Excerpt from "Wicked Normal"

prologue - Happily Ever After...

And they lived happily ever after...

Okay, if you're thinking that means it's the end of the story then you better close this book, put it back on the shelf, and go find yourself a fairy tale to believe in.

For me, those words, "happily ever after," signify just the beginning. Although it is where most stories end, that's because writers typically aren't clever enough to write the happy stuff. Surely intelligent readers prefer books about the times after the happy beginnings, as indeed, most of one's life is actually the happily ever after. Maybe I am extremely lucky, but I've always known life to be happy because I am living in my parents' happily ever after.

Okay, so perhaps I am a little different. It's taken me quite a long time to begin to accept it, but I am at least now considering that I might have some rather unique qualities. I still can't help but believe that I'm wicked normal, just like everyone else, and despite the accusations of my jealous haters, I am not a monster. Honestly, I don't want to be anyone except who I am: Persephone Smith. I'm just a happy, young lady living her happily ever after, on her way to her eventual soulmate who will not be a prince. I mean, have you seen the eligible princes out there? Blech. No, thank you. I want an awesome hunk who loves me and is perfect for me. Mom taught me that there's no use in looking for someone who is perfect, because people aren't perfect, but instead to find someone who is just right for me.

Mom married Dad because he was perfect for her. According to her rendition of their love story, way back before I was born, my father was a member of UR My QTπ, a boyband that was very popular at the time. Although Mom tells endless stories about going to UR My QTπ concerts and crazy run-ins with band members, fans, and security, it only proves that she was their number one fan, not that she actually married a popstar. That's ridiculous! That doesn't happen in real life. It's a crazy fantasy dream that you'd read about in some mindless novel you'd save for a trip to the beach!

Undeniably, Dad is a marvelous singer, and shockingly, he sure knows how to dance. At my cousin's wedding, he not only led the train but he did this crazy dance with a chair and a hat that had everyone cheering! And well, I guess my dad must be pretty cute for an old guy because I have noticed ladies batting their eyes, giggling, and blushing around him. What's really cool is that he is unfazed by such attention and only ever notices my mom. It's true love. And well, a boyband guy, who used to sing onstage with thousands of girls screaming at him, wouldn't know true love, would he?

Alright, so Dad is pretty perfect - but Mom's pretty perfect, too, so I guess that's why they're made for each other. Now don't get me wrong. I certainly don't want to marry Dad! Yuck! No way! I just gotta find whoever is perfect for me. And okay, I confess, there's no rush because I am only nine years old, so I don't need to cast the role of soulmate just yet.

I genuinely love to spend time with the 'Rental Units, also known as my parents or 'Rents, and they are my true best friends and confidants because I know they'll always love me unconditionally! Since my happiness brings them happiness, they do everything within their powers to allow me to have a carefree, joyful, perfect childhood. Spoiled rotten? Without a doubt! It's one of the perks of being an only child! Dad works a lot and is the breadwinner for our family. Mom teaches first grade at my school, Saint Bart's, because she loves teaching little kids and gets free tuition for me. When I was younger, she used to stay at home with me, but that's not to say we're rich. We don't live in a mansion. We don't have servants. If Dad had actually been a member of UR My QTπ, surely we'd have all of those things plus paparazzi and security, but our life is perfectly normal.

Now, having spent a large portion of my formative years interacting primarily with adults, I tend to be rather mature for my age. I use an extensive vocabulary and derive tremendous pleasure in confusing imbeciles with my multisyllabic musings. And let's face it, if you typically use properly placed gigantuous words, nobody is certain when you misuse them or invent them every now and then.

Despite my advanced skills in socializing with grown-ups, the 'Rental Units think I need to have more interactions with other kids, particularly girls, who are my own age. I've moaned and groaned that I'm far too old for prearranged playdates, so for two weeks each August, Mom and Dad send me to Birch Bog Day Camp. It's an all-girl camp, but that's okay because with only a couple of exceptions, usually my friends are boys. I've loved going to Birch Bog each of the past two summers because I simply love day camp! Love it! We go swimming and hiking and do cool art projects, and perhaps the best thing is that every night I get to be home with my parents.

Well... usually. See, Birch Bog Day Camp is for campers entering first through fifth grades. For older campers, it becomes simply Birch Bog Camp – an overnight camp. As a transitional step, on the final Thursday of the two week session, the day camp has a special overnight for its campers who are entering fifth grade. So guess what summer I'm up to... yeah, I'm going to be a fifth grader this fall. Ugh, I am not so sure about this overnight business. Sleeping under the stars? With like bugs and bears? What are they thinking? Even Mom says her idea of roughing it is a four-star hotel that doesn't have twenty-four hour room service... and she's right!

But I can do anything for one night, right? Right?

Ohhhh, why do I have a terrible gut feeling that camp this year is going to be pure and utter torture? Cue big, dramatic sigh.