Becoming A Butterfly (The Butterfly Chronicles)

by Castile, Mia

  See what readers and bloggers are saying about Mia’s other Novels. . .

  The Ocean

  “I feel like Castile captured the feelings and behavior of a teenager perfectly. It was a joy to read and I highly recommend it to young and old alike!”

  -Nic of Fiktshun.com

  “I really liked this book. It was a sad backstory from all of the characters, and this gave the whole book a REAL kind of feeling toward it.”

  -Claudia S. from Shelfari.com

  “I really loved this book. I read it in 8 hours while I was at work because I could not put it down.”

  -Tee of Sheknownasjess.blogspot.com

  Generations I: Book Of Enlightenment

  “A creative and captivating storyline, Mia Castile has created a unique storyline that will have you hooked, line and baited from within the first few chapters!!”

  -Katrina Whittaker from goodreads.com

  “Mia Castile’s concept for the Generation series is unique and inspirational. She has broken out of the paranormal usuals by taking away the focus from the vampires and werewolves and she created The Generations.”

  -Hebah of Wovenmyst.com

  “Well this book was AWESOME! I loved it : ) perfect for ya paranormal readers who like romance ; ) The plot was original and the characters were funny and believable.”

  -“Rated PG 17” from Amazon

  Copyright © 2011 by Mia Castile and Entwined Publishing, LLC.

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Entwined Publishing P.O.Box 1240 Brownsburg, Indiana 46112,

  Visit our website at www.entwinedpublishing.com

  First edition: May 2012

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN-10-983510830 ISBN-13-9780983510833

  Table of Content

  Cover

  Title

  Copyright

  Acknowlegements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Butterfly Kisses

  Be The Broccoli

  About Mia And Bonus Features

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank God first and foremost. He has enabled me to enjoy the many blessings in my life. It is with His guidance that I am able to navigate these choppy waters of life.

  I would also like to thank Mano; your support means the world to me. This past year has been quite a journey. I’m just glad that you are there with me, encouraging me and never giving up on me.

  My little ones, you are my heart and my joy. I love you so much. Thanks for being proud of me. I love you this much!

  Grandma, thank you for loving me.

  Chasadee, I wish there were words to convey how I feel for you. You are my fiercest protector and my deepest sanctuary.

  Brooke, Jamie, and Dawn, the fact that you read my stories means so much. You don’t know what our time together means to me.

  Carrie, you believe in me when I’m not so sure. Thanks for giving me that push.

  Sue, where do I begin to express how much you mean to me? You make my words readable. You are a true blessing, and I am so glad that you are a part of my team.

  To the town of Brownsburg, you were the landscape that I molded and changed into the setting for this series. Though it’s not a perfect description, I hope you are proud of the way I represented one of my favorite towns.

  I would also like to thank you, the reader, for taking the time to read my novel and escape with me into the lives of my characters. You are a true blessing.

  Just when the caterpillar

  thought the world was over,

  it became a butterfly.

  -Anonymous

  Chapter 1

  Splash! The water engulfs me as, humiliated, I sink heavily to the bottom of the pool. By sinking, I hope to avoid the fate awaiting me at the surface of the water where my wig floats. I deserve this; I thought I could trick everyone—trick Henry—and get away with it. Things did NOT go as planned. Things were so complicated now. I miss simple obscurity. Though even in obscurity, I always end up dumped in the pool. It’s what the jocks did to Lacey-bracey-four-eyed-facey after all. I can’t say that I completely give them the credit for coming up with the bright idea of it all by themselves. I mean, after all, I’m the one who originally tripped and fell into the pool at Stacey Gibson’s Memorial Day pool party in the seventh grade. In the years that followed, as careful as I was, I still ended up being dropped into the pool. One year it was a subtle shove; the next, I was lifted by two jocks and deposited. This year, it was a blindside tackle that sent me into the pool. At least my assassin came with me this time. Stupid Derrick Chandler. If I had stuck to last year’s pool party resolution, “never attend pool parties again,” then I wouldn’t be in this mess. I should have been content with the fact that for the rest of my life the only pool I sat beside would be my own. Now all I wished for was the Delorean, and the cute 80’s version of Michael J. Fox to help me go back to the fateful night that set me on the slide into this night, into this pool. I thought I wanted to be someone new, different, and exciting; but now I just wanted to be me.

  Two months earlier over spring break, my life had changed forever. I had been counting down for six months to that 8:00 a.m. orthodontist appointment on Friday. For five years, I’d had enough silver in my mouth to fund a small country—preferably in the Caribbean. My braces were finally coming off, and I was graduating to a retainer—not just any retainer, an overnight retainer, that meant, yep, you guessed it; my smile would be beautiful and wire-free. I spent the morning in the dentist’s chair. Finally, he held the mirror in front of my face; I gave myself a big cheesy smile.

