The Shifter

By Chris T. Acadian

At the Institute for Dimensional Studies, shifters learn how to transcend space and time in order to fight supernatural threats. Insecure, awkward, and frizzy, fourteen-year-old Faedra Madison Mae has little to offer except for this one ability. As Faedra hones her talent, she becomes increasingly entangled in her training and longs for the time when her life was still her own.

Suave, brilliant, and handsome, Dominic Archer has everything going for him. He deserves to be hated for his exasperating perfection. Too good to be true or trusted, he is the one guy Faedra would like to avoid. But he is the only shifter who can keep up, and the best have no choice but to work together. If Faedra can summon the strength to survive brutal mentors, elusive bad guys, pushy roommates, and all the dangers of multidimensional warfare, hopefully she can handle this one egotistical boy.

In this provoking, intense novel, a shifter extraordinaire destined to alter the course of history must shatter her perception of the world in order to save it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Mar 6, 2014
• ISBN: 9781480801493

Chris T. Acadian

Chris T. Acadian is an avid explorer of anything new. Through the world of fiction, Acadian has found a place to combine many loves, especially those of math and literature. Acadian currently teaches in Missouri.

Book preview

CHAPTER

1

My parents named me Faedra Madison Mae for no good reason. Don’t let the name fool you; there was nothing unique about me. At the age of 14, my ratio of ordinary days to extraordinary ones (not that I was counting) was approximately 5320 to one—that one special day being the day I was born. I’d spent my entire life waiting, just like everyone else.

I stared back at the girl in the mirror. Today her hair was particularly frizzy, thanks to the wonderful island air.

I’d been steeling my courage all morning. When I first got here, my dorm room had been stocked with fruit and bread and cheese and even some chocolate. Unfortunately, that stuff was long gone, and I couldn’t hide out anymore. I needed to eat, even if it meant a trip to the dining hall.

I knew where the dining hall was; I’d watched hundreds of high school students from my balcony—my little alcove in the stone fortress they called a dormitory. When you’re miserable everyone else in the world seems happy. That’s what they looked like to me as they scuttled about in twos and threes and fours. Oftentimes there were groups with more, but never groups like mine—never groups of one.

I did up the top button of my shirt and then changed my mind. Any effort was futile; there was no way I was going to look like anything other than myself. My clothes were plain, as nondescript as I could manage. If I couldn’t blend in, then maybe I could disappear altogether.

I checked my watch: 4:34 p.m. I’d beat the dinner rush if I hurried—if only I could make myself leave my room. I looked at the girl in the mirror again. There really was no hope for her.

The dorm suite had three bedrooms that opened into a spacious living area. Mine was on the far left. I closed the door as I left and made sure it fastened securely. There wasn’t really a point to it: I had no roommates. None. And there was no doubt I was the only one without any—the only one destined to be alone.

Head down, I avoided eye contact as I made my way to the dining hall. Just like the dorm, its name was deceptive. The dorm was, in actuality, a three-spired tower, and the dining hall was more German inn than cafeteria. Vines fought for prominence up its exterior white stucco walls.

The island of IDS was named after the school it housed: the Institute for Dimensional Studies. Although a high school campus, IDS emitted the distinct feel of something new yet medieval—of something much more important than it was. I knew the island was somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean simply from the direction our plane flew, but I had never heard of the island or its school before.

The interior of the dining hall was a labyrinth of slate-covered corridors and cozy little dining rooms. I found a room with several tables for two and chose one in the corner. Everything on the stupid island was much more difficult than it had to be. Instead of just telling a waiter what I wanted or even getting it myself, I had to figure out the electronic ordering system. A touch screen hung on the wall next to the table. I tried to simply scroll down and select my items by touching their pictures, but it was more complicated than that. I accidentally ordered salmon instead of chicken, and when I tried to undo it, I ended up adding two more servings of salmon instead.

I finally gave up and left the order at three servings of salmon and iced tea. It was supposed to be chicken with steamed broccoli and milk. At that point I really didn’t care. It had been more than twenty-four hours since I’d eaten, and I wasn’t particularly picky.

I pulled out my book, wondering if reading at dinner would make me look more ridiculous rather than less. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I was going to look pathetic whether I sat there and read or whether I did nothing at all. Might as well entertain myself.

You poor thing.

