Guardian of Atlantis

CHAPTER ONE

I remember asking my mom why we had to move again. But, as usual, she never gave me a reason why we were moving.

This is the last time we’ll move," was all she told me as she wrapped the dishes and put them into a cardboard box.

That was five years, four houses, two apartments, and six schools ago. But hey, who’s counting?

--Raven Weir’s journal

Raven chewed on her bottom lip. She hated the first day of school, even more so when it fell in the middle of the school year as so many of her past first days. But today it was worse. Today was her sixteenth birthday. According to all the books and movies, sixteenth birthdays were supposed to be magical. Girls discovered they were princesses of lost countries or fairies with wings, or they had powers that no one else did. They got cool cars and gigantic parties with lots of friends, but they didn’t start new schools in the middle of the school year, at least not on their sixteenth birthdays.

How about we go back home, and I help you unpack our stuff? Raven asked her mom. She tried the birthday strategy last night, but her mom shot it down, telling her she’d already missed too many school days because of the move. Raven thought it best not to point out she had missed a lot of days because of all the moving they’d done over the years. Reminding her mom of that wouldn’t have helped her cause.

There’s not much left to do. Besides, you might as well get your first day over with, because putting it off until tomorrow is only going to make it worse, said Suzanne Weir with a smile that did nothing to hide dark circles under her eyes. Do you want me to go in with you?

Raven shook her head. It looked like she wasn’t getting out of going to school today, but she didn’t need her mom walking her in like she was a little kid. It was bad enough being the new girl, but to be the new girl whose mom walked her into the building? Nope. Now Way. No. Thank. You. That would destroy any chance of having a social life. She sighed as she turned away from her mom and stared at the students walking toward the massive two-story brick building.

Are you okay? asked her mom.

Unicorns? For a mascot? Mom, is this some kind of joke because they can’t be serious? Raven rolled her eyes.

And what’s wrong with unicorns? They’re cute.

That’s the problem. School mascots shouldn’t be cute. They need to be tough and mean looking. Really! Pinewood High. Home of the Fighting Unicorns. My new school mascot is a unicorn? Unicorns aren’t even real. Can we get any more pathetic?

Does it matter that much, or are you just looking for something to stall the inevitable? asked Suzanne. What’s wrong?

Are you sure I can’t stay at home? Just for a couple more days. It is my birthday—my sixteenth birthday. Raven crossed her fingers, hoping the birthday strategy would somehow work this time. I just don’t think I should go to school today. My stomach feels funny. I’m getting sick. It’s the stomach flu, she added.

You’re just having first day jitters. Have a great day. You’ll be fine. And Raven, happy birthday.

You’re no help, mumbled Raven as she got out of the car and slammed the door shut. Just what I wanted, everyone staring at on my birthday. This is so not right!

Suzanne waved. Instead of waving back, Raven stuck out her tongue, even though it was a childish thing to do. But she was playing the new kid on her birthday—her sixteenth birthday. You didn’t celebrate sixteenth birthdays by going to a new school. Raven groaned. So much for getting a date for the prom or anything else. At least she had a chance of going on a date at her other school, but here? Not likely. She was the new oddity, but even more so because her dad taught her before he died. If she were lucky, no one would know that tidbit of information.

Raven adjusted her book bag and stepped into the flow of students heading toward the building.

At least she already had her schedule and didn’t have to sit in the office waiting for it—one embarrassment off the list of embarrassing first-day stuff she’d have to endure. Raven glanced at the three girls standing just outside the glass doors. They were laughing and hugging each other.

Maybe it’ll be different here. Raven shoved the thought to the back of her mind as quickly as she could. No use wishing for such things even if it was her birthday, especially when she knew it would not happen. She pulled the schedule out of her back pocket as she entered the building. Biology in Room 212 was the first class listed. Raven glanced at the door on her right, but its number started with a one. So I’ve just got to find the stairs, she told herself. Great, climbing stairs, the new morning workout routine.

Hey, moron! Get out of the way. A large dark headed guy shoved Raven, almost knocking her to the ground.

The girls from outside followed behind the guy, still giggling and laughing, but now it was directed at her.

Blue hair. So not in fashion and so against the rules, said one girl.

Yeah, and it looks stupid. Not your color at all, said the tall blonde in the bunch. Way too dark. What is it? Some kind of Goth look?

