Prelude (The Rhapsody Quartet)

by A. M. Hodgson

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Six days later, my morning started off typically. I headed to school, managing to meet my goal of remaining invisible to my peers and teachers until around 11:30. That’s when things started to get strange.

  I was in Algebra class, which on a good day was bad enough. Math was never something that held much interest to me. As concrete as everyone said it was, I’ve never found my Algebra equations anything other than abstract and foreign. I was about fifteen minutes into our lecture when it hit me like being doused with ice water.

  I had the jitters— intense jitters, the kind that would have to be achieved by downing fifteen energy drinks with an espresso chaser. My heart went from beating steadily to suddenly tearing around my ribcage like a frightened rabbit. My hands started shaking, and sitting still in class seemed utterly impossible. I wiped my sweating palms on my pants and glanced at the clock. There was over half an hour of class left.

  I tapped my foot, rapped my pencil across my desk, and fidgeted far more than I’d have felt remotely comfortable doing given any other scenario. But it wasn’t enough. I felt like I needed to go outside and run a marathon, compete in the Olympics, do anything but sit in class and try to solve for x.

  I’m not sure how I survived the ordeal, but I do know that the last ten minutes of class— the longest ten minutes of my life— I spent staring at the second hand of the clock ticking away and praying for the bell to ring. By this point, completely out of my usual character, I’d already determined that the second half of the day would be skipped. When the minute hand finally tumbled over to the hour and the bell rang, I was up like a shot and running out the door.

  Somewhere down the hallway, Stacie Robinson was leaving class. I slammed into her, tripping in the process and falling to the ground in a heap.

  “Ugh,” she said, giving me a look of sheer disgust.

  That was when the jitters stopped. Abruptly stopped, and I felt my shoulders sagging in relief. My heart began to slow down. Maybe I wouldn’t need to skip my last couple of classes, after all.

  Stacie peered a little closer, “What’s wrong with you, freak?” Her eyes narrowed, “Wait a minute...”

  As she scrutinized my face, a sudden wave of nausea flooded me. And with that, I threw up on her Jimmy Choos.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  I spent the rest of the day and night in my room, intermittently doing jumping jacks and lying down, my stomach turning. At one point, I attempted to use the internet to self-diagnose but didn’t find anything that matched my symptoms. Around one in the morning, I felt the strangeness lift from my body. My hands were no longer shaking, and to my intense relief I was no longer nauseated.

  Eased, I settled into a dreamless sleep.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Transition

  I was officially sixteen when I woke up. I quickly slipped some clothes over my head and noticed with a start that they seemed to fit differently. I glanced into the mirror on my closet door, cocking my head to the side.

  It did look as though I wasn’t swimming in my sweater quite as much as normal. My pants weren’t dragging as much on the floor, either, and my skin was a little brighter than usual, my complexion less sallow.

  I smiled. “Sixteen looks good on you,” I said aloud. I was certainly still bony, but maybe this was the beginning of a growth spurt. Perhaps soon I’d actually grow into my clothes.

  I shoved my books into my backpack. Rick had already left for work, he had an early contract to start, but Susan was in the kitchen.

  “Good morning, birthday girl!” she greeted me enthusiastically. “What can I get you for breakfast?”

  “Hmm…” I thought about it. Susan was a terrible cook— I’d once witnessed her fail at boiling water. There wasn’t much she could make without burning it. I chose something relatively safe, “Maybe some oatmeal?”

  “Perfect!”

  Susan managed to microwave it without incident, and handed me a glass of orange juice. “Did you sleep well?”

  I chewed my oatmeal and nodded. No sense in bringing it up. Susan would only feel obligated to interrogate me, and she might even feel the need to stay home from work. It was too crazy, and besides, I was feeling fine now.

  “So do you feel any different, being sixteen?”

  I pondered the question, “Now that you mention it, I do feel a bit different. More mature maybe?”

  Susan grinned and nodded her head, “I suppose you’ll be wanting your driver’s license?”