Shocked that anyone would care about my lonely state, I looked up. My hope was immediately dashed. Before me stood half a dozen girls—the sort I went out of my way to avoid.

Didn’t they give you a mirror in your room? the girl asked. You should ask for one.

I have a mirror, I told her.

Really? It doesn’t look like it.

No, I suppose it doesn’t. I looked down at my book. After all, I couldn’t blame her; I’d looked at myself fewer than twenty minutes ago and thought the same thing.

And what’s with your hair? another girl asked.

With a heavy sigh, I realized I was going to miss yet another meal. I got up. My hair doesn’t like humidity, I said as I made my way past the group of snobs.

Apparently, humidity doesn’t like your hair any either, the original girl said, and the group laughed.

Trying to ignore them, I kept walking. Unshed tears stung my eyes, but I managed to hold them in. These girls would never see me cry.

It’s called a flat iron, the girl called.

CHAPTER

2

Cannot deliver to indicated address.

I looked at the same message I’d received a hundred times now. No matter how frequently I tried to contact my parents, I couldn’t send anything to their e-mail account. Tears welled up again. I was lonely and scared. If I couldn’t be with my parents, I wanted, at the very least, to talk to them.

The morning sun was finally high enough in the sky to let a stream of light into my room. My stomach grumbled. It had been difficult to sleep on such an empty stomach. After putting down my book, I walked out onto my balcony to watch the students below. Although teenagers have a tendency to sleep in, they didn’t seem to at IDS.

I leaned across the thick stone ledge to get a better look. To my left rose the mountain of IDS, a dormant volcano that originally formed the remote island. Jungle stretched up like greedy fingers before giving way to the rock, coniferous foliage, and snow. Jungle also encased the backside of the campus. On the far right were the beach and the azure water beyond.

The campus was fairly large for a high school of about two thousand students. Some of those students played sports on the large, grassy expanse behind the school gym. Each gust of wind brought with it another smell—a tropical mixture of flowers and fruit and fertile earth. The bursts of laughter below only increased the false sense of contentment.

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After the dining hall incident, I decided to travel into town for a bite to eat instead. Although students also rode into town frequently, I hoped the sedating influence of adults would work to my advantage. High school students could be immeasurably mean, and this place was no exception. I would’ve had enough trouble venturing outside my dorm room as it was, but knowing I had to venture out into the realm of teenagers made it ten times worse.

With hair tied back in a ponytail, I left. I left the view. I purposely propped my bedroom door open and left the suite, which felt more like a prison than a home. The propped door made a statement, to me if to no one else, that the suite was mine—mine alone—and gave me yet another reminder to mourn my current situation.

The sight of the lobby always startled me, even after more than a week. Its size was staggering and its architecture a touch surreal. I made my way down one of the three foreboding metal staircases that intertwined through the numerous open levels to form an Escheresque pattern that seemed to defy gravity. A shrieking object plummeted past me, and I tripped in surprise. Nobody noticed my response, however, since all the students were too enthralled by the daredevil who’d just bungee jumped fifteen stories. I’d heard them bungee jumping in the lobby before, but I’d never seen someone do it. I quickly scurried down the stairs and through the throngs of spectators.

As the large, metal-studded doors of the dorm closed, the noise faded to nothing. Opting out of riding my bike or taking a shuttle into town—two things that would surely get me noticed—I decided to walk. Bicycles made me feel taller than I already was, and a shuttle ride would probably require some eye contact.

All students at IDS were equipped with watches that could do a vast array of tasks, including navigating via GPS. I activated it with the press of my finger.

State your destination, please, the watch sounded suddenly.

I hadn’t actually thought of a location yet. Um … the town.

Turn left, please. I turned. Your other left, it said with what sounded like an edge of condescension. Embarrassed to be shown up by a watch, I turned in the other direction. Cross the bridge that is 24.6 meters in front of you, please.

I did as directed, jumping slightly when it began speaking again. The island of IDS, including the town, is named after the exceptional school it houses. Currently, there are 37,552 residents on the island.

I knew IDS was an acronym for the Institute for Dimensional Studies. I also knew it was exceptional. Of course, the exact meaning of that word was debatable. I’d met exceptionally stupid people and seen exceptionally filthy houses, and neither of those things struck me as exceptionally positive.

IDS boasts twenty-four cafés, thirty-two restaurants, and two tearooms. There are no fast-food restaurants on the island. Food is meant to be savored, not devoured.

