Alice Acadamy: Book One

                                             Chapter One
                                             Alice Acadamy

    “Ever since I was a child, I lived in an imperfect world. It’s okay, though, because I was oblivious to it. I was in that stage where my biggest problem was finding the right color crayon.­­ Life was fun when I got to take two naps a day in school, plus more at home. It continued like that for a while, but slowly everything started changing, getting serious. It made my favorite place in the world boring. Like everyone has to, I began to understand the perfection of childhood was a shield to the brutal reality of life. It happened so gradually I didn’t realize this until it was too late.
    Being a kid with a low social standing, I did not have many friends–no one to go to when my parents started to argue after they thought I went to bed. How could I have known what all the fighting was about? Not until I heard my name did it all come together. The vile things they were saying to each other meant they were not staying together, and by the looks of it, neither was I. Dad walked out the door–my idol–the person I looked forward to becoming. I held on to the hope he would come back, but after years of waiting, I lost faith. My only comfort had left me bare and unprotected.
    After that I changed–I wasn’t the same person any more. I would have liked to say I became stronger after my father’s departure, but I was alone and had no choice but to hide my vulnerable side from others. My belief in people failed. It was impossible to trust anyone with the constant memory of Dad leaving. If he did, others would too. People tried to figure out what was going on behind the mask I wore, but I hid myself well. The smile painted on my lips was fake. I couldn’t remember the last time I had actually been happy.
    I found myself slowly sinking into a place of new lows I had never been and felt trapped there. Anger was a constant feeling; it weighed down so heavily upon my chest I could hardly breathe. I started fighting at school. Sometimes, I had no reason, but I mostly went after people who got on my nerves. There was one time I got suspended for a week when I was accused of “brutally attacking” a group of people. Too bad they didn’t want to know the true story: people I had fought before thought they would jump me in an alley downtown, and I was simply protecting myself, but who would believe me?
    I didn’t understand myself anymore. My mood could change so quickly I didn’t have time to put it in check. It was like PMSing all the time. I could be calm and controlled one minute, then suddenly burst into a raging fit the next. I could hardly maintain my temper. My life had turned into a dark, twisted highway with flips and turns I struggled to cling to.
    As my anger persisted, I began to notice odd things happening. When I would turn on the faucet, the water would bend toward me. I was able to put the phenomenon off by convincing myself there were particles in the water, which were attracted to my mom’s vast collection of hair products sitting on the sink. However, when I walked outside in the rain–without an umbrella–and didn’t get wet, I knew something was strange. At that point, I was infatuated with my discovery that I had no control over. I couldn’t force water to move or keep me dry–it simply happened on its own. The less I concentrated on my newfound talent, the more it occurred. I naturally became obsessed. When it rained and everyone else was inside, I was given the chance to explore my ability. I never grew tired of watching droplets of rain roll off my clothing and skin and not get me wet. If it wasn’t raining, I would go to the lake or sit in the shower. When I couldn’t do any of those things, I would mope on the couch wishing I could be near the water.
     Deep inside, though, I had an unsettled feeling nothing could ever be the way it was, especially after Dad left and abandoned me with my uncaring mother. All she did was obsess over herself and avoid me. She had been ashamed of me from the moment I took my first breath. Why was I left with the parent who didn’t even care about me? I told myself Dad had a reason for leaving me alone without so much as a good-bye. This satisfied me for a while, but it wasn’t enough to comfort a fourteen-year old girl who had stopped coming up with excuses.

