The Moon Huntress (On Hold)

Chapter 1: The New Boy

According to most tales of Greek mythology, Artemis was the goddess of the moon. She and her twin brother, Apollo, were born to the mighty Zeus and Leto. Armed with a bow and arrow, she was the protector of the wild and the vulnerable. I am named Artemis but I am no goddess. I don't know who my birth parents were and I would probably not even be able to hold a bow properly.

However, I'm pretty good with a pen and sketchbook. In fact, that is where my attention is drawn to at the moment (get it..."drawn to"). Being as my namesake is shared by one of the most widely reverenced dieties of all time, my sketchbook is home to scenes of Ancient Greece and even Olympus itself. I also love drawing landscapes and fantasy art. Basically I live and breathe art.

I was currently working on a portrait of a young woman who runs into the monstruous Cerberus and tries to tame it. I was careful to lift my head every other minute so my history teacher wouldn't catch me...again. I've had detention four times this month and it was not fun. The detention kids were weird. And not the good kind.

I looked up just as a folded up piece of paper landed on my desk. I glanced a few seats to my right to catch my best friend, Veronica, wink at me. Next to me, someone heaved a huge sigh. Francisca Holding was staring disapprovingly at me. Everyone in the school referred to her and her clique as the queen bee of Easton High. All I saw were a bunch of snooty rich girls walking around like chickens in their ridiculous high heels. I ignored her and unfolded the note.

"I know Mrs. Smith's humdrum lessons force you to escape into your art, but how have you not noticed the new boy? I think he should be your next live model."

New boy? I scanned the classroom and noticed that there was indeed an unfamiliar occiput. Sorry about the anatomical talk but last year's AP biology final left me scarred.

I scribbled back,

"I suppose I'll have to take your word for it though I must say the back of his head is stunning. That glossy black hair looks well-conditioned."

I refolded the note and waited for Mrs. Smith to glance down at her trusty textbook to launch it over to Veronica. She read my response and quickly mouthed the word "hot" to me. I smiled. Boy-crazy didn't even come close to describing her. Francisca frowned and flicked her dirty blonde hair over her shoulder. She has disapproved of my friendship with Veronica ever since freshman year. Guess even now, four years later, she's still slightly miffed that the richest girl in the entire school picked the foster care freak over her.

I went back to my drawing and mindlessly began to sketch out my lady's features. It wasn't until I had completed her soft cheekbones that I realized I had drawn the same woman from my dreams. The woman who for some reason I believed to be my mother. My real biological mother. My dream offered no clues to support this theory. All she did was sit in a rocking chair, wearing a long white, embroidered nightgown. Her caramel colored hair was cut short, with her bangs coming to rest right above her eyes. Those bright green eyes were what jolted me awake at night. Not because they were scary, but because they were parallel to my own.

I couldn't be sure though considering my earliest memories were of me standing outside a hospital when I was six years old. Before that, I can't remember a damn thing. It's as if my life before that very moment had become sheltered behind a black cloud of smoke. Social workers had questioned me for months on who my parents were, where I had come from, etc. All I could answer back with reassurance was that my name was Artemis Collins. It was as if I had materialized out of nowhere. They finally just decided that whatever had happened to me before I was dropped off at that hospital must have been so terrible, it left me traumatized. Ever since, I had been handed from foster family to foster family until I was taken in by the Petersons.