Black Moon Beginnings

chapter Six

Tuesday came and went with no problems. It finally stopped raining too. The sun is shining; the birds are chirping. It is going to be a good day. I’m determined to make it a good day.

I got an A on my test in English and B’s on both my Government and Art History finals. The only final I have left is English. I just have to get a C to pass the class. So I’m not really worried about it, but I’ve been studying a lot for this test. I got another message from Jane telling me that she isn’t going to be home at all this week. She and Ross are going on a business retreat with their company.

I roll over and look at my alarm clock. It’s 6:55 a.m. My alarm is set to go off in five minutes. Groaning, I get out of bed and turn my alarm off. I won’t be able to fall back asleep anyways. The house is quiet while I am getting ready so, I plug in my iPod and dance around my room to pass the time. I am in a good mood by the time I have to leave the house. It is sunny when I walk outside and begin heading towards the school.

Entering the school parking lot in the morning isn’t fun. Most people are already at school, so everyone is talking with their friends. Because I don’t drive to school, I’m watched as I pass through the lot. More people are looking at me than usual, whispering. I meet a few eyes, but focus on the ground as I walk the remaining distance to the door.

I walk into the main entrance and walk down the hallway towards my locker. I get a lot of glances as I walk through the hall. No one ever looks at me during the school day. I’m the school outcast…the loner. The invisible girl.

As I get closer, I notice people standing around my locker, pointing and laughing. In bright red paint, someone had written the word FREAK down the length of my locker. I instantly know who did it. I look around and find Lily and Adam standing at the other side of the hallway, smirking at me.

I walk right past them all and into my first block class. Since it is the last day of school, most teachers don’t have anything for the students to do anyways. The teachers put a movie on just to pass the time. The day goes by in a blur. I don’t stop at my locker and won’t until school ends.

By the time fourth block comes around, I become even more anxious. This test is worth twenty percent of my grade. I am barely passing at this point, so I have to do well. My heart starts beating harder in anticipation. Each step Mrs. Applegate takes towards me increases my heart rate. When she gets to my desk, I am sure the whole classroom can hear it. She places the paper down on my desk and whispers good luck.

Writing my name of the final is the easy part, everything after that is a different story. On every question, I second guess all my answers. I know that I know them, but something in my mind keeps pulling me towards another response. The room is so quiet, that I can hear the clock ticking on the opposite end of the room.

Every pencil squeak, chair scrape, and shuffling of feet sounds a thousand times louder than usual. Every tick of the clock tells me that I am one second closer to the end and each one makes me more nervous. I keep fidgeting with the flame necklace, a nervous habit I’d recently acquired, while I stare down at the test. When the bell finally rings and it is time to turn it in, I am not as confident as I was when I entered the classroom.

I smile at Mrs. Applegate and wish her a great summer. Everyone is screaming, throwing paper around the hallway, excited for the summer. I turn to the left and walk around the school, hoping that by the time I get to my locker, everyone will be gone. A few minutes later, I turn right and walk down the math hallway—the hallway where my locker is located. The crowds have lessened by this time, but there are still a few people roaming the halls.

I stop at my locker and look at the word written across it, frowning. At least I didn’t have to see this everyday this year. I open my locker and grab everything out, shoving it into my bag. I carry around a large canvas tote bag that I had drawn leaves and vines on. Holding my doodled notebook in my hands, I turn around to leave. Right as I turn, someone slams into my back, knocking me into the locker.

Throwing my hands out, I avoid physically hurting myself against it, but the momentum of the hit causes me to drop my bag.

“Watch where you’re going, freak.” He calls out to me as he runs away, not bothering to help. I have no idea who he is. Tucking my hair behind my ears, I bend down to gather my belongings from the ground: all my notebooks have spilled open, all the papers from my folders are randomly dispersed in the hall, and my pens and pencils are rolling in opposite directions.

“Here, I’ll help you with that.” I look up and see Colton bending down.

“It’ll ruin your reputation. You don’t want to be seen associating with the school freak,” I mumble.

“What?” he stops, his hands hovering over a book and looks directly at me.

“I said thanks.”

He knows that I didn’t say that, but he doesn’t comment. Together we are able to gather the things relatively quickly. My doodling notebook has fallen open onto the page with the flamed drawing.

“Did you draw this?” He asks while looking intently at the page.

Grabbing it out of his hand, I say, “Yeah, but I’m not finished yet.”

“It’s really good.”

Still sitting on the ground, I place the notebook in my bag and look around making sure we have gotten everything. Colton stands up and puts his hand out to help me. I accept it, thankful that someone is being nice to me for once.

