Inexplicable

Chapter One

My bare toes curl into the cool dirt beneath me, making me feel more connected to the thick forest surrounding me. I have reached a clearing filled with exotic flowers I didn't recognize, and my breath catches at the magnificent view before me. The village ahead has clusters of houses, and people fill the cobbled streets, going about their daily routines.

A large lake in the distance glistens from the brilliantly bright sun and is spotted with small fishing boats. Farmers work in the fields in the distance, picking foreign vegetables or fruits I had never seen before. From where I stood, I could hear the hooves of horses hitting the stone of the road. Finally, my eyes land on the grand castle in the middle of the village, guarded by a stone wall. The castle hovers over the town like its protector, warning intruders to stay away.

I belong here. This is where I am meant to be.

I'm home.

"Miss Smith." A voice echoes through my mind, but I dismiss it and continue drawing the landscape. I picture the dream I've had more times than I can count and translate it onto the paper on my desk. I was so enveloped in my task that I was completely unaware of my surroundings. "Miss Smith." The voice repeats louder, threatening to break the border into my subconscious. "Miss Smith!" The voice booms, losing its patients. My head jolts up, and I am back in my English class. Mrs. Grande huffs when she finally has my attention. "Could you please explain the character of Myrtle?"

Oh, right. We were discussing The Great Gatsby.

"She was the girl Tom slept around with," I said dismissively, returning to my drawing. The class erupts in a low giggle while Mrs. Grande presses her lips in a thin line, trying to reel in her frustration.

"A little more detail, please."

I raise an eyebrow. "About what, exactly?"

The class laughs even louder. Mrs. Grande gives up just as I'd hoped she would and leaves me to my drawing. I continue the sketch of the village with the castle in the middle, finishing up the last bits of details and then reviewing my work. I've drawn the familiar landscape numerous times, but something felt off, like I was missing something each time. I sigh as I look it over, wishing more than anything to be in this fantasy land.

I'm home.

I think of the dream and subconsciously touch the blue pendant that dangles from my neck. I don't know how, but I know this necklace came from this place I keep drawing and dreaming about. The emotions I feel when looking at the scene are confusing. I feel calm and at peace as if I have lived there my whole life and this was my safe place, but I also feel sad, like a person mourning a death.

But how can you miss a place you've never been to except in your dreams? How can you know you belong at this fantasy place you just made up? I'd settled on the answer, being I was finally losing it after being through so much trauma.

The bell rings, and I gently place the paper in the black book bag that hangs by my side. Whether I belong in that beautiful world or not, I know I don't belong here.

I hurry down the hall, careful to avoid eye contact with any of the other students. The thing about eye contact is that people then feel the need to communicate with you. In my case, this means name-calling or mocking me. Here at Westfield Prep, students stick with their social circle. Me? I don't have one, making me the target of them all. I am at the bottom of the high school social food chain. I don't fit in with all the rich kids that have fancy cars and high-tech laptops. I wasn't raised the way they were.

But here I am, with a fancy car and a high-tech laptop my adoptive parents got me.

My name is Sapphire Smith. I'm told the social worker who found me named me Sapphire because of my eyes, which I like to call 'stormy blue.' They are a mixture of blue and gray but not quite hazel. They look like the sky on a stormy day, hence the name. They named me Sapphire because of the sapphire pendant I had when I was found. I've had a special bond with this necklace for as long as I can remember.

I never understood my connection to the thing.

I don't remember anything before the foster homes. Even then, my memory is foggy, and I just go by what everyone tells me, which isn't much. I was finally adopted by a family when I was around seven. I've never felt more at home than I did with Marilyn and Thomas. For the first time since I could remember, I was actually happy. They enrolled me in a small public school, and everything felt as normal as it could possibly get—one little happy family.

But all good things must come to an end, right? A year ago, they were murdered. The man broke into our home in the middle of the night and attacked Mary and Tom. The police never found the guy, and eventually, they gave up—cold case. I was then shipped to a new group home before we even had a funeral. I was convinced I would never again be adopted, not at seventeen years old.

The Smiths came into my life just a few months later. If the law had allowed us to pick our parents, I would've said no to them. Megan and Jonathan were, and still are, an uptight, rich couple. They came in with stern looks on their faces, looking to transform the life of a poor girl and raise her to be a proper lady. That just so happened to be me.

"Her," Megan said, pointing a polished finger at me. "I want her."

With that, I was yet again packed up and shipped away to live in a town just outside of New York City. It's almost been a year since then, and here I am, at the age of eighteen, counting down the days until I graduate and can live on my own, far away from here.

It couldn't come soon enough.