No Good for You
One
I’ve always known deep down that I would never be normal. Even before I came into my full form, I knew. It wasn’t hard to make the connection between the winds blowing harder when I was upset and not being “normal.” And besides, it’s hard to deny that you’re different when you start seeing faint glimpses of wings behind yourself in the mirror. You know when you’re different than your classmates, your family, everyone around you.
My family, now that’s an entirely different story. A story that happens to starts at my birth. Well, see, babies aren’t born, as much as they are delivered. We’re grown in labs at a couple’s request, our progress monitored and accessible on an account online and Stork Airlines delivers the baby in a bassinet at a designated time and then voila, the couple are parents. Well, there was a little, let’s say, mix up and by the time Stork Airlines figured it out, I was 3 and my parents, the ones that raised me, didn’t want to let me go. I don’t know who is in my place, but I hope they’re alright. But even though my parents never told me this until I was 14, I had pretty much already figured it out.
In short, my life has been one big lie. I’m not human, and I’m not a Charleston. I wasn’t the Skylan Charleston that Mom and Dad expected to have, with pin straight blonde hair and bright blue eyes, just like the both of them. No, what they got was a fairy, born of the air with thick curly brown hair and the greyest of green eyes. They must’ve known immediately that there was a mix up at the lab with me.
“Skylan, please, for the last time, pick up your mess,” Mom scolded me yet again before school on last day of April of my sophomore year.
“Nope,” I replied, tying the turquoise sash around my waist in the floor length mirror in the dining room. My dress for the day was a simple peasant dress, white with short sleeves and a scooping neckline that revealed my collarbones, something Mom hated. It was made out of the softest silk, a 16th birthday present from my grandmothers. I tucked my feet into a pair of white ballerina flats, and wrapped the ribbons around my calves, criss-crossing them until just under my knee where I tied them into a quick, small bow. I played with my hair for a minute before deciding it was good.
“Skylan, do what your mother asks you,” Dad warned from the table where he hadn’t touched his breakfast. He was too busy tsking at the newspaper.
“I’ll do what she asks when you eat your breakfast before it gets cold,” I said, kissing him on the cheek, lips brushing against his light stubble. I grabbed my cloak and bag, dashing out of our apartment. On the elevator ride down to the ground floor, I fastened the silver clasps together in front of me and drew the dark teal cloak over my shoulders.
“Miss Charleston,” the doorman said dutifully, bowing his head as I passed, cloak sweeping behind me. I pushed open the last door and left the safety of my building, finding myself amidst throngs of city folk, all dressed in the latest fashion statements. Sometimes, it was leaving their homes without a cloak. Sometimes, it was a dramatic scooped neckline, or fabric cut out of their clothing in an almost revealing manner.
I hurried along, glancing around me quickly. I had always been paranoid, ever since I came into my full form. Constantly watching my own back, peering over my shoulder, checking behind doors before I closed them. Just in case someone had found out. People in this city, one of the most aggressive cities in the world, are not kind to those who are not exactly, well, human. Different is okay, as long as you stay well in the realms of normal.
“You act like something’s about to jump out at you,” a familiar feminine voice said from in front of me. I nearly jumped out of my skin as I ran straight into her.
“Scout!” I yelped, my breathing and heart rate struggling to return to normal.
“Honestly, Skylan, there are a million people in New York City. Why should a hunter want to track down you, just a single fairy?”
“I don’t know. But, what if precisely that happens?”
“You have me for a reason, sunshine,” she said, hooking her arm over my shoulders as we walked. Underneath her velvet black cloak, lined with a shimmering silver material, Scout had chosen to wear a floor length blood red gown whose sleeves hung not from the shoulders but from the middle of her upper arm, exposing her skin from the top of her breasts up. The gown was stitched with golden thread, an intricate design across the top of the dress. She also wore a belt woven out of the same golden thread, in the same intricate design around her waist that tied in front of her and the long strings fell down along her legs, completing the dress. As usual, she had no shoes on because as she’d told me a hundred times, “I don’t walk, I glide.” That’s also why her dress had to be floor length. It hid the fact that her feet didn’t touch the ground.
Scout herself was an entirely different being from her clothing. She wore her long dark hair down, so it tumbled over her ivory skin and hid most of the glimmer she sometimes didn’t feel like hiding. Her shimmering brown eyes were gateways to her thoughts, quite literally, and because of this, she seldom looked anyone in the eye. Her real name, although no one dares call her by it, is Freya. We all had our unique “fairy names” that no one but ourselves and the elders were supposed to know. You were born with it although as a fairy, you’re not even aware you have a name that can be used against you until you come into your full form.
