. It was Joshua Anderson.
"Very good, Mr. Anderson," complimented Mr. Kessler. "We've talked a bit about several different Greek city-states. There was the artistic Athens and the war-like people of Sparta. Each of them had its own unique culture. But did you know that each one also had its own patron god or goddess? The Athenians worshipped, naturally, Athena. In Sparta, Ares was the patron god. In Thespiae, it was Eros."
"Those are all just myths! It has nothing to do with history," Joshua called from the back.
"The religion of a civilization has everything to do with history," Mr. Kessler responded bluntly, "which is why our next section will be mythology. There are twelve Olympian gods and goddesses. The king of the gods and the lord of the Sky is Zeus, who wields his mighty thunderbolt. His wife, the queen, is Hera, goddess of marriage and childbirth. Zeus had two brothers: Poseidon, ruler of the Sea, and Hades, lord of the Underworld. The remaining Olympians were Hestia, Athena, Artemis, Apollo, Hephaestus, Aphrodite, Ares, Hermes, and Dionysus."
"You said there were twelve of them, but that was thirteen," another student commented.
"Yes, in some myths, Hestia stepped down to allow Dionysus to become one of the twelve," Mr. Kessler explained. "There were other gods besides these twelve, the minor gods. But there were also incredible mythical creatures and nature spirits. These nature spirits could take the form of beautiful women, known as nymphs, or they could be a creature that was half-goat, half-human. Does anyone know what they were called?"he asked.
I raised my hand tentatively. "They were satyrs, right?" I questioned.
"Quite right, Mrs. Sullivan!" he replied.
How did you know that? Laurel mouthed at me. My dad, I responded. She gave a me strange look that I couldn't read. It made me feel self-conscious, like I had just revealed a secret that I shouldn't know. I thought I saw a hint of fear in her eyes. Why was it so weird that I'd heard that term before? My dad and I had read a lot of the Greek myths together a long time ago. He seemed to think that they were important for me to know. I had never questioned it. My dad thought all classic stories were a necessary part of my education.
"So, for your homework tonight, I want all of you to choose a Greek god and read one of the myths involving him or her. We'll discuss some of them tomorrow. That's all for today."
The class dissolved into conversations. We only had a few more minutes before the bell, so we all packed our things and waited.
A few hours later, after lunch, I braced myself for my least favorite class: math. Laurel was already seated by the time I arrived. I took my place beside her.
I hated math. My dyslexia always seemed to be worse with numbers. To make it worse, this was pre-algebra, so there were letters mixed in among the numbers.
Our teacher, Mr. Crosley, was a bitter, middle-aged man with sharp, cruel eyes and a beak-like nose. His mousy brown hair was flecked with grey. He rose from his desk and the class fell silent. He turned his back to us, picked up the chalk and scratched an equation onto the board. He turned and scanned the class.
"So, who would like to solve this equation?" His gaze fell on me. His lips curved into a wicked grin. "Miss Sullivan, why don't you give it a try?"
I glanced at the board. The letters and numbers seemed to float off the board and scramble themselves. I couldn't even tell what the equation was, much less solve it.
"I can't," I muttered. I saw a smirk appear on his face. I don't know how many shades of red I turned.
"Well, then, would anyone else care to help Miss Sullivan? Mr. Seward?"
Brent Seward. He was one of the biggest bullies in the school. He led the group that tortured Laurel when she first moved here. Ever since she and I became friends, he hated me, too.
"17," he stated a moment later. Seeing Mr. Crosley's approving nod, he turned to smirk at me, too.
"Don't worry," he said patronizingly, "I'm sure you'll get it eventually." The expression on his face said otherwise. I was so angry, my vision was red and I heard a buzzing in my ears. The rest of the class fell into a tense quiet.
The lights flickered. Or rather, they became so bright that they seem to flicker when they turned back to normal. Everyone started to whisper.
"Did you see that?... What was that?... The lights..."
"Settle down!" Mr. Crosley shouted over the chatter. "I'm sure it was just a power surge." But I could feel his suspicious eyes on me, though I was just as confused as everyone else.
At long last, the bell rang to dismiss the class. I bolted from the room. Once I was free, I heard someone call my name down the hall. I turned to see Laurel pushing past the hoards of students. It was proving very difficult for her as everyone who passed inadvertently kicked her cane. She stumbled every time. I walked over to her and helped clear a path. Once on the other side of the crowd, she gave a relieved sigh and thanked me.
"Rory, why did you leave so quickly? I barely had time to pick up my books and you were gone."
"Sorry. I just can't stand that class. Anyway, did you see what happened with those lights?" I asked.
"Yeah," she said. "That was really weird." She was giving me a look that was somewhere between curiosity and suspicion.
"What is that look for?" I demanded.
"What look?" she asked.
"You were giving me a look."
"I was not!" she defended.
"Yes you were. You looked suspicious. Why? What do you think happened?"
"I think it was a power surge," she responded bluntly. I wasn't convinced, but I let the subject drop. Something had been very strange about the alleged power surge. I couldn't help but wonder what had really happened.
Our last class of the day was gym. I didn't like taking the class, but I supposed it was better to have it at the end of the day than at the beginning. At around 3 o'clock, the final bell of the day rang. Laurel and I headed to the locker room. We changed out of our gym clothes and freshened up. We walked to Laurel's bus stop and sat on the curb, chatting nonchalantly.
When the bus arrived, we stood and Laurel took a step forward before turning to me. She gave me a questioning look.
"Aren't you coming?" she asked.
"No, I'm meeting my dad at work. It's quicker to walk," I replied.
"Oh." She frowned slightly and her brows furrowed. I wondered what she was thinking.
"Everything okay?" I asked. She collected herself quickly.
"Yeah," she smiled. "I'll see you later, then." I smiled and waved. She climbed onto the bus and the doors closed to block her from my view. A moment later, she appeared in the window. I smiled and waved, then turned to walk away.