What if Narnia's wardrobe was in a psych unit?
Agatha Stone is not the chosen one--she's the last one. She's thirteen, mentally ill, and whiny, but she's all that's left.
She's not what they were expecting, but she's all they have. Maybe with the...
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I get ready for school and ignore Auntie's request that I change my hair. I grab the black jeans I wore yesterday and pick up the black sweater that's lying next to them, but a quick smell check informs me that I need to wash it before I wear it again.
As soon as I hit the sidewalk, I slow my pace. Goosebumps race up my arms and my feet stop moving. I scan the street for anything out of the ordinary but everything seems to be as it should. I shake off my willies and head off to school.
The feeling won't leave. Something isn't right. Then I hear it. I never hear the laughter or singing during the day, but today I hear both. In fact, the singing is louder and clearer than it's ever been. It's in a language I've never heard, so that's probably why I couldn't understand it before. Last night I saw creatures at the foot of my bed, and today the singing. Did Auntie see them too, or am I going crazy?
"Shhhh. Shhhh. That's her," whispers through the air, but there's no one around.
Mrs. Belmonte is taking her garbage to the curb. She's the only one on the street and I can see she's not talking.
"That's the Agatha."
I stop and thoroughly scan the area. Someone must be playing a prank, but I don't understand how they could do it without an elaborate setup. Plus, I'm not important enough for anyone to go to that much trouble.
"Yep. Her."
The sound seems to be coming from the maple I'm standing next to, almost as if one tree is talking to another, but there are too many voices. They're exceedingly high-pitched and talking in unison. Can bugs talk? Can I hear bugs? No, bugs don't talk, so obviously that's not what I'm hearing.
My gaze darts down the street. I don't want anyone to see me listening to the tree. I used to believe that the singing was something everyone heard. People always talk about a song they can't get out of their head, or maybe an argument they had with themselves, but when I told Auntie about my songs, she told me that only I can hear them. She said I must never tell anyone or they'll take me away. I never asked where they would take me or who they were, but I've never told anyone anything ever again, not even Auntie.
The voices used to be just songs, but now they're talking to me, or more accurately, about me. Delusional, that's what this is called. I'm imagining things in my room and hearing voices.
I can't get enough air into my lungs. My fingers are tingling and my arm is going numb. I need to get away from the bugs, or whatever they are. I don't want to run and draw attention to myself, so I walk as fast as I can while trying to look relaxed.
"Which one?" the voices continue.
"That one."
"That's the Agatha."
"Goes to school down the street."
"Why did she do that to her hair?"
The bugs in each tree speak as one voice and discuss me with their neighbors in the next tree. I don't care who sees me, I'm running.
