Prelude (The Rhapsody Quartet) (3 page)

Mr McGregor smiled, “Excellent job, Sarah. At least
one
of you is paying attention.”

Amanda Montgomery turned from the seat in front of me and said, “I love that you had the answer. McGregor is always trying to trap people like that.”

I nodded, just wanting to get back to the lesson. I kept pulling down my shirt. The extra attention was making me feel self-conscious. I squeezed my eyes shut.
Just keep lecturing
.

The class was silent, and I peeked my eyes open a crack. The whole room was staring at me in fascination. Now I
really
felt anxious. I leaned forward to Amanda, “Why did we stop the lesson?” I asked her.

She smiled widely, “It’s
you
, silly. Did you want to continue?” She seemed a little confused, her eyes were soft, hazy.

I looked around. The gaze of the entire class was still fixed on me, everyone grinning widely, the same dreamy expression on their faces that Amanda had on hers.

Well,
almost
everyone. Stacie Robinson was glaring at me, drumming her fingers on the wood of her desk. She looked a little baffled, but mostly angry. This was a prank. Someone heard it was my birthday, and I was getting pranked.

I sat in silence, staring at the board for a few minutes until sighing. “Guys… this isn’t funny,” I said, “pay attention to class, okay?”

In unison, the class turned back to face Mr McGregor, with the exception of Stacie. It was incredibly eerie. Stacie continued to eye me for the rest of the hour. That was hardly surprising because A: I’d been singled out, which automatically made me the enemy, B: Stacie doesn’t like me, or anyone under a certain level of popularity on a good day, and C: I threw up all over her shoes yesterday, and she was probably (justifiably) still mad about it.

I continued to tug at my clothes. I wondered if I could change into my sweats from PE during the break. Even if it made me late, that seemed like a better plan than sticking it out. This was seriously uncomfortable.

The bell rang, and I ran out of the class, stumbling a little and trying not to run into people. A few of my classmates stopped me at the door to see if I wanted to be friends, to hang out after school, to build a bonfire on the beach. I pushed past them, shaking my head the whole time.

I headed for the locker room, hoping I had enough time to change before the tardy bell sounded. Ignoring the strange looks from the girls around me, I spun the dial on my lock and jerked it open.

I pulled the sweats out, grateful to have them. I quickly tugged my other clothes off, nearly ripping my bra as I did so. I stared down and noticed deep marks where it had been. Definitely too tight… and my chest looked a little bigger than normal as well. I shrugged and figured I’d deal with it later. I threw my sweats on and groaned. These were also a bit too small, but better than the tee I’d been wearing earlier. I must have ruined an entire load of clothes in one wash cycle. At least I could breathe now.

I raced into class several minutes late, feeling guilty. “I’m
so
sorry!” I blurted to my teacher.

He didn’t even bat an eye. “Of course, Sarah. No problem. Is there anything you need? Any problem you want me to take care of? If you were late because of one of the other students…” he rambled.

It was over-compensating. At first I thought he was sarcastic, but Mr Jacobs was usually very kind and straight forward. I glanced up quickly and saw not a single note of annoyance, only a bit of gentle concern. He had the same hazed look in his eyes that my classmates had earlier.

My eyebrows furrowed, “Yeah. I mean, no. I’m fine. Just… could we get on with class, please?”

I slid down in my seat, feeling my peers’ eyes on me again. I tried my best to ignore them, but didn’t really hear the chemistry lecture. I was breathing heavily by now and shaking with anxiety. I spent so much time trying to go unnoticed, to be as invisible as possible, that all this scrutiny was panicking me. It seemed like everyone around me was vying for my favor, boys and girls alike. Another teen might have been flattered or enjoyed the extra attention, but I was just uncomfortable.

I squeezed my eyes closed and gripped my desk, breathing deeply. I couldn’t take it any more.

I hitched my backpack over my shoulder, and made a beeline for the bathroom, not bothering to ask for permission. I sat in one of the stalls, sobbing into my hands. This had to be a joke: some people heard it was my birthday and were going to go out of their way to make me feel popular, pretty, setting me up to fall later.

