News flash, we're not the same species.
Well, at least not entirely. And I know that's hard to believe.
At one point I actually thought I was a human. Heck, was I wrong to think that. I'm different, and in my case, it's not safe. Not at all. Imagine being chased by a mafia, every day when you go outside, and every night in your nightmares. The kind who keep re-spawning after you get rid of them, and always know where you are. If you can imagine that, you have a good idea of how it's like to be me.
And maybe you aren't human as well. You never really know, do you? I promise you, I sound like a human, my whole body looks human, most of my thoughts were human as well.
But when you constantly see creatures and streaks of colorful lights that no one else sees, I guess you gotta raise your suspicions above the idea that you're a lunatic who hallucinates.
I'm LeAnne Kannada. I'm 16 years old. In my birth name I had my mother's last name, Annakalcy, but my dad forbids me to use it, stating "It's not a good idea," and legally changed our surname to Kannada when I was three. I didn't know why when I was young, but now I do. I have blond hair and fair skin. I'm not tall, but I'm not short. I like wearing cateye and dark eye liner around my stunning purplish, round eyes. Nothing that would make you think I'm not fully human (we'll get more into that later).
Now that I know of my difference, I always envy normal humans. Even if you think you have a hard life, trust me—it's easier than mine. I had no nightmares or fears of being randomly attacked while lying on my bed like I do now.
You see, until recently, I've had this really bad thing with social interactions, as well as with controlling my emotions. Since I was a kid, whatever I felt like doing, I would do it. Sound normal? It's not. And it's really not good.
I don't even know where to begin to tell you how much trouble this had got me in. The number of heated arguments, the number of people I've made cry, the number of walls I have left fist-holes in, and I can't even get started on how many awkward moments I've had.
There was this time in 3rd grade that I met this my-aged girl at the park. We played together that day and had a good time. She had this beautiful, purple, glittery jacket—and I had a raggedy white sweater. I was jealous. When she was leaving, I tried to snatch the jacket from her. She slapped my hand, and I got angry. We got into a huge fight and ended up being pretty badly punished by our parents. Her parents said they'd never seen her that angry before, let alone viscously beat another child.
Another time, a few years later. I dropped my lunch on the cafeteria floor. The cafeteria wall ended up with fist holes, multiple food trays were snapped in half, chairs were overturned, everyone suddenly vacated the room, I ended up with bloody fists, and let's just say I never walked through the doors of that school again.
And I won't get into the time in 4th grade when I really liked a boy at school . . But hey, he didn't get that angry. I'm pretty. (wink)
At school, I'm usually not in any cool athletics program, and don't participate in any after-school activities like other kids do. My dad wouldn't let me ever since Jordan, the really rude bully, tried to choke me to death during a dance competition. I'm not joking. She dissed me, laughed at my dancing, and we got into a fight. She had me pinned down with her strong arm on my neck, and somehow, we both got detention. I still think it should've only been her. She started it—who cares if I gave her a blow to the nose?
Jordan was this tall, black haired girl with tanned skin who's eyes were a shockingly reddish-orange. Red eyes did seem to suit her personality well, after all. She was not the only bully at school, but she was by far the worst. She was an absolute jerk. And the worst thing about that is she was a muscular jerk, which works well in knocking me and others unconscious. She frequently challenged me to strength-related competitions that I had no chance at winning to humiliate me in front of our friends.
You've probably never met someone with superpowers—or maybe you have, and you don't know it. I didn't. Perhaps one of your parents or the person closest to you is superhuman—or not even human—and you have no idea. (I would suggest you don't check and drop that thought.)
The strangest thing: you have to believe it to see it.
Okay, enough foreword, I'll just tell the story.
It all started on a Friday in late May, 2024.
***
I was in history class. That morning I had run to school—thirteen blocks—because my dad went in ten minutes early and I'd missed the bus. I was exhausted, but hadn't brought any water. My teacher was out of the room, so I went to get some water. When I left the classroom, I saw that my dad had come to my school. He was talking with the athletic director down the hall. I'm confused. I walk up behind the two of them. "Dad?" I say.
He almost looks as shocked to see me as I was to see him. "LeAnne?" He asks, puzzled at why I'm out there. "Why aren't you in class?"
"I needed water. What are you doing here?"
Seeing him with my athletic director, I am sincerely praying that he's enrolling me in a sport and breaking my Jordan-curse.
Wish granted.
"LeAnne, how would you like to do ballet for the rest of the month?" The athletic director proposes.
My heart is racing. LeAnne? Ballerina? Crowds? Dancing? Performing?
