Did you ever grow up with a hobby that you hated to do, but later you were grateful you did it? I did. My parents, when I was much younger, thought I would be the most perfect little girl. I would wear pretty dresses and bows and sing like the angels in heaven.
If only they could see me now.
Well, they'd signed me up for piano when I was seven. At first, I thought it was fun. I could finally do something my friends couldn't. But I gradually grew more frustrated, thinking that I was terrible and my friends would make fun of me for playing it. But my mother is even more stubborn than I am, and she made me continue.
Now, ten years later, I had no regrets. I was glad my mother forced me to stay in it.
This is what I was thinking when I woke up in a sterile white room with white clothes on and an IV sticking out of my elbow. Soft, classical piano music was playing from a hidden speaker. I grit my teeth and pulled the IV out. Where was I? How did I get here? I sat up in bed and black dots danced through my vision. I took deep breaths until they passed. My back burned terribly and my hand stung like I'd poured hand sanitizer in the cut. I slowly pulled up the white shirt to find bandages wrapped all up my torso. There were no mirrors to see my back.
I yanked my shirt back down, then stood up. I needed to go home. I needed to make sure that Cole was okay. I had to stop by the Cloud Tower, then go to the Cloud residency to check on Daniel.
Taking slow steps helped me to get to the door. I turned the knob. Locked. I jerked it a few times, as if it would help me escape, then gave up. Then, the door swung open, almost taking me out with it. I leaned away. A man stood in front of me, gave me a once-over, then left. The door was locked behind him.
Well that wasn't weird at all. I sat back on the bed again, wondering what had happened to Riptide. Had he brought me here? More than likely. I trusted Riptide, but I wasn't so sure about him taking me somewhere I didn't know. I just wished I had Sandy with me.
Suddenly, I realized that since my clothes were missing . . . My hand quickly came up to my face. My mask was gone. They knew my true identity. My breaths came quicker. How could I have let this happen? Stupid Blaze with his stupid fireballs and his stupid schemes and ugh! He ruined everything in my life! I was sure that if I knew his true identity, I would hate him even more.
The door opened again and this time, it was a woman. I instinctively let my hair fall in my face to hide it.
"Don't bother, Shadow, we've known your true identity for the past four years." Wait a second. I knew that voice. I looked up.
"Agent Lauren."
I was rewarded with a smile that seemed to light up even the entirely white room. "How have you been, Kiera Knight?"
I couldn't help it. I threw my arms around her and hugged her tightly. Lauren was one of the first people I'd talked to when I came to the Agency for help four years ago. She has the warmest brown eyes I'd even seen and her dark, chocolatey skin was always warm when she hugged me. She's just a few years older than me, and she'd gotten a job here when her brother, a Super, had died saving a plane from crashing. She probably had the coolest job ever, as she was a physical therapist—for Supers. She learned about their bodies and powers and helped them with keeping them safe. Her white lab coat was slightly wrinkled and I was probably making it worse.
"I'll take that it hasn't been all that great?"
I pulled away, wiping at my eyes to make sure she hadn't seen the tears. "Oh, give it up. I know you've been watching the news. Everything's terrible, Lauren! Blaze just doesn't want to leave me alone and I'm even more frustrated with myself because I still can't beat him! And all of the villains have it out for the Cloud family. I don't know why! I've saved that boy twice in the past twenty four hours!"
YOU ARE READING
Shadow
PertualanganI live in a pretty screwed up world. I mean, we all do, but mine's a little more screwed up than your average American city. First off, I have that cliché sort of crush on my best friend. The second part of that cliché is that he's interes...