Opinionated little watch.

There are three amusement parks for your enjoyment: two themed and one water-based. The mountain you see in the background boasts several elegant chalets and allows for a plethora of winter activities, such as skiing, snowboarding, skating, hockey—

"Am I still going in the right direction?"

Follow the path to the pier, please.

I did as I was told, albeit very slowly. Insecurity always seemed to slow me down. Students and townspeople drifted here and there or lounged about in clusters.

At this pace, the watch said, you will not reach the town before lunch.

Thanks for the information.

You are welcome.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t two seconds before the watch continued with its tour. The river you see meandering slowly to your right is not as old as it looks—whatever that meant—it is less than a hundred years old. Isn’t that amazing? Was I supposed to respond? The town of IDS was modeled after the medieval quaintness of historic Luxembourg. You will notice the cobblestone streets, colorful house fronts, narrow, compact structures, various forms of …

If it wasn’t for the fact that I needed this watch for school purposes, I would’ve thrown it in the river and found my own way. I was that person who never asked for directions. I’d rather be lost for hours than admit defeat. Where was the challenge in actually knowing where you’re going? A GPS was a stretch for me. A GPS that talked incessantly was close to my breaking point.

A shuttle passed, not far before me, and I lowered my head.

Bad posture can lead to several forms of back problems later in life.

I straightened instantly. I know a posture that wouldn’t help you any either.

I do not respond to threats. Damages incurred due to the destruction of school property will be taken out of your account.

That sounds like a fair trade.

On your left, you will see one of the island’s many white-sand beaches. The island boasts two black-sand beaches, thousands of different species of flora, more than five hundred distinct gardens, fifteen—

"How about some earplugs? I asked. Does the island boast any of those?"

Calculating a response … yes, there are—

That was a joke. No need to calculate anything.

In an effort not to strike up another conversation, I said nothing more and continued walking at a steady pace. The shuttle glided away on a single rail. Although it had been open to the air at the sides, the top was made of a dark, thick substance, which alluded to the possibility of solar power.

Turn left, please, the watch said. Walk to the bridge with three arches. If you end up in the ocean, you have gone too far.

Thank you, I drawled.

You are welcome.

Everything was lighter, sweeter, brighter, fresher, and more colorful than I remembered. And the watch was right: the grounds were immaculate. Gardens protruded everywhere. In fact, the perfection of this place was almost eerie. The entire island seemed less like tropical jungle and more like manicured botanical gardens—sculpted, not discovered.

As I edged the top of the large bridge, the town came into view. It was serenely nestled in a valley of bright green. On one side lay the beach and the calm, refreshing music of the surf. On the other side rose the mountain. It was one of those views that inspires the lead actress in movie musicals to burst into song. I wasn’t an actress, lead or otherwise, nor did I burst into song. Ever.

CHAPTER

3

For a moment—and it really was just a moment—I forgot I was me. I walked through the town without a care in world, simply absorbing the sensational surroundings. I forgot to care if people were looking at me. I forgot to care about my frizzy hair and long, awkward legs. I forgot to care about my lack of style and ill-fitting attire. I forgot to care about my too-big eyebrows and too-big … everything else. It was a happy moment. But not a very long one.

I came to a standstill. The girls—the six from the day before—were sitting at a sidewalk café directly in front of me. Luckily they hadn’t seen me. They hadn’t seen much of anything, actually, except for three boys at the next table.

Eight tables sat in two neat rows, hemmed in by a generous girth of hedge on three sides. The fourth side opened to the sidewalk. I’d passed more than one patio like this and wondered if the hedge was a discrete, botanical method of keeping unaware diners from falling into the river. Sometimes the sidewalks, buildings, and patios got dangerously close to the water’s edge.

A white picket fence, barely visible through the dense hedge, framed the patio, outlining the shrubbery and adding intensity to its deep green hue. The girls sat at the far left table, the boys to the far right. I didn’t notice who peopled the other tables.

In any other situation, the café patio would’ve been a perfect place to eat—enclosed yet exposed. A charming balance.

Like a cat burglar I began to slowly retrace my steps, quietly, as though one quick movement or loud noise would immediately alert them. The pounding in my chest began to ease a bit once the danger seemed further away.

