The Fourth wall breaking of DEADPOOL meets JANE AUSTEN meets MAGICAL WEIRDNESS
When a mysterious new boy comes to town, seventeen-year-old odd ball, Peneloper Auttsley, must confront the secrets of her past in order to save her present.
...
Peneloper chews on Mr. Heavensley's words as though they are bubblegum. Granted, they don't taste as good or come with as many clever jokes, but she munches on them never-the-less. With the figurative taste lingering on her tongue, and the words themselves scenting the air with the fantastical, she debates dismissing these claims, as others might do.
It's the sensible way to be, but, as she is without that part of her brain that encourages critical thinking (due in part to a deeply underfunded and eroded education system), she accepts his words with ease, allowing this story to progress.
Peneloper's always had a niggling suspicion she wasn't like other people. Microwaves hated her, always sparking, smoking and failing to work properly when she was around. A few times, they'd coerced her into feeding them metal forks, which had landed Peneloper in a heap of trouble, not to mention with her cookie privileges revoked for weeks.
And even more convincing, there'd been the times when purple had shot from her fingertips, though those memories remain obscured. She only has a vague notion it occurred, no concrete details. Memory is fickle like that.
Having a magical destiny is not out of the realm of possibility. In fact, though it seemed impossible, given that Peneloper lives in a world made of impossibility, the likeliness then seemed possible. Probable, even.
Magic she is, she decides. Though, what kind? And what can she do to harness this magic? Are others in town equally as magical? With enough questions to swell a mind and make brainy soft-serve ooze out one's ears, Peneloper faces Mr. Heavensley, takes a deep breath, and readies herself to segue. She will ask him to explain.
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•That's Just the Way it is •
"There's no time for explanations," Crispen replied, as if prompted, though Peneloper was pretty sure, this time, she'd kept her thoughts inside her head. With a flick of his wrist, Crispen opened his parasol, putting it over both their heads to shield them from the relentless onslaught of rain. He stared at her for a second, digging his toe into the asphalt, before extending a hand. "I'll answer what I can but be selective about what you ask." His eyes pleaded with her to be kind. "If you give voice to all your questions, I'm afraid we'd remain here until you turned into a skeleton and that's precisely what I'm trying to prevent."
She jumped down from the rock, spurning Crispen's outstretched hand. He frowned slightly at her rejection, but soon enough, stuffed his hand inside his jeans' pocket and seemed to forget it ever occurred. "You're a mind reader, then? Is that your brand of magic?"
Peneloper, already drenched and not wanting to go full-blown drowned, took up his offer of parasol, settling into an uncomfortable distance wherein elbows brushed against one another. Peneloper remained overly aware, her walking partner, pointedly oblivious. Each new touch of fabric reminded Peneloper of their proximity causing electricity to skate across her skin. She wished this had been real electricity, its purpose twofold. One, it could have zapped Mr. Heavensley into giving her more space and two, it could have sizzled some of those annoying raindrops.
