OK guys. Let's see... once 4 people say they are up for reading this again, I will say that it's officially back on track to being completed. Sound like a plan?
I stared at my hands, my thumbs traveling around each other in a constant, circular motion. The wood under my fists was growing warm and sticky, but I didn't bother to move my hands. I just kept watching as one thumb disappeared behind the other, in a never ending motion that calmed my thoughts.
There was obviously only one thing to do. I had to figure out what was going on... Why did I have this ability? How was it that I had lived my life for thirteen years without anything like this happening before? Why was this power written in a book by Cornelia Funke? And that book was the only lead I had... Inkheart, by Cornelia Funke. I knew nothing else about what I was doing, where I was going, what was happening to me... All I knew was that I had to start with Cornelia Funke.
She had to know something. I bit my lip, wondering how I could possibly track her down, how I could ever manage to seek her out. But I had a starting point: a name.
"BETH!" someone yelled in my ear, and I flinched, looking up. Max was staring at me, and I frowned back at her.
"What?"
"We said your name like thirty times. Were you in la-la land or something?" Iggy asked, arching an eyebrow at me.
"Yeah, a little," I acknowledged, straightening in my seat. "What was it you wanted?"
"Several things," Max said. "We haven't really gotten a chance to talk, you know? There was this ripping noise and suddenly we were in a parking lot, and then you were there and then Iggy could see... then we flew away, and it's all a blur, really."
"Yeah, tell me about it," I said, sighing. "I had always wanted... you know... W-I-N-G-S... but I never thought I'd get them. And this power is a complete shocker to me, I don't know how it happened or where it came from but it did and I just don't really know what to do about it."
"So, you said... in this place, everyone knows about us? We're in a book?" Nudge asked, looking thoroughly excited.
"Everyone knows about you but they think you're imaginary," I said. "Fiction. A story they tell to kids, nothing more than that."
"So... here, nothing we experienced exists?" Iggy asked, a thoughtful look coming across his face. "So no school, no Jeb, none of that?"
"I don't know," I said, completely lost. "I think I read the part about the school out loud, but I don't know if that made it real or not or if anything happened... and... I just... I don't know."
"Very helpful," Max said, her tone a little snide.
"I'm doing my best!" I protested. "You have to understand that this big shocker for you? Yeah, it's worse for me. You were just turned to another world by powers – powers that appear for you guys every other day, in a world where anything is possible and questionable. For me? Wings shouldn't exist. You shouldn't exist. In this world, it is impossible by the laws of physics and like biology and stuff for humans to fly, no matter what size, shape or form of wings they have. Because you're here, and because you can fly, everything is different. You have literally changed the world just by existing."
They were all quiet for a moment. Iggy picked up the salt shaker, staring at the grains of salt with an absorbed sort of fascination.
"What should we do?" Gazzy asked, breaking the silence.
"I don't know," Max said, frowning. "Everything we know might not be the same here. I mean, if everyone we knew were just characters in a book, they might be here. They might not be real. We don't have anywhere to go or anyone to go to..."
"We need to go to Cornelia Funke's house," I interjected. When they looked at me, confused, I explained; I explained the story Inkheart, which I didn't remember much anymore, I explained the idea of Silvertongues and I explained how Funke was our only real lead.
"But why?" Max asked bluntly. "Why does it matter? We're here now. We're free of the oppression of the school. We can start over."
"Because we don't know what ramifications there are," I said, a little frustrated. "Maybe bringing you into this world was a bad thing. Maybe to bring someone into this world, someone else had to leave it. Maybe you can't stay. But most importantly, you don't want to stay."
"Why?" Fang asked, emotionless. "It sounds like we have a chance of a good life here."
"Because you don't, not really," I struggled to find the words. "In your world... I don't know how to explain it. But the fiction world you live in and this world are very similar on the surface, but on a deeper level it's wrong. They're different. They don't mesh. In your world, when people find out about your wings they say cool and you get parties and government jobs and a whole bunch of people there to follow you. Here? Here the philosophy is very simple.
"Ignorance breeds fear. Fear breeds hatred. And hatred? That breeds violence. No one will understand your existence. No one created you here, there is no scientific data to back it up. You were pulled out of a book, and no one is going to understand that. If your secret is EVER uncovered, you will be hunted by the population of the entire world."
"What the hell?" Max said, staring at me. "You're like, thirteen. Why such little faith in humanity?"
"When I was six, my parents were shot in an alleyway," I said, avoiding eye contact. I glanced down at my hands, frowning deeply. "I was with them. I identified the shooter, you know. But they said they didn't have enough evidence to press charges. He got to walk away from the scene."
"Oh," Max said, taken aback. "I'm... sorry, I guess."
"Don't be." I shook my head. "It was a long time ago. I live with my aunt now, so it's alright. She's nice enough." And a raging alcoholic, I thought, but I didn't say it out loud.
"Alright," Fang said. "I think we should go to Funke's house, just to investigate. But if this world really is better, and safer, and some place where we can go without persecution... then this is a blessing we should take advantage of, right?"
"Yeah," Max agreed. "Let's go see what this Funke person has to say."