The wind swirls around Mona, shoving the rain into her face so that it slaps at her cheeks. Mona is , tall and curvy for her age, her eyes a brilliant green that shines like gems. However, thick glasses hide their spectacular beauty, with lenses that dull her eyes' brightness and color. Mona’s soft, wavy hair is a startling red, cutting off abruptly at the shoulders, giving her a sultry look to match her body.
She is sitting, her thin dress sticking to her soaked skin as the rain pounds even more determinedly on her form, on the muddy ground. Thunder roars over her head, crackles of lightning striking the air. All she sees is darkness. For her, there is nothing but darkness but the outline of the Smoky Mountains. Forced into the woods trying to escape her problems of being bullied daily Not knowing she knows she is in danger of dying. The lightning is close, and if one tree catches on fire, the whole forest will burn. She has nowhere to hide if that happens, no one to call for help. Her cell phone laid beside her, dead from the constant downpour of water. However, it is easy for her to stay calm.
Life is not important to her anymore, though, so she does not care if she sizzles away.
A single tear evacuates her eye, swimming down her cheek, joining the rivers of water that rushes down her body. A living nightmare surrounds her, the terrible breeze slamming the rain into random destinations, the plants swaying. A tree is close to falling on her, leaning her way, precariously close to breaking away from its trunk.
She barely notices that she is crying heavily, her tears accompanying the storm's efforts to make her as miserable as possible. She feels dirty, the mud giving her a sick feeling in her stomach. On a whim, she wishes for a hot shower, with warm steam embracing her.
Movement is impossible for her.
She wants to end it here. Right now. It would be so easy... so sweet as the pains of life would fade away. She wonders why God had to give her drop-dead gorgeous looks , her curvaceous form, and the snobby attitude that made so many people hate her for her assets?
Why does she have to be the unlucky one?
Now she cannot see, the rain blinding her. Her glasses slide off her nose, falling to the ground, the glass quickly sinking into the dirt. Unbelievably, the water starts to pour even harder from the hectic skies, temperature dropping by the second. Goosebumps appear on her arm. Her breaths become visible, clouds appearing in wisps directly in front of her.
The cold gets worse.
She looks to the ground, uncertainty in her features. Is she really ready to let herself die here? Is it time for her to leave this world?
A tiny sliver of fear enters her thoughts.
She realizes quickly that these may be her last breaths. She tries to savor each of them, reaching with a delicate hand to try to catch the clouds that lingered before her. The question pounds in her head, making her dizzy.
Is she truly ready to die?
The thunder looms closer, the clouds overhead parting a little. Through the crack in the clouds, she can spot a full moon. She stares at it, awe searing through her at its beauty. It truly is a wonderful sight, the perfect circle illuminated by pure white light, the only incandescence currently in her world. It is symbolic of hope to her, hope that she will go on. Hope that everything will be okay.
Suddenly a hard rock pounds against her shoulder. She gasps in pain, her shoulder throbbing from the impact.
The moon vanishes as the dark clouds steal it away from her.
Another object lands on her knee, the same pain recurring. The girl remains in her position, pain etched in her face. She grabs the strange rock, holding it close to her eyes so she can see it. Her eyes widen.
"Hail," she whispers as another rock comes hurtling towards her. It is big, about the size of a nickel, falling at an incredible speed. It is aimed for her head.
She sees it coming, an amazing ball of energy, ready to deal the death blow. She is frozen. Death is finally here to take her away. This is what she wants, right? She should be happy. Deliverance from the pain, the endless suffering, is here.
The fear is the thing that is taking away her happiness.
There is a split silence, and then there is a howl in the night as the terrible ice rock clamors to meet its destination.
He can hear it. Its accelerated breathing pounds in his ears, signaling its close proximity.
He ventures closer to the presence, the thing that dares to be in his territory at this time. It is terrible timing for the intruder, whatever it is, for tonight he is at his strongest.
Tonight is the night of the wolf.
He is alone, but that is just perfect. He works better when alone.
It sure is a horrible storm, the rain beating on his back, nearly causing him to collapse. He wonders why it is trying to trespass in this awful weather. The wind rips leaves from their perches on trees and throws them violently into the air, lightning flashing over his head. There is almost a constant roar, almost ruining his concentration. He shakes his head, trying to wave away the storm’s efforts to distract him. His paws crunch the grass beneath him as he treks deeper into the forest. Trees loom before him, casting their dark shadows over his furry form. Danger is in every direction. But he does not hesitate.