Scout was there when I came into my full form, scared and huddled in a thicket of trees and had taken it upon herself to be my mentor on all things Fey. I was lucky to have someone like Scout, mostly because of how many times I’d found myself in the midst of a blood feud between kinds, feuds that no one wants to find themselves in the midst of. It was just my luck to find myself in them though, but thankfully I always had Scout. Scout was a miracle, one I thanked the heavens for every day.
“Where are we heading today, Miss Charleston?” she asked.
“I was heading to school, Miss Matthews,” I replied.
She wrinkled her nose at the thought, disgust written on her face.
“No, no, no. There’s a wicked party going on right now in Central Park. All of the Woodlands decided they weren’t at war anymore with the Aquarians, and it’s an all-day, all-night bash. You won’t want to miss it.”
“If it’s all-day, all-night, Scout, it’ll be there when I’m done with classes. But I can’t keep skipping for parties. I need to keep my grades up and suspicions low.”
“Just tell your parents that you met a boy if they ask,” she said. I shook my head and rounded a corner towards my school.
“That would be even worse than telling them I skipped out on class to party with some Fairies,” I told her, adjusting the bag on my shoulder. “I can just picture it now. Mom would be crying into a handkerchief, sitting beside Dad at the dining room table. Dad would have this upset, yet stern expression as I stood before them. ‘Oh, Skylan! You disgrace the Charleston name! You forsake your education, that your father and I have paid for with your father’s hard-earned paychecks, for a boy! How dare you!’ Mom will say, her voice cracking and her eyes filling with shimmering tears. She’ll excuse herself from the room and even though she’ll be on the other side of the house, you will still be able to hear her angry, upset sobs.”
“Has this happened before?” she asked with a chuckle.
“You know damn well that it hasn’t,” I replied, fixing my dress and glancing at my best friend. “Listen, I’ll meet you at the closest entrance to the park at 3. How does that sound?”
She huffed, blowing the hair out of face.
“Fine. But you better have your party hat on when I get there.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I’ll find an elixir that puts your party hat on for you,” she informed me.
“I think that’s called date rape, Scout. I think it’s illegal, even within the community.”
“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, Sky. That’s all I have to say.”
The bell rang as we neared.
“Why are we friends again?” I asked, starting to hurry along the pavement.
“Because, I save your life repeatedly.”
I shrugged.
“I’ll see you later, Scout.”
“Party hat,” she reminded me as I rushed away, my cloak sweeping along behind me. I was up the front steps and through the door as the second bell rang, signaling another tardy mark on my record.
My family, now that’s an entirely different story. A story that happens to starts at my birth. Well, see, babies aren’t born, as much as they are delivered. We’re grown in labs at a couple’s request, our progress monitored and accessible on an account online and Stork Airlines delivers the baby in a bassinet at a designated time and then voila, the couple are parents. Well, there was a little, let’s say, mix up and by the time Stork Airlines figured it out, I was 3 and my parents, the ones that raised me, didn’t want to let me go. I don’t know who is in my place, but I hope they’re alright. But even though my parents never told me this until I was 14, I had pretty much already figured it out.
In short, my life has been one big lie. I’m not human, and I’m not a Charleston. I wasn’t the Skylan Charleston that Mom and Dad expected to have, with pin straight blonde hair and bright blue eyes, just like the both of them. No, what they got was a fairy, born of the air with thick curly brown hair and the greyest of green eyes. They must’ve known immediately that there was a mix up at the lab with me.
“Skylan, please, for the last time, pick up your mess,” Mom scolded me yet again before school on last day of April of my sophomore year.
“Nope,” I replied, tying the turquoise sash around my waist in the floor length mirror in the dining room. My dress for the day was a simple peasant dress, white with short sleeves and a scooping neckline that revealed my collarbones, something Mom hated. It was made out of the softest silk, a 16th birthday present from my grandmothers. I tucked my feet into a pair of white ballerina flats, and wrapped the ribbons around my calves, criss-crossing them until just under my knee where I tied them into a quick, small bow. I played with my hair for a minute before deciding it was good.
“Skylan, do what your mother asks you,” Dad warned from the table where he hadn’t touched his breakfast. He was too busy tsking at the newspaper.
“I’ll do what she asks when you eat your breakfast before it gets cold,” I said, kissing him on the cheek, lips brushing against his light stubble. I grabbed my cloak and bag, dashing out of our apartment. On the elevator ride down to the ground floor, I fastened the silver clasps together in front of me and drew the dark teal cloak over my shoulders.