"Me?" I ask. In reality I wanted to yelp, YES, OH GOSH, DREAMS DO COME TRUE! And under normal circumstances, I would've just blurted it out—but I decided to ask if it was true first. "Be a ballerina? Like, today?"
"Well, you can try it out. You won't perform live at first, but if you like it and make the cut before the end of the school year, you can do shows over the summer. Otherwise, you can come back to class in late August."
"OH MY GOSH, OF COURSE! THANK YOU SO MUCH! THIS IS, LIKE, A DREAM!" I bear-hug the director.
So yeah, I couldn't help myself.
"Great!" He pats me on the shoulder. "Your class is at 3:30. Be on time. The ballerina coach will put your dress and shoes in your locker."
"Thanks!" I yell out as he walks away. My dad walks up to me.
He smiles. "I just wanted to give you something to do after school, since you always come home bored. One of the girls on the team dropped out, so there's an opening."
I hug him. Then he looks at me, and his smile fades. "Look, as I'm sure you've guessed, Jordan doesn't do ballerina. She can't mess with you during your sessions." He pats me on the back and looks me in the eyes. "The director knows about her, and he said he'd make sure she's always occupied. Work hard, LeAnne. Make me proud."
"I promise."
"And just know that if . . " He stops and looks at the ground.
"If?"
"Just, if you have a . . ." He stutters, as if his mind is racing, trying to find a way to word what he's about to say. "If . . just . ." Short pause. I make a Well? Signal.
"Just be safe, and don't get into trouble, okay?"
"Okay, dad." I know that's not what he was going to say, but I didn't want the euphoria of the moment to be ruined by getting the real statement out of him.
I hug him again, then get a water bottle from the cafeteria and go back to class.
Throughout the rest of the classes, I am excited, but low-key nervous about ballet class.
***
Later that day, at 3:23, I'm headed to ballet class, all dressed in my beautiful ballerina dress. A sky blue, sleeveless top, trimmed with white hems, flowing to the middle of my thighs, and my glittery silver pointe shoes, twinkling in the roof lights. It seemed to catch a lot of eyeballs as I walked down the hall. Then I saw Jordan, arms crossed, standing two doors in front of my class with 3 of her jerk friends.
"Well, well, stupid girl—you picked up a new hobby?"
I roll my eyes. "Shut up, Jordan. The director said you're not allowed to mess with me anymore."
"Oh, did he?" She and her friends chuckle evilly, I roll my eyes and try to walk away, but her friends stand in my way. "Oh no! I can't mess with you cus stupid weirdo-man said I can't!" She patronizes. "Well, just keep in mind that I won't be the only one who laughs at you when you blow this, too. Remember what happened the last time you were on a stage?"
She was referring to the time I was in a stage play—A.K.A. the last time I went on stage. I got upset with my fellow actress Anna Fe for forgetting her lines and embarrassing us, and I pushed her so hard she fell over. The crowd was in shock, Anna was angry. My director came out and made a joke which made the crowd erupt with laughter, and while they laughed, I was taken backstage and expelled from the class. Anna's never spoken to me again, and we're in the same classes.
"Only in your dreams, jerk," I say, irritated that she brought it up. "You're the one who stutters and trips over air."
By the way, she really does.
"Yeah, right, girl who gets expelled from every school she enters."
"I've only been expelled three times in ten years, mind you," I object hostilely. "Why do you care if I'm a ballerina? Are you jealous?"
"If I wanted to be a ballerina, I could," She rolls her eyes. "I hate ballet. The only reason I'd watch it would be to see the embarrassed look on your face when something goes wrong."
"Oh, you wouldn't make it as a ballerina," I say, looking for a comeback—and I'm not very good at comebacks, "They only take the prettiest ones. The foxes—and you're not pretty. You would look like a reindeer." I wasn't sure why reindeer was my animal of choice, but at the time, it sounded right.
The look on her face was a weird mix of pure hatred and raw amusement. "You want me to rip off your dress and tear it to shreds right now?" She says angrily, then clutching her fists to threaten me. "Don't make me think about it, because I really would do it."
I had a feeling she wasn't just saying that. She was, in fact, the same bully who ripped a chunk out of my hair last spring and sent me to the hospital, after I infuriated her by saying her dancing is the reason no boys dance with her at prom—but only because she made fun of how few friends I have.
"Just go to your class, jerk," I angrily dismiss her, "And let me go to mine."
She curses at me and she and her friends all spit at me and walk to their stupid class.
I was disgusted by their spit on my pretty new dress. I wanted to black their eyes out so bad. When Jordan looked back at me before entering class, it was almost as if her eyes glowed with the evilest red known to humanity . . kind of like red with red added to it—okay, you know what I mean. It unnerved me . . I didn't feel like I was imagining that.
