The water swirled around me and then died. I stepped into the gloomy darkness of the forest. It disturbed me. In the Forest of Souls there is only day. No illumination from the City of Light sparkled through the leaves. I walked warily over yellow, sickly plants. The absence of lush greenery troubled me. I pushed forward through the thin trees wishing I had company. I found I did. It was a water nymph; a stunning creature with full, thick dark locks tumbling about her shoulders.

“What are you doing here?” I asked without words.

“I’m here to play,” I heard in my mind.

“Stay close. The trees harbor danger,” I thought, taking her arm. I felt an urgent need to protect her.

A deep mist lay ahead. I turned to my companion. She seemed strangely familiar. I couldn’t say where I’d met her, but I knew she was my friend.

“We have to go through,” I announced silently.

What began as vapor deepened to fog and then smoke laced with noxious fumes. The whole forest seemed to be poisoned with it. We struggled forward choking, until we stumbled blindly into a large barrier. We felt about for the edges to go around. It seemed to run on endlessly. I felt a deep despair and looked up in hope. Above us blazed a magnificent structureÑsomething more glorious than a castle. It shimmered gold, a beacon in the darkness that drew us irresistibly to its light.

Suddenly, the ground beneath us shook. I could hear the pounding of hooves. Flames shot from the mists beyond. Panic rose to my chest. I looked about desperately for the lightÑthe little light of my shadow.

“Where is it?” my mind screamed. The pounding grew louder. I grabbed the girl beside me. “I can’t save us. I’ve lost my light.”

“It’s coming. What is it, Jane? It’s coming closer.”

“We have to fly. It’s the only way.”

“I can’t. I have no wings.”

“We all have wings,” I shouted in my mind, projecting myself upwards.

I left the trembling earth with my companion in tow. We flew up through the mists, the brilliant gold glittering before us. We had nearly reached its illuminated edge when the nymph screamed. I bent to look in her direction.

An enormous black-winged horse was racing toward us at break-neck speed. Fire blazed from its nostrils nearly singeing her toes. It was too late to flee. He was upon us. I saw the whites of his eyes. He struck us straight on, knocking my friend from my grasp. I toppled spiraling, too inexperienced a flyer to right myself. I fell back through the smoke.

Images spun through the spinning curves of fume and fogÑswords and shields, helmets and daggers, frozen souls on blackened shelves, beasts and fire. They flashed across my mind like the previews for a medieval film and then the screen went black. A sense of terror mounted as I waited, falling. The movie had become a horror flick. Flames seared my eyes.

A screeching cry split the air as I hit the ground with a heavy thud, screaming, “Margaret!”

I sat up in bed drenched with sweat, my heart pounding, my chest heaving as I stared out my bedroom windows into the blackness of the forest. I brushed back the moist hairs that scattered unruly from my braids. The moon shaped scar on my palm glowed in the light of the full moon.

Only one week of school was left. I sat staring out the window of my seventh period science class. We’d already taken our tests. Rumor had it that Uncle Verle never bothered to grade them. Even if he did, it wouldn’t mean anything: he passed out the exams and then disappeared into the lab area behind the chalkboard. When the snoring was loud enough to reach the classroom, several of the boys pulled out their books and began copying the answers.

After a few moments, I glanced up from my test to check the time, surveyed the anarchy, and asked indignantly, “Is this an open book test?”

The only answer I got was a general snickering. My honesty would never be rewarded. The tests disappeared after class and were never seen again. We would all have A’s. No one would complain. Who complains about an A?

At the moment, though, my angry musing was not directed at Uncle Verle’s lackadaisical teaching methods; it was Russell Peacock who had me fuming. I couldn’t stand by anymore. Something had to be done. The whole horrible scene from lunch kept replaying in my mind. I could see Russell wearing that absurd, black, tangled wig of curls, clutching an arm full of huge books that he wasn’t smart enough to read. Poor Margaret. She nearly choked on her frozen pizza, but didn’t dare bring attention to herself by coughing. Russell huddled over and scurried between the tables pushing the thick-rimmed glasses he wore back up on his nose as he went. Nobody in the lunchroom needed to be told that he was acting Margaret.