Before Raven could say anything, the guy and girls disappeared in the crowd, leaving a trail of laughter behind them. Great. Just great, she mumbled.

Is there a problem?

Raven looked up in the direction of the voice. A tall woman in a dark pin-striped suit and black heels glared down at her. The severe bun she had scrapped her chestnut hair into emphasized the sharp angles of the woman’s face.

Is there a problem? The woman asked again, but it no longer sounded like a question. Even though her voice was still low and robust, there was a weird, powerful undercurrent pushing and twisting through the air. It wrapped itself around Raven like a tight glove.

Raven blinked and shook her head. No. No problem. I’m just looking for my classroom.

The woman’s eyes narrowed. Here, let me see that. She snatched the class schedule out of Raven’s hand. The woman studied the paper for several seconds. Raven Weir, she said as she held the paper away from her with two fingers.

Yes, Raven said. She took her class schedule back.

The biology lab is upstairs on the right. You can’t miss it.

Thanks. Raven left.

Your choice of hair color is not school appropriate. There is a rule in the student handbook about dying hair in colors that are not natural. An authoritative smugness flowed through the woman’s words.

This is my natural hair color. I’ve never dyed my hair.

Why don’t we let the principal look at your hair and decide if it’s natural?

I’m not going to the principal’s office, Raven declared.

Students don’t tell teachers what to do. We will tell you what to do. Now, go this way. The woman gestured towards the office.

Raven closed her eyes and groaned. Great. Just great, she mumbled under her breath as she walked to the principal’s office with the woman. Students gave them plenty of room. No one wanted near the woman or the weird vibes surrounding her.

After forty minutes, one lecture about dress code and respect for teachers, a warning slip, and a promise from the principal about watching her, Raven was told to leave the office and go to her second-period class. Her footsteps echoed in the empty hallway. As she passed several classrooms, she glanced over to see the woman who took her to the office, glaring at her through the window in one of the classroom doors. Raven looked away and kept walking.

What is her problem? Raven asked herself as rolled her eyes.

The bell rang, and Raven found herself surrounded by a flood of students pouring out of classrooms up and down the hall. She spotted her classroom a couple of doors down, but the moving mass of bodies and backpacks prevented her from crossing to the other side. Pressed against the wall, she waited for the students to pass.

If you’re waiting for the hall to clear, you’ll end up tardy. Mrs. Holmes is pretty cool about most stuff, but tardiness sets her off, blurted a girl standing next to Raven. The girl held out her hand. I’m Leslie. Leslie Miller.

Raven stared at the girl for a second. Raven Weir, she said as she shook the girl’s hand.

Nice to meet you, Raven Weir. The girl’s emerald eyes sparkled.

Same here. The corners of Raven’s lips turned up into a smile that reached her eyes. How did you know I was going to Mrs. Holmes’s class?

Either I’m psychic, or I’m a good guesser, or I knew the new girl—that’s you—was in my second period English class. Leslie winked and grabbed Raven’s arm. You can sit with my group. I’ll tell Mrs. Holmes. We’ll help you get caught up with the project. What were you studying at your old school? We’re doing background projects on McCarthyism. We’ve got the Hollywood Blacklist. After the presentations, we’ll read Miller’s play. And no, he’s not a relative, though it would be cool if he were. She rattled off the information and questions without pausing for a breath or waiting for an answer as she led Raven through the sea of students and into the classroom.

Hey, Leslie. A girl at the back of the room waved.

Hey, Bree. Leslie bounced and waved back.

Seconds later, Raven found herself surrounded by three girls, all with large, expressive eyes, and all talking at once. The conversation surrounding Raven shifted at sonic speeds from one topic to the next. Raven shook her head because she couldn’t keep up with any of it.

Hey guys, this is Raven Weir. She’s joining our group. Leslie introduced Raven to the other two girls. She turned to Raven. The carrot top is Bree Waters, and the blonde is Ari Summers.

Hi! the girls spoke at the same time.

Pull up a desk. Bree and Ari will get you up to speed while I tell Mrs. Holmes you’re in our group. Leslie bounced off, leaving Raven with Bree and Ari, who started talking.

So, what do you think about your teachers so far? asked Ari.

Have you seen Ethan Knight yet? He’s so handsome. Bree sighed.

And you have the biggest crush on him. Ari grabbed Bree’s spiral notebook and opened it to the back. See what I mean. Ethan and Bree are written everywhere. Crush deluxe. And you can’t deny it.

