Prologue-
Once upon a miracle, a faerie tale took place in an unfortunate time and location. An innocent Enes came uninvited to our world, which proved to be a grave mistake.  Our reality was collapsing and as worlds intertwined, the feyn and elven community saw a threat in this one amazing yet threatening occurence.  This miracle soon became a weakness, in which loopholes appeared in reality.  The truth behind our existence lies on our only purpose; guarding our Enes.  These people we protect, we are invisible to their eyes.  They are strangely unaware of our presence, and therefore unaware of our ubiquity.  

An old fey once told me, “Enes oju pan nichtre sre Enes,” which of course means, “People see what is good for them.”  Imagine the horror of the fey and elves when one, simple girl could finally see what was real, and what has been real since before the Enes existence. And finally, for once in a millenia, the community felt their was some good in their hearts.

Part 1- The Secrets Kept

Chapter 1- Audrey
With my cue to wake up beeping in my ear, I turn my head and stare at the digits presented on the clock.  It’s the usual 6:00 AM that the wretched time device displays.  I rub my eyes and attempt to rise from my short sleep.  Short because of the extensive studying I did last night, keeping me awake past midnight.  I throw the aluminum water bottle from the side of my bed at the acoustic nuisance, and plop back down in repose.  

The bed is already cool and a shiver shoots up my spine.  I wish I could go back to sleep, but my mother’s warnings and complaints from last night continue to ring in my ears (“You really plan to make it in an Ivy League school by procrastinating?”) and I jolt out of bed.  I will endure anything to escape her whiny voice in my ear all morning.  

After a brief look in the mirror, I realize I am truly an oddity.  It’s not that I didn’t notice before, but my strange lifestyle is just more apparent now.  

My ultra-short, orange-dyed hair, my thrift store vintage clothing and my messy room covered in empty pop cans and home made artwork probably give off that “look at my artsy-fartsy, ‘rebel without a cause’ self!” But don’t be fooled!  This aspect is quickly contradicted by a 3.9 GPA in all Honors, IB and AP classes.  3.9 because my math teacher refuses to let me retake one test, and my mom will never let me forget that a valedictorian doesn’t have a 3.9 GPA.  Mother (who I refer to as Laurene) seems to think I have the desire to attend a top of the line college.  She decided long ago that shoving this belief down my throat with a violent force is the best way to achieve this goal.  On the other hand, my dad is always fueling my passion for art.  He leaves me little presents of paintbrushes, drawing pencils and charcoals, special erasers, paints, markers, and even a sewing machine once on my bed.  Dad remains known as Dad, because that’s what he does best.  He’s the only  tolerable one in my family. Besides Grandpa Charlie who insists on wearing wigs of the female persuasion and shouting absurd statements about his underpants at Easter... but that’s beside the point.

So I jump in the shower to avoid that gorilla look that all of the potheads at school seem to love, and go through the familiar cycle.  Rather. Rinse. Repeat. Only my sister is in there, brushing her teeth and yelling at me to not use up all the hot water while putting on her mascara and reading Seventeen magazine.  Basically, the dialogue was short and undecipherable, so I leave her alone and retreat back to the abyss of my room.

My exhaustion leads to putting on whatever happens to be on my bedroom floor, which today consisted of a blue baseball tee, ripped jeans, green high top Converse All Stars and aviators.  My short hair dries fast and I refuse to wear makeup, so I grab an orange and run out the door.

The front sidewalk takes me to my small, red, sad looking pickup truck.  Everyone else may be cringing at the sight of this environmentally-damaging scrap of rusting metal, but somehow it’s so me that I have to love it.  

I crawl in and pray that the truck gods will have mercy on me today.  To my surprise, it starts up with one easy twist of the key, and I take off towards Cedar Manor High School.

