All of the students at
Ashfield Middle School knew that the patch of woods behind the school was full
of ghosts and fairies—all but one, that is. Thirteen-year-old Elizabeth Magi
had read enough about magic to know that the forest was as plain and ordinary
as gum on the sole of a shoe. But that didn’t make it useless.
Thunk.
“Ow.”
Thunk.
“Ow.”
Elizabeth blew a wisp of
hair out of her eyes and glared at her sore knuckles. The blanket she had
wrapped around the oak tree wasn’t padding the trunk as well as she’d hoped it
would. Experimentally, she threw another punch at the tree, aiming for a spot
where the blanket bunched over a bungee cord.
Thunk.
“OW.”
Shaking the sting out of
her right hand, Elizabeth sank into the long grass and reached for her
backpack. Not the battered emergency one—that was tucked safely under the thick
needles of a nearby pine—but her school one. As she fished out her steel water
bottle and downed its contents, she eyed the training post she had set up. She
really needed to get a mattress pad, or something similar. Something thicker
than that raggedy old blanket. Maybe the Foresters wouldn’t notice if she…
“Elizabeth? Elizabeth, I
know you’re in there! Mom says you have to come home, now!”
“Yeah, you better come
out or you’re gonna be in trouble again!”
Elizabeth growled under
her breath. Of course Jada and Violet would show up now, just when she had
finally gotten into a groove. She glanced over at the pine tree that
sheltered her emergency pack. The urge to run was strong, and had been getting
stronger every day—but Elizabeth was wise enough to know that this was not the
time. Sighing heavily, she stood, shouldered her school backpack, and stalked
out of the woods.
Her foster sisters were
waiting for her at the very edge of the treeline, arms crossed and wearing
identical scowls. “There you are,” Violet, the older of the pair, spat. “Come
on, you were supposed to be home two hours ago. I don’t see why you spend so
much time in that creepy old overgrown lot anyways.”
“Yeah, what do you even
do in there? Play with your imaginary friends? That’s for babies,” Jada jeered.
She was eleven, two years younger than her sister and Elizabeth, but she very
much wanted to be older. She would have looked like a miniature copy of Violet,
except her hair was brown and her ears were bare because the Foresters had
ruled that piercings and dyed hair were for girls thirteen and older.
“Maybe, but talking with
ghosts isn’t,” Elizabeth replied. Violet scoffed and rolled her eyes, but Jada
cast a nervous look at the forest. As Elizabeth shoved past the pair and started off
towards their foster home, she allowed herself a small, victorious smile.
That smile faded during
the journey across town and was completely gone by the time the girls reached
the Forester house. Mrs. Forester was waiting for them on the porch, foot tapping impatiently.
“Look who finally decided
to grace us with her presence,” she frowned at Elizabeth. She shook her head as she spoke,
making her short gray hair quiver like an indignant dead rat. “And you’re all
filthy too. You’d better wash up before you join us for dinner. And be quick
about it, otherwise you might find there’s nothing left for you!”
Elizabeth brushed past
her into the house without bothering to reply. She took the stairs two at a
time, tossed her backpack in the direction of the room she shared with Jada and
Violet, and shuffled into the upstairs bathroom. As she washed her hands and
assessed herself in the mirror, she grudgingly admitted that Mrs. Forester was
right about one thing: she was filthy. Rivulets of dried sweat crisscrossed her
forehead and her cheekbones, and her curly red hair was matted with bits of
forest debris. Unfortunately, there wasn’t time to take care of it all;
Elizabeth knew that Mrs. Forester would follow through on her threat if she
didn’t hurry. So she swiped a damp washcloth across her face, yanked
the most noticeable twigs out of her hair, and rushed back downstairs.
Jada was the only one who
looked up as Elizabeth entered the room. Mr. and Mrs. Forester were busy
listening as Violet told them about the recent drama that had taken place
amongst her friend group—most of which, Elizabeth noted as she sat down and filled
her plate, was being embellished. Still, she was grateful for the drivel, as it
meant that she could eat without having to speak to her foster family.
She was just swallowing
her last bite of meatloaf and peas when Violet ran out of tall tales. The
silence that fell around the table was deafening. Elizabeth glanced up and made
the mistake of catching Mr. Forester’s eye. The stout, grizzled man was staring
at her with the intense look of a terrier on a hunt. Uh oh.
“Can I be excu…”
Elizabeth tried to ask.
“Just you wait a minute
girl,” Mr. Forester interrupted her. “Your mother and I want to know why you’re
getting home so late from school.”
Elizabeth
rankled at his words. Mrs. Forester was not her mother—nor was Mr.
Forester her father, for that matter. She had two perfectly good parents, and
one of them was still out there somewhere. Her real dad wouldn’t have had to
ask her why she was home late from school; he would have been helping her learn
how to fight. In fact, she knew that once she found him, he would do just that.
“No
reason.” Elizabeth replied, fidgeting impatiently with her fork. Mr. Forester raised his eyebrows.
“So
you’re coming home late for no reason? Ignoring your chores to prance around in
the woods for no reason? Avoiding your sisters, your mother and I for no
reason?”
“She’s
not my mother!” Elizabeth spat back, launching herself to her feet. “And my
life is none of your business!”
Jada
and Violet’s eyes went wide and Mrs. Forester looked stunned, but Mr.
Forester projected nothing but sternness as he said “go to your room.”
“Gladly.” Having managed to get in the final word, Elizabeth marched away, not bothering to clear her plate.
Upstairs, she flopped down hard on her bed and glared at
the room around her, wanting to hit something but knowing it would be unwise to
dent the ugly lilac walls. For a long while, she lay still, letting her
anger grow and roil in her stomach. When she couldn’t take it anymore, she rolled off her bed and went over to the
small bookshelf in the corner. Most of the books it contained were
worthless—picture books and cheap fairytales that Mrs. Forester had gotten from
the local thrift store—but one or two of them were decent adventure stories.
Elizabeth grabbed her favorite and shoved it into the pocket of her baggy blue hoodie. Then, she snagged a flashlight from atop her dresser, crossed to the
open window, sat upon the sill, and swung her feet out into nothingness.
It took her a few seconds of groping about, but soon Elizabeth managed to find her regular hand- and foot-holds. With practiced ease, she planted her left foot on a jutting brick, grasped a crack with her left hand, and pivoted until she was clinging to the wall like a spider. For a second, she hung there, savoring the empty space beneath her and letting her anger leak away. If I let go, she thought, a bit breathless, I bet the air itself would catch me and lift me up to the stars. But then her hand cramped painfully, shaking her out of her conceit, so she began to climb...
Thanks for reading!
Abby
Abby that is amazing!! You are so very talented!! I want to read more!! Love Nan
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