He is fearless.
The presence is growing stronger, the wind sending the scent to his nose. It is a sweet fragrance, one he has never smelt before; a curious mix of strawberries, bananas, some flavor he cannot distinguish, and a tiny splash of mint. It is a delight, an intoxicating smell that he will remember forever, even when this "it" is long dead. He has never experienced this aroma around a werewolf before.
This smell is so sweet, he wonders if a human could have actually wandered into their midst. Humans generally have nice smells, although none as delightful as this one.
He feels like something is... bonding him to this smell. A longing suddenly starts to fill him, a desire to edge closer to the source. This pull is unrelenting, and he feels himself falling even harder into the realm of lust. He begins to crave this curious smell, and his paws start to move by themselves. He does not need to track it, for something about the scent is guiding him straight towards it. He begins to think that this creature might be a difficult thing to kill.
In fact, killing it might not even be an option, for he fears that if he does, he will lose his sanity.
It already entices him, begs him to come closer. The smell invigorates him even more as he gets closer to his target, weaving a web around him until he will never be able to escape. He is the fly, and it is the spider. A miserable feeling gathers in the pit of his stomach as he realizes that he is helpless.
What sort of trick is this wily creature playing?
The scent is unbelievably strong now, nearly overwhelming him with its beauty. To werewolves, scent is everything, and he experiences pretty aromas every day. Nothing, though, amounts to this lovely emanation that makes his head spin with dizzy delight. He feels like he is getting close.
Suddenly, the scent turns bittersweet, a sharp note corrupting the melody. Fear and terror enters the scent, making the sugary quality go away and polluting the smell he needs so badly. Now, a sinister stench fills the air, and the terror the creature is feeling fills him also.
Somehow, he can tell the emotions it is experiencing through its smell. However, the bad part is that he begins to feel the same emotions it does. The smell now is still intoxicating, but filled with need. It needs him.
Want quickly enters his body. He wants to experience that smell once again, but not the one it was currently emitting. He wants to make it happy, so the taste of fear will disappear from the aroma. He desires that special sweetness with an intensity he never knew he possessed.
His paws start to blur as they zoom through the forest so fast that even he can barely see them move. The longing is coursing through him, intensely corrupting his mind until all he can think of is the scent. He has to have it.
He reaches a small clearing, next to a thin creek that spills into Lake Ray a couple miles away. It is a beautiful little area, with lovely flowers and green bushes, the trees graceful and tall. The aroma is overpowering here. The creature must be in this vicinity.
His eyes search for it, looking for the evil thing that manages to produce such an attractive smell. At first, it is nowhere to be seen. But after he adjusts his eyes a little, he spots a figure in the dirt. It is a tiny thing, a small form covered in the thick mud, only a slender back seen from his angle.
He suspiciously circles the creature, trying to make out its features. It is hard to distinguish, the mud camouflaging it in the dirt. When he travels right in front of it, though, his heart stops beating.
Though not an overly pretty creature, it is still the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.
It is a human girl, with bright green eyes that has a mesmerizing quality to them, pulling at him, never releasing his gaze. Her hair is a ruby red, tumbling to her shoulders, the rain making it wet and shiny. Her body is small, but shapely, the rain melding her tattered dress to her form.
A sudden stab of pain encircles his heart as he realizes what is happening, the beats growing faster. He begins to grow panicked. Is this really happening? Why now? Why, with a human like her?
But nature refuses to listen to his pleas, binding him even closer to the young woman. This could not be true.
A burst of white light comes forth, surrounding his being, then racing to meet the girl. It delves into her skin, soaking her with the white light. She doesn't notice, her eyes clogged with tears, looking at her toes.
He is affected, however. The realization that he has just done something terribly, horribly wrong shocks him, making his whole body flinch.
Shock, as well as anger and annoyance, races through his body. Nothing good can come of this. Nothing at all.
However, the reluctance fades as he watches her. As it begins to take effect, he feels himself falling into a bottomless pit of endless love. There is no going back. He is ensnared in the tempting spider's web forever.
Suddenly, another taste of horror explodes in the scent. Hail is beginning to fall, and he can tell that she has been hit. Her eyes, as she looks up, are listless. She stares past him, as if she doesn't notice he is even there. Painful tears evacuate her, pouring down her form. A small gash on her leg emits dark droplets of blood. He suddenly feels the need to protect her, to guard her. What is he doing, just standing here? He needs to move!
