What’s up? 🙂 Here are
finally Guess who’s been stalling for two weeks. *tries to ignore blatant stares of her audience*
Well whatever. Here they are!
Fun fact about my book: There are going to be five books in the series!! 😮
And, comment below what you think the title of Book One should be. Above, you are voting for the title of the whole series. Now what should the title of book one be?
How about, let’s do another poll.
I lean against the window, gazing at the dull gardens of the school yards. I tear slides down my cheek, and I quickly rub it away. No one can see I am crying. I promised my Mom I would be strong. A year ago, my Dad left my Mom and I, and just three weeks ago I was taken to live with my Aunt when my Mom disappeared. In only two days, my Aunt had arranged for me to be shipped of to Miss Steeple’s Boarding School for Girls.
I imagine myself with my Mother, flying through the sky on fairy wings. It has been my wish for so long, I think.
The school bell gongs and I leap from my seat on the window sill. How many times has it rung this time before I paid attention? I wonder. Yesterday it was six, so I had been told. I can’t be late for class again.
I grab my brush and run it through my golden hair, and then twist my hair into a french braid. A curl bounced over my eye and I push it back. Messy again. Mom used to do such beautiful and neat braids.
I arrive in class, and the first thing I look at is the big grandfather clock ticking away on the other side of the room. 9:16AM. My record of being late. I sigh and slide into my seat, ignoring the blatant stares I grew so used to in my two weeks here.
“Miss Drinnigan, I thought I made it clear that if you were late again, you would not have dinner for three days?” Miss Steeple’s voice cuts through the whispers and snickers echoing through the room.
“I’m sorry, Ma’am. I lost track of the time.” I answer in all honesty. I feel my cheeks burn a tomato red. “I was thinking about- nothing.”
I hear a giggle from across the room. Miss Steeple gives the owner of the giggle a cold stare. “Miss Temple, back to your duties.”
“A time to think, a time to be on time.” Miss Steeple claps her plump hands together. Another loud snicker sounds behind me. Miss Steeple says nothing. Only smiles slightly. Of course. Jessica Morgan. Teachers’ pet.
“Turn to page seventeen in your English books.” She turns back to me. “I would like to see you after school, Jovial.”
I nod. “Yes Ma’am.” “I let my backpack fall of my shoulders. I kick it under the desk. Another day without my family in this horrible place. I feel a sharp tug on my braid. Jessica Morgan. I grit my teeth and turned back to my work. She isn’t worth wasting my time. Jessi smirks. “I heard we’re having potato soup for dinner tonight, Drinnigan.” She whispers. I can feel her hot breath in my ear. My stomach rumbles. I suck in my breath.
“Yeah right, Morgan.” I shoot back.
Jessi gives my braid another yank and looks down. “Jovial Drinnigan. What a sissy name.”
I glance at the clock and then close my eyes. “Six more hours.”
School drags on, and finally the last bell of the day gongs and I shoot out of my seat like a rocket on fire. “Jovial!”
I stop. Right. Miss Steeple wanted to see me after school. “Yes Ma’am?” I turn around.
The girls push past me and Jessi Morgan rams her shoulder into mine. “Have fun, dork!” she hisses, then turns to Miss Steeple, putting on a silky smile. “See you at dinner, Miss Steeple.” Miss Steeple smiles and swoons over Jessi’s beauty. She is so much more beautiful than me, I know.
I scowl. Rat.
Miss Steeple turns back to me. “I know your mother just died, but that doesn’t give you any excuse to be late for every class since you’ve been here. I expect better from you, Jovial.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Steeple. It’s just been hard.”
Miss Steeple sighs. “I will see you at dinner tonight, Jovial, don’t be late. And please try harder.” Miss Steeple brushes past me, patting me on the back.
Maybe she isn’t so bad. I creep to my room, trying to avoid the cold stare and mean words of Jessica.
I push the door to my room open. “I wish I were a fairy,” I say outloud, as soon as the door is shut. “Then I could get away from reality.”
Being a fairy has been my dream eversince I was two years old and my Mom read me fairytales every night before bed and when I woke in the morning.
I spy the painting above my bed and smile. It is a painting of my Mom and I that she had painted. In the painting we are walking down the path in our favorite park, holding hands. It is Autumn, our favorite time of year. Mom has a periwinkle in her right hand, holding it pressed against her chest. I am only six at the time.
“Oh Mom, I wish you were here. I wish I could be a fairy and escape this awful place.” I whisper, climbing onto my bed. I place my hand on the periwinkle. Smiling again, I sink into the bed and lie down for a quick nap.
Music is playing. Everything smells so sweet like the honey dew scent I smelled every morning at home. My eyes flutter open. Where am I? I blink my eyes to adjust. So blurry. I gaze at my surroundings. A silky purple canopy is above me, the color of a fresh periwinkle. But it is still bright in the room. Around me there are people. But they look different. I feel like I have known them for a long time.
I struggle to sit up and blink again. I’m right. They’re fairies. Lacy wings extend from their backs, fluttering as the fairies flit about the place. This is impossible. Fairies aren’t supposed to be real! But yet, here they are in front of me, flying around. I must be dreaming. But it all looks and feels so real to be a dream. I don’t bother pinching myself. Even if this is a dream, I never want to wake up. That must mean I am small. Because everyone knows fairies are much less than a thumb high.
“She’s waking up!” a voice says. Oh no. I don’t want to! I close my eyes, thinking it is someone from my boarding school. But then I open them again when I still feel the cold hard surface of the toadstool I am on beneath me.
I try to find the owner of the voice. It’s a boy. He has a hint of green in his wings, and the green in his eyes are only a tint darker. He wears a long brown shirt and leather pants. A braided leather belt is strapped around his waist and he wears boots. He flies towards me, a bow and arrow in hand. I scramble back. “What-what are you?” I try to sound steady, despite the fact that I am a little scared, but it only comes out as a croak.
The boy scoffs. “I expect you’d know. You wished to be here.”
“Be nice, Kip.” Another voice says. A fairy, a girl with long shiny aqua colored hair floats towards him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Her voice is like a rippling brook. Her eyes are a shallow sea blue, and her dress blue, fading into a lush grass green.
“Relax, Lark.” Kip says, a slight smirk on her face.
Lark glares at him.
“Oh I know you’re a fairy, but- how? Why?” I stutter.
“Hi there!” Lark says, pushing in front of Kip and smiling. “I’m-”
“Queen Alalia!” she is interuppted by a shout. “She’s here!”
My head shoots up when I hear the name. I wonder what fairy has the same name as my Mother’s.
The fairy who is called Lark, darts back into the crowd. Kip, the fairy with the bow and arrows flies beside me, extending his bow and fitting a feathered arrow on the quiver, aiming it directly me. My eyes grow wide and I try to look for an escape route. Suddenly his arm shoots up and he lets go. Zing! The arrow whizzes over my head. I cower. It sices a rope holding a curtain made of long vines. They are covered with leaves and flowers. It drops down behind me, just barely brushing the ground. I stare at it. Periwinkles.
I turn back to the fairies. A hush flows over the crowd of fairies and everyone sits still on their toadstools and petal seats.
I back to the vines. I squint. It’s so bright. A fairy in a long glittering dress made from thousands of periwinkles, appears from behind the vines. It looks like someone I know. Someone I have loved for a long time. My heart skips a beat.
Muahahahaa whooo is it? Guess in the comments, but I won’t tell you. 😉 You probably will guess right though. 😛
What do you think of my new book? | Got any constructive criticism for me?