“Miss Charleston,” the doorman said dutifully, bowing his head as I passed, cloak sweeping behind me. I pushed open the last door and left the safety of my building, finding myself amidst throngs of city folk, all dressed in the latest fashion statements. Sometimes, it was leaving their homes without a cloak. Sometimes, it was a dramatic scooped neckline, or fabric cut out of their clothing in an almost revealing manner.
I hurried along, glancing around me quickly. I had always been paranoid, ever since I came into my full form. Constantly watching my own back, peering over my shoulder, checking behind doors before I closed them. Just in case someone had found out. People in this city, one of the most aggressive cities in the world, are not kind to those who are not exactly, well, human. Different is okay, as long as you stay well in the realms of normal.
“You act like something’s about to jump out at you,” a familiar feminine voice said from in front of me. I nearly jumped out of my skin as I ran straight into her.
“Scout!” I yelped, my breathing and heart rate struggling to return to normal.
“Honestly, Skylan, there are a million people in New York City. Why should a hunter want to track down you, just a single fairy?”
“I don’t know. But, what if precisely that happens?”
“You have me for a reason, sunshine,” she said, hooking her arm over my shoulders as we walked. Underneath her velvet black cloak, lined with a shimmering silver material, Scout had chosen to wear a floor length blood red gown whose sleeves hung not from the shoulders but from the middle of her upper arm, exposing her skin from the top of her breasts up. The gown was stitched with golden thread, an intricate design across the top of the dress. She also wore a belt woven out of the same golden thread, in the same intricate design around her waist that tied in front of her and the long strings fell down along her legs, completing the dress. As usual, she had no shoes on because as she’d told me a hundred times, “I don’t walk, I glide.” That’s also why her dress had to be floor length. It hid the fact that her feet didn’t touch the ground.
Scout herself was an entirely different being from her clothing. She wore her long dark hair down, so it tumbled over her ivory skin and hid most of the glimmer she sometimes didn’t feel like hiding. Her shimmering brown eyes were gateways to her thoughts, quite literally, and because of this, she seldom looked anyone in the eye. Her real name, although no one dares call her by it, is Freya. We all had our unique “fairy names” that no one but ourselves and the elders were supposed to know. You were born with it although as a fairy, you’re not even aware you have a name that can be used against you until you come into your full form.
Scout was there when I came into my full form, scared and huddled in a thicket of trees and had taken it upon herself to be my mentor on all things Fey. I was lucky to have someone like Scout, mostly because of how many times I’d found myself in the midst of a blood feud between kinds, feuds that no one wants to find themselves in the midst of. It was just my luck to find myself in them though, but thankfully I always had Scout. Scout was a miracle, one I thanked the heavens for every day.
“Where are we heading today, Miss Charleston?” she asked.
“I was heading to school, Miss Matthews,” I replied.
She wrinkled her nose at the thought, disgust written on her face.
“No, no, no. There’s a wicked party going on right now in Central Park. All of the Woodlands decided they weren’t at war anymore with the Aquarians, and it’s an all-day, all-night bash. You won’t want to miss it.”
“If it’s all-day, all-night, Scout, it’ll be there when I’m done with classes. But I can’t keep skipping for parties. I need to keep my grades up and suspicions low.”
“Just tell your parents that you met a boy if they ask,” she said. I shook my head and rounded a corner towards my school.
“That would be even worse than telling them I skipped out on class to party with some Fairies,” I told her, adjusting the bag on my shoulder. “I can just picture it now. Mom would be crying into a handkerchief, sitting beside Dad at the dining room table. Dad would have this upset, yet stern expression as I stood before them. ‘Oh, Skylan! You disgrace the Charleston name! You forsake your education, that your father and I have paid for with your father’s hard-earned paychecks, for a boy! How dare you!’ Mom will say, her voice cracking and her eyes filling with shimmering tears. She’ll excuse herself from the room and even though she’ll be on the other side of the house, you will still be able to hear her angry, upset sobs.”
“Has this happened before?” she asked with a chuckle.
“You know damn well that it hasn’t,” I replied, fixing my dress and glancing at my best friend. “Listen, I’ll meet you at the closest entrance to the park at 3. How does that sound?”
She huffed, blowing the hair out of face.
“Fine. But you better have your party hat on when I get there.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I’ll find an elixir that puts your party hat on for you,” she informed me.
“I think that’s called date rape, Scout. I think it’s illegal, even within the community.”
“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, Sky. That’s all I have to say.”
The bell rang as we neared.
“Why are we friends again?” I asked, starting to hurry along the pavement.
“Because, I save your life repeatedly.”
I shrugged.
“I’ll see you later, Scout.”
“Party hat,” she reminded me as I rushed away, my cloak sweeping along behind me. I was up the front steps and through the door as the second bell rang, signaling another tardy mark on my record.