The Girl Who Can Fly

By Olivia Opal

ROSE IS ONLY ELEVEN, BUT SHE HAS A SPECIAL MAGICAL GIFT...

A GIFT SHE KEEPS SECRET.

Rose flees from her home when keeping secrets becomes too overwhelming, hoping to find somebody who will help her understand her powers.

In Rose's haste, she finds a magical land known as Magicae Terra, a place

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shawline Publishing Group
• Release date: Jul 25, 2023
• ISBN: 9781922993564

Olivia Opal

Olivia was nine years old, and had only been writing short stories and poems, when she plucked up a pen and began writing. She was always different and often got bored at school. Her mind was always wandering off into stories and books. In 2020 she started at a new school for gifted children. Here she thrived and skipped multiple years above her grade. Going to this school just enhanced her mind and she continued to write. Soon she finished her book and it began to grow even more. While she enjoys the excitement of a larger life, she still prefers to be tucked away in the corner with a blanket to write or read.

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The Girl Who Can Fly © 2023 Olivia Opal.

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

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

Printed in Australia

Cover and internal design by Shawline Publishing Group Pty Ltd

First Printing: July 2023

Shawline Publishing Group Pty Ltd

www.shawlinepublishing.com.au

Paperback ISBN 978-1-9229-9344-1

eBook ISBN 978-1-9229-9356-4

Distributed by Shawline Distribution and Lightningsource Global

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This book is dedicated to my grandparents and Caroline for always believing in me and supporting me, my parents for going to great lengths to help me and giving me love and knowledge, my three siblings for being a little too eager and my dearest friends (if even a little crazy) for always demanding information.

PROLOGUE

‘Do you, Jennifer Bibenzyls, take James Black to be your beloved husband?’ asked the archbishop.

‘I do.’

James felt a tingly feeling in his toes and knew he would rise an inch above the ground any moment. So, he did a little hop of excitement instead so that nobody would notice.

‘And do you, James Black, take Jennifer Bibenzyls to be your beloved wife?’

Jen noticed James gave another little hop. That wasn’t unusual. James often hopped when he was excited.

‘I do.’ James was now hopping from foot to foot.

‘By the power invested in me, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride!’ His voice boomed around the clearing, echoing off chairs and people, seeming to reach up to the moon.

Before Jen and James’s lips could touch, a strange noise greeted them from the dusk full-sky. Blip, blip was the sound the noise made. Abruptly, an odd-looking white head with long golden hair appeared in the sky next to the constellation of Orion.

‘Alien and human, the two of many have combined the many to one. Take care of the beloved infant; it is mine.’ The head disappeared.

There were murmurs in the crowd; Jen and James’s friends and family were shocked and confused. It didn’t take them long to put two and two together and figure out which person was the alien.

‘Alien! Alien!’ ‘Jen is an alien!’ ‘We should have known that good-for-nothing scumbag was not right. I told James not to marry her!’ the crowd insisted.

Jen shrank in all the glares and suddenly she wished she were not wearing such a notable white gown. That was not the only thing that bothered Jen, though. James looked heartbroken; his brown eyes drooped and dark circles wrapped around his eyes as he withered.

Jen knew that she would be scorned and shamed, yet something kept her standing there, something that was drawing her to submission. She gave a sad smile but before anything more could happen, a tiny infant wrapped in silk with what seemed to be red roses covering it fell from the sky. The crowd gasped, shrieking about the soon-to-be dead child and telling other people to do something but not actually doing anything themselves.

Still, the baby kept falling and falling, wind lapping at the poor thing’s face; she was only small but somehow dropped from the sky. Shock had captured many people now; it was only natural following the confused mess of apparitions, confessions and strange happenings. This was not supposed to happen in the human world. The baby was only a few feet from the ground, adrenaline – the sixth sense of a mother – pulsed through Jen’s veins. She had to do something, anything, to spare such an innocent young soul from meeting that unexpected and early end in the most brutal manner. Jen didn’t know what to do, but her instincts told her. Jen reached out and caught the baby. When Jen touched the infant, something magical happened. Jennifer felt a warm tingle and happiness within her bones, the sense of fullness and relief, a joy she could not deny.

She enfolded the baby into a deep hug. Jen looked down into the baby’s eyes and in a flash, the baby’s eyes became the same as Jen’s. The fantastic bright, brilliant indigo-blue eyes sort of glowed, the same frequency as Jennifer’s. The baby giggled; she held tighter to the infant, not wanting to let go. She looked around. Everyone was staring at her and the child, but her eyes settled on James. He walked over and the confusion in his eyes was replaced by certainty.

