Predacon Sisters: The Cross-Tails | Transformers Bayverse

Chapter One

Just to make things clear, Shaye Ogden is my character along with any mentioned poems, unique creatures like the Chaos-Tails and more. The only thing I don't own is Transformers, nor do I ever wish being mistaken for taking credit for the movies.

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Walking up to the front of the class, like the socially awkward person I am, I began nervously fiddling with the string of my dull purple hoodie. I look at my teacher and see his less than pleased expression, only to sigh realizing I might not have the courage to do this on my own. I glance up at my classmates and see the mean looks and sound of gossiping girls, closing my eyes again I open to see the normal class. Just everyday bored teenagers, and just one enthusiastic face, Sam.

Sam Witwicky, the class nerd, the weird kid in the back, the one you want to avoid if you want to be popular in school. Well, I don't care about fame or getting many friends, I already had my fair share of that experience of fake trust. Anyway, we go way back, and have been in the same schools our entire life. We hit off right at the start, and unlike the ever intrusive Miles, we have always had a sibling like bond.

Right now he's expression is trying to silently support me to start my report. So I do just that, opening my purse I pull out some old books, a quill pen, and a strange looking ink artwork of a unique dragon like creature.

"For my genealogy report, I decided to do a collective history on my family. And before you can correct me on that, I don't have much recorded in my family tree that is very well known or have any historical value other than what I could get out of my late mom's study hall."

I ignore the quiet snickers that echo off the walls of this cramped room. I hold up the smallest of the worn leather books.

"This book here holds a collection of folklore stories written by my ancestors about three-tailed beasts."

I stopped to take a moment to calm my racing heart before showing the ink painting to the class.

"But this is the silhouette of the creature that stalked the shadows of unsuspecting kids, most likely a disfigured shadow of a wolf. This was drawn by my great-great-great aunt. She went on to say very weird stuff about wingless dragons living underground."

Flipping through the pages I pull out a single piece of parchment paper.

"This was written by my direct ancestor, I couldn't find their name, but this poem is called Fiery Sky. It is believed to be dated during World War One. This person is also the oldest record in my family and the one who started the tradition of writers." (Note: I made the poem so it really isn't that old.)

"I think that is enough Mrs. Ogden, this is history class not Creative Writing." I look at the disappointed teacher with a slight look of anger.

"Well, this so called 'best' school in the district has done a horrible job on that part. I don't even consider it a good creative program with how much you disregard the subject of authors and writers." I know for certain my grade dropped from a B to a C with my back talking habit. I don't care much for it due to him being stubborn on making me fail. At least I tried doing the project instead of backing out with the little information I have.

Grabbing my stuff and placing them back into my purse, I fiddle with the quill pen. Walking back to my desk, I ignore the feeling of phantom touches and the gossiping of the cool kids. Sliding my chair out, I slip into the seat and cover my head in shame. A persistent poke on my shoulder makes me look through my black hair at my brother figure. Sam passes me a balled up paper.

'Want to come with me to get my first car after my report?'

With a small grin I subtly nod my head to avoid getting the teacher's attention.