Daybreak comes at six-thirty. Sunbeams slice through my window, dragging me from sleep. I''d stretch with my usual calisthenics'' routine, working my body to get the blood flowing. Despite being only in eighth grade, I''m already more physically advanced than most—thanks to a strength that feels like it comes from another world. My biceps are noticeably defined for my age, and I can see the beginnings of a power that feels almost supernatural. I''ve trained for this moment since the start of middle school. I know I''ll be even stronger with high school on the horizon.


    After an evaluation of my outfit, I''d plan a light breakfast before catching my bus.


    Today, that''s not happening.


    Allergies—the worst epidemic and my archnemesis. The season''s pollen is a plague to my senses. My nose feels stuffy, and each sniff brings a mix of discomfort. These damn sinuses remind me of asthma. Between the ages of eight and ten, I was grasping for inhalers in the early mornings.


    Those small traces serve as remnants for proof of condition.


    I roll in bed, pulling the covers over my head. This is the worst.


    It''s a good day for hooky. I''m not missing out on a half day.


    I''ll just pray the allergens away.


    The Lord knows my heart...He knows sleep is the best medicine.


    "Wake up, Orion."


    Obviously, divine intervention had other plans for me.


    Authority knocks on my bedroom door. "Get up or you''ll miss the bus."


    Rolling between the sheets, I flinch at the hard knocks and pull the pillow over my head. "Five more minutes," I groan, muttering a quick prayer for the noise to end.


    And then—silence.


    But only a split second.


    My door flies open with a preemptive force. Sunlight floods the room with blinding hindsight and my blanket is yanked off, exposing my birthday suit.


    Panic uprising, I grasp on whatever to conceal myself.


    "What are you doing?!" I shout, full of distraught.


    "Fix your face," she commands, standing over me as I scramble to pull myself together. "I told you to get ready for school. What''s the matter with you?"


    Still in a daze, I whimper, "My head hurts and I can''t breathe."


    "Oh, you poor thing," Granny''s tone softens, and her palm touches my forehead. I know she''s feeling for symptoms, and I can''t hide my irritable sniffling. Plus, I know she sees this red nose as a source of ailment. "No fever. Get dressed."


    I protest weakly. "But my allergies are killing me."


    She leers with disapproval. "For someone so brawn, you still act childish. Get your butt up and go to school!" She pauses before dropping into a lecture. "Back in my day, I walked five miles to and fro''. I won''t tolerate lax in this house! Now get up!"


    ~ ~ ~


    I manage to shower and dress in under fifteen minutes. The hot towel drapes over my curly fade. Vapor cream soothes my diagnosis. But my mind? That''s a different story. It''s buzzing with irritation. Lemon with tea sits on the kitchen ceramic. I grab the slice and squeeze the content, retrieve the porcelain cup and stir the mini spoon, sipping the smooth liquid. The dash of honey also helps, but I still grimace. I hate traditional tea. Can''t fathom how Granny drinks this stuff, despite her insistence that it''s good for the heart.


    She stands across from me looking well-kept. Beneath the violet bonnet, rollers blended with her sleepwear, protecting her natural curls. Square glasses framed her almond-shaped vision, matching her youthful melanin. "What''d I tell you about sleeping naked?"


    "I sweat in my sleep, Granny," I stick to my usual fact. "It helps with blood circulation."


    "You read that from the internet?" She scoffs, narrowing her foresight. "Right in front of you is an archive of knowledge, but you''d rather go on the computer for answers. You let those steroids cloud your perception."


    I suppress my tea. "Granny, I''ve never taken steroids. I only drink protein shakes."


    Her response comes without hesitation. "No wonder your bowls reek of corpses."


    How cringe. The aftertaste that is.


    "Why are you so provocative this morning?"


    I rub my throat. What am I saying? Granny has no filter.


    "I still think I should stay home."


    "And you should stay in a child''s place," she expresses.


    "How original," I reply with a sarcastic eye roll.


    "You thought I was going to let you skip school and miss out on Chapel?"


    When does she not check my schedule?


    She revels in her power play. "Especially since you''re leaving town tomorrow."


    "Don''t remind me." She''ll be calling me every five minutes. "Are you going to be okay while I''m gone for a week?"


    Granny''s eyes soften for a moment, but the firmness returns quickly. "Oh sure. Besides, you call on the Lord, no matter the time or place."


    I''m not big on religion, but Grandma Maggie, is rooted in her foundation. From a Southern Baptist background, she always tells me that faith the size of a mustard seed is what keeps everything grounded and move mountains. If your spiritual foundation is strong, everything else will fall in the correct order.