The cafeteria rolled with laughter. Here and there the more kind-hearted wore frowns of disgust, but even the disapproval in their faces melted into uncontrollable giggling when Russell’s cronies began pulling disgusting items from the hair. Margaret bore it all with unimaginable serenity; eyes downcast, picking at the potato rounds on her tray. I was too astonished at the cruelty of it to do anything but stare opened-mouthed at the perpetrators. And then they pulled a drowned mouse from the snarled locks.

Russell shrieked, “Oh, Mommy, they found you!”

My mouth snapped shut into clenched jaws. Recovering from the shock of the assault, I turned to join the gaze of the throng as it fell on our table and waited expectantly for the response of the small, curly-headed, non-person sitting next to me. Margaret rose from the table. She didn’t run out crying with her hands hiding her face. Instead, with all eyes searing her back, she picked up her tray, placed it on the counter, and walked out the double doors.

I was overwhelmed with admiration, pity, and horror. I wished I had Ounatha’s wand; I wished I knew how to use it. I wondered if I could get in one good punch before Russell laid into me and then Jack got suspended for defending me. Before my gut reactions got the best of me, vague words of my mother’s about wreaking vengeance on the viper while the victim dies floated through the swirling chaos in my mind. The silence of the door slamming shut was broken by the soft clear voice of Mary Beth Perkins.

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Russell Peacock.”

Russell squirmed, but joked, “Yeah, I know, we couldn’t get to the D.I. to buy the right clothes. I had to wear my sister’s.”

He scanned the crowd hoping to win a few laughs. No one in Mary Beth’s line of vision dared snicker openly. In this school, Mary Beth ruled. She was destined to be prom queen for eternityÉand she was nice. No, not nice; she was benevolent. Everybody would have loved to find some fault to despise in her to feel better about being so hopelessly inferior. But she was just too good. Not self-righteous, holier-than-thou good…She was more “C’mon-let’s-all-play-together,” good. Mary Beth broke all the rules of popularity. She never excluded anyone, and yet everyone wanted to be her friend. She handed out friendship like lollipops at the bank.

I popped up, dropped my tray on the counter, and rushed out after Margaret. Mary Beth would handle Russell. Unfortunately, she’d also make him feel better about being the weasel he was. I couldn’t help turning to cast at least one stone at the viper, if only with my eyes. As it struck, Russell’s uncertain grin turned to a triumphant smirk. I had seen that smile before in a dark place on the face of a beast. I caught up with Margaret at the edge of the side parking lot.

“Margaret, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she replied softly.

“It’s not okay.” I searched for the right words, knowing they couldn’t be found. “They don’t know you like I do,” I offered sadly.

“I know. There’s not many of them I really want to know better anyway.” Margaret paused for a moment. I still didn’t know what to say. I’d had my share of humiliationÑI had pointed ears for goodness sake, but that didn’t make me any expert on dealing with it. “I’m glad you’re my friend. You’re not like them; you’re the only one who ever asked to sit by me,” she added, with a brave attempt at a smile.

I felt worse. “It’s my fault, you know. The only reason he does it is because he hates Jack and Will and me; but he’s afraid of Jack.” I sighed. “Even Will’s too popular for Russell to tease.”

“It’s not your fault, Jane. We don’t have much money to buy nice clothes and cool stuff, and I know my hair is a mess, but I don’t know what to do with it. My gramma gave up a long time ago.”

“Don’t you see? None of that matters. He’s only mean to you because you’re my friend. If I were any kind of a friend back, I’d find some way of giving him what he deserves,” I responded bitterly.

“No, you wouldn’t. Then you would be as mean as he is. My gramma always says ‘Meanness is a sticky business. When you give it back, you always find some of it stuck to your fingers.’ We have to be patient and hope they grow out of it.”

“You’re much too kind, Margaret. Russell will never grow out of it. Besides, people are supposed to be punished for acting badly. He’s not even going to get in trouble. Even if he did get expelled, there’s only a week of school left; he’d just be getting an early summer vacation.”

“Really, Jane, it’s okay,” Margaret assured me.

“But it’s not okay. I mean…your mother. She’s dead.”

“I know that.” Margaret’s eyes dropped and she turned her head away. I wished I hadn’t brought it up. But I was horrified at the cruelty of finding pleasure in taking a vicious stab at an open wound. It was atrocious. The bell rang. “I’ll be fine. You’d better go. I don’t want you to get in trouble for being late.”

“I’ll walk with you. I’m sure the teachers will understand.”

“Thanks, but…I’d rather be alone.”