Shifter

Chapter 2

Hi everyone! Since I didn't really introduce myself in the first chapter, I'll do it now. My name is Janae and I am an aspiring author. Well, um...that's about it. Please comment because there's really no way I can get better if no one gives me feedback. Anyway, enjoy the story!

Chapter 2

My dream started out very oddly. I was standing in a low room painted in a soft pink. The floors were made of shiny wood, one wall was completely mirrors and a black grand piano rested in one corner of the room, waiting for someone to make it sing. I realized that I was in a ballet studio.

Seconds later after this realization, about 10 or 11 young girls skipped through the door in matching white leotards. As I looked into the mirror, I was shocked to see that I had no reflection. For the time being, I was invisible. A small, dark-haired girl's eyes swept over me and I panicked, staring into her big blue eyes. The little girl held my gaze a moment longer, then turned away. I felt as if I should remember her from somewhere, but I couldn't place the memory.

Just then, a tall, blond woman with sharp, angular features entered the room, a short, stocky man close on her heels. The girls immediately ended their small conversations and directed all attention to the woman. I noticed that the dark-haired girl had not been invited to gossip with the girls.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” the woman said. I shivered slightly. She had an accent that I couldn't place and her tone matched the temperature in the room: freezing. “Good afternoon, Madame Houssier,” the girls replied flatly. Clearly, they disliked her. “Who is here?” continued Madame Houssier, picking up a clipboard and beginning to call roll. “Camille?”

A redhead with bright green eyes raised her hand and replied, “Here.” Madame Houssier nodded and called the next name. “Donna?” Another girl exclaimed, “Here.” And so it went. “Frida? Harlene? Kourtney?” All here. Apparently, no one can stand to miss a ballet lesson, I mused silently, though I doubt it would've mattered if I'd said my sentiments aloud.

“Moira?” My eyes went round and I searched the room, looking for the girl who had my name. “Moira? Where are you?” Finally, the tiny girl, the one in the corner with the curly brown hair and wide blue eyes, said softly, “I'm here.” My jaw dropped open and every girl in the class turned to look at her. “Oh, we had no idea,” said Camille nastily, cocking her hip in a way that made me sure that she was not to be trusted. “Try to make yourself known next time, won't you, Mousy Moira?” A few other girls snickered to themselves and whispered the nickname to their friends. Moira looked like she wanted to rip Camille's head off and I can't say I didn't feel the same. I couldn't stop watching Moira. Everything fell into place now. The exact shade of her hair, the way she blinked rapidly when she was nervous, her small, dainty fingers. If my throat had suddenly decided to make noise again, I would've screamed. This was a nightmare. Little 6-year-old Moira and I were one and the same.

Madame Houssier ordered the girls to line up against the barre and stretch. Then, they would perform the dance they'd learned the week before. Moira lined up a ways away from the others and stretched her right leg out behind her gracefully. I couldn't help noticing that Camille wobbled during her stretch and I laughed at her. As expected, no one cared.

"Alright, ladies," barked Madame Houssier. The little man had seated himself at the piano and was poised to begin playing. Well, at least he had a use. "Please line yourselves up in order of height, from tallest to...smallest." She stared pointedly at Moira and I could feel my blood boiling. It wasn't my fault that I was so...er...delicate. Silently, the girls obeyed their orders and, of course, I - I mean, Moira - ended up at the end. 

The man began to play a jaunty little tune, something about everyone being a star or some other stupid thing. Frida, the tallest and a rather big-boned gal, began her routine, which, to me, seemed like a series of twists, leaps and very hard falls. Eventually though, the routine ended. Poor Frida looked up at Madame Houssier, who only shook her head in annoyance. The next girl, one named Sonia, started her routine. Slightly less twists, I noted. Ultimately, though, much better than Frida. But, I soon realized that anything short of perfect was not good enough for Madame Houssier as she glared and shook her head at just about every girl who went. The only ones she let off with a small nod were Camille (I thought she was trying too hard, especially when she tried to cover up the teetering on her second pirouette) and Harlene, who actually looked very accomplished, very...perfect.

Last of all was Moira. I watched her take a deep, quivering breath...and she leapt forward. The man was startled; he hadn't expected her to start so quickly and he rushed to keep up with her. I watched her with growing interest. Moira was doing a completely different dance. This dance was full of sharp turns and graceful leaps. She looked...kind of like a...tiger. 

My heart stopped. I knew this moment, this memory. It'd been locked away in my past and now it was back to haunt me. I'd just read a study on tigers in school and they'd become my new favourite animal. i even remember how I'd felt in this moment, what I'd been thinking about. Clearly, my mind wasn't on ballet. I clutched my head in pain and anticipation. I wanted to close my eyes, but I couldn't look away. I wanted to run, but my feet wouldn't obey me. And then, as Moira launched into one of her - my - best leaps yet, she turned.

Her skin turned bright orange, first of all. Then it went all stripey and Moira was on the ground, wondering what everyone was staring at. I watched, frozen, as she dropped down onto four paws and caught a look at herself in one of the studio's mirrors. She shrieked, but by then, it came out as a roar. Kourtney let out a wail and then it was pandemonium. The girls scattered and Madame Houssier glared down at Moira, as if just the pure power of her hatred was enough to make her change back. Tears ran down my cheeks, clouding my vision a little. The man had found an aluminum chair and started defending himself with it. "Back! Back!" he shouted, trying to pummel the poor girl with the chair. Moira tried to dodge the attacks, but the little man was surprisingly nimble and she let out a few painful yowls. Someone was screaming, over and over. The same word: "STOP!" I wondered who it was, since that wasn't a part of my memory. Then I realized it was me, my own throat making those noises.

Madame Houssier finally found her voice and she yelled,"FREAK!" But Moira was long gone by then. They all thought that the freaky tiger-girl had been too far away to hear, but she'd heard all right. And the experience - my first shifting - has been with me ever since.

I woke up screaming, my cheeks wet with tears. Worst of all? The man of my dreams was holding my shoulders, looking into my eyes. I groaned. "Oh, what are you doing here?" Conner just stared. Oh, boy, I thought to myself. Is this ever going to take some explaining.