‘Alien or not, I still love you.’ They both looked down at the baby, the miracle still ripe and young. The baby said something that could change the mind of the most stubborn person alive, ‘Mama, Dada.’ She pointed to her future parents.

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ James raised his eyebrows and the child giggled.

‘Seriously, James. She just fell from the sky into my arms. I think we have to keep her.’ Jen was determined, set upon this. Somehow she knew that this needed to be done.

‘Wait for a second, what’s that?’ He pointed to a note written in cursive writing on a piece of silk. ‘Take care of my little girl.’

Jen started to cry from the swelling sadness and the love that the floating head had entrusted upon her.

‘What are we going to call her?’ Jen asked James, even though they both knew very clearly.

‘Rosemary,’ James concluded.

‘And Rose for short.’ She pointed to the silk cloth covered in red roses.

A sickening thought flashed upon both of their minds.

‘What about all the people that saw?’ Jen knew just the solution.

‘I keep a dust so that everyone who comes to know who I am will forget.’

She always did have the right thing for the right time. Jen pulled out a gold bag and pulled out gold dust. Before speaking, she whispered to James, ‘Block your nose.’ He did so. Then, Jen blew away the powder. Everybody in the courtyard except the family fell fast asleep, never to know or realise anything that had happened at the wedding.

CHAPTER 1

THE GIRL WHO CAN FLY

‘MUM!’ yelled Rose, pulling on her red leather boots.

‘Joey scribbled in my notebook!’ Rose’s little brother, Joey, undoubtedly had a gift for mischief. When Rose was seven, Joey ate fifty whole bananas! (To quote Rose and Joey’s mother, Jen: ‘accidentally’.) Joey left them on the floor but Rose knew it was on purpose; for one, Joey snickered and teased her about it afterwards. Anyway, Rose slipped on the banana skins and broke her collarbone! Rose’s parents said it was her fault for not looking where she was going. When her brother ate fifty bananas – fifty! Surely you would think Joey would get punished, even if only a little.

Besides, Rose had an excellent reason for being frustrated about Joey scribbling in her notebook. It was not just any old notebook. It was a special book, given to Rose by her late grandfather. It was filled with stories and poems, pieces of writing that essentially held her together, fulfilled her. Yet despite it being so important, she never shared her verses. The reason why: Rose was certain no one would understand and she was already the outcast.

Once she read one of her poems, The Night Sky, to her first-grade teacher at break when all the other kids were playing outside. As the poem went on, she fell into the words, absorbed them, like every letter was her being: a persistent prickle tingled her fingers and toes. She felt like someone had given her the power of lightning. She noticed the growing power pulse through her veins. As this happened, the unthinkable occurred. Rose slowly rose off the ground! Her feet parted so slowly, almost unnoticeable. Then they dangled; still, the small girl carried on.

Then at the bit with wavy emotions like an aggressive sea, she… flew!

Following The Night Sky’s pattern! Twisting and turning, up and down, the wind tickled her face. The rush of air against her skin, the leap in her heart – she was more happy than all the suns in the sky.

Mrs Keefe, who had frizzy red hair and brown eyes, screamed and fainted! Rose fell to the ground. In shock and horror, her instincts took over. She grabbed Mrs Keefe’s phone and dialled 999 for an ambulance. It arrived with a screeching halt, loaded up Mrs Keefe and took her to the hospital. Once she regained consciousness, she told the doctors what she saw. They dubiously thought she had some sort of mental illness and sent her to a nursing home in Paris. Since then, Rose never shared her writing for fear someone might get injured or she might get damaged. Still, from that day on, Rose lay traumatised by this event when it snuck into her nightmares. Flying was unusual, crazy. However, truly the real reason Rose was scared was because she was worried that if she told anyone, no one would believe her.

The greatest fear of humanity is the fear of not being believed.

‘Why do you still have that old thing anyway?’ Jen – Rose and Joey’s mother – yelled back; this was a common debate and one of relatively good nature.

‘It’s my being!’ Rose informed her in a matter-of-fact tone as she tossed her curly brunette hair to add to the effect. Jen rolled her brilliant blue eyes, a spitting image of Rose’s, right down to their long dark lashes and the way their eyes sort of glowed. A strange but beautiful phenomenon.

‘Okay, fine. It’s your being, but it’s time to go to school.’

