The Wizard

It was a cold winter day in Enchantnier. This city always has a history of miracles and happiness. But ever since my dad and my sis-ter left our lives, the city has no enchantment for our family. I feel like Enchantnier should be called ‘Fate’nier. My mom was packing my backpack for college at Luster University, or LU, for short. “Don’t forget your coat, Katherine!” my mom hollered from the living room. “Got it, Mom,” I grumbled. It was annoying when Mom called me Katherine. I always told her to call me Kate, because Katherine, in my opinion, was too long and a little ‘regal’. I went outside and saw that it was pitch black out there, but the snow was so bright it illuminated the path. Maybe I was a little early. I started to go back into the house, but suddenly a vine gripped my ankle and threw me through the air. I landed right in front of my professor! He didn't seem to mind that I’d arrived earlier than anyone else; instead, he wrote his name on the board (the chalk made a disturbing sound as he wrote; kind of like long sharp nails against a board). It said: Mr. Gifford. My professor had black hair, as dark as coal, and he had a nice bushy mustache which I was really tempted to trim for him. “Hello, Mr. Gifford,” I said, so as not to seem too quiet; or else he might get suspicious. “Hello, Kate. Nice to see you. Please do the 150 math problems I left on your desk.”

I didn't like the fact that I had to do 150 math problems on my first day of college; but the only thing I wanted to know was why the vine spit me out into the air as if I wasn't tasty enough for a snack; and how Mr. Gifford knew that I liked being called Kate. “Well, I guess he thinks he is better than a mind reader,” I murmured quietly so he couldn't hear me, or else he may have become even more suspicious. Then he suddenly blurted out of the blue, “You should be the suspicious one, Katherine-also-known-as-Kate.”

Then one by one the students came in without knocking and already knew what they needed to do. “Hi, Kate,” someone randomly piped up, breaking the silence of the winter boredom. There was something very odd about them, so I screamed, “Help!!!” But no one heard because they had their hands covering their ears even before I screamed! Mr. Gifford gave them the look, as if to say, “Act like normal humans; she knows nothing about our ways.” For the rest of the day I said nothing.

When I came back home from college, my mom seemed concerned by the way I acted. “Anything wrong, honey?” “Oh! Who, me? Nothing. I have a headache. Yup! That’s all. I’m good.” By the look on her face I knew she was ready to get the thermometer to check if I was sick, but instead she got out the usual icky medicine and shoved a spoonful of it into my mouth. “Feel better?” she questioned. I gave a nod, but really in my head I was thinking, I am not getting any better.

That night Mr. Gifford called my mom and told her how I was disruptive and had screamed in class – and what a distraction I was. I would have said on the phone to him what a distraction he was, and how creepy the class was. Unfortunately, I couldn't tell him all that because I got grounded. I finally heard Mr. Gifford say, “I hope things can get better in the future.” Well, at this rate I would say, “Would things ever get any better?” I thought that night, “Well, being grounded is not so bad. It couldn't get any worse.” The only question was, “Or could it?”