Fantasy

My name is Krystal Rayne, age: fourteen, occupation: baby sitter, high school student, and, oh yeah, international spy. The story I’m about to tell you will change the way you see this world… and the next.

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Heh, had you going there, didn’t I? No, this isn’t about some ‘save the world’ thriller; (I wish!) this is my story: Alexa Lockwood, age fourteen, just a high school freshman.

A little about me: I wear gray a lot, and it really does so happen that people don’t tend to notice me, and yes, I like it that way. The thing is, when people don’t notice you, they can’t realize that you’re crazy.

I definitely fit into that category.

Oh sure, I could be normal if I wanted to; stare at myself in the bathroom mirror to make sure my hair is just right then try to fix it without looking like I'm trying to fix it; Ohmigosh, I hope Johnny likes this shirt, does this eyeliner bring out the blue in my eyes, or does it make me look slutty? Easy. But crazy is so much more fun! Who needs reality when you can dream yourself somewhere else in a heartbeat? Instead of boring, normal math class, I could be climbing the Alps… on the run from.. a group of vicious terrorists bent on global conquest!

Kinda puts the whole ‘square roots’ thing in perspective, huh?

Reality is just plain boring. Am I the only one to think that? I’m going to go ahead and guess so, ’cause everybody I talk to keep giving me really weird looks.

So, if there isn’t a point to being normal, why start? I’m fairly happy to live in a fantas-

“Alexa!”

My head snapped up. “What?” I asked urgently under my breath, surprised by the sharpness of the voice that spoke.

“I said to pass that to Jake!” The girl beside me hissed, annoyed. I looked down to see that she had thrown a crumpled up piece of paper onto my desk. Sighing, I waited for the teacher’s back to turn and threw it three desks down and one to the right. All in all, it was a good toss; it made it halfway at least. The note landed a desk short and on the floor, but it wasn’t a bad throw considering I was me. I'm as coordinated as monkey in Hawaii after too many margaritas.

The girl that gave me the note –her name was Shelby, the most popular girl last year, and likely to win the title again– rolled her eyes and started the chain of whispers that would guide the note to its rightful receiver.

The teacher whipped around and saw the note; he strode up to Jake's desk seeming bigger with each step and plucked it from the boy's hand. Mr. DeVaan tore up the page and flew into a rampage! He stomped around and yelled so loud that half of the students covered their ears and dust shook from the ceiling. And when he reached his desk, he threw the chair down onto the floor with a deafening crack and several of my classmates gasped in shock and terror..

Reality check: Mr. DeVaan didn't really throw his chair, but he did confiscate the note. He was a bit too in to his lecture to take the time to read it aloud, thank God, but Shelby glared at me like the devil herself.

I'm convinced the devil is a girl by the way. No guy could hope to compete with the cruelty that girls perfect in high school.

Anyway.. Without going into too many details, my loosing the most popular girl in my grade's note to her boyfriend was the high point of my first day as a high school freshman. But who cares? I'm just doing the whole school thing until the sexy, radioactive spy thing works out.