    "Have you talked to your cousins?" she inquires, changing the subject.


    I stop mid-sip. The question always gets brought up every blue moon.


    "I''m irrelevant to them," I mutter. "We don''t harbor existence in our futures."


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    "That''s not true," Granny counters, her voice more tender. "You just need to make time for each other."


    I hate breaking down this scenario because this question irritates my soul. "We haven''t talked since the funeral." That was three years ago. Probably don''t like the fact that I''m entitled the favorite grandchild."


    "I love all my children equally."


    Not when you favor the oddball over the other three. "Regardless, they see me as an outcast. I wouldn''t be surprised if they still view me as Mom''s love child—."


    Granny snaps. "Enough, Orion," Her face hardens. "Don''t talk like that."


    Her tone stings, and I immediately feel guilty. I never meant to hurt her, but the pain still lingers. Losing both parents when I was eleven is traumatic. Dad passed in a fire, saving a toddler. His partner didn''t survive the foundation collapse. Mom succumbed to a virus so rare that even the doctors couldn''t stop it. I watched my mother wither away her final days. For six months, all I could relate was numbness.


    "You look just like your father," Granny says, softening her tone again.


    Let me be frank. We don''t look alike. Our features are nothing similar—different skin tones—black and bronze, brown versus green vision, and different hair texture of curls. The only thing we shared is resilience. She states her claim because of today''s uniform—white-collar shirt, black tie, khaki pants, and navy high-tops complimenting the look; a token to the man who loved suits.


    "They''d be so proud of you on your big day."


    Consent is enough. "I better go catch my bus."


    I slip my gray bomber jacket over my shoulders. Calvera''s insignia remained visible on lateral proportions—a silhouette wielding a broadsword and buckler.


    After fastening the gold link, I check my watch one last time. Right on schedule.


    "Are you coming home after class?" Granny asks.


    I finish the last sip of bittersweet tea and grab my black pack.


    "If something comes up, I''ll call you."


    Granny nods. "Be safe, dear."


    I kiss her cheek before slinging my pack over my shoulder and head out the door.


    ~ ~ ~


    Turning the corner, I hop over the fence and land on school property. Hustling through the back entrance, I head toward the gymnasium and climb the stairs toward Asher. The announcements ring out, discussing club functions, after-school programs, and morning chapel details. My legs feel like jelly after the three-mile run, and sweat''s pouring off me. I know I probably smell of sewage, but I don''t have a choice in the matter. I push through the classroom door, hoping no one notices me. That doesn''t work in my favor.


    All eyes on me.


    I drop my head low, attempting to catch my breath. I didn''t even notice the substitute standing up front.


    "Mr. Hunter, report to the main office," the old geezer states.


    I grit my teeth. "It''s 8:44! I ran here because the bus broke down!"


    He doesn''t budge. "I''ve already taken attendance, and you''re marked absent. You know the rules. If your regular means of transportation can''t get you here on time, then I suggest you find another way or catch an earlier bus, Mr. Hunter."


    I clench both fists, ready to say something that will bite my ass in the end. He thinks he can patronize me because of his fancy doctrine.


    "Dr. Von," a familiar intervenes. "In Orion''s defense, he shouldn''t be sent to the office. We leave tomorrow morning. Why not overlook this? Just this once? Make him write a report on his experience if need be."


    "Oui—!" I object, ready to protest.


    "Very well," Dr. Von says, stroking his silver beard. "I understand your logic, Ms. Tisdale." He shoots a glare in my direction. "Take your seat, Mr. Hunter."


    My stomach drops with relief flooding in instantly.


    "The princess has granted you favor."


    I turn from the statement and find Julius, flipping through a research document.


    "Why are you sitting in a corner?" I inquire.


    "Minding my business," he continues to flip pages. "Self-preservation is fundamental. Make sure your debt is paid in full."


    My eyes narrow to the sketchy comment. "I''m going to pretend I didn''t hear that."


    "Now, Mr. Hunter, before I change my mind."


    "Better do as Master says," The scholar contradicts, his eyes flicking back to his work.


    Master?


    I dismiss the controversial title, as I walk to my seat in the second row. A few snickers float in the air, but I flip the instigators internally, letting their whispers fade as I plop down in my seat. I exhale, grateful for the sigh of relief.


    Suddenly, the intercom rings, following up with the detonation of a shrilling woman.


    "GOOD MORNING CALVERA!! ALL PRIMARY STUDENTS, REPORT TO THE SANCTUARY!"


    A ping of annoyance flows through me. The witch is excited for her speech, I see.


    "Started to think you wouldn''t make it," cuts the familiar voice.


    I straighten up, glancing her way. "Didn''t plan on it, but you know how Granny is."