I walk into the classroom, where we were momentarily supposed to get the announcement of where we would perform.
There's a beautiful teenage boy in the ballet named Jet. I'd seen him a lot of times before—in the school halls, in the cafeteria, and on campus, but I'd never met him. He's shorter than me by about an inch, maybe 5'7", he has beautiful dark brown hair that flops over his face. He's about the same pigment as me, has lovely caramel eyes, and a really pretty smile.
He's good friends with Chloe, one of my best friends. I kinda like him, just a little bit (okay, more than a little), so Chloe always teases me about him and reminds me he's single. Now that we're both in ballet, I'm just dreaming of dancing with him.
Chloe has black-to-blond ombré hair, a tan, golden, shimmering eyes, and a curvy physique. She's feisty, but silly and friendly, and quite a popular looker at the school. Anyone attracted to girls would drool over her.
"Heyyyy!" Jet shouted to me. "Who's the rookie?"
"Rookie?" I ask, trying to hide my cheeks that I assume look like I face planted in Red 40.
"Well, aren't you?"
"Are ballerinas ever rookies?"
"Well, what else would you be?" He questions. "It's your first time, right?"
"Well, I'm certainly better than a rookie." I say, wearing a big smile. "Just wait till you see me dance. I'll be so hot, you'll fall in love with me."
I probably shouldn't have said that, but my brain typically only operates after I'm done speaking—especially when I'm speaking to someone as hot as Jet. Whatever comes out, comes out. Sometimes I feel my emotions speak for me, and right now, I kinda really want him to like me.
Embarrassed, I look at him in the eyes, and force myself to think, He likes me. Please tell me you like me.
"Oh, really?" Jet says, kinda dreamily. "I'd like to see that."
My brain was spinning. I was not expecting that answer. I felt completely embarrassed. I wish a sinkhole would gobble me up. The others around me giggled and mumbled amongst themselves. Chloe is in ballet too, and I glance over at her and see her blushing—laughing with her face in her hands, embarrassed for me.
Nevertheless, I danced in front of the entire class. By far the most nerve-wracking thing I'd ever done. But believe it or not, I did really good. The class clapped, some threw little fake roses at my feet.
"WOW!" Jet exclaimed.
My cheeks were burning. I felt so good.
"That was amazing!" He cheered.
For whatever reason, my response was, "I'm glad I made everyone happy."
I wasn't sure why it felt weird, but I just had this awkward feeling for the next few minutes—like everyone really was so happy that I was there. Everyone was smiling at me and complimenting me. That never happened in any sports class, let alone at any school I've been in. I instantly felt like part of the team.
Looking back on it, it was a bad idea to dance solo for everyone. The thing that made it so bad was that my ballet coach, Mr. Dorothy, walked in the room before I began, and saw the whole thing, and really loved it.
***
Mr. Dorothy ends up saying that I was a natural. I would be performing tonight. I blush, and at the moment feel so excited. The directors tell the class that we'll be performing on the beach tonight, at the carnival, in front of hundreds of people.
Now I didn't feel so excited. Jordan was probably going to be there, and if something went wrong, I'd never hear the end of it. I'd be doomed to a life of shame.
Even worse, they say I will be doing the solo part . . There goes all my happiness, geesh. Was I really that good? To do a solo on my first day? They really wanted to be embarrassed by me, didn't they?
I really wanted to say, Heck no! But a part of me also felt like this was the opportunity to do something big. To actually prove that I can do something besides mess things up and embarrass myself and others.
But now I know I really should've said no. We rehearse. I learn my dance, and unfortunately I don't get to rehearse with Jet.
That night, we go to the beach.
The carnival was incredible. We all got free carnival cards from the director and got to enjoy the carnival for 2 hours. Our whole team is wearing shirts that say "Long Beach High School Ballet" on it. I ask Jet and Chloe to come play with me. Jet seems so pleased I asked him to come along.
Jet and I ride a roller coaster and every time Jet screamed I for some reason felt like I was blushing . . maybe I was.
Chloe is too busy playing whack-a-mole. She's really into any games where you fight or kill things, which I'm not really a big fan of. The three of us play games (which, Chloe won most of them), go in funhouses, and eventually ravage the road of food stands and eat all the carnival goodies. Our director warned us to not eat too much, though, so we ate with restraint (not an easy feat at a carnival).
