SAVANTS
Chapture 1's

I woke up from my old nightmare, when the car stopped and the engine went silent. My head pressed against the pillow, sleep dragged me like an anchor, it took me a while to remember where I was. Not at a highway service station, but in Colorado with my parents.

"What do you think?" Simon's.

As soon as my father preferred to be called, get out of the old Ford he bought in Denver and he moved his hand dramatically toward the house we were about to occupy.

His long gray brown hair fluttered in the wind as he showed off our new home.

Tapered roofs, walled boards, and windows, do not look promising. I was half hoping the Addams would come out the front door. I sat down and rubbed my eyes, trying to shake off the lingering fear after remembering one of my dreams.

"Oh, honey, this is amazing.'' Sally.

My mother, the Ice Queen, so Simon jokingly called her.

He got out of the car. I followed, unsure if it was jetlag I felt or dreamlag. The words that were in my head were 'scary', 'destroyed', and 'rotten'.

"I think it would be brilliant. Look at those windows! what is original. And terrace! I've always considered myself the type of person who likes to be on the porch, sit on my rocking chair and watch the sun go down." Her brown eyes sparkled enthusiastically, her curly hair swaying as she jumped up the stairs.

Having lived with them since I was ten, I had long accepted that my parents might not be sane (maybe).

They live in their own little fantasy world, where derelict 'strange' and 'atmospheric' houses are moldy. Unlike Sally, I always thought of myself as a very modern type of person, sit on a chair that is not heaven for wood lovers and bedrooms that do not have ice hangers on the inside of windows in winter.

But forget about the house, the mountains behind it were amazing, towering very high into the clear autumn sky, white dust at its peak.

Snow rolled along the horizon like a tidal wave frozen in time.

The rocky slopes were colored with a pink color in the afternoon light, but, and the shadow falling across the snowfield turned into a cold blue stone.

The forest that climbed the side of the mountain was translucent in gold, and the aspen tree seemed to burn on top of the dark Douglas fir. I could see a cable car and an open space marking the ski trail, all of which looked almost vertical.

This must be the High Rocky Mountains I read when my parents told me we were moving from Richmond to Colorado. They have been offered a year as artists at a new Arts Center in a small town called Wrickenridge.

A local multi-millionaire and admirer of their work has realized that the ski resort west of Denver needs an injection of culture and my parents, Sally and Simon are the ones.

When they gave me the 'good' news, I checked the city's website and found that Wrickenridge was known for three hundred inches of snow every year and not much else.

There would be skiing but I could never afford the cost of a school trip to the Alps so that would put me about a million years behind my contemporaries.

I had already imagined the humiliation of a snowy first weekend when I stumbled on the slopes of beginners and other teenagers running on the black (professional) track.

But my parents loved the idea of painting among the Rocky Mountains and I couldn't bear to ruin their big adventure.

I pretended to be fine by skipping college in Richmond with all my friends and instead enrolled at Wrickenridge High.

I've made a place for myself in southwestern London in the six years since they adopted me, I've fought my way out of terror and silence, overcome the shame of having my own circle where I feel popular.

I'm going to turn off the foreign parts of my character - like the colors I see. I no longer look for the aura of a person like I did when I was a child.

Ignore it when my mind goes where. I made myself normal, mostly. Now I'm put into a place I don't know.

I've seen a lot of movies about American schools and feel a little insecure about my new educational place.

Surely normal American teens have freckles and sometimes wear ugly clothes? I would never fit in if the movie turned out to be true.

"OKE" Simon rubbed the thighs of his jeans that had faded, a habit that made every outfit he had covered in oil.

She was wearing her usual Bohemian scarf, while Sally looked smart enough with trousers and a new jacket she bought for traveling.

I was wearing something right between the two, a little tangled up in my Levis. "Let's go and look inside. Mr. Rodenheim said he had sent a decorator for us. He promised they'd get out as soon as possible." Simon says.

So that's why the yard looks like a dumpster.

Simon opened the front door. The door squeaked but did not fall off its hinges, which I consider a small victory for us.

The decorators obviously just went-give us sheets, stairs, and paint, half-finished walls. I circulated my vision to the rooms upstairs, finding a turquoise room with a queen bed and a view of the top. This room should be mine I rushed upstairs. Maybe it won't be so terrible.

I used my nails to clean the paint splashes from the old mirror on top of the drawer. The pale and tangled girl in reflection did the same, looking at me with her dark blue eyes.

He looked like a ghost in half a light, his long blonde hair protruding downwards and irregularly around his oval face.

He looks fragile. By ourselves. Like a prisoner in a room through a mirror; an Alice who never made it back through a wall.

I'm shivering. The dream still haunts me, pulling me back in time. I need to stop thinking like this.

People, teachers, friends, anything have told me that I tend to drift in daydreams I make myself.