I heard the door swing open. I held my breath, pulled my feet up off the floor, and hugged my knees to my chest. I didn’t want anyone to know I was in here, didn’t want to give them the opportunity to continue this cruel joke. I heard the click-click-click of high heels on the tile, and finally a sharp voice.

“I know you’re in here.”

Stacie Robinson. The last person I’d want to see. I groaned, my voice thick in my throat, “Just leave me alone!”

The stall door swung open. Stacie stood before me, her arms folded over her chest tightly, her lips a thin line of irritation.

Stacie was beautiful and imposing, a force of nature in a small package. She was probably only a few inches taller than I was, not much more than five feet. Despite her stature, she didn’t look impossibly young like I did. She had blonde hair that was long and curly, falling almost down to her hips, bright blue-green eyes, and a heart shaped face. Right now she looked so angry with me, it sent me into a new fit of sobs. I pulled out another wad of toilet paper and swatted at my eyes.

“Why would you even go to school today?!” she snapped.

I stared at her through my tears, baffled at the question. I didn’t know what she was talking about, so I just shook my head, “I don’t know…”

“You don’t have the faintest bit of tact, or care, do you?” She tapped her foot impatiently, “So what are you, then? A witch? I already know you’re not one of
my
people.”

I tried to tell myself again it was all an elaborate prank, that tomorrow the whole school would laugh and say it was for my birthday. Despite that logic, her statement confused me. “What are you even
talking
about?”

As I asked the question, one that I thought was fairly straightforward, Stacie suddenly stopped. All the color left her pretty face. She looked stunned, “Your eyes…”

I turned away from her. “Yeah,” I sighed, “I’ve been crying. Just go away.”

Her face softened, “Do you even have any idea what’s going on?”

I wiped my eyes with some toilet paper and shook my head, “Some kids are playing a joke. You’re in on it, right?” I sniffed loudly, “It’s my birthday, so someone is pranking me.”

She leaned over and patted my hand softly, her eyebrows turning up with concern, “Honey, it’s not a joke.” She placed one hand on my shoulder, sighing, “You’re not human.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Stacie

I laughed thickly through my swelled sinuses, swiping at my face again with the toilet paper. It was pretty crumpled up now, I probably needed to grab a new piece.

“Now I know you’re joking,” I said.

She bit her lip and glanced around the room quickly, “It’s a miracle no one has been in here yet. This isn’t really the best place for a conversation like this.” She sighed and stood up, extending a hand, “Come on, I’ll help you up.”

I stared at her. This seemed even more like a joke. Stacie being nice to me, offering to help me, was completely out of character for her.

She saw the doubt cross my features and tilted her head, “Just humor me, okay?”

I sighed and gripped her hand tightly in my own, and she hauled me up. I closed my eyes and stumbled forward, feeling clumsy and lightheaded. “Is this because I threw up on you yesterday?” I asked.

She laughed, “Don’t let that bother you. You have bigger things to worry about.” Stacie slipped behind me and gripped my shoulders carefully, pushing me over towards the mirror, “
Look.
”

At first, I almost mistook the looking glass for a window, but then I noticed Stacie’s hands on my shoulders, her face peeking from behind me. The mistake wasn’t difficult to make, even with my familiarity with the bathroom’s layout. The reflection that greeted me was completely foreign. I gasped, but so did the woman in the mirror. I touched my face, trying to make sense of it, watching the reflection follow my movements.

Somehow, in the last few hours I’d managed to grow almost a foot taller, developed real curves, and my face matured. I went from looking terribly underaged to taking on the appearance of a nineteen or twenty-year-old. I could see, if I looked closer, telltale signs it was me in there and not some random stranger. Sure, the baby fat had vanished from my face, but the same shape, the same bone structure was there. My brows may have been more polished and tidy, but they were the same arches I’d always had, my hair the same dark brown, but now with highlights and dimensional, loose waves.

The expression on my face was shock.

Then there were my eyes.

They were a strange, burnt orange color which faded and changed to a swirling gray instead.

My knees buckled, and I gripped the edges of the sink to keep from falling down. My voice was wavering when I finally found it, “What’s going on?”

Stacie just shrugged, “You’re transitioning. What are your symptoms? I mean, aside from throwing up on me yesterday. I thought something was weird with you. But it was the magic… I’ve never seen a transition in real life before.”