Chloe saw a game where you have to pick up this ultra-heavy metal wall as high as possible and place it in these slots. Strength competition, basically. She asks us all to try it. Now, Chloe looks like a normal schoolgirl—she doesn't look like a wrestler and isn't pumped up with muscles or anything. She looks like the the type of girl that would fix her hair in the bathroom mirror and be a belle at prom. That's not who she really is (except she is a belle). One thing I knew, we weren't going to beat her at this. Most likely she just wanted to laugh at us.
I'm able to lift it to the first slot, Jet to the first slot, and basically, Chloe . . . If I told you how shocked the game operator was, you wouldn't believe. He ended up having her do it again for his Instagram story. Chloe's really proud. She just flicks her hair out of her face and smiles at us with a look of how you like that?
Eventually, we saw the spotlights in the air, and realized other people were doing their performances now—which means very soon, we were up. We try to find Mr. Dorothy.
We find Mr. Dorothy by the stage. We were just in time, as we had to do our final rehearsal before show time. The whole show was 9 minutes, so we weren't going to rehearse the whole thing, just the main parts. We all put on our ballet costumes and I get to wear my ballerina dress. I find out I have my own personal coach for my solo.
My coach is a bald, older guy who wears shades and is very muscular built. I guarantee you, he looked like a wrestler, and didn't at all look like he's ever been a dancer, so I'm not sure how he got into the ballet business. He looked like what you'd think Chloe would look like with how strong she is: a gym-head. Though I'm sure he does go to the gym unlike her (unless she goes secretly).
Nonetheless, he seemed to know what he was talking about, so maybe ballet was in his past (or he just studied). He gives me pointers and speaks in dancer language that a rookie like me is never going to understand over her dead body. I feel I'm doing so well and literally feel like ballet is what I want to do for the rest of my life.
When my rehearsal with the coach is done, I think it's time to go back to the others to rehearse the rest. Instead, my coach tells me there's something he wants to show me on the beach.
I feel uncomfortable. I don't even know this person. Something in me feels like I should say, oh wait, I need to use the restroom, and just go back to the others. But for some reason, my feet just start following him.
When we get to the beach, he finally tells me, "LeAnne, have you ever noticed that you're different than your friends?"
"Like what?" I ask. I feel he's maybe trying to say I'm the best ballerina on the team or that I look super hot or pretty or something like that.
"Well, just, in general, you're just different?"
"No, not really," I shift my feet uncomfortably. "What do you mean?"
We continue to walk farther down the beach.
He begins to tell me weird things with strange words. I'm completely lost and don't understand any of it.
"There's a lot more to the world that your friends won't get to experience, but you will," He eventually tells me. "Look at the ocean. The trees. The smoke from that food stand. The sand we're standing on. Forces. Have you ever heard of that?"
The way he's speaking is basically the way he taught me ballet. Just throwing everything at me with no foreword to explain it. "Um . . . No, sir," My voice trembles.
"Posia, Penana, Embiss, Perbia—they're all real."
I had no idea what any of that just meant. I feel weak. Something keeps telling me that something bad is going to happen. I don't know—maybe he's gonna push me down and rape me? Or stab me? We're basically out of sight from everyone now, so he could do anything. My legs are shaking like an earthquake.
"Do you wonder why your brain works differently? Why you have beautiful purple eyes that glimmer in the light? Why your mother isn't there for you? It's because there's a different place for you."
Who the heck is this guy? How does he know about my mother? I haven't even seen him before. I'm so frustrated, I wanna smack him in the face. But, I'm too scared of him. If I hit him, he would choke slam me . . and by the looks of him, that'd be the last thing anyone does to me. All I say is, "No, sir. I don't know." That wasn't a logical answer, but he didn't seem to care.
"LeAnne Annakalcy, you just don't understand that you're different. Those kids at your school, those people in the crowd, the many people you passed by while enjoying the carnival, you aren't like them."
"What do you mean I'm different?" I demand, "Like what?"
I was too scared to process that he just used my birth name. I got my name legally changed to Kannada when I was three—I don't even have Annakalcy on my legal records. But at the moment, all I could focus on was that he is steering towards basically saying I'm an alien from outer space. He also keeps staring at the stars, so it wouldn't be too far-fetched for him to actually say that.
What happened next would change my life forever.
He takes off his shades, revealing his stunning silver eyes. "You see the world differently. Have you not noticed?"
"What do I see differently? Just tell me!"
He pauses and stares me in the eyes. I feel knocked out and weak, as if I'd just fell off a building and hurt my spine. I can barely stand. "You are a powerful being." His mystical tone sends chills to my heart.
I begin to lose patience. "What do you mean? Would you quit playing me on and just tell me?!"
A weird aura begins to surround me. A magical chill in the wind that I couldn't describe. Something telling me this man was not just a normal guy.
Then it happened.