I wanted to turn around and run, but something kept me there. I watched the girls as they made fools of themselves in their attempt to grab the boys’ attention. The boys, to their credit, were involved in an animated discussion and didn’t even seem to notice the girls. I took a small amount of pleasure in that.

The girls were loud and obnoxious, drawing a mixture of irritated, distracted, and even envious looks from those around them. That sort of attention would’ve made me die a little inside. All my life I’ve tried not to be noticed. But attention was all these girls craved. Although the truth was difficult to believe, it was still staring me in the face: we weren’t so different in our insecurities, these girls and I, just in the way we acted on them.

A sparrow sprouted from underneath the thick hedge, venturing dangerously close to one of the girls’ bags in his eternal quest for food. Dense with foliage, the hedge had cloaked him well. It was the perfect hiding place for such a timid creature; he could pop out and disappear back in before anyone even noticed he was there.

I froze as the most peculiar idea entered my brain. A thought told me I could fit between the two rows of bushes that formed the tall hedge, that I, like the sparrow, could hide and pop out at the right time. That I could give these girls a little taste of their own medicine.

In all my years spent as the brunt of some joke, degradation, or bullying, it had never occurred to me to seek any sort of retribution. Even now I felt no real ill will. But I realized something I’d never understood before. It wasn’t about personal vengeance, it was about action.

As if compelled by an external force, I returned to the pet store I’d passed only minutes before and bought a snake—a beautiful, red-black-and-white striped milk snake. The cashier watched me leave with it nestled deeply in my bag of books. The skepticism on his face made me half-wonder if he was going to call the authorities for buying a snake without a cage. In fact, if my little prank were ever to be discovered, there would be no disguising who was at fault.

When I returned to that happily enclosed sidewalk café, the girls were still there, conveniently situated at the far back corner, hemmed in on two sides by a thick, tall hedge. They still hadn’t noticed me, thanks to the boys who held them spellbound.

I couldn’t begin to account for my actions. Perhaps the newness of the environment affected my inhibitions. Perhaps the stress of the last couple months was getting to me. Or perhaps I was just sick and tired of being the victim and ready to finally do something about it.

It was now or never.

The metallic taste of adrenaline filled my mouth as I sat on the grassy patch where the rectangular hedge yielded to the sidewalk. I inched back. The two rows of perfectly manicured bushes forming the hedge gave me just enough space to squeeze between. Encased in foliage, I was hidden like a grotesquely large sparrow.

I gently stroked the vibrantly colored snake entwined about my wrist, probably more to soothe my own nerves than the snake’s, as I made my way to the hedge’s corner—to where the girls sat.

I could see the girls from my hidden cavity of foliage and argued with myself whether I actually had the nerve to do this thing. Then the ringleader shifted her bag, and the result inadvertently allowed me easier access to it. Although I was on the brink of chickening out, the movement gave me that little nudge I needed: a sign. With one last deep inhalation I pried the snake from my wrist, dropped it in her bag, and retreated as quickly as I could. I barely felt the twigs and other irritants that kept snagging on my clothes and skin.

The exit. I was so close. But one glance behind me made me freeze in my tracks. Several people stood on the patch of grass where I’d entered. My escape was blocked, and I looked about in panic. There had to be another way out.

That inconsiderate fence, so quaint before, was now limiting my only exit to the patio full of diners. Before me were three sets of legs at a table that would block my view from the girls but would very easily get me noticed by multiple others, especially the table’s occupants.

A shrill scream drew the attention of everyone in the vicinity. My shoulders drew together in a mixture of fear and surprise. I’d run out of time and options.

There was only one thing I could do, so I squeezed out of the hedge between two chairs and to a serious accolade of snapping twigs. Stuck without a plan, I hunched under the table. I wasn’t even sure whether I was hiding or waiting for a brilliant idea to come to me. I just rocked, hugging my knees. There was no doubt that this had been one of the stupidest things I’d ever done. And that was saying something.

CHAPTER

4

A risky maneuver, don’t you think?

The voice was so deep and unexpected, I jumped and whacked my head on the table as a result.

Especially when it’s so poorly executed. Did you even think of an escape route before you went in?

This was one of those times where I could feel my own physiology—one of those times that my expression was so extreme, I felt the distortion. My eyes widened with horror as I turned around to see who could possibly be talking to me. But in my wildest dreams, I never could’ve prepared myself for the truth. A boy—although he scarcely warranted the label—sat on the ground next to me with one knee propped up. My mouth fell open; yes, I honestly felt it fall open—felt the slackening of all my muscle control.

