Dana Ilic and the Shadow Door (Lightwielder Chronicles #1) | ✔️

2| I Brandish A Mop

It was almost quarter to eight as I was rushing towards Oak Grove Middle School, pushing on my fluorescent green skateboard with all my might.

Yes, Blake was there in my basement. Had been there for years.

Yes, he was apparently real.

And yes, he had called me a light wielder just for using my cell phone's torch light.

Or all these three yesses were one big no, and I was simply seeing things.

Like mum.

There was that thought again.

Disconnecting from what just happened, I pushed the strange experience away, allowing the cool summer breeze to caress my face as I enjoyed my morning school ride.

Didn't really need more on my plate.

Familiar silhouettes of people, trees, houses, streets, they all blended into a blur of colors and noise. Until nothing mattered anymore.

Skateboarding to Oak Grove, to me, was just like that saying: "It's the journey, not the destination that counts."

I loathed my school.

Hated most of the teachers. Hated almost all the subjects. Hated the classmates. I didn't belong there and I actively tried to attend as little I could.

Heck, I hadn't even planned to go this morning but the call from that CPS woman had changed everything. Time had come for me to be on my best behavior, or they'd take me away from my mama.

Cogs in my brain whirred full speed, coming up with the ways to make her, me, and the house as presentable as possible in two day's time.

That mattered the most. Not the trippy thing I experienced in the basement.

Hadn't had much sleep last night, spent an hour shelving, and skipped breakfast.

If anything could induce hallucinations, that was it.

Zooming past the cleaning lady, Gemma, I whooshed inside the school building in the nick of time.

7.55 a.m.

I nodded a grateful "thanks" in the direction of the art teacher, Mr. Dabir. He was my favourite, not just because of the subject he taught but also, because he always let me lean my board on the wall next to his seat in teacher's classroom.

That must've earned him a lot of ugly looks of his colleagues, but as Mr. Dabir repeatedly liked to tell me, he was cool with it.

I took a deep breath, ready to face the day.

Even though one could never be totally ready in Oak Grove Middle School.

Especially if that person happened to be called Dana Ilic.

All those look-who-decided-to show ups and and what's-she-doing-here's should have stopped bothering me long ago, but they never did.

The whispers and stares that my classmates gave me as I passed the lockers were way worse than any Blake weirdness I might or might not have seen.

I dashed towards math class, catching the warning 7.58 a.m. on the hall clock and—tripped onna stupid shoelace.

Just my luck. 

My two most vocal enemies didn't even bother to keep their voices down in glee—Tamika Hashi and Indira Goel. Tamika was about to run for class president, too, and she had had her eye on Max for a long time.

Another reason why I didn't like her, truth be told.

Two chicks whose life maximum was to wear next to nothing in the freezing temperatures of a hockey arena while shovelling away the slush build-up, squealing "Go, Huskies!" All that while half of the teams in the NHL had fully clad, warmly dressed women or men to fulfil this role.