The book had an understated elegance and little decoration except for the gems on the front cover that depicted images of…was that a human with wings?
“Where did you get this?” Angelea asked.
“I don't know. This isn't mine,” I replied.
Angelea gave me a small smile. “Do you think this could be from a secret admirer?”
“It's unlikely somebody is crushing on me, but there is only one way to find out.” I flipped the book open to the first page.
Angelea closed the cover again. “What if it really is a diary, not a gift?”
“Then we just need to read the name so we can return it.”
I flipped to the first page, and my eyes skipped to the end of the entry. Love, Rose Kristal.
“Rose Kristal?” I said a little too loud. “That is my exact name.”
“Maybe someone else has the same name as you,” Angelea suggested.
I raised an eyebrow.
“Fine, I'll admit Kristal is not the most popular last name,” she said.
I closed the book and stared at the cover. My fingers tingled as I ran them across the sparkling surface. The longer I looked at it the more I started to recognize it. I was sure I saw this diary before. I think it was a present from…
Brrrrrring! The sound of the school bell made me jump.
“Keep it until we find out who it belongs to,” Angelea said. “I got to go. Happy birthday, Rose.” She tore down the hall.
I finished reloading my locker and tucked the mysterious diary into my backpack.
ROSE
Chapter 4
I rhythmically tapped my pencil against the desk. It was already nine P.M. and getting later, but all I could do was let time tick away while I stared at a blank sheet of paper that was titled Memoir.
I was about to give up when a shred of memory briefly resurfaced. Just for a second, I saw a hall with thrones and… The memory faded and disappeared. I closed my eyes and concentrated, trying to bring it back, but instead I got a picture of a couple standing together. The guy had black hair, and the woman had brown hair. Both had warm eyes, and their smile was friendly and kind.
Their faces seemed so familiar. One part of me felt like I should know them, but the other part said they were total strangers. Then the image shattered. Instead of friendly faces, a single woman replaced them. Her hair was a color that was vivid yet dark—the color of blood. Her face was a mask of absolute hatred. She snarled and swiped her hand in front of her.
I opened my eyes and reached for a pencil. But by that time, the memories already disappeared just as fast as they came. I was back to square one.
“Ugh,” I groaned.
I caved in and took Angelea's suggestion. I was halfway through the first draft when a sparkle caught my eye. I turned and was astonished to find the diary sitting on my nightstand though I specifically remembered leaving it in my book bag downstairs. So how in the world did it get here? In fact, how did it get in my locker in the first place? I doubt it would fit through the vent. I picked up the book and skimmed through the pages. That's weird. Only one page was filled out like something had happened to the writer…
“Seriously?” I asked myself.
The owner losing interest is much more likely. I flipped to page one. I know I shouldn't read someone's private diary, but I couldn't resist. It was also signed with my full name. Even the handwriting was familiar. The author connected her letters, looped the ends of her g's and y's, and wrote the e's in cursive. Her half print/half cursive penmanship was just like mine.
It only took me a minute to read the whole entry, but I had to go through it again to make sure I read correctly. Savior from the prophecy? Heir to Astella?
I put the diary back and returned to my homework. Nothing like that existed. (Or did it?)
ROSE
Chapter 5
The next day.
“Five minutes left.”
Agghh! Only five minutes? Five minutes is not enough time to solve at least seven math problems. I should've slept earlier yesterday, but I stayed up late searching the yearbook and Jefferson High's website for the person who could have owned this diary. So far I have found nobody else except me with the name of Rose Kristal.
But it doesn't matter now. Today in math class we had one of Mrs. Kelly's pop quiz. I was so sleepy that my brain functioned sluggishly and didn't work fast enough to solve ten math equations in thirty minutes, and I had at least seven more questions to complete with only five minutes left.
I covered my ears to block out the sounds of furiously scribbling pencils and the loud ticking of the clock, but the irritating noises still penetrated through my fingers.
“Three minutes,” Mrs. Kelly said.
Come on think. y = 2x+1
I tugged at the collar of my turtleneck shirt and tried to relieve the strangling sensation, but it didn't work. The water dispenser beside my desk started to rumble. Great, annoying bubbling sounds just joined the chorus.
I guessed at the answer and moved on to the next question. 5x = 6+3y
I should know the answer to these questions, but I just wanted to fall back asleep.
“One minute.”
Boom! The plastic container for the water tank exploded, giving me an icy cold soak. The pencil scribbling and paper rustling stopped at once. All eyes were on me.
“What happened back there, Rose?” Mrs. Kelly asked in a slightly accusing tone.
I heard a few snickers and smirks from the other kids. Heat rose to my cheeks. Most of the time I tried not to call attention to myself especially this kind of attention.
“I wish I knew,” I answered honestly.
I peeled my hair away from my face. I was sopping wet, shivering, and I must look ridiculous.
“If any one of you pulled this practical joke,” Mrs. Kelly addressed the whole class, “you may go see the principal and stay in detention for the rest of this week.”
For three tense seconds, no one said anything.
