I laugh out of mere joy as I soar through a beautiful, clear winter night. The fire in my wings is the only thing keeping me warm, but it’s more than enough. Still giggling, I swoop downwards and land on a snow covered tree branch...
I groan and roll over. No wings. Everything about today is normal. Well, except me.
I snap, and pajamas become clothes. Again, and my hair is pulled back neatly. Before going downstairs for breakfast, I cross out the last square on the “countdown to wings” paper tacked above my bed. Tomorrow is the day.
As I walk into the kitchen, my mother looks at me and sighs. At the snap of her fingers, a bright red, flowing mass falls to my shoulders. Frustrated, I attempt to summon at least a headband, but my mother’s magic is too strong. I give up and summon breakfast instead.
“Wings tomorrow! You excited, hun?”
I hesitate. Don’t get me wrong, I am excited. I’ve been waiting for tomorrow all my life. But wings doesn’t just mean wings. It also means finding out your fairy type. All my life, I’ve dreamed of being a fire fairy. Red hair is often a sure sign, so I might be in the clear. But on the other hand, blue eyes usually mean water fairy, so then again I might not be. And then on theoretical third and fourth hands, pale skin usually means air, and freckles is a common sign for earth. My genes are mixed, too. My mom’s a water and my dad’s a fire. In other words, there’s really no way of knowing. “Yeah,” I reply.
“Eat quick, the bus will be here any minute. You don’t want to miss your last day on the school bus.” She grins, and I know she’s joking. That’s the cool thing about my mom: she understands.
“I’ll make sure to say goodbye to Loopy Louie for you.” Loopy Louie is our name for my bus driver. I’m not sure what his real name is, but loopy is a pretty accurate description of him and Louie starts with “L”, so there you have it.
Just as I place my bowl in the sink, we hear the earthquake-inducing roar of the bus engine. I grab my backpack. My mom kisses me on the forehead. “Be good,” she says.
“You too,” I respond. I know it seems kinda babyish to still have your mom kiss you on the forehead and tell you to be good when you’re in high school, but it’s been our daily morning routine since I was six. Old habits die hard, I guess.
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