Guardians

Chapter 1

The beginning of the end, as I affectionately​ call the single worst week of my life, started on November 23, six days before Thanksgiving break. I guess God saw fit to save me from having too many school absences while going through my own personal​ hell week.

How thoughtful.

Of course, I wake up fifteen minutes late for school. I feel this the moment my eyes drift open. And, sure enough, my cell phone shows that I have fifteen minutes left to get to school.

But I don't bother rushing. I hop up and stretch,meandering my way to the bathroom right outside of my door.

My reflection gives me a pang, with dark circles under my eyes and bushier-than-usual brown hair. But again, I don't bother with makeup or a hairbrush. What's the point? I don't have anything to prove. So I just get my morning business done and leave without looking at myself again.

"Have a nice day at school!" I hear my mom call from upstairs. the habit of waking up at six o'clock hadn't left her, though more often than not I drive myself to school. Since my Jeep is in the shop today, she offered to take me, but I would rather walk than deal with my mom fussing over my scruffy hair.

"OK, mom! See ya!" I yell back as cheerfully as I can. Rally its not her fault that my hair is a nightmare. I got that from my father.

It's a gorgeous day out, despite the fall chill to the air. We had had a long summer, the leaves haven't even turned colors fully this late into November. But the sun is shining brightly over our small pong, and the grass has a frosty crunch that I enjoy, not minding the wet that seeps into my sneakers.

The day is beautiful, but something small nags at me. I brush it off at this point, in favor of admiring the day, and eventually it fades away with a disgruntled mumble.

Dixie Lane is offset from the rest of my hometown, Valley. The trip is at least five miles worth of twisting backroad. But, a quick shortcut through a small, unused water channel, and I'm smack in the middle of town in half that time. Branches and thorns clog it in places, but I still like the hike. Well, as much as you can like a trudge at seven in the morning, even on a perfect early fall day like this.

As I walk, I find my mind wandering in all sorts of lazy directions. I wonder about the math test in third period; I ponder about what Amanda and I are going to do over the weekend. Maybe go to a few parties? take a trip to the bottom of the mountain? Either works for me.

About three quarters of the way through, though, I do feel a little strange, cracks and snaps trail me throughout my journey. At first, I passed it off to the scary movies I was watching the night before, or a curious band of squirrels. But, as I struggle through the last bit of piney woods, I actually see a shadow creeping through the brush, tall and broad shouldered, even as a silhouette.

I try not to scream and run in panic, but my breath hitches in my throat involuntarily. An Intersection stands just outside of the woods, and if I head right, I'll be at the school in less than fifteen minutes. Walking. If I sprint, you can half that.

Rucking my backpack onto my right shoulder, I lengthen out my stride. By the time I reach the road, I'm in a dead sprint. With my hair flying back from my face and my backpack pounding into my sides, throwing me slightly off balance, I feel like a track star.

Despite my best efforts, I only manage to sprint for five minutes. By the time I have to stop, the stich in my side is developing into a full-out cramp and I'm doubling over, trying to suck oxygen into my lungs. Only when I hear the sticks cracking in the distance do I try to keep going. I manage a steady jog, vowing to start sprinting the moment I could breathe again.