My coach's eyes begin to get brighter until his entire eye sockets are glowing white. My legs shake, then my whole body goes numb and I fall backwards into the sand and hit my head. My vision is blurred as I stare up at this magical being. My mind blanks and I begin hyperventilating.
He crouches down in the sand beside me. His white eyes piercing through my soul. I'm filled with so much fear that I wish a wave would crash on me and kill me. My heart is racing, and I feel light-headed—like I'm going to pass out.
"LeAnne, don't be afraid." Either it was because I was dizzy, or his voice really did become less-human and more metallic—like a gust of wind through a metal pipe. "What have you been told all your life that you were?"
Don't be afraid, like that's really possible when someone is staring at you with white glowing eyes burning brighter than a street light and speaks like an A.I. through a nail-on-chalkboard filter. "Uh . . LeAnne Kannada?" I struggle out.
"No, like, what have you been told that you are?"
My mind races to find words many people have frequently used to describe me. "Um . . Stupid?" I tremble as tears begin to feel my eyes. "Dumb? Weak? Weirdo? Uh . . idiot?"
"No, no, no. Well, let me ask you this a different way. What are you?"
" . . 11th grader? Schoolgirl?"
"No, no. Literally—what are you?"
I don't want to say the word. I feel like this will be the correct answer—and if that's true . .
" . . Human?" I reply between deep breaths.
"Yes," He smiles, "That's just it. You don't understand that you're not human."
My breathing races, my head feels heavy. My mind is baffled. What did he just say about me?
" . .not," I stutter, " . . What do you mean I'm not human?"
"You don't believe, do you?"
"Of course I don't . . That's crazy. It doesn't make sense . ."
He smiles at me and looks at the sky. He places his hand softly on my stomach. "LeAnne, what do you see up there?"
I look up—well, not really. I'm laying on my back, so I'm already looking up. More like I focus on the sky. I see glowing streaks of lights floating around, appearing as if they were dancing with the stars (pun absolutely intended). Streaks of all different colors of the rainbow—and colors not in the rainbow, like white, coffee and forest green.
I'm beginning to believe this whole thing is either a prank or a dream. Most likely a dream, because I'm not sure even the top YouTube prankers in the world can make their eyes glow like this in real-time.
"What . . are those?" I ask, puzzled as to what point he's trying to get across.
"All your life—all 16 years of it—you've been blinded by your belief that you're human. You've always been privileged to see this, but because of your beliefs, you have not been able. There are forces at work in the world, LeAnne, and you're a demiforce."
"O . . O-okay . . What's a Force?"
"The controllers of the natural world, LeAnne. The beings that have the power to manipulate the natural world, for better or for worse."
"Great, so . . how am I one?"
"Do you know why your mother never visits you?"
"No . . " I say in a harsh tone. I'm angry at him for bringing up my mother.
"LeAnne, don't be angry at your mother. Monoforces cannot physically interact or be seen by humans. Your mother is a monoforce—not a half-force, an all-force. She was afraid that you would realize that she can't interact with humans, and you'd question why."
"What about my dad? How could he see her?"
"Your dad is a demiforce. Demiforces can interact with humans and monoforces."
"How do I know this is true?"
"LeAnne, you aren't just a demiforce . . you're a powerful one . . You are part of one of the most important forces in the universe. You are far more powerful than any human being."
"What are you even talking about?" I demand, my mind incapable of comprehending all the nonsense he's blabbering. "Me? Powerful? That's crazy."
"Beware," He takes his hand off me and rises up, "Power is a dangerous bait. It lures them to you. But believe, LeAnne Annakalcy. You have to believe it to see it."
I don't even realize he used Annakalcy again. "How am I powerful? What do you mean?"
Just then, an explosion erupts across the beach, on a water patio. The explosion was loud and fiery, but everything seemed to be okay and nobody else seems to have heard it.
I look back. The man is gone. When I look up, the streaks are dissipating. Visible, yes—but dissipating.
"LeAnne!" I see my ballet team running towards me. "LeAnne, what's going on?" One girl, Kiatri, says.
I hold out my hand for someone to help me up. I am completely dazed, like I had just awoke from a dream.
Jet grabs my hand and pulls me up. "Why were you lying in the sand?"
"I had a strange vision." I say. "A really strange vision."
"What was it about?!" Chloe inquires.
"Umm . ." All of me believes I shouldn't tell them the vision. They wouldn't understand it and would find me crazy. Not that they don't already think that. "I couldn't comprehend it . ."
"Tell us, maybe we can!" Chloe says.
"Oh, absolutely not."
"Why? Was it scary?"
