Read Transformed Online

Read Transformed Online!



 Chapter One: 

Dolphins, Mice, and Second Grade Teachers



“Annie!” Mrs. Strict, my 7th grade teacher shouted. “Take the lunch count to the office! Get up! Now!”

“Yes, ma'am.” I stammered, rising out of my seat as fast as possible. “I didn't know you wanted me to do it, sorry!”

“Well, now you do! So do it!”

“Can I have the paper, then?”

“Um, yes, of course.” She handed me the little yellow slip of paper with the lunch choices on it and I walked quickly out the door.

It was the beginning of the school year, and I realized that I had received the worst teacher in the school. Well, the second worst teacher. Mrs. Hawston, a 2nd grade teacher, was also horrible. More horrible even than Mrs. Strict. Luckily I had never had Mrs. Hawston.

I wished it was still summer, when I could be away from all of these problems at school. I imagined I was a dolphin, leaning forward as I pretended to dive into the cool, crisp waters of the vast ocean...

And suddenly I was. Not diving into the ocean, but a dolphin. I was a dolphin.

Yeah, I know what you're thinking. What the heck was going on?

Then several things happened all at once. First off, Emma (a quiet girl in my class who didn't talk about anything, especially her family, turned down all of my attempts at friendship, and had red hair and freckles kind of like my own) had come around the corner right as I was transforming into a dolphin. She now let out a squeak and ran back the other way.

Second, Mrs. Hawston, the “evil” 2nd grade teacher, came walking down the hallway and screamed.

“There's a dolphin!” she yelled.

During all of that, I was was quickly thinking abut how I had turned into a dolphin. I had dove forwards, imagining I was a dolphin, and then I had become one. So I figured that the same method would work for any animal, hopefully including humans. But I couldn't turn back into myself just yet. Doing the best I could being a dolphin, I dove forward while imagining that I was a small white rodent. Almost instantly I was a mouse, and I scurried behind a garbage can to wait for Mrs. Hawston to leave.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">What had just happened really started sinking in as I crouched behind the garbage bin, in the form of a small, white, furry mouse. At first I had just accepted it and tried to solve the problem. But now that I was safe...

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“Well, I must to be dreaming.”  Was naturally my first thought .This wasn't right. People didn't just turn into animals. But I had. And I clearly remembered waking up this morning, feeling not like I was in a dream but the same as I had any other school morning.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">It had to be real. And Emma knew something about it all. When I had seen her face, it didn't just show fear; it was a wide-eyed expression of shock and recognition.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">Anyways, Mrs. Hawston was still standing their pointing at, (now anyways), nothing, when Mrs. Figg walked out into the same hallway.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“There was a dolphin dolphin, right over there!” Mrs. Hawston said immediately.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“Now, now, Si-si,” Mrs. Figg said. “There aren't any dolphins in the school hallway.” she sneered. I had never heard her talk to anyone that way before. She was usually the nicest person I knew. She must really hate Mrs. Hawston, or Si-si as she called her.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“First off, don't call me Si-si. My name is Sierra.” Mrs. Hawston started. “Second, I am not seeing things. You know I'm not making this up. And you know what this means.”

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“And  you know that this is not the place to be discussing it!” Mrs. Figg hissed. So she turned away and went back down the hallway the way she came. Mrs. Hawston stood around for a second before stalking off herself.

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<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“Annie!” Mrs. Strict barked as soon as I entered the classroom. I had returned to my normal form, walked to the office as quickly as possible, but I had sill taken way too long. “You were gone for a half an hour! HALF AN HOUR! TO TAKE THE LUNCHOUNT TO THE ''OFFICE! '' You've almost missed the entire math lesson! That should've taken you one minute, maybe two or three if you got lost, which you shouldn't have! Why were you gone so long?”

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“I-I-” I stammered. What could I say?

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“Actually, never mind telling me now. How about you come in for a detention during lunch recess? Quiet, class! What has gotten into you today? All of you are being loud and irritable, Miss Annie took a half hour to deliver the lunch count, Miss Emma had a fifteen minute bathroom break, what is wrong?!”