‘Do we have to go to school?’ Joey’s sweet-like-sugar voice rang through the air as a slender blond boy with those same bright azure eyes peeped around the corner. ‘I mean, I’m ahead of my class?’ Joey used his hands to show him weighing his options.

‘Well, that’s because you got held back two years?’

Unlike Rose, Joey was behind in most classes; while he was clever in his own way, no one understood him, he preferred to be noticed, the polar opposite of his sister. He may have been very popular and adored by everyone when it came to school but he definitely was not the sharpest knife in the drawer. However, he did get a B+ in art, but that’s only because his BFAMMJF (for the people who aren’t fluent in annoying little brothers, it stands for Best Friend And Mischief Maker Journeymen Forever) Max spilled his paint all over Joey’s terrible interpretation of a T-rex (which he always bragged about).

Rose, however, was two years ahead in school and at the top of her class. Which, of course, made her the nerd. She was constantly bullied; she always felt like the outcast, the puzzle piece that just didn’t fit in. The one black swan in a flock of white ones. She sometimes wished this could be different, but there were some things that couldn’t be changed. Rose loved the colour red and usually wore a simple red dress and coat. Other than her eyes, there was nothing special about how Rose looked. She did have red apple earrings and a necklace that she rarely took off, however; they made her feel more confident and connected, though that did little to change her manner or the amount of friends she had. Rose was witty and had a sharp tongue. This, paired with her strange talents, made it difficult for Rose to make friends. Her family was on the more affluent side of England. That was because her mother worked as a doctor at St Joan’s Women’s and Children’s Hospital, but they were famous for their father’s job. He was the prime minister, helping run the country! Though the Black family never ran out of money, Jen, Joey and Rose only saw their father and husband on special occasions. Even then, he had to work in his office most of the time, but once he missed Rose’s birthday completely, it was a meeting that was urgent.

Jen laughed. ‘Okay, okay, but if I don’t leave for work soon, I’m going to be late. You two better get going to the train station. Joey, if I get one call from the headmistress, then I’ll tell your father and you will be lucky if you ever see the light of day again.’ Handing him his bag. She gave Rose her red velvet bag.

‘What makes you think that I would be anything but an angel!’ Joey replied to his mother’s first statement. Jen rolled her eyes.

‘And Rose.’ Jen’s words were suddenly full of sympathy and sadness.

‘Yes, Mother?’ Rose replied in her British accent so crisp it sliced through the air like a newly sharpened blade.

‘Oh, do make some friends.’ A sense of pure love was buried within the folds of her worry.

Rose felt a sadness deep within her chest. ‘Yes, Mother.’ Rose was on the verge of tears.

‘So…’ Joey rudely interrupted. ‘Are we still going to school today, or are we just going to wait until Mum’s words fade out of the air – hey, I’ve got a math test today! In that case, carry on?’

Jen just chuckled and kissed them both on the head.’ Have a nice day at school, my angels.’

‘Mum, we’ve talked about this.’ Joey grimaced.

‘Goodbye, Mother.’ Rose made it clear she was the most sensible of the two siblings. Before she made her way outside, Joey slapped his mother on the back and said, ‘I’ll be home at ten.’

This made Jen raise an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth twitching with a smile at her hilarious son. ‘Any later than six and you’re grounded.’

Joey sighed at this new information and slouched all the way outside to join Rose. Jen stood by the door and waved; she was already in her blue scrubs. Jen jumped in her car and rode away.

CHAPTER 2

THE TRAIN STATION

The Black’s house was only a five-minute walk to the train station. Like usual, Rose and Joey made this trip alone. They usually argued and debated the whole journey, but this time they made their way in silence. When they were younger, a lot of people asked where their parents were. Rose explained their mother had an early shift in the hospital, which led to where their father was. Rose did not like attention for fear someone might find out her secret. Hence, she tried to tell them their father was away for work in Miami. Still, she never actually got the chance. Because as soon as Rose’s mouth formed the words, Joey had already told the village people that their father is the prime minister. Only then did they start recognising the Black siblings from the papers and the internet. Unlike Rose, Joey loved attention. He loved being at the centre of attention – in the report, on the internet; in fact, anywhere. However, Rose’s pictures were there purely because, well, she was forced to. Honestly, Rose found it ridiculous. There were many more important things in the world to be obsessing over. Like world hunger and poverty. Yet she noticed that obsessed people had very little common sense or logic – this was even more annoying.