    My ally senses my annoyance. "What was the reason?"


    "Allergies," I confess, hoping she buys it.


    "You sound fine to me," she replies with suspicion.


    I wave it off. The remedy did its job. Translucent dialect overcame the flow of mucus.


    The girl''s eyes lit up. "Sounds like she had some home remedies."


    "Traditional lemon tea," I say, giving her a half-smile. "And I ran from Hawthorne and Manhattan Boulevard."


    "No way."


    "Promise on my mother''s grave."


    "SECONDARY STUDENTS, REPORT TO THE CHAPEL."


    "At least you made it in time," Clair says, her gaze softens.


    I spin around, meeting her eyes with a grin. Her palm relaxes the oval visage that broadens the hue of beauty. "Nah. That was you, sis."


    Embracing the compliment, she smiles back. "What are best friends for?"


    I swivel back and interlock my skull between both hands. "Did I miss anything?"


    "Nothing extreme," Clair brushes a stray lock aside. "August is reading the affirmations though."


    "Great. We''re all going to be spawns of Satan," I mumble with dry humor.


    She giggles. "Azrael said the same thing earlier."


    "Where is that firecracker?" Glancing to the left corner, my tension eases a little. Something''s off though, and I feel a chill crinkle my spine. I can''t believe my eyes. Why is Azrael consulting the weather before the storm?


    "SIXTH GRADERS, REPORT TO THE CHAPEL."


    "Melody and Azrael have kept her calm. Hailey''s been moping all morning."


    I showcase concern. "What''s her problem?"


    "Our favorite artist had an early-life crisis."


    "Should I ask what it''s pertaining to this time?"


    Clair shrugs, detecting my sense of boredom. "I''ll skip the details. Long story short, Mason hasn''t shown up. Apparently, they both have a project due today."


    "Damn," I slouch in my chair. "And I thought my morning was rough."


    Her tone sharpens. "Do you want sympathy?"


    "Uh, no. Just playing the role of empathy," I want to play devil''s advocate in actuality. "We both know Mason isn''t the type to ditch without good reason. He''ll probably show up after chapel. For his sake, he better have a valid story."


    I glance again at Hailey. Her aura resonates with the intensity of righteous fury.


    "SEVENTH GRADERS, REPORT TO THE CHAPEL."


    "Class, gather in a single file!" Dr. Von declares.


    The classroom shifts as students rearrange to designated cliques.


    "That''s some stunt you pulled, Stick." Hailey comments, embellishing the code name granted a few years back, when I was frail with a lack of persistence.


    "Worry about your art class," I retaliate.


    Her head droops in defeat. "How dare you use my pride against me!"


    "You smell like a gym rat," Azrael blatantly states, holding a fragrance bottle and sprays.


    "Stop! You''re making it worse!"


    "All this ruckus in the morning," Julius sighs, leaving his corner to socialize.


    "How can you read at a time like this?" I question.


    The newcomer seals the document. "It''s called multitasking and tuning out the unnecessary," he says facing Azrael.


    "Try ignoring this incoming fade." Her veins throb within her temple.


    "Now, now everyone," Melody says, attempting to restore balance.


    "Shut up!" Clair shouts, whipping the group in shape. "Dealing with y''all gives me a headache."


    "Yes, Your Majesty," we say in unison.


    "Majesty? Do I look like an old lady?"


    "ATTENTION! ATTENTION!" The random proclamation gathers her wish to the intercom. "OH HO! CLASS OF 2007, PLEASE REPORT TO THE CHAPEL! I WILL BE FACILITATING TODAY''S SERVICE! WE ARE IN FOR A LOVELY TIME!"


    Clair sighs once the speakers shut off. "Here comes another migraine."


    "Want some aspirin?" I tease.


    Her back turns to me. "I want this day to end."


    "Oh?" My head tilts to the side. "Someone''s pessimistic."


    Sis folds her arms. When her demeanor shifts, I know she''s keeping something from me.


    "If that''s how it comes off, I''m sorry I can''t empathize."


    It''s not that deep.


    "Also, you have plans today," Clair adds, raising antics.


    My palms sweat. "Pertaining to?"


    "You thought I forgot, didn''t you?"


    Lingering fear passes through me, enveloping the worries. "You didn''t—"


    "Oh, but I did," Clair interjects, cutting me off mid-sentence. "And I''m not taking no for an answer." Signing her effortless plan, her lip displays a confident grin.


    Sighing in defeat, the door opens, bestowing a flow of abundance. The students descend the steps. Each being spreads out in the process of reaching the cathedral.


    Happy Birthday, Orion.


    ?