A tiny scream escapes her, ripping into the night as a huge piece of hail comes hurtling towards her. Her eyes snap shut, fear overtaking her. The scent is consumed by terror, terror he has to eliminate if he wants to experience that sweetness again. He jumps immediately, trying as fast as he can to land over her form. To protect her.
He releases a guttural howl as he soars to be her shield.
Introduced To An Incredibly Hot Psycho Man
~ Mona ~
I wake, my eyes fluttering as they focus to the brightness surrounding me. All I can see is a single blob hovering above me, a blur of colors flipping and weaving, twisting and turning. I take in the great landscape of the Smoky Mountains
"Are you awake?" a beautiful, musical voice rips through the void I am suspended in, bringing me to the present with a thud. Everything suddenly shifts into focus, the blurred edges sharpening into easily distinguished images.
Am I dreaming?
A spectacularly handsome man stares at me, his startling green eyes disconcerting me with their brightness. I feel myself get lost in them, examining their wondrous beauty, trapped in their spectacular gaze.
His skin is tan and muscled, his arms bulging, his hands strong and firm. Wearing a t-shirt and cargo shorts, he is dressed casually, yet he has an elegance that can't be explained.
Straight and long, his hair cuts off around his jawbone, framing his face with pride. Layers are all over the place, short wisps accompanied by long strands, carelessly tousled. The bangs make me subconsciously want to push them aside so I can gaze evermore into his eyes with no distractions.
The strangest thing about his hair, though, is that it is grey. A shark-skinned grey, even, that shines in the sunlight. But the hair suits him, complimenting his darken skin and hazel eyes.
"Hello?" he asks again, his voice soothing to my ears. I blink once, trying to adjust to the incredible handsomeness before me. A man this beautiful has never been within five feet of me before.
Finally examining myself, I notice that my leg is not bleeding anymore, covered with a thick bandage. My shoulder is covered likewise.
I am laying on a soft, plushy divan. The floor is of pure marble, a deep black with hints of white trying to squeeze its way into the tile. A huge chandelier, crystals dancing generously just below its metal limbs, hangs delicately on a thin, gray wire in the center of the chamber. There is an impressive array of books, a gigantic bookcase stretching from wall to wall.
But, of course, all my attention focuses on the man.
He chuckles as I scan his face yet again, taking in his perfection, looking at masculine features that, at my school, I used to only be able to observe from afar.
I cough once, attempting to croak some words out of my mouth. "Shh," he whispers, holding his hand over my mouth, "Your throat is probably dry. Let me get you some water first." His hand feels so comfortable, and I feel, somehow, saddened when he releases it from my face.
As he travels over to a stainless steel sink, I am unable to find a single emotion conveyed in his saunter. He seems to glide, walking in a way that’s almost impossible to describe.
That is only one of the strange things I notice about him.
Another thing that perks my curiosity is his eyes. When I skimmed over it before, I hadn’t noticed the reflection of the light upon his pupils.
Now, as I more carefully observe, I realize there is no reflection. The light doesn’t bounce off his eye, but rather, sinks into it. It is barely noticeable, even by me, the queen of scrutiny, but I now can see the difference. The bright, hazel green seems to snatch the light and display it in his irises, his pupils a deep black in comparison. When I look at them, and he returns my gaze, my form is not visible in his pupil.
He brings a cool glass of crystal clear water to my lips, gently pouring it into my mouth. "Can you speak?" he probed.
"Yes," I barely whisper.
"Okay, good," he smiles brightly.
I suddenly find it hard to speak. "T-thanks for s-saving me," I stutter. He lets loose a musical laugh, the most beautiful one I've ever heard.
"It was a pleasure."
I feel self-conscious; suddenly disconcerted by the way he is scanning my face, my body. I start to feel nervousness when I meet his gaze, even one glance at his beautiful, appraising eyes causing butterflies in my stomach. The need arises to avoid this strange, alien behavior towards me, to return to the orphanage and work on that science project I didn't do earlier because I thought I would die today.
I quickly sit up, my back reposed on the fluffy pillows, and then I attempt to swing my legs over the side. Before I succeed in depositing my feet on the floor, though, he catches my legs and deposits them back on the divan, the hint of a smile in the corner of his lips. I feel a tingle of a delight as he touches them, his fingers lingering a little before pulling away. "Just what do you think you are doing?" he demands, rather laughingly.
"Leaving." I decide to tell him the truth. “Thanks again for the help.”