As the eleven- and nine-year-olds made their way to the station, they watched squirrels climb up trees and robins flying in the air. They greeted everyone they met, Joey stopping for photographs and autographs. Once upon a time, they had tried to get statements and information from Rose but she had always refused, shaking her head and forcing herself to be nice. The villagers stopped asking and started to aim for Joey instead. He took the bait and to him, it tasted like chocolate cake.

When they finally reached the tall sliding doors to the big domed building, they stepped inside only to find the corners packed with homeless people begging for anything. They were dressed in rags and looked so grimy; this was usual for people here. Every day, people who didn’t have much begged for money and medicine to treat their sick children from colds and other sicknesses they had picked up. Every day it was worse, sadder.

Most people tried to ignore them. To stop themselves from feeling that awful bitterness and sorrow of the taste of bile coating her tongue, Rose tried to ignore them as well, to escape this torturous fate, but it was not always that easy. She made her way to the store and purchased the daily paper and a red apple, which was Rose’s favourite food, as she made her way down the station to their platform.

As she walked by, her toes began prickling, just a slight gesture. A little girl, tiny, not older than three, her tiny hands clutching her mother, searched for warmth. She was small and thin, dirt covering her face and she wore nothing but rags, her long dirty brown hair matted. She had sores on her feet and was shivering from the cold. Her warm brown eyes were the only thing that was not broken, hope filling them. The little girl pointed to Rose’s apple and whispered to her mother, who looked like the girl except taller.

‘Mummy! Look what she has!’ the little girl said excitedly to her mother, pointing at Rose and then the apple. Rose looked at her, unable to abide her eyes from those unfortunate souls.

‘That’s not yours, Blossom, and it’s rude to point at the rich,’ said the mother, her voice only a whisper. She shot Rose an apologetic glance.

‘Mummy, can I please have that for my birthday?’ the little girl pleaded. Her mother looked like it was impossible to say no, but she had to. Just not in the way that would spoil a girl’s dream but postpone the sadness.

‘We’ll see,’ was all the mother said.

Rose, disheartened by this event, looked down at her apple. It was so awkward. She had been so well looked after and fortunate. She had hundreds of pounds in her purse and this family had not a penny. All the child wanted was food. She must be starving. What if Rose gave the girl her red apple? After all, she had not taken that first heavenly bite. What about her brothers sitting next to her with the same dishevelled appearance? She could buy them some too and the mother too. That would not only fix their sadness but hers too. Rose smiled to herself and told Joey to stay there.

‘Sure, anything to be late for school.’ Joey was rather eager.

Rose ran back to the store and asked for three more red apples, wanting to give the family the best treatment.

‘What ya want wif so ma’y apples?’ asked the store owner.

‘You’re the one getting paid. I can put them back for you?’

The store owner shook his head hurriedly. Rose passed him some coins and ran back to the platform. Her boots hit the floor, muffled by the noise of a hundred conversations.

When she got back, Joey was telling jokes and playing with the boys and sometimes the girl.

‘Ah, there is her royal redness, or should we call her Little Red Riding Coat.’ Joey laughed.

Rose rolled her eyes and gave the girl and the two boys apples. The mother was last, taking it and examining the fantastic treat. Their jaws dropped and their eyes were wide. Rose reached into her bag, her finger brushing over her notebook and settling on her red purse with her full name on it. She pulled it out. She opened her bag, grabbed a twenty-pound note and handed it to the mother. She was speechless.

‘H-h-h-however sh-sh-shall w-we thank you,’ she stuttered.

Rose smiled. ‘I believe we have yet to introduce ourselves?’

The whole family stared at her, wide-eyed and runny-nosed.

‘My name is Rosemary Elizabeth Black – but you can call me Rose. And this is Joseph Phillip Black, but you can call him—’

‘Joey,’ Joey interrupted, crossing his arm, pretending to be remarkable.

‘How do you do, Rosemary and Joseph – I mean, Rose and Joey,’ the little girl said. ‘My name is… wait… Mummy, what’s my name again?’

‘Hope,’ said the mother and Rose thought it was the perfect name. It suited her perfectly. A young one set up for failure yet destined for success.

Rose went a little misty-eyed as she spoke. ‘Oh, what a pretty name.’ Rose turned to the boys who were stuffing their faces with apples. The taller of the boys said through a pressed look, ‘Pppttrr,’ and then when Rose looked confused, repeated after he swallowed, ‘Peter.’

Then the smaller of the boys added, ‘John.’

Rose chose to reply with, ’What handsome names.’

At this, both boys smiled before Rose turned to the mother and she graciously said, ‘Amy.’