When I stand, I realize just how tall he is. Looking straight ahead, I am staring at the middle of his chest. I crane my neck back, to look up at him and thank him. When I open my mouth to reply, it feels like pins and needles shoot up my body. Ice cascades through my arms. I can’t move or breathe. The pain travels up my arms and recedes into my head, where it remains. It is so immense, I feel like I am going to pass out. I let go of Colton’s hand, slam my eyes shut, and grab my head. I am unable to think. All at once, I start hearing numerous voices; echoes of those around me. All the voices are weighing me down. I let out a whimper as my legs give out. Colton reaches out and grabs me before I hit the ground.

“Ryanne? What’s wrong?” I barely hear him and can’t respond. The pain is too much. So many thoughts are running though my head: What’s wrong with her? Why is she acting like that? She just wants attention. Do these pants make me look fat? I’m really hungry. SUMMER TIME. Why is he talking to her? He could do way better than that.

Colton grabs my bag off the ground. Putting an arm behind my knees and the other at my back, he scoops me into his arms and carries me out the school and into the parking lot. With hurried steps, he makes it to his car and places me in the passenger seat, buckling me in the process.

I lean forward and rest my head on my lap, but the voices don’t ease. It feels like everyone is screaming at me. Colton runs across the front of the car, jumps into the driver’s seat, and puts the car into reverse. He speeds out of the parking lot, not even bothering to buckle his own seatbelt.

Grabbing his cell phone out of his jeans pocket, he dials a number. “Claire, it’s definitely her. I’m bringing her over now. I need your help.”

What did he mean, “it’s definitely her?” When I am about to respond, a new wave of voices crashes into my head. What should we do tonight? We have to go celebrate. I need to do laundry. I have to hurry home, Dr. Oz is on. Ugh, my car won’t start. Just my luck. I whimper again, this time louder than before.

The pain proves to be too much for my body.





“Ryanne? Ryanne, dear, can you hear me?”

“Are you sure she’s going to be okay? She’s been out for a while now.” I can hear people talking to me, but my body isn’t able to respond. The voices are still in my head and I know that if I open my eyes, they will amplify again.

Slowly, my body starts to come back to life. I can move my hands and feet. With my eyes still closed, I try to take in my surroundings. I don’t know where I am, but it feels like I am laying on something soft. A couch maybe?

Groaning, I grab my head—the remnant of my previous headache still lingering. I attempt to sit up, but my body refuses to cooperate. Someone puts their hand on my back and helps me. I blindly thank them.

“Ryanne, can you open your eyes?” a woman asks me.

“I’m afraid to. It hurts. The voices are too loud.” I whisper.

“I’m going to help you, but I need you to look at me first.”

I take a deep breath and mentally prepare myself for the onslaught of voices. I slowly open my eyes and see three worried faces looking back at me. Colton and his aunt are sitting on the coffee table directly in front of me, while another guy stands quietly behind them. He looks just like Colton facially, but isn’t as tall, has shorter hair, and broader shoulders.

I wince as the voices get slightly louder, but it isn’t nearly as loud as before. “Ryanne, look at me. Concentrate on my voice.”

Turning towards her, I focus only on her. “My head hurts.”

“I know and it will. I’m going to try and help you,” she tells me. “Think only about me. Forget about what you are hearing. Focus on my voice.”

I try to only listen to her, but I can’t. It is too hard. Too many voices are trying to get my attention. I’m not able to hold onto just one. I hope she’s okay. She’s looks so pale. Hopefully, she can get a handle on this.

In frustration, I slam my eyes shut. “I can’t do it. They’re too loud. I can’t concentrate.”

“Aunt Claire, can I try?” asks Colton. “I’m the one who woke her magic up, maybe I can help her control it.”

“I guess it can’t hurt anything.”

“Ryanne, open your eyes.”

I hear the sounds of shuffling and someone touches my leg. Hesitantly, I open my eyes and stare into an abyss of green.

“I’m going to try and walk you through this. Concentrate on me. Block out all background noise. Don’t listen to any of the voices. Focus on my voice and my voice only. Now, think of somewhere that you feel safe. The gazebo maybe,” he suggests. “Imagine yourself there. Think about the scene. Forget the voices. What color are the trees? What season is it? Who are you with? Think about that.”

I close my eyes and think back to the time where my mother and I went to the park and ate under the gazebo. It was during the summer when I was eight years old. We set up a picnic. I remember being really happy. It was sunny. I ran around in the grass around the gazebo chasing insects. While we were eating, a blue butterfly landed on my arm. My mother said that the butterfly meant that I was special. That someone was watching over me.

“Keep that thought in mind. I want you to think about the voices, but don’t concentrate fully on them. I want you to push them aside. Push them to the background—push them into the corner and lock them there. You are the only one with a key. Only you can unlock the thoughts.”

I try to follow everything that he said. It is a little difficult to push them to the side. It’s like trying to hold a wet bar of soap. Right when I think I have them in my grasp, they slip away. However, after what feels like hours, though it is probably only a couple minutes, I finally get a hold of them. I push the key in and mentally lock them to the side. It is finally quiet. I can think again.