                                                             ***

    A late summer breeze wafted through the kitchen window I had opened to clear the stuffy aroma of my mom’s perfume. I leaned against the counter and played with a panini I had made for lunch and stared out at the back yard. It was only the first few weeks of a new school year, and I knew I should have been doing my homework, but coincidentally, didn’t feel like it. If it were up to me, I would throw the books away and never go back.
    While I was wistfully thinking of all the ways I could incinerate a five pound history book, the doorbell rang and interrupted my thoughts. With an irritated grumble, I picked up my sandwich and went to the door. Turning the handle, I jerked it open. I wasn’t sure who I expected to be standing on my door step, but the superintendent of my school was not it. I frowned at the man as he stood rigidly in my doorway. His presence at my house wasn’t a welcome one; it was enough to see him stalking the school grounds five days a week. The fact he was invading my privacy in my own home was concerning.
    If I could recall correctly, his name was Mr. Berksly, though I never took the time to commit it to memory. He had thin, graying hair, which was slicked back over his scalp, with harsh wrinkles cleaving his forehead from how many times he raised his brows in annoyance. The suit he wore was so expensive I could smell the rich fibers it was woven out of. Two men flanked him, adorned in a similar manner. When I looked at them, the dull glaze in their eyes suggested they spent many days sitting behind a desk, wasting their life away.
    “Lunar Graves?” Mr. Berksly asked.
    I flinched at the sound of my name. “Yes,” I admitted.
    “We’re hear to discuss the terms of your disengagement from the school district,” he informed me. “Is a parent or guardian available?”
    I stared at him blankly, taking a moment to comprehend what exactly he had said. I took this time to wonder why he found it necessary to use such big words on a weekend when I had turned my brain off. The sharp clicking sound of my mother’s stiletto heels down the wood stairs interrupted my thinking. Looking over my shoulder, I saw her just as she was dismounting the last step, wobbling on her six inch heels and sporting a bad hangover. Her gaudy acrylic nails clacked against each other as she flailed her arms to keep her balance. She ended up stumbling, which caused her designer bag to swing wildly around her arm. Mr. Berksly and his attendants boggled at the skimpy dress my mother was wearing while I groaned in disbelief.
    “Speak of the devil,” I grumbled. “Mom, someone’s here to see you.”
    She shot me a dirty look and chomped on her gum, which seemed intent on falling out of her mouth. “I don’t have time,” she snapped. “I’m going to the bar with Chelsea.”
    Mr. Berksly blocked her path. For anyone who didn’t know my mom, Chelsea was her best friend, and if anyone stood in her way of seeing her, they would be taken out. “Ms. Graves, your daughter has been expelled, and she won’t be returning. We’re here because of our concern for her well being. There’s a military school we feel would help her rethink her actions and work on controlling her anger,” Mr. Berksly explained, handing my mom a stack of papers.
    She whirled on me. “Look what you’ve done now, you little stink!” she howled. “I’m going to have to pay for you to go to rehab!”
    “I’m not going to rehab!” I retorted.
    “We can assure you it’s a government facility, and everything will be paid for, including the busing,” Mr. Berksly said.
    “Busing?” I groaned.
    I wasn’t thrilled about going to a military school, and the idea of being bussed made my predicament even less bearable. My mom, however, appeared to be very excited about the situation as she read over the papers and suddenly became interested in sending me away.
    “When does she leave?” she asked quickly.
    Mr. Berksly and I gawked at how fast she had changed her demeanor. At that moment, I think he understood why I was the way I was. He crinkled his forehead, deepening the furrow there, and scratched his head. “Monday morning, ma’am,” he answered with a sigh. “All of the information is there. Read it over carefully, fill it out as best you can, sign it, then have Lunar bring it with her on the first day. You ladies have a nice afternoon.”
    I watched the three men retreat down my walkway. Their shoulders were squared underneath their starched suits as they ducked around the corner of my garage at a brisk pace. As always, my mother made an impression. While her eyes feasted upon the papers, mine followed the men’s black Mercedes speeding off down the street. I was thinking to myself I had no more than gotten expelled from one school and was being dumped into a new one. I glared over at the documents she held, wishing they would spontaneously combust in her hands. I wasn’t fond of the idea that I was going to be bussed to another school, which meant I would be staying there for a very long time. The school was called Alice Acadamy.