This school is quite urban, quite large, and quite stupid.  I mean that in the nicest way possible but it is a fact of life.  Cedar Manor High has the lowest test scores in the state of Minnesota, and the second lowest in the nation.  But it’s surprisingly a community-type setting.  Everyone gets along and helps others frequently.  Our football and basketball teams are far below desirable, but we have the loudest cheerleaders, the biggest crowds and the most fun.

While driving a memorized route to school, I’m mentally preparing myself for the math test ahead.  The quadratic formula is negative B, plus or minus the square root of B minus four times A times C, all divided by two A.

Emily, a small brunette in IB Chemistry, is waving frantically at my approaching truck from my usual parking space. I wait for her to move, and pull in slowly.

“Audrey, we’re almost juniors!” She nearly shouts while I’m climbing out of my vehicle.

I look around confused and notice my peers are running around wildly, taking pictures of each other and hugging about every living thing in their path.  And then it clicks...

“Right, the last day of school...” I say in a monotone voice.

“What, did you forget?” she asks surprised.

“Yea, I guess studying for the math test really put me over last night.”

The truth is, it really wasn’t a math test at all.  It was a math final! The one and only final I had to take this semester.  I wasn’t even bothering taking most of them today, since I had 110% in the majority of my classes anyhow.  Even after the 0% on the final, I would end up with an A.  This is just one of those secrets for me and Dad to know, but for Laurene to never find out.

Continuing with mindless chit chat, Emily and I slowly make our way through the ambushes of hugs and into the building.    I depart from a random, giggling mass of girls and head towards my locker.  As I pile all of my unneeded possessions into the bent up compartment, I’m interrupted several times to sign yearbooks, talk about end of the year parties, and say goodbyes for the summer.  Today is going to be a long day!

I finally escape to first hour: AP World History.  Mr. McKeenley passed out the final to everyone but my recent valedictorian competitor and I.  While watching all the groaning students hope for a pass on this exam, I retrieve my iPod, put it on shuffle and take a nap for the rest of the period.

First through fourth hour were the same process in different rooms.  It reminded me of the shower routine from earlier on in the day, but instead of rather, rinse, repeat, it’s actually shuffle, nap, repeat.

The fourth hour last bell rings, and I sigh with relief.  My favorite class, Honors Photography VI, is next.  Our final for this class was to take our favorite photo and explain the significance behind it.  Many people get up with pictures of there best friend or cat and simply say something along the lines of, “This is my best friend/cat.  They’re awesome.”  

I get up with a photo of a half full cup of glass, and the top empty part had a sticky note that is filled with words that explain me.  

“It just truly explains my insanity,” I say, ending my presentation.

Everyone clapped just as hard as before, but I could tell Mr. Panch was impressed.

After fifth hour, the students practically sprint to lunch, but Mr. Panch stops me from leaving the classroom, and I think The truck gods may have been on my side this morning, but the cafeteria food gods hate me.

“Miss Audrey Harper, what are you doing this summer?”

“The usual.  Studying, painting and a mission trip to India for church,” I explain quickly, hoping I can join my peers in the pizza line.

“There’s a scholarship opportunity for photographers.  It’s supposed to go to Seniors, but if you hand a good photograph into me by the end of summer, I’ll give it to you.  Any college you like.  And India seems like a great place to get a great picture,” he states randomly and catches me off guard.

“Thanks, I’ll think about it.”

After exchanging short goodbyes and scholarship deadline info, I bolt towards the cafeteria.

I look around the lunch room and see the task in front of me.  At Cedar Manor High, I have a lot of friends.  I wouldn’t say I’m popular; I’m just one of those girls that is friends with everyone.  The problem is, I don’t have any truly close friends to confide in w hen needed and I also don’t have a solid place to sit at lunch.  I usually just float around to each table and check in with everyone, but today, the complete student body seemed to be doing just that, so I’m confused on what to do.

I decide to sit at a small corner table and wait for people to come to me.

Lunch passes with the same excitement that was present before, and soon, I’m in math.

I breeze through the final and stand next to the teacher while she corrects it right there and then, so I can find out my final grade early.  If I get as low as a B, Laurene will personally hunt me down and slaughter me in the most inhumane way possible.