His eyes showed their amusement, but I didn’t look away … couldn’t look away, much to my dismay. When he smiled, it wasn’t kind or friendly. His smile didn’t even hint at the fact that he might be flattered by my awe. No, it was much worse. His smile was so arrogant it revealed the utmost confidence he possessed in his own attractiveness. So accustomed to this reaction, the boy donned a smile that was, in reality, a condescension aimed at my hopeless interest.

I’m Nic, he said. That’s Adam and that’s Adrian. They’re brothers.

Slowly, ridiculously, I turned to see the two brothers who had joined us under the table.

It’s nice to meet you, one of them said. I snorted in response, and the brothers, clearly related, with their similar blond hair and brown eyes, sent each other questioning looks.

It seems you’re in a bit of a dilemma, Nic told me, his voice a physical pull on my attention. My head turned back around of its own accord. Over there are six hysterical teenage girls who are going to make your life a living hell if they ever find out what you did.

As long as I looked at his face, I couldn’t understand a thing he said or utter a single cogent word. I mean it. I’d have to piece the whole ordeal back together after the fact.

Have a seat, he said. I did. I caught my foot on my own shorts and struggled to free it. The four of us sat under the table in silence—the worst sort of silence I’d ever experienced. I examined the muted plaid covering the underside of the tablecloth.

Even in my preposterous circumstance the desperate sobbing of the girl whose bag I’d deposited the snake in finally hit my ears. Her melodramatic reaction was … ridiculous, and I couldn’t stifle a grin. Although I couldn’t see her, I heard the wringing of hands and mascara-blackened tears in her pathetic pleas.

Why’d you do it? Nic asked.

None of your business. I looked at him instinctively, realized my error, and returned my attention to the tablecloth. The sight of him made me dizzy.

Don’t get me wrong, he said. This is by far the most entertainment I’ve had in a while, but those aren’t the sort of girls you want to mess with. Those are girls who will flay you alive.

I know, I said. That’s why I did it.

There was no salvation from their opinion of me. What they must think. What he must think of me.

Okay, he said, Let’s go.

Go?

Yes, let’s get out of here.

Why?

Would you rather stay?

No.

Okay then, he said, and I heard the confusion in his voice. It echoed my own. Let’s go.

He reached for my arm; I pulled back.

I’m not going to hurt you, he said.

I know.

He retreated with a heavy sigh. Adrian, Adam, a diversion would be helpful.

I didn’t look up to see the expressions on the brothers’ faces as they left. They thought I was a moron. Seriously, it wasn’t possible for someone so stupid to exist.

Still, I understood that this boy was my way out. I understood and somehow made my body understand the same thing. I followed Nic out from under the table in a haze. With equal opacity I watched him walk over to grab my bag of books from the grassy patch. Pulled like a compass needle to the north, I trailed him down the sidewalk.

Adam was doing his best to console the poor, traumatized girl as Adrian looked on in mild disgust. I clenched my teeth at the obviously expert handling of the girl. Adam sure knew how to cause an effective distraction. Adrian, clearly more concerned about the animal than any of the vulnerable females vying for his attention, scooped down to pick up the disoriented snake as it tried to make yet another unsuccessful escape.

What’s your name? Nic asked.

How I could’ve forgotten he was walking beside me was anybody’s guess. A million false names flew through my brain, but none made it to my tongue.

What’s your name? he repeated.

Look. I stopped walking. You need to go back, and I need to … I just need to go. Beyond mortified, I swear I’d never been more embarrassed in my life. And as ridiculous as I was, I’d had plenty of opportunity to be embarrassed. The frustration of the boy next to me elevated sharply, and I quickened my pace to get away. Not into a run, but enough to speed up the process.

I don’t expect a thank you or anything, he called after me, but a name would be nice.

As much as an elegant, theatrical exit was in order, I couldn’t stop being Faedra. Not even for two measly seconds. The cobblestone sidewalks were pretty, but they were also very uneven. I tripped.

First time walking?

I wanted to die. A group of students had stopped to watch the spectacle of this boy talking to me … insulting me. I pretended not to hear their remarks, and the students, once I’d passed them, returned to their laughter—probably at my expense. Who could blame them?