  I laughed, “This town is hardly big enough for a car. My legs work fine to get me around.” I glanced at the clock, “Speaking of which, if I want enough time to get to school on these bad boys,” I slapped my thighs to emphasize the point, “I’d better get going.”

  I dropped the bowl off in the sink, rinsing it so the oatmeal didn’t stick, and raced out. I quickly pulled my tennis shoes on and bounded outside.

  I threw some headphones on, clicking on my outdated mp3 player. Susan purchased it for me as a welcome home gift when I’d arrived in Whitecrest. The walk wasn’t far, but it was long enough that I could listen to a few tunes on the way. The song started up, and I frowned. I stopped moving abruptly. It sounded wrong.

  The guitar was flawed, the music off. I wondered if the track was corrupted, and I hit the skip button. The next song was one of my favorites. I smiled as the display flashed the name of my current idol. The vocals began, and I cringed. Normally she sounded so good, so perfect, but today CubicU didn’t hold the same appeal. The beat felt off, too. It was all done electronically, should have been 100% perfect background— but that seemed to make it worse. It felt artificial.

  I turned the player over in my hands, staring at it. Maybe the whole thing had busted. I tried another track.

  It sounded… clumsy. Wrong. Terrible. It was just off, universally, profoundly off. It was like watching someone add two and two and somehow end up with seventeen. There wasn’t even a reason that it should sound like this. I sighed and pulled my headphones off, shoving the whole thing into my ratty backpack. I guessed it was time for a new player.

  I made it to school and slid into my seat just before the bell rang for my first class, history. Mr McGregor was already starting the lesson on the Greek city-states before everyone quieted down.

  I sat in my seat and tugged at my shirt uncomfortably. It seemed like it was too small. I looked down and was surprised to see my belly exposed. My pants looked a little shorter, too. I wondered if I’d accidentally shrunk them the last time I did a load of laundry. So probably not a growth spurt, after all, I thought with a frown.

  I pulled the shirt down as far as it would go, and noticed, dissatisfied, that my midriff was still slightly exposed.

  I took a deep breath in and felt it catch about halfway. I had zero doubt in my mind now that I’d shrunk the last load. My sports bra was killing me, digging into my armpits and chest uncomfortably. I wondered if I could go to the bathroom and ditch it, if I really even needed a bra with this shirt at all.

  Like any good teacher, Mr McGregor had a radar for when a student wasn’t paying attention. Since I was preoccupied with my clothing issues, he immediately called on me, “Sarah!”

  I tried my best to stop fidgeting, sputtering out, “Yes?”

  “Can you tell me which god was the patron of Athens?”

  It was an easy question, “Athena… a goddess, Mr McGregor.” The tone of voice was a little bit rude, but truthfully I was hoping to be sent to the office or at least told to go outside so I could change my clothes. Mr McGregor didn’t seem to notice or care about the attitude, however, and beamed back at me, making me wonder if his mistake was intentional.

  Jeremy Wilson, who sat in the seat next to mine, whispered to me, “Wow, you’re really smart, Sarah.”

  I smiled back at him, nodding. Jeremy never gave me the time of day before. Receiving his attention now felt awkward and strange. I hunched down in my seat, letting my hair fall over my shoulder, trying to
create a barrier between us.

  Mr McGregor smiled, “Excellent job, Sarah. At least one of you is paying attention.”

  Amanda Montgomery turned from the seat in front of me and said, “I love that you had the answer. McGregor is always trying to trap people like that.”

  I nodded, just wanting to get back to the lesson. I kept pulling down my shirt. The extra attention was making me feel self-conscious. I squeezed my eyes shut. Just keep lecturing.

  The class was silent, and I peeked my eyes open a crack. The whole room was staring at me in fascination. Now I really felt anxious. I leaned forward to Amanda, “Why did we stop the lesson?” I asked her.

  She smiled widely, “It’s you, silly. Did you want to continue?” She seemed a little confused, her eyes were soft, hazy.

  I looked around. The gaze of the entire class was still fixed on me, everyone grinning widely, the same dreamy expression on their faces that Amanda had on hers.