Just like all my other classes, I ended up with 98% for my final grade.

Next thing I know, seventh hour ends, the annoying buzz of the last bell rings in my ear, and I’m driving home.  And it hits me... I’m leaving for India in four days, and I’ve never been out of the country in my life.

So after the last day of school, I find myself studying the culture of India at home.  What a loser am I?

Chapter 2- Achan
The last day of junior year at Aquila School for the Arts came and went at an unusually slow speed.  The years may pass faster and faster for all the regular students, but who knows what my life span is?  I don’t know if I can spare the moments, or if I should take each one to heart.  

The people at this school are even more curious than the last.  I find that they are always thirsty for explanations to my secrets.  Some questions they ask are more serious than others.  A common, yet not as threatening thought many people have is how I got my parents to let me get several tattoos.  I always lie, for my safety.  Their safety too I suppose.  I say that as long as I pay for the tattoos, my parents don’t have a problem with it.  But people see what’s good for them, as my father would say, so as long as they accept that lie, I’m protecting them from the bad things that could and certainly would happen if they knew the truth.  If they even knew that they weren’t tattoos at all... I shutter at the thought.

So I’m packing, rather angrily for this insane mission trip my dad is forcing me to participate in.  He says it will make my differences from the rest of them  look less noticeable.

I run through the mental checklist once again, just to quadruple check that I’ve packed everything necessary for my survival of this wretched month approaching.  Deodorant, check.  T-shirts, check.  Camera, check.

“Achan, how about you come down here and talk to your ol’ man a bit? A good father to son bonding time!” my dad shouts from the first level.  He’s trying to play off the last statement as playful and inviting, but there’s a hint of worry in his voice.

I turn up the iHome in response, almost reaching the speakers full potential.  Blowing an eardrum sounds better to me than conversing with my dad.  Our relationship isn’t usually this hostile, but there’s tension in the recent disagreement on this mission trip.

Despite my attempts to dodge his conversation, I hear a knock at my doorframe.  

“Achan, I need to tell you something.  Please turn down the music.”

Without glancing at him, I reach for the volume and give the knob an angry twist.

“Dad, I’m packing.  You’re the one forcing me to go on this stupid trip, and now you won’t let me prepare for it.”

“I know you’re angry with me, but there are things we need to discuss,” he states authoritatively, and I notice the playful tone from before has been discarded.

Once again, I refuse to reply, but I let him know I’m listening by a half turn of my head.

He continues with, “What I’m going to say will only make you angrier, so I’m just going to say it rather frankly.  Technically, what you’re doing next month is against the law...”

“What do you mean? I’m not smuggling drugs or anything...” I say confused.

“I don’t mean the US law.  I mean the uh... Elven Law...” he manages to stutter.

“That’s it! I’m staying home...” I interrupt, half pouring the clothes from my suitcase onto the floor.

He looks down at his feet and I can tell his ancient brain is coming up with a plan.  His silver hair covers his whole head, unusually so for a man of his age.

“Just listen.  We won’t get in trouble, but don’t be surprised if you see anyone strange following you around.  They will just want to keep an eye on you, especially leaving the country.  I would be very surprised if one confronted you,” he attempts to persuade.

“Not to mention that I happen to be going to their capital city.  They probably think I’m a suicide bomber or something.  Not that a bomb would hurt them,” I add with a sneer.

“Don’t worry.  Just... be careful.  The fey will be on guard all weekend and you might even see some elves.  Once they see you hanging around with all the Enes, who knows what they’ll think.”

“Will you please stop talking in Feyn?  No one’s listening to here you say humans instead of Enes!” I say irritated.

And with that, he turns and leaves the room, allowing me to replace the clothing I just dumped out into my small, black suitcase that will be impossible to find amongst the others in the airport.  