"No . . It was . . It was personal . . My mother and . . stuff . ." I lean into Jet as I'm stumbling in shock. He grabs me by my torso and helps me back to the stage.
I look around. Everyone is silent and exchanging looks with each other. "Where's my solo teacher?" I ask the team. "Has anyone seen him?" Mr. Dorothy shakes his head no.
Jet swipes at the back of my dress. I'm confused why but it seems cute so I don't stop him and just smile.
"Sorry, you're just really, really sandy, and your dress needs to be clean for show time."
"Oh, streaks. That's right. I'm dirty now."
I . . did not realize what I'd just said, and neither did Jet. You'll understand later.
Backstage, as we're getting ready to go out, Jet pesters me about my vision, trying to get information out of me. Which it wasn't really a vision, but part of me thought it was, so I claimed it to sound less weird. Finally I decided to tell him a bit.
"Okay, you get your wish, sweetie," I regrettably say. "So, let's just say I was met by a strange person, and he was telling me things I couldn't comprehend. Words I strangely knew, but couldn't understand. And then he told me something about the universe, that it's a lot more than what you see."
Jet stares at me. "Well, that doesn't seem that personal or scary."
"And then he told me the strangest thing about myself. Something that shook me."
Jet stares, as if he's wanting me to tell him what the figure said about me.
Instead, I stare at the colorful phenomenon in the sky. Jet looks at me, confused by my daze. I turn to him.
"Jet," I say, looking back at the sky. "What do you see up there?"
He stares up for a few seconds, then says, " . . stars?"
That settles it for me. I could see things he couldn't. I nod my head, "Yeah . . Good old stars." I walk away.
He's shaken by my response. He looks completely baffled, as if I wasn't being honest that there was just good old stars. He shivers, as if exiting a daze. "Rookies are weird.." He says, bewildered and trying to make himself feel better as I leave.
We perform our ballet for a crowd of over 100 people. When it comes to my solo, I looked out at the crowd. All these human eyes . . watching me. I just couldn't see myself as not being the same as them. As being . . what did the guy say? Far more powerful?
I perform my solo very well—at least that's what I think—and then join the rest for the outro. My ballet team assigns one male to every female, and I wanted to dance with Jet, but he's been taken, so I got assigned a blond haired boy younger than me but taller (which is embarrassing) and with bright, light blue eyes and a slight mustache.
First thing my dance partner told me when he grabbed my hands was, "Wow! You have beautiful purple eyes! I've never seen purple irises before!" I smile cutely at him, but all I could think of is how my coach said have you ever wondered why you have beautiful purple eyes that glimmer in the light?
Celsius, as was his name, and I perform a beautiful and intimate duet amongst the rest of the team. I mean, he wasn't, like, Jet-level gorgeous, but he was awfully pretty, sweet, and a talented dancer. After the performance, we get a roaring round of applause from the crowd. Once the curtains close, Jet approaches me, grabs my shoulder and whispers to me, "You were right." I blush red. Somehow I know he's talking about how I told him when I dance I'll be so hot you'll fall in love with me.
It's kinda weird, honestly. I had seen Jet plenty of times in the school halls and other classes and always liked him, but he'd never paid any attention to me until I told him he'd fall in love with me. Is it what I'm wearing? My ballerina dress, maybe? Or something else that happened today?
The next three days, I got a total of probably 20 minutes of sleep. I kept thinking of the old man's words. You don't understand that you're not human. You are one of the most important forces in the universe. You are far more powerful than any human being.
How could that be? A teenage girl. 16 years old. Always gets bullied. Always embarrasses herself. Loses every arm-wrestling match she's ever been in. Got destroyed by Chloe in a strength game. I'm small, I'm weak, I'm a laughing stock—how could I be one of the most important forces in the universe, let alone be far more powerful than humans?
***
My alarm goes off on my phone. I get out of bed, not that I ever slept that night.
"Good morning," My dad says, staring at me awkwardly. I realize what he's looking at and feel embarrassed, as I was so tired I didn't dress, and am only wearing night-clothes. "I'm guessing you were pretty tired?"
"Yeah . . " I say, feeling so awkward I blush red. "To be real, I haven't slept in three days."
"Whoa!" My dad asks, gaping in shock, "And why? A lot on your mind?"
"Dad," I say, "What do you always do when you hug me goodbye and say you're going out for 'important work'?"
"Sweetheart, is that what kept you up all night?"
I'm usually extremely comfortable talking to my dad, but aside from the fact I'm not wearing much, I feel this really weird feeling—thinking I might be talking to someone who's only half-human. "Yeah, and a bunch of other weird thoughts."