CHAPTER

5

Why was I here? Trapped on some remote island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Why of all the people in the United States of America did it have to be me?

Yes, I got that it was some special school for the gifted. But it wasn’t a magical castle in England, and we weren’t all mutants with supernatural powers. We were normal teenagers.

Sure, I did well in school. But not so well that I should gain the attention of government officials. To be singled out and carted off. And, of all places, to IDS … Institute for Dimensional Studies … school for the dimensionally gifted.

Dense … maybe. Clumsy … definitely. Gifted … not so much.

I slammed my suite door, although there was nobody around to hear it and benefit from my righteous tantrum. I looked at the two closed doors on the far wall, the two closed doors that led to two rooms, which were supposed to contain two wonderful roommates. Why did I have to be the only one without a roommate? I was the weakest one of all; I needed the strength of those numbers.

I hate you, I shouted to no one in particular.

I hated a lot of things at the moment. I hated the injustice of it all. I hated that my life was no longer my own. I hated my parents for abandoning me to this place. I hated that boy for being so freaking perfect. I hated the roommates who never showed up. And most of all, I hated me. I hated that I wasn’t strong enough to do anything about my own situation.

I glanced down. Twigs hung off my clothes. A quick run-through with my hand let me know they sprang from my hair as well. Could I have looked any stupider to that boy?

I fought the urge to punch my fist through the wall. I’d done it before. Although it seemed funny when I relived the memory, it hadn’t been at the time. My parents had been there to witness it. Rather than being angry, my dad told me it takes more than fifty-five pounds of pressure to punch a hole in drywall. He seemed reluctantly proud of me. My mom wasn’t proud, reluctant or otherwise. She hated violence of all sorts, especially against poor, innocent, sage-green walls.

I thought back to the last time I’d seen my parents, to the day I’d almost drowned. I hadn’t even said good-bye to them before heading down to the beach. My dad was reading in his chair, my mom working on one of her designs at the kitchen table.

The sky over the lake had been sinister that day. The foreboding clouds and unnaturally dark colors were one of my favorite sights because they promised waves multiple feet high—high enough to hint at true adventure. I’d searched the horizon for the telltale streaks of lightning. At least I understood physics well enough not to swim when the threat of electrocution was imminent.

I remembered grinding my feet into the sand as I reconsidered my position. My parents would be worried if they knew I was at the beach alone in a storm.

Lake Huron was a popular place in the summer because it was far enough south to be warm and vast enough to fool you into thinking it was simply a salt-free ocean. On that day, however, there wasn’t another person in sight, most likely because few people were brave—or stupid—enough to take on the massive waves. I remembered the cool spray stinging my limbs as my mind wrestled with itself.

I wasn’t a risk taker. On the contrary, I was quite cowardly by nature. But there was an irrational part of me that wanted to do the absurd, just to do it. And sometimes that part won.

I hadn’t figured out what provoked those impulses or what could possibly give me the momentary injections of bravery, but I survived each episode with some interesting stories. Not that there was anyone to tell the stories to.

I remembered looking back to shore in my indecision and seeing the image of a human form flash before me. Nobody was there, of course; I’d had that same experience several times before and didn’t think much of it. It was similar to a bright spot being temporarily burned on the retina—only dark instead of light. When I stared at the translucent form, it grew dimmer with time until it disappeared altogether with a blink. Then all I could see were the trees bending in the wind like weary laborers straining under a load that was simply too heavy. I remembered the way they’d bowed to a greater force.

Sometimes I could hear something, and had it occurred to me that this was odd, I might’ve been worried. But I wasn’t. It’s a sad fact that I spent little time worrying about the things that truly mattered.

I made up my mind.

The undertow was strong. Its powerful force encircled my legs as the water rushed back into the lake, carrying a hefty layer of sand with it. The waves crashed against me like solid walls, and spray was sent another several feet into the air. Most often I jumped the waves or bodysurfed them. Periodically, an intimidating, undefeatable wave towered over me, and I was forced to duck below the water’s surface. That was the thrill I sought: the uncertainty of that moment. It gave me the bit of adventurous fright I longed for. Unfortunately, the adrenaline rush didn’t last long, and I was forced to push the limit even further.

It had been a mistake to venture out so far. A big one. The power of wave upon wave pushed me around maliciously, and my legs entangled themselves. The sand disintegrated beneath my feet until there was nothing but water.