Hey, give that back, or you’re going to find poison ivy growing in your locker, threatened Bree.

I’d like to see you try. Ari tossed her long blonde hair over her shoulder.

One batch of poison ivy in your locker, coming right up, threatened Bree.

Like you can even make a dandelion grow. Ari rolled her eyes.

Ha. Ha. You’re so funny. Give me my spiral, or you’re going to have a huge, itchy problem.

Ari tossed the notebook to Bree. Hide it. But we all saw the writing.

Bree shoved the notebook into her backpack. So, Raven, what’s your schedule like?

Not too bad, I guess. Raven handed the scheduled over to Bree. This is the first class I’ve been to.

Why? asked Leslie, who was back with the group.

A teacher took me to the office. She said it was because I had blue dye in my hair, but I got the feeling she didn’t like me, but I don’t know why. I’ve never seen the woman before today."

But your hair isn’t dyed, that’s just—Ouch! What did you do that for? Ari rubbed her knee.

Sorry, my foot slipped, said Leslie. It was probably Meritus Myers. She’s into rules and loves torturing anyone she assumes is breaking them. She looked at Raven’s schedule. Lucky you! You’ve got her for world history. Just be careful around her. She’s not what she seems.

Raven started to ask Leslie what she meant, but the bell rang, and Mrs. Holmes started class.

The girls spent the rest of the period looking up information and sharing notes. By the time Raven remembered to ask Leslie what she had meant about Meritus Myers not being what she seemed to be, the class was over, and Raven’s next class was in the opposite direction.

Raven glanced at her schedule and smiled.

Ceramics.

No matter what school she attended, art was always her favorite subject.

Raven glanced at the room number written on her schedule and looked at the surrounding numbers. A quick question to a passing student got her pointed in the right direction, and she hurried down one hallway and up another.

The smell of wet clay and paint hit Raven the minute she walked into the art room. She closed her eyes and inhaled the earthy scents. Her fingertips tingled. Electric sensations crept up her fingers until both of her hands itched in anticipation of shaping and molding the clay into something unique. The urge to touch the clay was almost overwhelming.

Raven. Raven Weir.

Raven opened her eyes when she heard her name. A tall, willowy woman stood in front of her. The woman’s brown hair, even though pulled back in a ponytail, draped over her right shoulder and hung down past her waist. A blue eye and a brown eye stared at her from an elfish face.

I’m Sandy Orson. She held out a small, delicate hand.

Raven Weir, said Raven. The strength in the woman’s hand surprised her because the woman looked like a strong wind could knock her down.

Melody Tamers called.

She did? Raven bit her bottom lip. Teachers calling teachers never led to anything good. And worse, a teacher from her last school called. It had to be wrong.

Sandy Orson smiled. She wasn’t happy to see you leave. She said you have an uncanny talent with clay. That you can make it do anything you want it to0. Miss Orson stared at Raven as if she expected Raven to deny what she said or to tell her the secret of how she did it.

Raven shrugged her shoulders. I like working with clay, that’s all. She figured playing it cool was the best way to handle the situation, because she wasn’t even sure why it was so easy for her to manipulate the clay. It was almost like she talked to it. But how could she explain it without sounding crazy?

I guess it’s more than that. You inherited your mother’s talent. Ms. Orson stared at Raven.

Raven laughed. Suzanne Weir had about as much creativity in her whole body as a stone, and her mom was the first one to admit it.

Did I say something funny? asked Ms. Orson.

I’m sorry, but you’ve got my mom mixed up with someone else’s mom because my mom is not a creative person. She prefers numbers and stuff like that.

Oh, I see. The woman stared at Raven. Her face was unreadable. It is possible I have confused her with someone else. But I doubt it. Your talent is rare. Only one other can manipulate the clay the way Ms. Tamers said you could.

Raven shrugged. Several students, including the girls who had laughed at her hair earlier, stopped what they were doing and listened. There are others way better than me. And I’m sure there are several here, said Raven. She didn’t want her talent to make her stand out. It was bad enough her odd hair coloring caused her problems.

I doubt it. Ms. Orson’s unfriendly reply sent shivers down Raven’s spine. There’s an empty seat at that workstation. She gestured to the table across from the girls who laughed at Raven earlier, then turned her attention to another student. Raven knew she was dismissed and sighed in relief.