I understand the fey have been keeping an eye on me all of my life because I am the outcast, the different one, the oddball... whatever... but dropping everything and going on high alert because I leave the country is incomprehendable.  After 17 long years of non-mischief, you’d think they would get the point that I am in no way a threat.  I didn’t even want to be apart of their world, let alone be able to see them when normal people couldn’t.

As these thoughts were passing through my head, I wonder what excitement I am in for my stay in India.

Guilt fills my chest  and I try to distract myself by looking for something to reorganize or clean in my room.  I notice there’s nothing out of place despite my hour of speed packing for the trip.  I’m even more of an OCD, neat freak than I thought.  All of the band posters on the walls are straight, my collection of CD’s are alphabetized in the wall rack, and the blankets on my bed are unnaturally straight for a teen of my age.  I look at my closet and see my reflection in the mirror hanging there.  My brown eyes look worried and tired and my long, blond hair is twisting in a messy way.  Even if I didn’t look so tired, I realize how strange I must look to humans.  I am extremely tall for even a full grown man, standing at six foot six, and although I have a considerable amount of muscle mass, lankiness is a trait of mine.  Is it not enough to be the outcast of my true species, but to those I’m escaping to, also?

I know I’m too restless to sleep, so I slink downstairs in shame, knowing my apology is the only way to escape temporary insomnia.

I turn the corner and find my dad watching the 10 o’clock news.  A story of a burnt house appears on the screen and he seems to be sucked into the information.

Without even a glance in my direction, he senses my presence and says, “A small Minnesotan town was burnt to a crisp yesterday because of one cigarette.  It created a domino effect and next thing you know, the whole city is in ashes.  There were 19 deaths.”

“We could move.  Everyone smokes here.  And it’s too cold anyhow,” I say with my certain disgust for Minnesotan weather.

“That’s your Indian side speaking.  I think it’s funny how you tend to like Indian climate and culture more when you look so Norwegian.  You know, the only reason your blond is because of that lemon tree.  And not to mention the Giant’s genes... but honestly, can you imagine what you’d look like if I had picked a Red Delicious apple tree instead?” he rambles on.

“Can we switch subjects? I don’t want to talk about all of this when I have to spend the next month thinking about it.”

“Fine, what do you want to talk about?” he asks, sounding amused.  He turns his head in my direction with a little smirk on his face.

“I want to talk about how I’m sorry that I’ve been angry lately.”

“Apology accepted.”

“And how even though I am disgusted by the idea of going to India, I will do so with a smile on my face just because you want me to.”

He nods and turns back to the TV, which now has a Humane Society commercial playing.

With this cue of acceptance, I run up to my bedroom and quickly fall asleep, delighted with my father’s toleration of my recent display of teenage angst.

Chapter 3- Audrey
        Time is a snail.  Each and every time I look at the clock, it’s only a minute after the last, though it seems like centuries.  In my 12-step process of acceptance for this horrendous plan to send me off to a strange place, I’m in the denial phase.  

I’ve researched everything I could on India, and now that I am fully knowledgeable, I spend my time as I would any summer: throwing water balloons filled with paint at canvases, gluing pieces of broken colored glass into jewelry, and sketching down at the pond.  Especially sketching down at the pond.

I’m entertaining myself by touching my toes into the water, and then scaring the nibbling fish off with a quick jerk of the ankle.  Soon enough, the guppies realize that the returning “food” will continue to pull away, and I switch sides of the dock to repeat the routine.

This dock is rotting with green moss, deep in the woods behind my house.  To get here, you have to go off path where the mosquitoes are abundant.  It could be owned by someone, but they don’t take care of it.  In my earlier days of coming to this spot, I was always quiet, cautious, and ready to run, thinking some old man would come out of his home screaming at me for sitting on his dock.  But after a dozen returns, I finally feel comfortable... almost as if it’s my dock.

My sketch pad is already full of swimming fish, imagined koi and weeping willows grazing the top of the water.  So I’m bored.

I lay down on the dock, back down, and whisper to myself: What the hell is happening?