  “I love my smile.” I grinned goofily at Dr. Reeves.

  “Just make sure you take good care of it,” he replied.

  I walked out into a beautiful spring day. I stood at the intersection and felt as though I was at a crossroad of my life and the possibilities were endless: popcorn, bubble gum, salt water taffy, gummy bears; these words exploded in my head. I texted Tasha and Jade a picture of my new smile while I waited for the light to change; Jade responded with:

  Slumber at six?

  That was a great idea. I told her so and made plans to meet up with them in the evening. We had a ritual every Friday night, rain or shine, football or basketball game, art show or movies, and that was a sleepover. We’d done it continually since junior high. It became a challenge when Jade’s parents divorced, but we all muddled through it.

 
Being there for each other was a very important part of our relationships. Together we were the most mismatched clique in the entire school. Jada, or Jade as everyone called her, was my longest friend from kindergarten and she was into photography. Her hair was always perfect in a jet-black, stacked bob. She had long since graduated to contacts, and thanks to perfect genes, had perfect teeth. She usually rocked out in black and often made me jealous of her ability to coordinate so well, but when you think about it, really black always goes with black. Tasha was on the verge of being popular. She was a cheerleader and always knew the latest happenings. With her long limbs she made tumbling look easy, even graceful. We bonded in first grade by the suspension bridge at recess when Jade and I asked her if we could touch her milk chocolate looking skin. We were kids and didn’t know any better. She smiled and said only if she could touch our vanilla white skin in return. We were bonded for life through inappropriate questioning. That never held us back—with each other anyway. We were more reserved when others were near. Sometimes I was a bit envious of my two friends coming into their own so gracefully and easily; it all looked so easy for them.

  I hit up the drug store for all of our late night snacks and began my trek home. As I crossed the street, I heard the familiar sound of wheels rolling over pavement. In the far corner of the parking lot by the grocery store were Henry and Byron with a couple other boys skateboarding. Henry. I’d lived next to Henry since I could remember. As toddlers we’d played in the front yard while our mothers sat in the porch swing and gossiped about the neighbors, but in elementary school we said hellos in passing, and in junior high he began skating. While I rode my bike up and down the street, because the farthest I could go was from the stop sign on one corner, to the oak tree past Mr. Williams’s house, he ran the streets of Brownsburg with his alternative friends. Henry had emerald green eyes and shaggy, sandy brown hair. In the summer he would get golden flecks sprinkled through it, turning it blond, and I often imagined running my fingers through it just to watch it glint in the sun. Henry had an angular face and almost always had a tan. His favorite color was plaid. He often wore his regular slim jeans tucked into his throwback Jordans or long cargo shorts with his vans. Then there were his graphic T’s that always made me laugh. Henry was rarely without admirers though he never had a girlfriend longer than a year; yes, I was the Wikipedia of Henry’s life.

  So over time, either Henry forgot I existed, or he just pretended that that I didn’t. Neither scenario was appealing. There were, of course, those rare moments when our eyes met, and a look of recognition flashed across his face, but usually it was replaced with laughing eyes or worse, embarrassment for me. Even though I wished they were moments of stolen romantic glances, instead I had just made a fool of myself. Oh yeah, did I mention, I’m super clumsy. Before spring break, we shared the same routine most mornings. There was a honk from a Honda Civic next door. I always tried to beat that honk, but if I wasn’t already out the door, I waited until the car pulled out of the drive. Then I would exit, usually stub my toe on my mom’s lawn gnome that was always positioned right by the front steps no matter how many times I moved it. Inevitably I would hear, “LACEY-BRACEY-FOUR-EYED-FACEY,” in a high pierced sing-song voice. Sitting there at my curb was the Civic. Byron, Henry’s best friend in the driver’s seat, Henry shotgun, and Byron’s sister Bea with her window rolled down singing to me at the top of her lungs. I should have been waiting for it, but each morning it was a smack in the face—the kind of smack that made my lips bleed from hitting my braces, and my glasses crack so they needed a strip of tape over the bridge of my nose. That’s how it made me feel anyway. Henry never met my gaze, and Byron and his twin Beatrice would cackle as they ripped away from the curb. I never understood why someone so amazing hung out with two of the vilest people. But he did. Henry was in my free period, English, and history class. I tried to pretend he wasn’t. He made me nervous, and when I was nervous, I spit when I talked or shuffled my feet and stumbled. Nerves = clumsy²—it was not cute. This was my life, my fate, my destiny… OK, so I’m dramatic; I am a teenager after all.