His eyes widen, "But you can't just leave! We have to find out more about each other! I don't even know your name."
He is so different from any guy I’ve met. He actually seems like he wants to know more about me. His gaze tugs at mine, his expression of disappointment. If I didn’t know better... I’d say that he likes me, or at least my appearance.
But, the thing is, I know better. Being liked is a privilege reserved for prettier people than me.
I shoot up so quickly my movement is almost a blur, ignoring the pain that my motions are invoking within my injuries. The joke is over. "Well, sorry. I'm leaving," I say sharply. Why does my rudeness have to flare up at a time like this? I really need to work on my social skills. He did save my life, after all.
I guess his behavior is scaring me. The way he is earnestly looking at me, with so much devotion, is rather unsettling and strange. It is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before, and, honestly, I have never been so afraid in my life.
I start walking to the door, my slightly damp red hair waving in the light breeze. Maybe this is all just a dream. Maybe in a matter of minutes I will wake up to find that the man is only a figment of my imagination.
"Please stop!" I hear his relaxing, hypnotizing voice, but I manage to shake his command from my mind. He can't coerce me into continuing on with this joke any longer. Obviously he is just toying with me by pretending to be attracted, in order to get a good laugh out of his friends later. However, as I continue to walk, there is a blur, and then...
He is standing right in front of me, blocking the door.
How did he do that? He had been standing more than ten feet away from me before.
I become like a sheep that has been backed into a corner. "What are you? What do you want from me?" I beg, my eyes drilling through his, pleading earnestly.
His eyes flash at my comment, then, strangely, he wears a resigned expression. "Come, sit down while I explain."
He leads me back over to the divan, and I cautiously sit down upon it. I have to admit, no matter how creepy this feels, I am shamefully happy to spend a few more seconds gazing at his enticing face. However, I try not to show it, instead displaying a dubious frown.
He takes a deep breath, and then speaks. "My name is Xavier, and I am what you would call a werewolf."
Shock and incredulity run through my mind, freezing me to the bone. Oh, what a pity, I think sadly, this incredibly hot guy, the only one that’s ever talked to me, is a weirdo. I can tell he believes his outlandish claims too. His eyes are trying to catch my gaze, a hopeful expression displayed in them.
"Werewolves don't exist," I tell him slowly, as if he is a kindergartener. I know he doesn’t deserve my disdain, but... really?
"Are you saying I don't exist?" he asks, irritated. I can’t help but notice how cute he is when he is vexed, and I wonder if I really want to wake up from this dream.
"No, although you might need to go talk to a counselor or something about some mental problems," I automatically snap, then immediately wish to take back my harsh words. For me, insults are default, almost encouraged by people’s equally disdaining response.
He seems frustrated now, a tiny pout on his plump lips, streaks of his Grey hair falling into his eyes. The strange thing is, he doesn’t seem to be angry or even annoyed by me, but by himself. What kind of guy is he? He is proving almost everything that I thought was true about every guy wrong.
"I guess I'll just have to prove it to you," he mutters quietly. His eyes fly shut, his lips pursed in concentration. He seems to be focusing on something, something I can’t possibly detect.
"There is no way you can prove to me that-"
I am interrupted by his sudden transfiguration, staring in shock and amazement as the handsome man suddenly melts, his head tumbling into his body. It is like a waterfall, the way his body just crumbles into itself. However, there is a shimmer of light before he becomes a puddle on the floor, his-body-liquid-I-don't-really-know making a shape. Another millisecond and he is that shape.
A colossal wolf with sharp white teeth and dark eyes that matches his pupils.
I jump back in horror. Nothing I had read or seen about werewolves had prepared me for this.
It barks once, a deep sound that reminds me roughly of his baritone laugh, his shaggy fur a creamy light brown color that matches his skin. He, like his human counterpart, is absolutely beautiful. My breath is taken away as I examine him and his huge, graceful form. What absolutely astonishes me, most of all, is his authoritative aura, demanding respect even from me.
Similar to the previous morphing, he suddenly crumbles, falling towards the ground speedily. There is a flash of light, and he becomes the incredibly hot man he was before.
Scared, I take a step back, not watching where I am going. Xavier, no matter how beautiful, seems ethereal. Somehow, my brain refuses to believe that werewolves exist, and even though now I am given proof, it still is a lot to take in. It is almost too much for me to accept, no matter how true it is.
