Eccentric. That was the word the majority of the students enrolled at Brigton Hills Academy used to describe me.
"Why?" I'd retort, curious to acquire the information as to why they found me so queer. The answers were always exceedingly similar. Some would elaborate excessively to explain their accusations. Others muttered fragments to themselves and made the sign against evil upon crossing me in the hallway. They said my electrifying blue eyes, brimmed with silver, looked otherworldly, alien-like. Some were petrified by my seldom meaningless dreams. Usually, my dreams allowed me to predict the future, or see into other's dreams, like an empathy link. They saw fit to torment me regarding my vague recollection of the mother I never knew, and even fainter visions of a silver chariot, the moon, and gory battle scenes. I draw these things often, accompanied other out of the ordinary things and fore-sights I witness in my slumber. In addition, I see things that you would only rest your gaze upon in a Greek mythology pamphlet, or a storybook, things that every ordinary person mistakes for an everyday object. Now I realize, I'm not eccentric, just special, if that's the way you prefer to look at it. Actually, the term I'd use is legendary.
I saunter through the hallways of Brighton Hills Academy, willing myself to dissolve into the crowd. As I make my way to calculus, I try to reform the image from my dream that had dissolved from my brain earlier, diminishing itself. I can't quite make out all the details, but I have a slight impression of the engraving that had vacated my brain before.
"Aubrey!" a voice behind me shrieks. I spin around to find my best, not to mention only, friend, Lacey.
"Is there something urgent enough that warrants petrifying your best friend to death?" I whirl around incredulously.
"Yes." Her face goes dark with serene seriousness. "I didn't inform you of this before, because… well, you'd think I belong in an insane asylum." I blink my eyes a few times and cock my head to the side, flummoxed. Lacey exhales.
"Never mind, maybe my anticipations were inaccurate…" She walks off, murmuring things under her breath. Sometimes she can be like that, mysterious, as if she were living in a complete different fantasy realm. It doesn't irritate me however, I'm just ecstatic to have a dependable friend.
My train of thought is interrupted with a rude awakening by the deafening alarm, indicating I'm officially late to class. I let out an exasperated sigh, and accelerate my walking pace.
"Late yet again, Miss Topen." Mrs. Machirio lectures me through clenched teeth, apparently oblivious to the daggers shooting from her eyes. Her toffee colored hair spills over her shoulders, cascading down her back like Niagara Falls. Hazel irises stare me in the face intensely.
"Sorry." I mumble an apology, finding my way to my desk to escape her look of complete and utter hatred. The sound of her five inch heels click on the floor as she precedes to my seat to hand me a tardy slip. Sometimes, I think somebody needs to explain to Mrs. Machirio that this is a classroom, in a high school. Not a runway at a fashion show. I think it ironic that her assistant, Mr. Catalon, is the complete opposite of her, in his dreary grey suit and thin wire rimmed glasses. I sit while they drone on about various equations, boring me to death.
The distinct smell of smoke wafts up to my nostrils, pulling me out of my coma of boredom. I whip my head around, strands of my coffee bean colored hair flying, to find an immense cloud of smoke billowing in through the ajar window. A wooden mallet appears in the window and cleaves down hard, shattering the glass barrier, sending shards of the window everywhere. Screams rise up everywhere, and a massive blue, fluorescent blue, fist reaches through the opening it created, followed by a horrifically ugly bald head, a matching color. His beady eyes are solid black, accompanied by a smashed in nose, which is surrounded by warts. He has a miniscule shriveled mouth, with crooked teeth, in an assortment of shades of greens, yellows, and browns. Tattoos cover his exceedingly large biceps, with various illustrations and sayings, including Mama's boy, I heart snuggles, and Bad to the bone. I watch in sheer horror as the revolting creature hefts himself through the space, obliterating the frame that previously encased the window in the process.
"Aubrey, run!" Lacey screams hysterically. I look around, wild eyed, and spot Lacey screeching helplessly at one of the malicious creatures to let her go. I rack my brain desperately for something I can do to help her. I cannot and will not leave her. I can only think of one thing.
"Over here, you potbellied, rum soaked ogre!" I scream audaciously. The monster lumbers towards me, smirking viciously. A flaming orb of fire materializes in his hand as he hefts back his arm to volley it at me. I unhook the fire extinguisher from its latch on the wall and spray him with a stream of white foam, which kills the ignited fireball. He removes a wooden club from his rugged tasseled sash, but is overcome by a spiraling vine of leaves, entwining themselves around him, declaring him a prisoner to their cage of plants. Behind him, Lacey stands proudly, tendrils of vine emitting from her hand. Everything about her is the same, minus her once auburn hair, which is blown by an invisible breeze and is shamrock green. I stood there, frozen, jaw gaping.
"I'll explain later," She stated breathlessly. "We've got to go; there'll be more of them coming." I don't object. Instead, I trail her wordlessly to her ancient jeep, which is on its last leg. Once inside the vehicle, I ask, stunned, "What was that thing? And more importantly, what are you?!" I inquire it expectantly, as if she were required to know this information.
"You just encountered your first monster from Greek mythology, a hyperborean. As for me, I am a dryad, commonly known as a maiden of a tree. You, my dear, are a demigod, or a half-blood." She smirks.
"Wait, you're telling me our obsessions with Greek mythology books…you knew they were real, all along?" I demand.
"Yeah." She winces. I storm off, incapable of comprehending that my friend, whom I trusted so deeply, betrayed me, held back information that was vital, crucial, to the my very existence! I can hear her pleas to me to come back, but I don't listen.