Mrs. Kelly picked up my soggy papers and threw them in the trash. “Rose, go to the restroom and dry off. You are excused from the test.”
At least I won't get a bad grade for not completing half of a test. I walked out of the classroom and down the hallway. Puddles of water trailed behind me. The sound of my wet boots scuffing the floor echoed across the rows of metal lockers.
I walked into the girl's bathroom and looked in the mirror. I resembled a drowned rat with my clothes dripping wet, my hair tangled up, and trembling in the cold room. I grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser and wrapped it around a wad of my hair. But as soon as it touched water, the thin towel ripped and left small brown pieces of paper stuck in my locks. Now I am a drowned rat that traveled through a sewer. I pushed the button of the hand dryer, but it didn't turn on. I ran my hand over the goosebumps on my arms and clenched my jaw to keep my teeth from chattering. I wish I had warm clothes or a fire…
Flames appeared in my right hand.
“Ahhh!” I yelped.
I waved my arm around, trying to put out the fire. When that didn't work, I turned on the only faucet this bathroom had, but no water came out. (Oh, right. I am in what girls call the Makeup Room since the only thing that worked was the mirror!) I didn't know what else to do, so I froze. Then I realized that my hand didn't even feel hot, but that didn't make me any calmer.
Floating an inch above my palm was a small ball of fire. The soft orange flare danced in the slight change of wind currents and looked so inviting. Out of curiosity, I drew my other hand close to the flames. Heat licked my fingers, so I knew I could still get burned.
Now that the moment of numb shock passed, panic set in. If this thing lasts forever, I might have to go to school wearing oven mitts on my right hand.
“But please don't last forever,” I prayed.
As soon as I said it, the fire extinguished immediately, and my hand was left perfectly fine. I leaned back on t
he wall for support. This is so not happening. I must have been hallucinating from lack of sleep or having a kooky daydream. But just to be sure, I tried to summon fire again. This time nothing happened.
Just what I thought. It was a hallucination from a sleepless night. I grabbed more paper towels, hoping if I bundled them up they might withstand water. I took off my jacket to pat it dry then realized it wasn't even damp. I ran my fingers through my hair. The pieces of brown paper fell off and fluttered to the floor.
I turned away from the mirror, shaking. But this time it was not from the cold. I put back on my coat, absolutely refusing to believe it was dry. The bell rang, and girls started flooding into the bathroom. I got out of the makeup room and tried to reach my next class, but I didn't notice I was walking in the wrong direction.

Nothing else bizarre happened…until eighth period.
Today we were in the science lab observing the growth process of a young tomato plant. Angelea was my lab partner, and we had to measure how much our tomato plant grew from two weeks ago. I held up a ruler to the plant and took its height measurement.
“It grew about two and a half inches,” I told Angelea.
Angelea nodded and jotted down the numbers while I idly took a few more measurements for soil temperature and how many sets of leaves there were.
Science isn't my favorite class. It can get pretty disgusting at times like when we had to dissect worms or boring when Mr. Garner drones on and on about Punnett squares. But today I was thankful for the repetitiveness and dullness because I couldn't concentrate on the lesson no matter how hard I tried.
I subconsciously (against my will) kept thinking about the things that happened in math and in the bathroom. The exploding water tank was a coincidence, and what happened in the restroom was a dream, but if I had any more embarrassing incidents—
“Rose!” Mr. Garner's voice shook me out of my thoughts. “I asked you a question.”
“Umm, I am sorry. Could you repeat it, sir?” I replied.
He exhaled loudly through his nose. “What is one of the differences between a plant cell and an animal cell?”
“I, ummm…”
Now I wished I paid attention. People sneered and whispered behind my back. Humiliated twice today—I am building a bad rep.
“Ok, Ava your turn,” Mr. Garner said.
“Plant cells have a vacuole and animal cells don't.” Ava flashed me a mocking grin.
I ducked my head and tried to make myself disappear.
Angelea gently patted my shoulder then froze. “Are you sure you measured the height correctly?”
“Yeah, I did.” I looked back at the tomato plant… “I am going nuts!”
The tomato plant was a whole five inches taller than a minute ago.
“Did you add any super fertilizer or something?” Angelea asked.
“No, I didn't do anything.”
At that moment Mr. Garner walked to our desk.
“What do we have here?” he asked then his eyes widened as he saw the now mature tomato plant. “Have you been giving it any growth hormones?”
“No, Mr. Garner. We honestly don't know what happened,” Angelea replied.
“Well, that is interesting. I will take this one and give you another next week.”
The bell rang, signaling the end of class. We filed out of the classroom and headed for the bus parking lot, but even though my body was far away, my brain was still in the lab. How did the plant grow so fast? This was becoming the number one weirdest day of my life. First a water tank exploded, second my hand caught on fire, third a plant grew five inches in a few minutes. And it all seemed like I caused it. I must be a freak or… I thought back to the diary entry. Water, fire, nature magic.
My body tensed, and I stopped walking right in the middle of the hallway, causing the other students to part around me. They shot me annoyed looks, but for once I didn't care. Too many pieces fit together. But it wasn't possible. There are no faeries and no magic. Who says? a little voice in my head answered.