  Well, almost everyone. Stacie Robinson was glaring at me, drumming her fingers on the wood of her desk. She looked a little baffled, but mostly angry. This was a prank. Someone heard it was my birthday, and I was getting pranked.

  I sat in silence, staring at the board for a few minutes until sighing. “Guys… this isn’t funny,” I said, “pay attention to class, okay?”

  In unison, the class turned back to face Mr McGregor, with the exception of Stacie. It was incredibly eerie. Stacie continued to eye me for the rest of the hour. That was hardly surprising because A: I’d been singled out, which automatically made me the enemy, B: Stacie doesn’t like me, or anyone under a certain level of popularity on a good day, and C: I threw up all over her shoes yesterday, and she was probably (justifiably) still mad about it.

  I continued to tug at my clothes. I wondered if I could change into my sweats from PE during the break. Even if it made me late, that seemed like a better plan than sticking it out. This was seriously uncomfortable.

  The bell rang, and I ran out of the class, stumbling a little and trying not to run into people. A few of my classmates stopped me at the door to see if I wanted to be friends, to hang out after school, to build a bonfire on the beach. I pushed past them, shaking my head the whole time.

  I headed for the locker room, hoping I had enough time to change before the tardy bell sounded. Ignoring the strange looks from the girls around me, I spun the dial on my lock and jerked it open.

  I pulled the sweats out, grateful to have them. I quickly tugged my other clothes off, nearly ripping my bra as I did so. I stared down and noticed deep marks where it had been. Definitely too tight… and my chest looked a little bigger than normal as well. I shrugged and figured I’d deal with it later. I threw my sweats on and groaned. These were also a bit too small, but better than the tee I’d been wearing earlier. I must have ruined an entire load of clothes in one wash cycle. At least I could breathe now.

  I raced into class several minutes late, feeling guilty. “I’m so sorry!” I blurted to my teacher.

  He didn’t even bat an eye. “Of course, Sarah. No problem. Is there anything you need? Any problem you want me to take care of? If you were late because of one of the other students…” he rambled.

  It was over-compensating. At first I thought he was sarcastic, but Mr Jacobs was usually very kind and straight forward. I glanced up quickly and saw not a single note of annoyance, only a bit of gentle concern. He had the same hazed look in his eyes that my classmates had earlier.

  My eyebrows furrowed, “Yeah. I mean, no. I’m fine. Just… could we get on with class, please?”

  I slid down in my seat, feeling my peers’ eyes on me again. I tried my best to ignore them, but didn’t really hear the chemistry lecture. I was breathing heavily by now and shaking with anxiety. I spent so much time trying to go unnoticed, to be as invisible as possible, that all this scrutiny was panicking me. It seemed like everyone around me was vying for my favor, boys and girls alike. Another teen might have been flattered or enjoyed the extra attention, but I was just uncomfortable.

  I squeezed my eyes closed and gripped my desk, breathing deeply. I couldn’t take it any more.

  I hitched my backpack over my shoulder, and made a beeline for the bathroom, not bothering to ask for permission. I sat in one of the stalls, sobbing into my hands. This had to be a joke: some people heard it was my birthday and were going to go out of their way to make me feel popular, pretty, setting me up to fall later.

  I heard the door swing open. I held my breath, pulled my feet up off the floor, and hugged my knees to my chest. I didn’t want anyone to know I was in here, didn’t want to give them the opportunity to continue this cruel joke. I heard the click-click-click of high heels on the tile, and finally a sharp voice.

  “I know you’re in here.”

  Stacie Robinson. The last person I’d want to see. I groaned, my voice thick in my throat, “Just leave me alone!”

  The stall door swung open. Stacie stood before me, her arms folded over her chest tightly, her lips a thin line of irritation.

  Stacie was beautiful and imposing, a force of nature in a small package. She was probably only a few inches taller than I was, not much more than five feet. Despite her stature, she didn’t look impossibly young like I did. She had blonde hair that was long and curly, falling almost down to her hips, bright blue-green eyes, and a heart shaped face. Right now she looked so angry with me, it sent me into a new fit of sobs. I pulled out another wad of toilet paper and swatted at my eyes.