I feel like my life is being controlled.  By my parents, my teachers... everyone but me.  I feel like I never get to decide the happenings of my life, except for when I sneak out of the house to this sad, utterly wretched  and deserted pond.  

Maybe it wasn’t so sad, utterly wretched and deserted though.  The sun reflects off the water in rainbows of light, the grass shines with dew drops and the water is clear and teeming with fish.  So I’ll take charge in this place, my safe place.

Without thinking, I stand up and take off my top shirt and jeans.  I jump into the water in my tank top and underwear.  The water is deeper than I thought, and my feet don’t touch the bottom before I start floating back up to the top.  

I start the backstroke in whatever direction, and don’t stop until I feel the back of my head and neck scrape against sand.  I drag my body up the shore and feel the small wakes pull themselves over my legs.  Usually there aren’t any waves in the pond, but my recent swimming frenzy brought the water to cahoots.  

Minutes go by as hours approach.  Hours go by and the sun starts to set.  I’m covered in goosebumps and start to slink myself back in the water, which is still warm, surprisingly.  This time, I doggy paddle my way across the short but deep pond, and pull myself up the dock.  As I step into my jeans, I hear the familiar tune of a text message alert on my phone.  It’s from my sister.

-Lizzie-
The parentals are pissed. Id get home fast!!!

I consider running to a friend’s house instead of home, but decide to go home instead.  So here I am, running home at full speed and trying to come up with an excuse for why I’ve been gone all day and why I’m returning home wet.

Chapter 4- Achan
       People may have thought I was weird at Aquila High School for the Arts, but I still managed to make friends.  Especially when people needed help picking a color scheme, drawing a nose with the right shading or making acrylic paint the right consistency.  It’s no secret that Achan Canter is the best drawer/painter/sculptor in the school and people either wanted my help or despised me.  But what can I say? It’s in my genes.  

I remember once someone had asked me how I had learned to draw so well, and under my breath I replied, “It’s all in the genes.”  My intention wasn’t for her to hear, but then she looked suspiciously down at my pants, which sent the group of girls behind her into a laughing frenzy.

My relatives (hardly so; I’ve never met them before) are only born to entertain and protect  Enes.  Did I have an Enes to guard?  

As I ponder this question, my email, instant messenger and phone where filling to capacity with messages from friends saying “Bye for the summer!” and “We’ll miss you!”

Leaving for India is hard enough, but seeing all of these messages from friends that, let’s face it, I may never see again after this mission trip was too much to handle.

I stand up from the computer, making the wheeled chair roll back into the wall and swivel quick to find my dad standing at the computer room door.

“Looking for these?” he says, holding up my car keys and tinkling them slightly.

“Uh, yea, actually...” I reply skeptically.

“Get outta the house.  I’m not letting you mope around here for the rest of the day.  So go do whatever, and then bring me back a gallon of milk.”

I grab the keys from him, and as I leave the room, I mumble, “I’m not moping...” and get to the front door too fast to hear his reply.

I reach the car door and start to turn the key to unlock it, and then I suddenly stop.  Where am I going? My dad had made it obvious he didn’t want me around the house, but all of my friend’s had said goodbye, and showing up at their houses would just call for awkwardness and even harder goodbyes.  

I finally climb into the seat and decide to just drive.  As the engine revs to life, I notice a small envelope on the passenger seat.  I rip it open, and find a note inside:

Neight lei ret yu gih
Mer fye ret mach lei
Grea htye lei sher
Pjul gih yu ghn dha

Neight lei net yu gih
Sumi tra shn dha shn
Lia mtil tra yu
Pjul gih yu ghn dha

After rereading the note several times, I still can’t believe it.  I hope my dad is playing a trick on me, because if this note hadn’t been written by my dad, I could get in trouble.

The words of the note itself wasn’t threatening, but the fact that it was written in feyn was very peculiar.  The penmanship is also far too neat for my father’s shaky hands.  I hope the small chance that he got someone to write it for him is true.  Running into any feyn before my Indian adventure would mean they really were suspecting trouble.

