Wicked

Chapter One

The window revealed the change. It went from lofty skyscrapers to winding hills scattered with autumn colored leaves. It was amazing what a four-hour drive could reveal to you. I took a deep breath in, feeling my chest tighten and constrict, then relax. My sister, Dara, had been kicking at the back of my seat the majority of the drive. I knew if I gave even the slightest indication this was bothering me, it was game over -- she would not give up.

I hit the button to my right and the window cracked another inch lower. The air drowned out the thud of Dara's sneakers against the plastic part of my seat. It also muffled a bit of my mom's screechy work-voice. She was trying to get everything transferred from New York to Massachusetts. By the increase of shrill in her voice, it wasn't going over well.

I exhaled, bent down and grabbed my sketchbook out of my backpack. I had a gift for silencing the world whenever I picked up a pencil. I let my eyes wander until it fell on the lake we were passing. It was pretty reflective against the tall oak trees. Each tree took turns changing colors from orange, gold, yellow, and maroon. I missed nature. In New York, there were so many buildings squished together, it was often hard to see the trees and lakes.

Before I knew it, my mom was pulling up to my Gran's house. It would be our new home since the divorce. I didn't like talking about it because it still felt so surreal. When I told my friends, it felt like my stomach was full of cement and my throat constricted.

 I clenched my fist, half-moon caused by fingernails developed on my palms. I need to focus on something else. I looked up at Gran's house, which was hands down the most beautiful work of architecture I had ever seen.

It was Persian green with red brick chimney and part of the turret was a brick-red color. The detailing on the walls and trim had always mesmerized me. There were about six steps up to the tall billowing doors, covered in stained-glass. I traced my finger over the curves and edges until Gran opened the door.

"Corn!" Gran was the first person to give me my nickname -- Corn, short for Cornelia. I loved my nickname: Corn, it spoke to my uniqueness. Mom hated it. Anytime someone called me Corn she would purse her lips into a fine line. Sometimes, she would even cross her arms and look away in disdain. I didn't care.

Gran wrapped her arms around me, grabbing me in for a tight hug. Laughing, I hugged her back. We hadn't seen each other for quite some time, and I had missed her. When the hug ended, I looked at Gran. She was wearing a purple and gold Bohemian dress with black tights and black boots. I blinked, she looked more stylish than I did.

"Let me have a good look at you," she held me at arm's length and took me in. I was wearing a tight black long sleeve, a suede mini-skirt paired with black tights and my clunky platform sandals. I couldn't remember if I had brushed my hair, so it was in a straight meets wavy stage. Of course, is currently in a ponytail.

"Goddess, you are more radiant every time I see you." I smiled, looking down, my cheeks filled the color of rose. She had a way about her that filled me up.

"Hello, mother." My mom, Dorothy, grumbled. She was carrying two of her suitcases and dragging her duffel bag. My mom and Gran had a weird relationship. Well, it was a lot like my relationship with my mom. It was like there was this great miss-connection between the two of us. Whereas, with my Gran, it felt like she understood me.