The undertow pulled me beneath the water’s surface. Panic flooded my senses. Solid ground ceased to exist; I was lost in the directionless vertigo of weightlessness. Although I struggled to break free, I was drawn farther out to sea. I fought to crash through the surface of the waves only to realize I was actually clawing through the sand below. For all my efforts, I couldn’t reorient myself or break free from the frigid grip of the undertow. The water grew cold as I was sucked deeper and farther into the lake. Frenzy was all I knew; breath, hope, and reason had been torn viciously from me. I thrashed around, terrified, until … the terror stopped.

Consumed by a sudden calm, I stopped fighting and let myself be pulled by the current, understanding simultaneously that I was and wasn’t going to die—or, rather, that it didn’t matter.

Then it stopped. Just as I had ceased the struggle, so did it. Everything—the waves, the current, the motion—stilled like it had never been animated. As if ruler of it all, I saw the beach and each grain of sand in it as though I were already there and simply let myself go to it. I didn’t move; I didn’t swim. I didn’t even breathe but found myself back on the safety of the beach.

The waves looked like glass in the haze of the storm, motionless and stiff. Not a sound could be heard. The sea had lost its roar, and the world had lost its heartbeat. Birds hung in the sky as if from a child’s dormant mobile. I was in a painting of sculpted water and speckled sand.

Without warning the universe had surged to life again, the sound and movement overwhelming me. I had coughed up water in violent convulsions and then fell unconscious to the sand.

The anger drained from me as I reflected on that memory, as though I was reliving the calm of that moment—the moment the earth had stood still. I hadn’t seen my parents after falling unconscious on the sand. I’d spoken to them a couple of times through e-mail. All they told me was that they knew I wouldn’t willingly go to the school and that this was the only way—this clearly translating to force and kidnapping. They claimed it was important for me to do my best. This school was a wonderful opportunity for me. It didn’t even sound like my parents. My mom was never optimistic about my opportunities.

After pouring myself a glass of water to assuage the inevitable hunger pangs, I walked through the two empty bedrooms in the suite again, imagining the roommates who might live here.

My bedroom was like my own personal fantasy room. With its enormous chandelier, king-sized poster bed, chaise lounge, and abundant works of art, it was colored in light blues, grays, and lavenders, complete with coffee-colored furniture. It had a calming effect that even my intensely passionate demeanor responded to. It said something about me. It was decorated in my favorite colors, had my favorite art hanging on the walls, and had an undeniable Louis XIV flair. A little over the top, but that was me. Although over the top in a calm, structured way.

The room to the far right exploded with red and pink and purple and made my pulse quicken just stepping inside. It was girly in the extreme with stylized flowers everywhere and shag throw pillows. Even though I couldn’t understand how a stylish person could enjoy that heightened level of disorder, I understood that a truly trendy person was going to live there. A vibrant, colorful person.

In great contrast to the deep, dark cherry of that room was the whitewashed purity of the middle room. Light green and yellow, it felt like a field in the middle of summer. Daisies were everywhere. The person who was going to live there was fresh and content. The room was happy in a way that would make me ill after any length of time.

No, my room was perfect for me. I couldn’t have done a better job had I picked everything out myself. It was calm to counter the anxiety within and order to balance the chaos called my brain. Surely these rooms had been constructed with particular people in mind. Surely they wouldn’t let all this go to waste. Surely they hadn’t done it just to taunt me.

A knock at the door pulled me from my despondent reverie. After securely closing the bedroom doors, I made my way to the front door and opened it.

Naomi Vanderberg stood there smiling at me. Naomi’s had been the first face I’d seen upon waking up after falling unconscious at the lake. She still looked the same, her striking red hair falling to points at the sides of her face and her dark-red lips. Tall and thin, she was intimidating enough without the severity of her pristine suits.

You still hate me, she said.

I don’t hate you, I told her. I disapprove of your methods.

And you still think there was another way.

Other than kidnapping? I asked.

It’s not kidnapping if your parents give consent.

Naomi made herself at home. We’d been through this numerous times, and she was settling in for the debate that was sure to follow. Your parents understand you have a special gift. They want you to be in a school that can hone that ability.

So you say. I plopped down into the chair opposite her. I thought, as an American citizen, I had a few rights, freedom being one of them.

As a minor, you don’t have any rights, Naomi said. "The only right you have