My feet slip out from under me as I collide with a hard, firm object. I feel the floor rush to meet me, my arms flaying about, trying to catch my balance.
A pair of strong, firm hands reach beneath me, propelling me back into my standing position. They feel warm, releasing shocks through my body. I am definitely aware of his presence.
"Please believe me," he takes his hands away from my back, coldness now flooding to the previously warm spot where his hand had been.
"I... I.." I mumbled softly, disconcerted by his close proximity, yet shivering from the absence of his big, toasty warm hands. He seems to sense that, leaning in and grabbing my right hand, heat spreading like wildfire throughout my body.
Nervousness takes me over and I yank my slender hand away. His eyes widen in surprise as I shove them in my pockets. "You don't want me to touch you?" he inquired curiously, "You don't trust me?"
Yes, I want you to touch me. Yes, I trust you. Although I have no idea why.
"I don’t know you. Why would I?" I carelessly throw at him. He blinks once, almost from surprise rather than irritation. Bafflement is etched into his features, as if he is actually confused at the thought that I don't.
I begin to get angry at myself. Why do I have to be so bitter?
"Okay, I'll wait then," he grins faintly. Other than his slightly diminished smile, he seems undeterred, though, continuing almost as energetic as before.
Is this guy for real?
"Well, you might as well give up now then or else you'll be waiting forever," I look away, letting the harsh words leave my lips.
"Don't worry; I am prepared to wait forever. I have all the time in the world," he says softly, his words startling me.
Of course. How can I forget? He isn’t even a human.
"I think you forget that I will die in about seventy five years. I don't have forever," I murmur, my voice picked up by his sensitive ears. Silence stretches between us as the seconds tick by. I feel uncomfortable, trying to look anywhere but him.
He laughs again, a sound that starts to to melt my heart. "I think you underestimate me, Mona."
Whoa. Wait a second.
"How do you know my name?" I furiously demand. He winks at me in response, waving my school ID before my eyes. Narrowing my eyes, I hold out my hand towards him. "Give it back."
"Should I?" He teases, sparking my anger. I launch myself at him, and he smiles wickedly. "Oh, well this is getting interesting."
It only takes a few seconds of violently grabbing at thin air before I realize I am not going to get my ID back by force. He is moving his arms so quickly that its impossible to even touch him. Rolling my eyes in resignation, I lean back and fall against the divan.
"Are you ever planning on giving it back?"
"Sure. Someday. I'm rather fond of this picture of you." He looks at it again, and my mind flashes back to the time when that picture was taken. It was about six months ago, and also the day when I lost my glasses yet again, leaving me half blind and unable to even tie my shoes, let alone comb my hair. I had even worn my shirt inside out. It was awful.
I now realize he truly has been making fun of me.
I say nothing, my eyes returning to him. I subconsciously focus on how the sunlight seems to catch on his azure hair and sparkle, making his whole head look like it is sprinkled with stardust. He doesn't wait for me to speak. "But anyway... I doubt it will take you long to fall in love with me."
"How come, wolfboy?" I look at him, astounded at his pompousness and how honest he looks while saying those words.
"My charm is so overwhelming." He flips his hair and flashes me a bright, astounding smile. I am almost blinded by its beauty. "How could you not?"
"How could I, you arrogant brat?!" I respond bitingly, "I prefer a trait in men that you don't possess—humility." And a brain, of course.
"I was joking," he defends himself, "come on Mona, you know that! I'm not like any boy you have met before. I would sacrifice anything, even my life, for you. I know that's a strange statement to make, but I genuinely feel that way. Every werewolf feels like this towards his or her mate. You can trust me-"
"What was that you just said?" I ask dangerously, interrupting his rant. I can't believe my ears, my eyes narrowing. He did not just say that...
"You're... my mate," he says hesitantly, pausing slightly before he continues, "If you weren't my mate, I would have killed you in the forest. I’m usually not very kind to trespassers that stumble our way." After a short span of shocked silence, he grabs my hands and squeezes them. "I'm all yours," he whispers, staring deeply in my eyes with an unfathomable intensity.
I laugh at the way he mentions it so lightly. He tells me that I'm his "mate", bound to him for life (or afterlife), and he expects me to just take it in? To immediately obey his request?
I can see the seriousness and fear in his beautiful green eyes, silently pleading with me to understand.
I'm amazed the most at the fact that he expects me to take him seriously. Or maybe he doesn't. Maybe he just wants the satisfaction of having me fall for his wily tricks. I have to say, he is a marvelous liar.