Although I have doubt in the letter, I decide to follow it’s directions anyway.

First direction: “Neight lei ret yu gih mer fye net mach lei”  

“The old willow tree will show you the way,” I whisper to myself.  
There are several hundred willows around this area, but I know exactly the one the note speaks of.  

I pull around the corner of my street and race down the road that takes me out of the city.  Trees start replacing the houses and public buildings on either side until I’m surrounded by flashing green colors of nature.  I take a breath in attempt to calm myself and slow down a bit.  I pull to the side of the road, something that would be seen illegal, but no one is ever out here.  I mechanically walk over to a willow tree that looks like any other, but this is the one.

I look at the backside, the side facing away from the road, and see that the carving is still there.  The carving I had made when I was only 6, that showed elaborate and intricate twists and turns that made up a girls face if you stood back far enough.  Back then, I was so proud of my creation, that I pulled my dad from the car where we had been stranded from a flat tire, and pointed excitedly at my carving.  From that point on, he had done whatever he could to enroll me in art specialty schools, knowing that it would somewhat cover up my extraordinary talents so people wouldn’t question as much.  Instead of thinking, Woah, something’s different about that guy... people would say, Woah, he’s so talented!

The carving had never been anyone in particular, but a feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me that this girl is in fact a real person somewhere, and is relevant to the note.  Why else would it take me here?

Now that I remember the note, I run back to the car and reach through the open window.  My fingers just barely reach the edge of the paper, and I’m sprinting back to the tree for the second direction.  I’m not scared anymore, but excited to know the truth of my foreshadowing artwork.

“Grea htye lei sher pjul gih yu ghn dha,” I say lightly.  My brain is working at the translation as I trace my fingers over the sharp edges that the knife left to the tree so many years ago.

Under the leaves  is where the path lays.

I  notice that someone had carved the slightest lines under the carving that form arrows pointing downward.  I bend my knees slowly and follow the path of arrows down the length of the tree until I see that leaves are covering a well worn path.  The dead leaves look very strange at this time of year, almost as if it’s autumn.  

Without thinking about the other lines in the letter, I follow the dead leaves that clearly cover the path far into the woods.  Every few minutes, I brush the leaves aside with my shoe to check if the worn path is still underneath.

After half an hour and several path checks, I’m starting to doubt that the path leads anywhere.  Is this all just a coincidence?  Is my dad just playing a trick on me, and trying to get me out of the house?

But I can feel that I’m closer to the truth than I’ve ever been before.  I am so close to finally figuring out what my future holds, and I’m willing to keep following this path for a week straight if that’s what it takes.

After another 10 minutes, I see an opening in the trees ahead, and start to walk faster.  Just ten more steps, and I’ll know the truth about my future and my past.

I step into the opening and see a beautiful pond in front of me.  With one glance across the landscape, I see that, besides a lonesome dock, it’s pure nature here.  The water is shooting flashes of light into the air,and every minute or so, another fish jumps out of the water.  There’s tan sand and rocks surrounding the water, and long grass surrounding the sand.  

Someone must have been here and forgot their belongings at the dock, because I see from across the pond a bag, a sketch pad and... pants?!

All of a sudden, smooth ripples are sent across the water, and a bright orange object appears at the middle of the lake.  Soon, I realize it’s a person facing the opposite direction with short, fluorescent orange hair.  She starts backstroking towards my spot with her eyes closed, which is a good thing because I’m too shocked to move.  

I finally realize that I have to go, and as I turn, I hear someone yell, “WHAT THE F...”

“I’m so sorry!  I’m going to leave!” I say and turn to leave.

“You could at least help me out of the water...” I hear the voice linger.

“What?” I question and pivot once again, this time toward the girl.  This girl looks familiar to me, and I see that she is the girl I carved long before our meeting today.