But they don't understand that I feel ... I don't know .. somehow explain it. I am a mystery to myself, a fragmented collection of memories and dark places in my mind.

My head was full of secrets, but I lost the map showing where I could find them.

Dropping my hand from the cold glass, I turned from the mirror and went down. My parents were standing in the kitchen, hugging each other as usual.

They have the kind of relationship so complete that I often wonder how they find space for me?

Selly wrapped around Simon's waist and placed his head on Simon's shoulder.

"Not bad. Do you remember our first place in Earls Court, baby?" Selly.

"Yes. The walls are gray and everything shakes when the train passes under the house." She kissed Selly's brown hair. "This is a palace." Simon's.

Selly stretched out her hand to enter me at that moment. I've trained myself over the past few years to trust their loving gestures, Selly squeezing my knuckles, secretly acknowledging what I should do not shy away from it.

"I'm very excited. It's like Christmas morning." Selly's.

I smile. "I would never have expected it."

"There's a man at home" There was a knock on the porch door and an old woman came in.

She has white speckled black hair, dark brown leather, and triangular earrings that dangle almost to the collar of her gold-plated jacket. And carrying a plate of casseroles, he efficiently kicked the door slowly shut.

"You're there. I saw you guys arrive. Welcome to Wrickenridge." Said.

Sally and Simon exchanged amused looks as the woman made herself like home herself, she placed the dishes on the table.

"I'm May Hoffman, your neighbor from across the street. You are the Bright family of England."

It seemed that Madam Hoffman did not need anyone else to participate in her conversation. The energy is very strong.

I found myself expecting a tortoise-like ability to creep back into the shell for shelter.

"Your daughter doesn't look like the two of you?" Mrs Hoffman moved a can of paint to the side.

"Are you guys that your car's oil is leaking? You (Simon) must want to fix it. Kingsley in the garage will help you if you say I recommend him. He will give you a reasonable price, but remember he does not charge for valet service, it should be free"

Sally grimaced apologizing to me. "You're so kind, Mrs Hoffman."

"We're trying to be good neighbors here. Wait until you experience one of our winters and you will understand" He said, He directed his attention towards me.

"Sign up as an eleventh grader in High School?"

"Yes .. er ... Mrs Hoffman" I muttered.

"Semester started two days ago, but I hope you know that. My grandson in his second year too. I'll tell him to take care of you"

I had a nightmare vision of the male version of Mrs Hoffman leading me around the school.

"I'm sure it won't'

He cut my words, pointed to the plate. "I thought you might appreciate some home cooking to start your new kitchen activity." He's sniffing.

"I saw Mr. Rodenheim finally manage to arrange this place. I used to tell him that this house was embarrassing for the neighborhood and now he's fixing it. Now, you guys get some rest"

He left before we could thank him.

"Yeah" said Simon. "That's interesting."

"Please fix the oil leak tomorrow," Sally pleaded. "I can't stand being here if he finds out you didn't follow his adviceand he'll come back."

"Like the common cold" Simon agreed.

"He's not ... um.. very English, is he?" I said.

We all laughed and did the best thing this house could do.

That night I unpacked my suitcase and put my clothes in an old drawer. Sally helped me coat the wallpaper, the smell was still musty and the drawers were a little jammed, but I liked the faded white paint.

Even the air at this height felt insufficient and I felt a vague headache. Behind the windows are framed by the branches of apple trees growing near the house.

The mountains are dark in color with a charcoal-gray sky on a cloudy night. Like sitting on top of a city, reminding us humans how insignificant and temporary we are.

I spent a long time choosing what I would wear on my first day at school, choosing jeans and a Gap T-shirt, simple enough that I would not stand out with other students. Thinking again, I took out a Hoodie that fit well with a blue shirt on the front.

That's something Simon and Sally taught me. They knew about my difficulty remembering my past and not forcing me to remember it, they said "i'll remember it if I'm ready".

It's enough for them that I'm who I am now. I don't need to apologize for being incomplete. Still, it didn't stop me from being afraid of the unknown that was happening tomorrow.

Feeling a little cowardly, I accepted Sally's offer to accompany me to the school office to enroll.

wrickenridge High School is about a mile downhill from our home, near the main road that connects the city with other ski resorts in the area.

It was a building that had pride in its purpose, a name carved in stone over a double door, the grounds were well-preserved. The hallway is full of bulletin boards advertising various activities that students are open to or might expect.

I feel like I have a big part of the Wrickenridge experience. I'm not sure what I feel about that. I thought it would be fine if I managed to adjust, but it was bad if I failed in terms of mingling with the new school.

Sally knew that I was anxious but chose to act as if I would be the most successful student ever known.

"Look, they have an art club, '' said Selly passionately. "You can try it"

"I'm useless in that" I replied.

He rubbed his chin, knowing that it was the truth.

"What about the music club?. I saw an orchestra. Oh look, there's a cheerleader! That might be fun"

"Yes right."

