The first day of school. Nerves jittered nervously in my stomach as I climbed the steps to my homeroom. I wasn't shy; never had been. I had been raised to be strong, to not back down. I was raised tough and sure of myself. I'd been raised by my mother, Kendal.
In my homeroom, there was the usual crew; Bree Warren, this girl who got boys with the flick of her fingernail and I thought was somewhat of a showoff; Robbie Gurevich, face covered in zits; Sunny Nielson, my new best friend and some other kids I really didn't care much about.
Since the seats were alphabetically ordered, I was next to this shy boy named Joey Ryan. He never said anything, and he wasn't even half-bad looking. He had nice, crystal blue eyes and black hair that flopped over his eyes. I slid into my seat easily, getting glances from Bree who looked at me like I was some kind of jerk. I turned my nose up. Robbie looked back at Bree. I'd always wondered if her full name was really Bree or Brianna or something. The teacher strolled in just then, and I crossed my arms and sank in my chair. He took attendance, and I knew I was near the end, so I kind of fell into my own zone. I thought about Joey…hey, he was cute enough. He needed a confidence boost. That confidence boost was going to be me. Suddenly, someone strolled through the door.
"Um, is this Mr. Harris' homeroom?" he asked.
This was Mr. Anderson's homeroom. The guy was a living God, like I cared. I was sitting next to a demigod, anyway. The God looked at me, and his eyes sparked. Hmm, I thought, he has nice eyes. He turned out of the room, but not before giving me a quick wink. Ugh, I thought, stop dreaming. The day went by, and I paid attention to what all my teachers had to say so I could ease by junior year with A's. I talked to Sunny, asked Joey out, and caught that new guy, Cal Blaire, staring at me more than once like he was trying to decipher me.
After school, that Cal guy caught up to me. "Hey, your name's Morgan, right?" The way he set it made me kind of pissed, although he was just genuinely friendly.
"What's it to you?" I retorted. He kind of shrunk back from me, and I couldn't help but smile.
"Um, well," Cal said, at a loss for words. Apparently, no one had treated him unequally yet. I was a first. "I'd like to get to know people in the area, and you seem…interesting."
"Interesting, eh?" I said, trying to sound displeased. Truth behold, this guy was cute and way beyond my reach. And interesting? Very lame word.
"In a good way," he put in helpfully. I scrutinized him. He didn't seem bad. But just because he didn't seem bad didn't mean he wasn't.
After a long moment of silence, I said, "Whatever," and hopped into my banged up Jaguar. It was all my mom could afford at the time, and I loved it just as it was, even though Cal would probably snicker at it. I stole a glance. He wasn't. He went up a notch in my mind. I rode off before he could make any words.
xXx
"Mom?" I called out into the house when I arrived home.
"Hi," my mom said. She was sitting on the couch looking sick, with a damp washcloth pressed against her forehead. I immediately threw down my bag and took off my shoes.
"Are you okay?"
She nodded and sniffled. "I will be. But, Morgan, I need to tell you something."
I reared, not sure if I wanted to know. "What?" my voice sounded soft and mangled, even to myself. She gave me pained expression, and if she really didn't want to be here, talking to me. I didn't want to admit that that hurt.
"My name's not Kendal Roberts," she said sullenly.
I breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God. So, you did marry Angus then? Kendal Bramson? That's a nice name."
"No, Morgan. My real name's Maeve Riordan," she said. Now she really didn't sound like she wanted to be here.
"What's that mean?"
"It means you're Morgan Riordan." I didn't get what this meant. I absorbed in my mother's image for the first time. Her hair was greasy, her forehead wet. She looked really sick. I didn't say anything, and neither did she, so I went and made her some tea. I handed it to her and she weakly circled her hand over it and murmured something. Then she took a sip and sighed. "Look, Morgan…" she began. "We're in danger. Something wants us, and…"
"Why do they want us?" I said nervously. We were your every-day average American family living in Widow's Vale, New York.
My mother, Maeve Riordan, leaned forward and patted my knee. "We're real, ancestral witches, Morgan. We can do magick."
I snorted.
She gazed at me sharply. "You know when you feel if someone's sad or not, but they're not portraying in on their face or so?"
I nodded, dreading what was to come.
"Well, witches can do that. You see, I made us go to church so no one would suspect a thing. I gave up my magick a while ago, but I think I need to bring back an old memory, since it's the only way to protect us, and - " she stopped with a loud banging on the door. She turned slowly, wide-eyed. "Whatever you do," she said to me, "do not answer that."