Angelea studied me with concern. “Are you all right?”
I am so not ok, I wanted to shout. But I couldn't tell her anything, or I would sound absolutely insane which I probably was.
“Yeah, I'm fine.” I forced myself to move.
On the bus ride back home, I came to a conclusion. None of this ever happened because if I guessed right…
Nope! This day had never happened.
ROSE
Chapter 6
My plan was to come home from school, sneak up into my room, blast loud music from my iPod, and pretend my life was normal. But I just had to pass by the kitchen door and overhear Gramma and Gramp having an intense conversation.
I knew I should keep walking, but instead my curiosity got the best of me. I pressed an ear to the closed door. Normally, I wouldn't eavesdrop on somebody's conversation, but then Gramma mentioned my name.
“We have to tell Rose,” Gramma said.
Gramp sighed loudly. “But we can't. The prophecy stated—”
“I know what the prophecy said, but the kingdom is in ruins.”
“If we rush her decision, it could alter the future.”
Gramma's voice became watery. “The faeries are dying.”
Faeries? I tripped over my own feet and landed on the floor with a loud bang. Gramma and Gramp's conversation stopped abruptly, and I heard footsteps coming toward the door. I picked myself off the floor and was out the house in less than a second.
So I was right. (Why can't I be wrong? I want to be normal and not embarrass myself at school with nutty accidents.) Faeries are real, and I am one of them.
I set down the street and headed for Old Birch Park. I needed a walk and some fresh air to clear my head. It was a gloomy, gray day and unusually cold for a March afternoon. The stinging wind picked up speed, and I wrapped my coat tighter around myself. The sky was covered with gray storm clouds so thick that no objects had shadows even in the middle of the afternoon. I was so used to the lack of light that I thought it was the normal weather, but now when I think about it, I have never seen a sunny day for as long as I can remember.
After a few minutes of brisk walking, I reached the entrance. Old Birch was an ancient, very unpopular park with rusty swings and creaking slides, so it was deserted and broken down. But the one nice thing about this park was it had a trail that led through the woods. I liked this trail because I can wander through it alone and escape reality like this insane faery conspiracy.
Hanging from the entrance archway was a heavy weather-worn welcome sign that swayed in the wind and made screeching noises. I walked over the flattened wire fence instead. Today was not a good day, and with my luck, that sign would probably fall on my head as soon as I am under it.
I stepped on the overgrown and uneven forest path. Gramma and Gramp's conversation replayed over and over again in my head. They probably needed to tell me that I am a faery. Though I am still far from ready to believe it. But what prophecy? What kingdom? What decision? And what does all that have to do with me?
I reached an especially dense part of the grove where the trees blocked out the little light I used to see, but I wasn't afraid. I have been here a couple million times when I got frustrated at my life.
My amnesia was vexing. School could be so confusing if you can't remember what you learned in elementary and middle school. I basically had to start learning from high school. (Not to mention the brutal bullying I got because I couldn't even do long division.) I could still read, talk, and write. Just algebra, history, and everything else was especially challenging, and I still don't know how I managed to get a passing grade.
Another problem was that I love my grandparents, and they take good care of Skylar and me, but they are really old-fashioned. When I tried to explain how an iPhone works, I felt like Gramma and I were speaking different languages.
Sometimes I wonder how my life would be dif
ferent if I lived with my real parents. I probably don't have to watch video cassettes from the 1970s with Gramp on Saturday nights (because we didn't have DVD or cable) or sit through a lesson taught by Gramma on how to hang up your clothing on a line. If you suggest using a clothes dryer, she will claim she never heard of that technology every time. We don't even have a hair dryer in the house, so sometimes I have to go to school with wet hair and stiff jeans that just came from the clothesline.
If I lived with my parents, Mom would actually know how to cheer me up instead of just providing an outdated solution to the problem I had. And I would probably be less frustrated at math if Dad could provide help with homework.
“Ow.”
I stumbled backward and rubbed my head. I was so lost in thought that I must have strayed from the trail and bumped into a tree. I looked around searching for the path, but it was dim, and I was in a part of the forest I didn't recognize.
Instantly, my senses sharpened. I could hear squirrels scampering on the branches, and I noticed the wet, woody scent that came from the trees. The only thing that didn't work was sight. I wished there was some sunlight so I could see. Maybe I was only a few feet off course.
I turned around and walked straight, hoping I would intersect with the track sooner or later. But I quickly realized that even walking without smacking into tree trunks or tripping over logs was impossible. And I just remembered from one science lesson that a blindfolded person can't ever go straight, so I am probably walking in circles and getting myself disorientated and confused.
I plopped down on a moist log to rest and think of a different plan. I tried using my phone to call somebody for help, but being this deep in the woods, there was no cell reception. (What is the point of cell phones if I can't use them to call somebody when I am in trouble?) Then again, getting somebody to find me might not be the best idea. I will just succeed in getting them stuck here as well. I have to find my own way out.
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