Well, look who’s found one of her classrooms, said the blonde. And I hoped they were going to send you back to your old school, where you belong. So much for wishful thinking.

Raven took her seat. She bit her tongue to stop herself from saying something she would regret. If she ignored them, they might get the hint and shut up.

You’ll talk to the teacher, but you won’t talk to us? The blonde raised an eyebrow. How rude!

She thinks she’s too good for us. That’s her problem, said the girl sitting next to the blonde. Must have been a teacher’s pet and assumes she’s going to be one here at this school.

You know, I think you’re right. But the new girl will learn her place at this school. The blonde glared at Raven. And it’s at the bottom. Basement level bottom.

Why don’t you shut up and leave me alone? Realizing her hands clenched into fists, Raven kept them in her lap, hidden from everyone’s sight. It would be suicide if anyone saw just how badly the blonde affected her.

Brave for a worm-like you. And that’s what you are, a lowly worm. Best learn that now, basement worm.

Whatever, mumbled Raven.

Ladies. What’s going on? Ms. Orson stepped between the girls’ workstations. Elizabeth?

Nothing, Ms. Orson. I was just making friends with the new girl. Elizabeth gave her a huge smile. Ms. Orson’s icy stare did not affect the girl. But she wouldn’t even introduce herself.

Raven?

Nothing. Raven shrugged her shoulders.

Ms. Orson stared at Raven, then Elizabeth, before turning her attention back to Raven. Raven, let’s get you set up with some clay. I believe the rest of you have projects that need your attention.

Raven followed the woman to the far side of the classroom. Several large plastic tubs lined the shelves. Next to them sat an assortment of mats.

The pink boxes have different tools you can use. Pick a mat and get some clay from the tub.

Raven nodded and grabbed a mat from the top of the stack. She opened the tub next to the pile of rubber mats. The intense odor of wet clay engulfed her. Raven sighed.

I expect something fabulous from you. Nothing less will do. Ms. Orson patted Raven on the shoulder.

Raven dipped her head in a nod. She grabbed some clay and went back to her workstation, glad no one glanced at her. They were busy working on their projects.

For a few seconds, Raven stared at the large lump of clay in front of her. She closed her eyes and let her hands glide over the wet clay. A peaceful calm came over her, and she kneaded it. Several minutes later, Raven stopped kneading and opened her eyes. All the tiny air bubbles were gone from the clay. It was ready for her to coax it into a pleasing shape.

Raven let her mind wander. An image of a single rose lying across a book appeared in her mind. She focused on the image, and her hands flew around the clay. Time slipped away from Raven as the clay changed from just a lump into a work of art.

Raven, that’s gorgeous. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had dipped a real rose in liquid clay.

Raven looked up and blinked. Ms. Orson stood at the table with her hands clasped together, and her mouth was resting on her fingertips.

All right, class. It’s time to clean up. Raven, there’s a box of trash bags under the tubs. Use one of them to cover your project. Ms. Orson turned her attention to the rest of the class, answering questions, and commenting on the students’ various pieces.

Raven put the extra clay she had back into the tub. Finding the trash bags on the bottom shelf, she grabbed one and headed back to her workstation. Raven halted several feet from her table.

Her rose sculpture was gone.

Did you lose something? asked Elizabeth. The girls who were sitting around her burst into laughter.

What did you do? Raven glared at Elizabeth.

I did nothing.

Where is my sculpture?

Elizabeth, in a dramatic gesture, leaned to her left side. Do you mean that lump of clay on the floor behind your desk? She rolled her eyes.

Raven whipped around the workstation. Her mouth fell open. The smashed remains of the rose sculpture were scattered all over the floor, and the mat was tossed under her chair.

You should be more careful. At least it was just your work and not someone else’s, said Elizabeth. That would have been horrible.

What is your problem? Raven whirled around, so she was face-to-face with Elizabeth.

My only problem is you.

Why did you destroy my sculpture? Raven raised her voice.

I did nothing! yelled Elizabeth.

Ladies! What is going on? Ms. Orson appeared just as the release bell rang.

She’s accusing me of doing something to her sculpture. Why would I do something like that? She gestured to the torn, smashed remains on the floor.

Ms. Orson looked at the floor behind Raven’s workstation. Raven, what happened to your work? She looked from the floor to Raven