"You're gonna look cute in one of those clothes."

"I'm too short to be a cheerleader" I said as I stared at the giraffe-footed girls who were on the cheerleading team for the school team.

"Pocket-sized Venus, that's who you are. I wish I had your figure" he said.

"Sally, will you stop acting so shamefully?" Why would I bother arguing with him? I don't intend to be a cheerleader even though height isn't a problem.

"Basketball," continued Sally.

I rolled my eyes.

"Dance."

That's a joke now.

"Mathematical club."

"You have to hit me on the head to get me into it" I muttered, making him laugh.

She squeezed my hand for a second. "You'll find your place. Remember, you're special." He said he cheered me on.

We opened the office door. The receptionist stood behind the closet, her glasses hung on a chain around her neck, reflecting light in her pink sweater as she stacked up the letters. He arranged it along with drinking from a coffee cup that could be taken home.

"Ah, you must be the new girl from England! Come in, come in." He gestured for us to come closer and shook Sally's hand.

"Mrs Bright, Joe Delaney. If you don't mind signing some forms for me. Sky, right?"

I'm nodding.

"I'm Mr. Joe the students call me that. I have a welcome package for you here." He handed.

I saw that I already had a school swipe card with my picture. This is what was taken for my passport? where I look like a rabbit caught in a lamp. I draped the chain in my head and slipped the card out of sight.

Mr. Joe leaned forward in secret, giving me a flowery aftershave scent. "I guess you're not familiar with the activities here, how about you do the things you like?

"No, I'm fine" I said.

Mr. Joe spent the next ten minutes patiently explaining what courses I could take and what grades I needed to graduate.

"We've made a schedule here based on the choices you make when filling out forms, but, remember, nothing is certain. If you want to change something, let me know." He checked his watch. "You missed the registration, so I'll take you straight to first class."

Sally gave me a kiss and wished me luck. From here, I'm alone.

Mr. Joe frowned at the crowd near the classroom, scattering them like collies herding rambunctious sheep, before leading me towards the corridors of history.

"Sky, that's a good name."

I didn't want to tell him that we chose him together six years ago when I was adopted. I don't remember my name and date of birth when I was found and didn't speak for years after that, so the Social Service called me Janet-'Janet Only', she said', as made fun of by one of the foster brothers.

It makes me hate him more than ever. The new name is meant to help make a fresh start with Bright, Janet has been relegated to my middle name.

"My parents loved it." And I'm not old enough to estimate how embarrassing my surname is.

"That's funny, imaginative."

"Um, yeah." My heart is pounding, my palms are wet. I'm not gonna ruin my reputation.

Mr. Joe opened the door.

"Sir Ozawa, this is his new student"

The Japanese-American teacher looked up from her laptop where she read some notes on the board. Twenty heads looked at me.

Mr. Ozawa looked over his small crescent moon glasses towards me, straight black hair falling over one lens. He is handsome in the way of older men.

"Sky Bright?" Ask.

A giggling ran through the classroom, but it wasn't my fault, my parents didn't warn me when we chose my name. As usual, their heads were filled with strange shadows of my future torment at school.

"Yes sir."

"I'll take it from here, Mr. Joe."

Mr. Joe gave me a boost of encouragement through the doorway and walked away.

"Keep smiling, Sky." He said before disappearing from my sight.

It will happen when I feel like diving to take shelter under the nearest table.

Mr. Ozawa clicked on the next slide entitled 'American Civil War'.

"Sit wherever you like."

There was only one empty bench I saw, next to a girl with caramel skin and nails painted red, white, and blue. Her hair was incredible, the mane of reddish-brown dreadlocks fell over her shoulders.

I gave her a neutral smile as I sat next to her. He nodded and tapped his nails on the table while Mr. Ozawa distributed a leaflet.

"Tina Monterey." Said the girl sitting next to me.

"Sky Bright"

"Yes, I heard it"

Mr. Ozawa clapped his hands to attract our attention. "Okay, guys, you're the lucky ones who have chosen to study nineteenth-century American history. However, after ten years of teaching juniors I have no illusions and I hope the holidays have boosted all the knowledge from your brains. So, let's start with the easy ones. Who can tell me when the Civil War began? And yes, I want the right month." His eyes scanned all of us and stopped on me.

Damnit.

"Yaps, Miss Bright"

Every American history I've ever learned vanished like the Invisible Man took off his suit, piece by piece, leaving me. My brain is empty.

"Nm ... You guys having a civil war?" My word.

The class groans.

I think that means I should know that.

At recess, I was grateful that Tina did not leave the Englishman who knew nothing of this despite my poor performance in class.

He offered to show me the school environment. A lot of the things I said made him laugh - not because I was funny, but because I was too English, he said.

"Your accent. You sound like that actress - you know, that's in a pirate movie"