“Magic?” I asked, dazed.

“Never mind that!” she snapped impatiently. “Just tell me what your symptoms are.”

I furrowed my brows, “Symptoms? I don’t know. I mean, I haven’t felt too bad except for yesterday, and you saw that—”

“Yeah, that’s typical, though, and non-specific,” she said dismissively, “It happens to any race that comes of age or transitions all at once.”

“Because it’s my birthday?” I asked her wearily.

She raised a brow, “Probably, yeah. Did anything else strange happen to you in the past little while? Any clues over the past weeks even?”

I shook my head, “No… wait.”

Hadn’t my birth parents left me a letter practically spelling out that I’d be growing up, changing? Still, what Stacie was suggesting was impossible. She was probably just going out of her way to torture me, and in all honesty that seemed the most likely. Then again, my eyes, my body… a seed of doubt settled into my belly.

“Doesn’t matter what you know, I guess. The only thing that’s going to matter is what, exactly, you are.” She cocked her head, “You aren’t one of mine, that’s for damn sure.”

“One of your… what?”

“One step at a time, Sarah,” she smirked, “You have a lot of nerve showing up in
my
school, you know.”

“I didn’t know it was your school,” I informed her, “and at any rate, I’m trying to get through as unnoticed and unscathed as possible. I thought I was doing a pretty good job of it, too, until today.”

Her brows raised, surprised, “Now wait… you’re saying that you don’t have a desire— even a little bit— to stand out? To be special? To be noticed?”

I laughed and swallowed thickly, “I can promise you that I have no desire whatsoever to stand out. Less so to be noticed, and the only kind of special I want is the kind that doesn’t give me extra attention.”

“So it’s not wish fulfillment. Interesting,” she shifted her weight, “let me look at you.”

“What do you mean?” I asked nervously.

Stacie didn’t respond, instead opting to circle me like a shark, all the while appraising. At this point, my sweatshirt was fully exposing my belly. The shrinking in the wash explanation was getting less and less viable, Stacie’s fantastic explanation more believable. She eyed me up and down, the ill-fitting top, the high-water bottoms, before she laughed, “You’ve grown up today.”

“So I’ve noticed,” I said grimly. This wasn’t giving me any answers, just making me feel anxious. I folded my arms over my chest awkwardly.

“What about your parents?” she asked. “This is normally a hereditary thing.”

“I’m a foster kid,” I informed her, “my birth parents died when I was about three.”

She nodded, “Figured it wouldn’t be that easy, but still…” She leaned forward, looking up. It was strange to be so much taller than Stacie now.

“Your eyes change so quickly,” she said, mostly to herself, “definitely nothing I’ve seen before.”

I glanced over to the mirror again, watching the coloring shift, mostly settling on murky gray. There was no prank, no physical explanation that I could think of to explain the changes in my body. I suddenly felt dizzy, and it occurred to me that I believed her. I believed that magic was real.

In an instant, the whole world had become mysterious and strange. I had no idea what the real world was even like, didn’t even know what I was.

“I don’t…” I started, unable to even make the sentence.

Stacie sighed and turned me around so I was facing her. “So you can see,” she said calmly, “you’re an extra.”

“A… what? What’s an extra?”

“Non-specific term,” she said, “short for ‘extraordinary’. Covers everything from witches to trolls.”

“So I’m… something? A witch? A troll?” I babbled.

She stared at me with a look that expertly mixed pity with contempt, “We’ve already established you’re not a witch. Trolls don’t exactly mix with humans. You’re obviously one of the ten or so species that blend in.” She laughed, “I mean, I don’t see any humps or hooves to suggest otherwise.”

I almost panicked and started to strip to check, but Stacie just laughed in my face. She was apparently enjoying my discomfort.

“Look, I just want to forget about this,” I said, “I’ll go home, and maybe I’ll wake up normal tomorrow.”

“Dubious,” she said, almost completely ignoring the statement. She barreled on with her previous thought, “So that leaves me wondering what exactly you are. No elf, that’s for sure. Lacking the style of a dragon, besides, they manifest earlier than this, I think.” She sighed, “Clearly not an Oceanid, we don’t transition like this.”