  But I didn’t have much hope that things would change. I watched Henry as he skated a few strides and jumped with his board, flipping it beneath his feet. He landed perfectly and then rolled back to his friends to do it again. I stared, amazed that he could make himself and the board move that way. As he rolled back to his friends, Byron tapped his chest and pointed to me. I guess I wasn’t as discreet as I thought. He said something, but I was too far away to hear. Henry looked up at me, but as soon as our eyes met, he looked away. He shook his head and said something back. He motioned for his other friend to go, sat down on a sidewalk curb, and turned his head the other direction. That was my cue to move along.

  I continued on and came to Watkin’s Chevrolet. It was Tasha’s dad’s dealership. There on a ramp in the corner of the lot facing the street, was a beautiful red 1968 Chevelle. I stood and admired that car. It had been restored and was Kelly blue-booked at eight thousand. Mr. Watkins had agreed to sell it to me for six thousand, but until then, he had it sticker priced at ten thousand. I had done my research on it, too. I’d already been saving for a car when it showed up on display with a heavenly chorus singing behind it. I continued to save for the past six months and was almost there. I checked on it about once a week.

  “It’s still here Lacey.” I heard a voice behind me as I circled it.

  “Just making sure.” I smiled at Bill, one of the salesmen, and a good friend of my parents.

  “When are you going to take it off our hands?” he asked as he leaned on a car beside us.

  “Soon, I promise, very soon.”

  Chapter 2

  When I got home, my nana’s van was in the driveway. I went in through the back door and found she was doing dishes. I put my bags on the counter and smiled my greeting.

  “Hi-ya, Nana.”

  “Oh, honey, look at your beautiful smile!” Nana always said the right thing. She had a short, teased hair style. She wore jeans and a button-up shirt with Keds. She wiped her hands on the dish towel, came to where I stood at the counter, and cupped my face, appraising it.

  “What are you doing here?” I hugged her.

  “I cleaned out my attic and brought some of your mother’s things over from when she was your age.” She nodded to the two stacks of boxes in the dining room.

  “You’ve been threatening to do that for ages. What made you commit?” I laughed.

  “It was time. I’m not getting any younger.” Nana always said things like that, I guess it’s something you say when you get old.

  “Where’s Lana?” I asked, as I picked up an apple from the fruit bowl and cleaned it on my shirt. My sister was an image of my mother when she was her age. She had a sparkling personality, and most of the time I fell into the background when she was near. Her hair was that perfect blond color that everyone aspires to achieve from a bottle. She had the body of a dancer, long and elegant from years of gymnastics and dance classes. For obvious reasons I had bailed on those long ago. Her grey eyes always drew you in. She wasn’t an angel, though when it counted, we got along, but mostly she picked fights and annoyed me. I always had to tell her to leave me and my stuff alone.

  “She’s in her room, said something about That 70’s show, but I don’t see what’s so great about the seventies. I lived there; it was a disaster.”

  “And you’re doing the dishes because?” I asked before I bit into the apple.

  “They needed to be done. Don’t tell your mom I did them though; she already thinks I control her too much.” We giggled. My mom always tried to prove her independence from Nana even though she was in her late-thirties and owned and operated a prestigious, well-respected salon and spa in our small town of Brownsburg, Indiana. I’ve never stood out, like in a good way, like my mother. My hair has always been stick straight and refuses to hold waves, curls, braids, or even ponytails. This was the disgrace of my mother and my sister. It wasn’t for
lack of trying on my mom’s part; she layered, thinned, shined, permed, relaxed, and did possibly everything she could to make my hair beautiful. In the end, the blond of it played dirty and liked being parted on the side in an angle, not quite straight no matter how hard I tried. The few times I’d had bangs, they decided to part down the middle purely to annoy me. Glasses? Why yes, I did wear glasses. Of course, they had to have plastic frames because my lenses were so thick. No, I couldn’t wear the trendy square or designer brands. Dr. Monroe felt I needed the black, round-rimmed glasses. “They are more practical,” he told my mother, as she nodded politely. When we left, she’d cursed herself for not having a backbone to stand up to him, but she didn’t go back to exchange them either. She surprised me a few weeks later with new contacts, but I was never brave enough to try them, so they sat in my cabinet in my bathroom. She tried to dress me fashionably. I had everything in my closet that I needed to look trendy or even find my own style, but unfortunately I hadn’t accomplished that yet. I had all the tools; they just didn’t seem to have me. I’d wear a white top with a grey corduroy skirt and brown boots and think I looked fine. But once I was in the light of day, I’d realize maybe I should have worn the black boots instead, or maybe ballet slippers because it was a mild day. It was just enough of an afterthought that I always looked a little misplaced. I was determined to figure it out in those moments of awkwardness, but at the crucial times I always tended not to care as much as I should. Despite my fashion faux pas, my mother still tried. My bathroom vanity was lined with the highest quality products, and my closet was filled. When Nana finished the dishes, she sat down with me and started a mini-marathon of Hoarders I had saved on our DVR. Finally, after announcing three times that she was leaving, she went home.