“I’m too tired to swim back, and the slope out of the pond on this side is covered with moss, so it’s slippery.  Please, just give me a hand.”

I reach forward and grab her extended hand.  With a quick pull she’s out of the water, and only in her underwear and bra.  I blush in embarrassment and look quickly in the other direction so she didn’t think I was staring.  

“Uhm... thanks,” she says shyly, realizing her mistake.

I look at her and know that this is what the note had wanted me to see.  Not her in her undergarments, obviously, but just her in general.  I feel a pull towards her, as if I was meant to be with her at all times.  Like I am meant to be her guardian.  

The sun throws light around her head and her eyes are sparkling.

We must have both noticed that we are still holding hands, because we pull away at the same second.

She just says, “Uhm... thanks!” again and walks away quickly.  I feel a pull towards her, wanting to follow and protect her, but I stop myself.  

I look down, ashamed, and see silver in the packed earth beneath my feet.  I pull it out of the dirt, and see that it’s a small, silver locket on a chain.  It must have belonged to the stranger, so I look up and shout, “Hey, wait!” but notice that she’s disappeared.  I glance over to the dock, and see that it is also abandoned; the bag, sketch pad and pants are missing.  She must have left.

I bend down to the water and rub off the remaining dirt that was left on the locket.  I quickly tuck it into my pocket, and walk the path up to my truck.  

On the way home, I realize I never read the rest of the note, and take it out of my pocket to finish deciphering.

Neight lei net yu gih sumi tra shn dha shn. Lia mtil tra yu pjul gih yu ghn dha.

“The sun appears from the waters, so bright and so pure.  The first time you see her, but your future is sure,” I whisper and smile.  It wouldn’t have made sense even if I had read it before the incident, but the secret makes perfect sense now.

Who wrote this note is unclear to me.  I now doubt that it was my dad, so that leaves every fey in existence that is keeping an eye on me, which is all of them.  Whether they gave me this information to help or hurt me is unknown, but this feeling of aegis is becoming stronger by the minute.  My pull to this unnamed girl is inevitable.  I just figure that people see what’s good for them, like my father always says, so protecting her must be my purpose.  

Now, I’m sitting in bed, sure to have a good sleep for the first time in a long while.  I’m sure that I will see this girl again, and I’m sure that I will return the locket on that day.  I will protect this girl, no matter what.

Chapter 5- Audrey
We’re departing at 3:10 PM today from the Minneapolis airport.  The peer ministry group is meeting at the Saint Thomas the Apostle church parking lot at 11AM, and we will drive from there to the airport.  

It’s only 9 AM now, and I’ve gone through my bags at least twenty-six times, just to make sure.  Only I’m not quite sure yet...

After hours of studying the social and cultural habits of the citizens of New Delhi, I am still completely unaware of how to behave and act around them.  

I’ve also realized that we will most likely spend the majority of our time backpacking from place to place, so a lot of the items that once were in my bag have been removed.  

I am now down to two weeks worth of clothing, shampoo, a bar of soap, face wash, a hairbrush, deodorant, a toothbrush, toothpaste, my cell phone, my iPod, an extra pair of tennis shoes and three, brand new sketch pads with a set of drawing pencils and erasers.  

I’m on my twenty-seventh check when my mom calls me from downstairs.

“Audrey, could you come down here for a second?”

I look around the room, then run downstairs to the green and porcelain white kitchen.  Laurene is leaning against the kitchen counter, and my dad is at the table, eating hash browns and eggs over easy.

“What’s up?” I say in response to their worried silence.

“Will you be okay?” my mom asks, sounding distressed.

I just nod and watch their faces turn from scared to angry.

“Well, with the stunts you’ve been pulling lately, we don’t know how you can handle yourself anymore.  Coming home wet and naked isn’t exactly a way to reassure your parents,” my mom snaps.

“I was just swimming in Sarah’s pool, I told you that.  You don’t have to worry!” I explain.

“You haven’t been away from us for more than a week before.  We’re just worried about you,” my dad calmly says.