Anger overwhelms me, my heartbeat rising. Why don't I get a choice on whether to be his mate? Is he so superior that he can't give me the option to be free?
"Uh, well, um..." I inch towards the door, edging to the exit that will free me from this nightmare. My red hair falls into my face, my hands shaking. Xavier smiles as the phone begins to ring, causing my stomach to unwillingly flip flop.
"Excuse me while I take this call," he says quickly, retreating from my sight. I hear the pounding of footsteps, then nothing. I sigh in relief. The coast is clear.
Oh wonderful phone, you are my savior.
I run towards to door, flinging it open and rushing out into the considerably lightened rainfall. The light mist sprinkles on my nose, dancing around my toes as I slosh through the muddy dirt, my bare feet dyed brown. My red hair is loose and wavy, flying as a blast of cold wind forces it far behind me. I carry my flats in my hands, sticking my tongue out carelessly to catch a drop of the water that falls from the sky.
Freedom is at hand.
I slap the button on the alarm clock, trying to stop its irritating wails. I am lying in my bed, my fluffy stuffed animals surrounding my heavily buried form. I have many of them, a whole collection from my childhood, which I can't bear to get rid of. Gold tones flood through my small windows, illuminating my face as I sit up into the glaring sunlight. Just beyond the glass lays a beautiful milieu of crisp, green grass, crystal clear lake water, and tall trees. Puffy clouds hang in the Grey sky, birds cruising across the horizon.
I wearily drag myself from the covers, my feet causing a thump as they collide with the floor. Stumbling over to my dresser, I carelessly grab a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, sliding it over my form. My spare pair of glasses, the other lost in the storm, squeak as I slide it onto my nose. I, by chance, catch a glance of my body in the mirror, and gasp.
A huge, black-and-Grey bruise sprawls across my left shoulder, extreme redness surrounding it. Another one, though not quite so major, decorates my knee, bringing back painfully stark memories from the previous night. It isn't only a dream.
I really did meet a handsome crazy man last night who saved me from certain death.
I can still remember his perfect face, his startling green eyes, and his uniqueness I did not understand. Even thinking of him sends tingles through my body, alertness flooding through me. How can a brief memory affect me so much?
I shuffle to the door, looking out along the hallway. Rows of doors greet me, stuffiness overtaking my senses. A repugnant stench makes my nose wrinkle in disgust, but not surprise. It always smells like this. The other kids all got used to it, but I never did.
From the very beginning, my ninth birthday spanning until the present, I have felt like I didn't belong. Almost... like my parents were not fated to die, that I was meant to be by their side even now. It was just a feeling, in the pit of my stomach, that something was terribly wrong. The other kids, as I grew up, seemed to understand that also, gladly treating me like I didn't belong. At first, I was a pretty nice kid. I wanted more friends. I wanted to play in their games. I wanted Ms. Penn to treat me just like everyone else. And, most of all, I wanted desperately to laugh. To smile.
But I soon gave up on that fantasy.
I soon gave in to the other kids' coldness, turning into a hard shell that was sharp, bitter, and tough. I didn't need anybody. I didn't want anybody.
I was above them all.
I would stay in my room for hours and hours, studying and reading, making myself smarter and even more above the crowd. Now, to accompany my newfound pompousness, I had the smarts to encourage it.
And these long years, full of awful puberty and other struggles, did nothing to change that.
I check my old and slightly tattered watch, gasping as I realize that it is almost time for school. It begins at 8:00 AM, and it is 7:40. No wonder all the other orphans are gone, the only noise being the whistle of the wind. What the crap was wrong with my alarm clock to wake me up so late?
I am in so much trouble.
The wind floods through my hair as I race down the stairs. I blast past Ms. Penn, our supervisor. She raises her eyebrows as I quickly snatch my backpack. "Mona!" she calls after me, her voice shrill and commanding, "After school you will be punished!"
"I'm sorry!" I exclaim. I couldn't help that I went to bed at two o'clock the last night! I mutter angry retorts, too low for Ms. Penn to notice.
I stumble to the kitchen, grabbing a small pop tart, stuffing it in my mouth as quickly as I can. Ms. Penn glares at me as I hurriedly down a glass of water, my frenzied gulps echoing in the room. "Don't you think," she snaps in a dangerous whisper, "it MIGHT be too late for breakfast?"
The evil, fire breathing dragon is furious now. It might do me some good to leave.