My dad barely looks at me. "Well see, sweetie, I work for some very important people, and—"
"You work at a burger joint," I interrupt.
"Yes, I do, He answers, "But I do have another very important work I do."
I'm angry. My father won't tell me the truth. I open the front door, and snap at him with a hostile, "That's what you always say!" And walk angrily out onto the porch and slam the door.
My hope is that by me rushing angrily out the door, my dad would follow to confront his depressed and stupid daughter, and I could pop the question on him as to if he could see the streaks in the sky.
Wish granted. My father walks onto the porch and places his hand on my back. My entire world had flipped upside-down because my ballet teacher with glowing white eyes told me I wasn't human and made me realize how I can see things others can't. Am I really a powerful force in the world? I wanted to know.
"Hey, I'm sorry LeAnne," My dad says with a sad look as he pats me on my back.
I wanted to ask my question. "Dad, do you see that?" I said as I pointed at the streaks flying around in the sky. I meant to ask what do you see, but it came out wrong due to my emotions. My dad looked up. "Yeah, uh . . everything looks normal to me. I'm not sure what you're talking about."
"The color things."
"Oh, uh, normal," He says, uncomfortably—apparently embarrassed that I could see them and understood not everyone could see them.
"Really?"
"LeAnne, listen," He says. Sounding concerned. "I'm sure your friends tell you stuff at school, but I'm not sure you'll understand . ."
"What?!" I snapped. "That I'm not human?! That you're not human?! That I've been told a big lie that I'm a sane normal person my whole life?! That I'm actually a weirdo who sees into another dimension?!" Tears collect in my eyes. "Yeah. I've been told all that from a weird guy with white glowing eyes. I don't need to hear it again."
"LeAnne . . ." My dad says, and he seems worried. "You said someone with white glowing eyes . . v-visited you?"
"Yeah. He was my ballet teacher for my solo part. Lured me out onto the beach and told me I wasn't human. He said I was half-force and that you were too."
"So, what else did he say?" My dad seems intrigued, like he knew that man or something.
"Uh . . . Not that much." I say, trying to remember his words. "He just told me that I can see things normal people can't, and that I'm far more powerful than humans. Which is stupid, because I'm stupid and anything but powerful. Have you seen me against Jordan? She could rip my head off if she wanted to."
"LeAnne . ." My dad again says. "Do you know what that means?"
I sense serious concern from my father. Many thoughts begin to pour from my brain. What did that man mean? Was I in trouble? I feel a lump in my throat. "What what means?" I ask.
"The visit. From Lightslip, the man on the beach. Did he tell you what it means?"
"Uh . . no," I admit. I am seriously concerned now.
He doesn't even look at me. In fact he turns his whole body around. "It means it's time." He stutters out, choking on his tears.
"Time for what?" I ask loudly in fear.
"Time for me to let you go. Your life won't be the same any more, and it's not gonna be easy . . " I'm still confused. My dad opens the door and begins to walk in sadly. I have just one question lingering on my mind that I must ask immediately before whatever is supposed to happen happens. I stop him and hold the door open.
"Dad . ." I say with teary eyes. "What force am I?"
"Huh?"
"The guy was naming these names . . Penana, Posia, something, something—I don't remember.
"I'm not sure, LeAnne," My dad's voice cracks. "Just whatever your mother was."
"Well, what was she?"
"I'm not sure."
"How?" I prod. "Aren't you half-force? Don't you see her all the time?"
"No," he says, longingly as he stares at the picture in our hallway which has us three together. "I never see her. I never really even knew her." His nostalgic tone told me it was story time—a time I'd been waiting so long for—the truth about my mother. "We're not married. You see, she's a monoforce. Monoforces can't really interact with non-forces, so obviously, monoforces can't interact with humans. I'm half-human, so she can't spend much time with me. Favoritism, as she put it, isn't tolerated.
She randomly visited me at a beach one day, the same one you saw Lightslip at. We fell in love. She vanished for a while, but then showed up at my house one day a few weeks later. She seduced me, and I got her pregnant. And during that time, she revealed to me that she was a monoforce." He seems like his mind is absolutely not in the present right now. His memories are engulfing him. He was staring at the picture as if he could see through it—I felt horrible for him.
"I knew what that meant—I'd have to raise you alone. I'd have to raise a demiforce for years until it was time to let you fulfill your duty. She told me what kind of girl you would be when you grew up—just how powerful and important. Every once in a while, your mom will come around and give me a gift . . I'm not sure what it was about her, but any time she was around, all my worries went away. I got this sense that everything will be alright.." A tear runs down his cheek as he chokes out the last part, staring at the photo. "Sometimes, when I'm alone, I just long to see her."