  “Why would you even go to school today?!” she snapped.

  I stared at her through my tears, baffled at the question. I didn’t know what she was talking about, so I just shook my head, “I don’t know…”

  “You don’t have the faintest bit of tact, or care, do you?” She tapped her foot impatiently, “So what are you, then? A witch? I already know you’re not one of my people.”

  I tried to tell myself again it was all an elaborate prank, that tomorrow the whole school would laugh and say it was for my birthday. Despite that logic, her statement confused me. “What are you even talking about?”

  As I asked the question, one that I thought was fairly straightforward, Stacie suddenly stopped. All the color left her pretty face. She looked stunned, “Your eyes…”

  I turned away from her. “Yeah,” I sighed, “I’ve been crying. Just go away.”

  Her face softened, “Do you even have any idea what’s going on?”

  I wiped my eyes with some toilet paper and shook my head, “Some kids are playing a joke. You’re in on it, right?” I sniffed loudly, “It’s my birthday, so someone is pranking me.”

  She leaned over and patted my hand softly, her eyebrows turning up with concern, “Honey, it’s not a joke.” She placed one hand on my shoulder, sighing, “You’re not human.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Stacie

  I laughed thickly through my swelled sinuses, swiping at my face again with the toilet paper. It was pretty crumpled up now, I probably needed to grab a new piece.

  “Now I know you’re joking,” I said.

  She bit her lip and glanced around the room quickly, “It’s a miracle no one has been in here yet. This isn’t really the best place for a conversation like this.” She sighed and stood up, extending a hand, “Come on, I’ll help you up.”

  I stared at her. This seemed even more like a joke. Stacie being nice to me, offering to help me, was completely out of character for her.

  She saw the doubt cross my features and tilted her head, “Just humor me, okay?”

  I sighed and gripped her hand tightly in my own, and she hauled me up. I closed my eyes and stumbled forward, feeling clumsy and lightheaded. “Is this because I threw up on you yesterday?” I asked.

  She laughed, “Don’t let that bother you. You have bigger things to worry about.” Stacie slipped behind me and gripped my shoulders carefully, pushing me over towards the mirror, “Look.”

  At first, I almost mistook the looking glass for a
window, but then I noticed Stacie’s hands on my shoulders, her face peeking from behind me. The mistake wasn’t difficult to make, even with my familiarity with the bathroom’s layout. The reflection that greeted me was completely foreign. I gasped, but so did the woman in the mirror. I touched my face, trying to make sense of it, watching the reflection follow my movements.

  Somehow, in the last few hours I’d managed to grow almost a foot taller, developed real curves, and my face matured. I went from looking terribly underaged to taking on the appearance of a nineteen or twenty-year-old. I could see, if I looked closer, telltale signs it was me in there and not some random stranger. Sure, the baby fat had vanished from my face, but the same shape, the same bone structure was there. My brows may have been more polished and tidy, but they were the same arches I’d always had, my hair the same dark brown, but now with highlights and dimensional, loose waves.

  The expression on my face was shock.

  Then there were my eyes.

  They were a strange, burnt orange color which faded and changed to a swirling gray instead.

  My knees buckled, and I gripped the edges of the sink to keep from falling down. My voice was wavering when I finally found it, “What’s going on?”

  Stacie just shrugged, “You’re transitioning. What are your symptoms? I mean, aside from throwing up on me yesterday. I thought something was weird with you. But it was the magic… I’ve never seen a transition in real life before.”

  “Magic?” I asked, dazed.

  “Never mind that!” she snapped impatiently. “Just tell me what your symptoms are.”

  I furrowed my brows, “Symptoms? I don’t know. I mean, I haven’t felt too bad except for yesterday, and you saw that—”

  “Yeah, that’s typical, though, and non-specific,” she said dismissively, “It happens to any race that comes of age or transitions all at once.”

  “Because it’s my birthday?” I asked her wearily.

  She raised a brow, “Probably, yeah. Did anything else strange happen to you in the past little while? Any clues over the past weeks even?”