Rose smiled. That was the name of her late grandmother. The word made her eyes sting with tears. Her face warmed and she turned away so the family wouldn’t see. She remembered all the hugs and stories of magic places – the very inspiration of her poems and stories.

Joey and Rose bade the family goodbye and stepped onto the bright green steam train to take them away to St Michael’s School for Particularly Pampered Privileged Children.

The two children sat next to each other on the red velvet chairs and as soon as the train started moving, Joey fell fast asleep snoring at the bumps in the track. Rose started feasting on her shiny red apple while reading the news. They went on like this for two minutes, the loud crowd and the rustle of her newspaper.

Then Rose saw something in her peripheral vision. The same odd tingling in her fingers and toes (mostly in her toes) like they were trying to show her something. In the corner of her eye was a plump lady with frizzy red hair and wide brown eyes. No! Surely it can’t be, can it? It was Mrs Keefe! Rose jerked her head around only to find her suspicions were correct. Sitting just two seats beside her was her grade one teacher!

She was talking to someone on a bit of a device plugged into her ear! Half of Rose wanted to sit and stare. The naughty side of her wanted to eavesdrop. What harm could come from listening to one suspicious conversation? She was just curious about seeing her grade one teacher that had been in a nursing home in Paris for years; you could not blame her. Still, wouldn’t it be weird just getting up and moving, leaving Joey alone? What if the conversation was private? It would be rude and disheartening and will make the lady hate her even more! But then again, Mrs Keefe was talking into her ear. She had to take her chance. Rose got up from her seat with her paper and sat down next to her, a really strange move, but she didn’t think long about it. It was the first thing that came to her mind. She pretended to read the paper (it was apparent what she was doing, though). Then Rose heard something that would change this entire story, shape and mould it.

‘Copy that… Lord, I have the girl next to me. Shall I grab her?’

She had noticed Rose! She tried to read the newspaper but she couldn’t. Those words were fresh in her mind, a fear so deep squeezing her chest, so she just pretended to read (which was hard too). The new voice said something almost as terrifying and that helped Rose make her decision. He must have been the ‘lord’ Mrs Keefe was talking about.

‘No, we have to wait until you are somewhere less public.’ His voice came out in a croak, like he was a dead corpse, suddenly brought back to life.

Rose ran back to her seat, processing this information, still glad her instincts had carried her back to her chair away from Mrs Keefe, who was staring at her coldly. Rose felt her fear turn into a black hole and devour her inside out, making her feel sick and want to run home. What was she trying to do anyway? Was this something to do with writing making her fly? Had it really scared her to the point she felt the need to capture Rose? Was Mrs Keefe going to hurt Rose? What should she do?! She could not tell her parents. They would think she was mad too! There was only one thing Rose could think of that had a bigger chance of keeping her alive. Still, it was risky. No, it was probably just her brain playing tricks on her.

Rose felt a stone form in the bottom of her stomach. Rose wanted more than anything to write a poem to get this heavy weight off her shoulders. Rose shook all the way to school, biting her lips and her nails. She felt hyper-alert, twitching and feeling like she needed to jump at every movement. Rose hated every second of it. Finally, they pulled up at St Michael’s School for Particularly Pampered Privileged Children. It stopped with a jerk, making Joey wake up. Rose felt her arms turn to goosebumps and she felt a tingle underneath her skin. Yet she somehow forced herself out of the train and onto the formal station of her school and began walking to assembly, staring at the ground.

CHAPTER 3

ST MICHAEL’S SCHOOL FOR PARTICULARLY PAMPERED PRIVILEGED CHILDREN

St Michael’s School for Particularly Pampered Privileged Children was a rigorous school. The headmistress’s name was Mrs Shickelrow. She was pretty and kind. Then there was Mr Nasal. He was tall and scrawny, his eyes cold and black. He had an emotionless expression. His hair was black and styled in a permanently horrible haircut. He wore half-moon glasses on the edge of his nose and he had an odd nasal tone, like if he was holding his nose and talking simultaneously.

He was the eighth-grade teacher, Rose’s teacher. He was very mean and took any chance he got to put innocent (and not-so-innocent) children in detention. Even though Rose always did what Mr Nasal told her, he once put her in custody for four weeks and all she had done was drop a pencil!

His favourite student (he probably got paid to like him because his family was extremely rich) was Bradly Richard McRich. His family was easily the wealthiest, with the largest egos in the world. He was also the leader of a group of bullies, The Lip-Busters. They teased Rose, punched her and called her nerd-curd!

She climbed up the cobblestone path bedded with flowers