Chapter 2: Beginning

The tips of my ears grew in when I was twelve, the usual age that Mystics develop their abilities. It’s something like Mystic puberty. Things change, and some Mystics start to look not-so-human anymore—mostly the animal Mystics that acquire animalistic features, like ears or a tail, sometimes claws.

For Druids, we get our tips, the points of our ears that are similar to those of an elf. Although a very clear, physical Druid feature, they are easy to hide with a hat.

My parents knew that my magic would eventually come around, too. Before then, they sent me to school wearing a beanie no matter the weather, and I was good to go.

A few weeks later, I had to pick up my whole life and leave, abandoning twelve years worth of family memories to start new ones somewhere else.

This one kid from my English class in sixth grade cost me my home.

Now, kids are weirdos, gross little buggers. Certain foods make them gag, and yet they don’t have any issues with doing things they know could hurt them out of sheer curiosity, like jumping off a swing. The ground may be wood chips, but it’s still not a soft landing unless they jump off at the right height. The kid, that I don’t recall the name of, threw all of that out the window.

He jumped off too high from the swing and didn’t stick the landing, his knees and shins scraping those tiny pieces of wood. Splinters were lodged into his skin, nestling there like a bird. I hopped off my own swing. What I should’ve done here was call a teacher over to get him to the nurse. Instead, I became the nurse, cupped his wound with my hand and healed him.

Like the shy kid I was, I ran to the fields afterwards. He didn’t even get to ask me how exactly I was able to do that, heal him, make it as if the splinters were never there in the first place. I couldn’t comprehend what I did, but I was proud, and I made that very obvious when I arrived home, telling my parents all about it.

Little me kept asking why they seemed so scared as we packed up our belongings and moved to a new town the following week. I know now. If I would’ve been caught by the Council, the Gods of all Mystics, for possible exposure—if the kid’s parents and friends believed his story—I would’ve been banished to a world I wouldn’t be able to leave.

I get that now. Loud and clear.

***

I tug on my beanie as I walk into Pinewood High School, following the fresh wave of students going to their lockers before the first bell. Mine is on the second floor, past the basketball players talking about their next game, past the theater kids memorizing their lines and monologues, past the diverse group of friends that I always wish to be a part of. It’s too dangerous for me.

I still think, all the time, that any one of these students could be a Mystic, and I won’t ever know. Under the facade that is human, they could be just like me. Maybe then, I wouldn’t feel so alone anymore, feeling like I have to turn away anyone that tries to talk to me, anyone who wants to see me for me.

I’m different. That’s all it is.

Although I want to be seen, I must protect my people. I must be invisible. I must—

A force pushes against my own, and I’m brought back. Papers scatter the hallway, and the students around us try to avoid stepping on them. The girl that I collided with is picking them up.

“Gosh, I’m so sorry!” I kneel down and help her.

She chuckles. “Don’t worry about it. I should’ve watched where I was going.”

“No. I should have. I didn’t even see you.” I gather the rest and hand them to her. Our eyes meet in a gaze, and it seems like minutes that she’s stuck in this trance.

Nothing around her pulls her eyes away from me. The noise of the students nearby doesn’t find her ear drums. Not disturbed, she’s in complete hyper-focus. But on what? Me?

Or she’s zoning out, trapped in a space miles and miles elsewhere and surrounded by infinite galaxies.

I touch her shoulder, hoping to wake her up. “You okay?”

She falls back down to earth and shakes her head. “Yeah. Yeah. Um, thanks, for the papers.”

“Sure,” I say, and watch as she continues down the hall that has just started to clear out. Like the other students, I head to class.

With a few minutes left, I won’t have a chance to stop by my locker. I won’t have a chance to process the strange occurrence. Whatever happened, I’m uneasy. Invaded, like my mind was searched through and picked at with needles. And these needles? They’re sharp, very sharp, enough to feel that something is different, off. As much as I question it, nothing turns up, and I’m stuck without an answer.