My world was flipped: the reason my mom was never around was because she couldn't be. My whole life I thought she just didn't want me. On the flip-side—she forced my dad to raise a child alone. How could she do that? Why did my mom not visit my dad when he was on duty? Why didn't she tell him what force she was? My anger at my mother doesn't change. I know she can't be around us for long, but she can't just ignore us. I need a second parent in my life.
"So . . do you mean I have distant half-siblings?"
"I'm not sure, LeAnne." He rubs my mom on the photo, missing her badly. "I'm not sure . . "
"Dad," I say as he's still touching the photo, memories probably flowing through his mind. "So why didn't you ever marry anyone else?"
"I couldn't bring myself to do it," He says. "She told me to, so that you'd have siblings and a second-parent in your life, but I just couldn't do it. I never loved anyone like I loved her."
***
At school that day, I live in constant fear of Lightslip appearing and taking me away to some mystical place where I can never see my dad again—as that's what I assumed my dad meant. I didn't speak to Chloe, or Jet. In fact, we don't have ballet on Monday, so I didn't even see them. They're not the same age as me.
That night, I slept—It's about time. In my dream, I was out with my friends. I never go out with my friends, so the dream felt like paradise. When I went to the restroom, Lightslip was in there, glowing eyes and all, standing by the sink. My heart almost stopped. "Your time has come," He tells me in his mystical voice. "You will be a part of the team. You are a part of the eight." The walls of the place began shaking until the wall across from me fell out. Lightslip told me to come see what was out there.
I walked over to the hole and stared out. I could see what looked like an underground desert. Sandy dunes rolled high and wide and the rock walls were all a purplish-red. There was one whitish-yellow glowing blob in the center of the wall in front of me. Many people, mostly teenagers who looked my age or a bit older, ran around playing what looked like tag with swords—which didn't look very safe. Many streaks of color flew around like flocks of birds. A voice came from behind me. "Beware, the holes of fire." I looked back, and Lightslip led me out into the mysterious place. He directed my attention to a dark, swirling hole in the ground, and told me, "A storm has begun brewing, and you, LeAnne Annakalcy, are needed. "
A woman's voice rumbled a poem from below my feet. "White, purple, yellow and aqua—colors of rainbows, but made for the drama. Nuisance, nuisance, a dozen eggs. One might break, but one must stay."
That is not a rainbow, I thought to myself—but I learned a long time ago to not question the nonsense of my dreams. That will just make me more confused.
I saw my mom in the distance. I shouted at her but she didn't seem to hear me. She had glowing purple eyes and a partially transparent body through which you could see streaks of purple where her bones should be. She was wearing a purple varsity jacket as well, partially transparent because her body was. Seeing her made me think of what my father had said about what force I was, just whatever my mother was.
I turned around, and the restroom was completely gone. The Lightslip was gone. I was stuck in this underground desert place. I looked up, and where the sky should be, there was a purple roof with a glowing white center, along with many, many colorful glowing streaks flying around. I looked at my hands and saw glowing purple streaks flying around in them. I understand that there's a connection between purple and my force. I wondered if there was a way to find out what force purple was.
I looked in front of me and saw a figure, standing stiff, decked in black, with a black biker's helmet and a black ponytail hanging out the back. I can see through the mask. A female face with caramel colored skin and completely black eye-sockets. My heart skipped. I sensed death. The figure drew a large knife and charged at me. I dropped to the ground in fear, and the figure stood above me, like Muhammad Ali standing over Sonny Liston.
"Change my mind," She declared in a deep, raspy voice. She raised the knife high above her head. I was shaking, sweating, hyperventilating, my body terrorized with fear as if I was looking death in the face. "Please . . " I beg.
"You had your chance," The menacing voice states before slashing the knife and gashing me in the abdomen.
I yelped. I felt immense pain. My vision blurred. I looked at my body and saw blood pouring out of me. When I looked back up, the figure took off her mask. Through my blurry vision I saw her pure black eye sockets, radiating fear. She sneers cruelly at me and flicks her tongue through her teeth. Her teeth were filed into fangs, with a black glow around her.
It got hard to breathe. My head was heavy with the pulsing pain and my vision began to go black. I knew I was dying. I tried to scream for help, but I was too weak.
I awake with a start. My pain fades. I stare out the window at the trees blowing in the late-spring breeze. The sunlight warms my face. I gaze at the clear blue skies, such that I would appreciate so much if I wasn't struck with fear.
"I will be a part of the team," I say to myself, my voice shaking from fear. I take off my blanket to make sure I wasn't gutted. And I'm relieved to see no blood or wounds.