I open my eyes and look around the room. I don’t hear anything. I smile up at Colton with tears in my eyes. “Thank you.” He stands up moves to the side, so his aunt can sit back in front on me.

“It worked? You can’t hear our thoughts anymore?”

My eyes widen, shocked at her question. “I can hear your thoughts? That’s what those voices were?” I scoot more towards the right, away from her. There’s no humanly way possible that I can read minds.

“Yes, you have the power to read minds. The change was supposed to be gradual. We aren’t sure why yours appeared so fast.” She pauses and looks at the two guys in the room, “If my intuition is correct, you are going to be able to do many other things as well. You’re going to be very powerful.”

I stare at her in disbelief. Magic doesn’t exist. It is not possible. “I think you have me mistaken for someone else. It can’t be me.” I stand up and am about to leave, but I’m overcome with dizziness again. I sway, but Colton stands up and grabs my arms to steady me. When the room stops spinning, but does not stop swaying, I decide that sitting is probably the best option for me right now.

“It’s you, Ryanne. I know it. We also believe that you have been causing the recent weather fluctuations.” The weather? I can’t control…

Calm down. Your emotions are affecting the weather. I pick up the pendent hanging from my neck and study it, confused. Was it all real?

“Claire, maybe you should start from the beginning,” says the man standing in the doorway.

“You learned about the Salem witch trials in school, right?” I nod, “Well, a long time ago, many people performed witchcraft and wizardry, some of these were real and others were faking. We are descended from a long line of magicians. Not the kind that you are thinking of. We don’t pull rabbits out of hats and perform parlor tricks. We are commonly referred to as Mage. However, that is an ancient name.

“Mages have been around forever. We aren’t sure when we came into existence or even how. The pyramids of Egypt? Made by mages. Stonehenge? Mages. Maoi statues on Easter Island? Mages. We have supernatural abilities. One of yours is reading minds. I have a heightened sense of intuition. David, Colton’s brother, is telekinetic. Colton hasn’t come into his power yet. Mages get their gifts at different stages and different ages. Usually it is a gradual change. Most get their gifts around the age of eighteen, but some don’t show up until the mid-twenties.”

“So, you’re telling me that I can affect the weather and read minds. Do you know how crazy that sounds?”

“When you were almost run over by the car, you told us that you thought that you were lifted by the wind. You were right. The wind did assist you then. You needed help, so your magic took over and got you out of a dangerous situation. Think of another time recently when you were upset or angry. Was it raining or storming?”

I think back to when I was sitting under the gazebo and thinking about mom. As I recall, it was raining. Couldn’t that be just a coincidence? It was always raining when I was upset lately.

How cliché.

“So you’re telling me that whenever I’m upset, I have to worry about flooding the whole town?”

Everyone chuckles at me. David is the only one to respond, “You’ll learn how to control it. We’ll help you.”

Claire clears her throat, “There’s more.” She pauses. I think the pause is just for dramatic effect. If I ever deliver very important news, long pauses always increase the importance. “You are an intricate piece to ending the supernatural war.”

Shut the front door. What the heck have I been thrown into? I glance between all three of them, waiting for the laughter to start. They’re joking, right? When nothing happens, I take a deep breath and decide to play along.

“A war?”

She continues, “Long ago, it was prophesized that a girl, born into a non-mage family, would be gifted with magical abilities that surpassed all mage’s. When this girl turned eighteen, she would come into her magic. She’d be unlike anything we’ve ever seen before. A beautiful warrior,” she stops talking and smiles at me before continuing. “With her help, the war will be ended. Granted, that is a very condensed and summarized version. The original was written in Latin, but the point is still valid. You are the girl we’ve been looking for, Ryanne.”

“How do you know that I’m that girl? It could be referring to anyone.”

“My intuition tells me that it is you. I knew something was different about you when we talked in my shop. You’re special Ryanne.”

“You think I’m Harry Potter?” I ask her.

Claire smiles at me, but it is David that speaks. “You’re a mage, Ryanne, not a wizard.”

I start violently shaking my head. What they are saying doesn’t make any sense. “It’s not me you are looking for. I’m not a beautiful warrior. Beautiful has never been used to describe me and I’ve had a lot of adjectives used in reference to me. And warrior? Do I look like a warrior?

“I’m not the one that can help end this war going on. I’m a vegetarian. I can’t even eat meat without feeling bad for the animals and you’re telling me that I’m supposed to fight in a war and harm people? I can’t do that. I don’t have any friends and blush every time I talk to a cute guy. I’d rather sit in the back of a room, unnoticed, because I hate attention. That kind of sounds like a lot of attention and responsibility. There’s nothing special about me, Claire. I’m not that girl. I can’t be that girl.”