“I’ll call you every day and I promise not to drink the water.  How’s that?” I try to lighten the mood with humor.

It didn’t work.

“I don’t know if you should go, Audrey,” my mom sighs and turns towards the window.

“What?  No.  You can’t just cancel this two hours before I leave.  I’m going, mom,” I exclaim.

She turns to look at me with a surprised look in her eyes.  Whether she’s surprised because I actually called her mom or because I finally want to go to India is unclear to me.

We all sit there in silence, when finally my dad happily shouts, “Well go finish packing then!”

My mom returns to whatever her previous activity was, and my dad winks at me and finishes his breakfast.

I take the stairs two at a time and walk into my bedroom.  I press the power button on my stereo, and the most appropriate song is playing.  I sing along and realize this is the last time I’ll be in my bedroom for a very longtime.

All my bags are packed, I’m ready to go. I’m standing here outside your door.

Last night was my last night at the pond, although I hadn’t had a proper goodbye because I was interrupted.  It was quite startling; after several visits to the pond, the one time someone shows up is when I decide to swim in my underwear and bra.  

So kiss me and smile for me. Tell me that you’ll wait for me. Hold me like you’ll never let me go.

Instead of being completely freaked out though, I was entirely drawn in to this stranger.  Once he helped me out of the water, I carefully studied his face so I could sketch it from memory once I returned home.  

‘Cause I’m leaving on a jet plane. Don’t know when I’ll be back again.

He was strange looking, but beautiful in that unique way.  His tan skin contrasted from his blond hair and he was unnaturally tall.  I felt as if I had known him for my whole life.  I even had an urge to say “See you later” or “Goodbye!” to him while I turned to leave, but knew he would find that out of the ordinary.

Oh, babe, I hate to go.

I’m laying here, thinking about the drawing I made last night.  For the life of me, I can’t remember Strange Boy’s face, I can only remember his hands were big and mine fit inside his like puzzle pieces.  

I roll off my bed in a lazy way and crawl to the book shelf in the corner where my recent purchases from the half price bookstore are placed in alphabetical order by author.  This is the only organized part of my room.  In fact, while rolling over here, I had to accomplish mountains of clothing the size of Everest.  

I remove several books from the bottom shelf to reveal my secret hiding place for my sketch pad.  I flip to the most recent drawing, the one I’ve spent more time on then anything, and try to imagine his face.  Something was wrong about the picture, and I rip out the page and crumple it up.  I play basketball into the garbage can with this crumpled mess, and return to my bed.

The fact that I can’t get my mind off this guy is driving me nuts.  Most people would see this as an infatuation, but it’s not even that I’m attracted to him.  Although we had only conversed for less than five minutes, I could see every emotion running through his eyes.  He was worried about something, scared about the something and also fascinated by something.  I could tell this by just a glance at his face.

Then again, what teenager isn’t worried, scared and fascinated?

I walk over to the garbage can, uncrumple the drawing and place it back carefully in the opened sketchie laying on the floor.  I glance at the clock, scramble to grab my bags, and run down the stairs.

“Dad! We have to leave!” I shout, echoing through the house.

My mom is the first in the living room, and gathers me up in her arms.  I can feel her chest heaving with sobs.

“Laurene, are you crying?” I ask, startled.

“I love you, honey.  Take care of yourself.”

“I love you too, Mom,” I whisper in her ear and brush her hair out of her face.  For once, we’re at the same level.

“Bye, Lizzie!” I exclaim loudly, knowing that my sister won’t come and hug me goodbye.

“Have fun in Morocco!” I hear in reply.

“INDIA!”

“Right, bye.”

“Honey, are you really going to wear jeans on the plane?  Sweatpants would be more comfortable...” My mom says with her worried face again.

“I’m okay, Mom.  Don’t worry.

My dad appears out of nowhere and practically yanks me out of Laurene’s arms.  After several goodbye’s to my mom through the window, I’m finally in the car and driving to church.