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">And so that's how the rest of the morning was spent: off and on between math, literacy and getting yelled at.

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<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">For the first part of lunch (my detention was at recess) I was attempting come up with something to tell Mrs. Strict when she asked. I fell down? No, that was lame, plus it wouldn't make me take half an hour. I had a conversation with my old teacher? Nah. I turned into a dolphin and then a mouse? The complete truth, but if that I told her that she would just think I was insane. Funny how that works.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%"> Then the idea came to me. It was embarrassingly obvious, really: I would use transfiguration. Hopefully it would work (I had finally decided that I wasn't dreaming). I figured out the details of the plan in my head, and it actually seemed very possible that I would escape. So, when I walked out of the lunch room and headed towards my classroom for detention, I was actually feeling quite confident.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">As I neared the classroom, I had to wipe the smirk off of my face and replace it with a slightly nervous expression. Even something little like that would set Mrs. Strict off. When I arrived outside of the room, I stood there hovering in the doorway. I had never had a detention before, and was unsure if I was supposed to interrupt my teacher.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">Once she realized I was there, she looked up and said “Come.” So I came. “Sit.” I sat. “Explain.” Well, I didn't explain. Instead, I began to carry out my plan.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“Ok, but first, what's that in the sink over there?” I said. I knew she would be suspicious, but she reflexively glanced over at the sink for a brief moment before she could really register that it was most likely a trick. She snapped her head back quickly when she saw nothing, but she was too late.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“If this is a trick, it's not funny-” she stopped abruptly when she couldn’t see me anywhere. “Annie?” She called, standing up. “Annie? Annie, this is not funny! You'll have a detention with the principle next!” I wasn't too worried about that. I didn't plan on ever going back to school. Or, at least, not this school.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">Mrs. Strict was tearing around the room, glancing under desks, in cabinets, drawers, places that I definitely couldn't fit in. “Stupid ant!” She shouted, absentmindedly trying to stomp on it. But the ant escaped from her foot, scurried out the door as fast as it's little ant legs could carry it and transformed into a small white mouse. I suddenly felt a rush of pity for ants, realizing how defenseless I might feel if someone was about to step on me and I couldn't turn back into a human. Luckily I had made it out the classroom door safely. I was almost safe outside when I heard a snippet of conversation from not too far away.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“mid-transformation, she was turning into a dolphin, Mom! She one of us! We have to go back!” It was Emma. Talking to Mrs. Figg. She'd seen me. Then Mrs. Figg started talking.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“I guess you're right. The whole point of coming here was to watch over Annie.”

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“Do you think Sierra will stay here, though?” Emma asked.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“Please call her Mrs. Hawston here. But, yes, I don't see why she wouldn't stay here. She's safer here. No one knows who she really is here. And, well, I'm not trying to brag, but with me and my daughter there... Well, it couldn't help her, that's for sure.”

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“Yeah. Hopefully you're right. But one more thing – sooner or later Annie's going to figure out about her parents. No one can keep secrets very well at STP.”

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“Well... We'll see what happens. If it seems like she's getting suspicious we can tell her the story. It's best if she can get used to the transfigurational ways first, but that's not how other people will think.”

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“When are we going to leave?” Emma inquired.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“As soon as possible. We'll just have to tell everyone we're moving. Sierra won’t believe us, but it's not like she could tell anyone else the truth. But, for now, recess is almost over, so you better get back to your class.”

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">Emma and Mrs. Figg parted, but I still stood there, stunned. This was too much information to take in all at once. I tried to sort it all out in my brain. Mrs. Figg was Emma's mom. This made sense, but wasn't obvious, because they spelled their last names different: Mrs. Figg with two g's and Emma Fig with one. And they could transform. I wasn't the only one. They were her to watch over me and Mrs. Hawston had something to do with all this, too.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">And then there was that bit about my parents. What was the secret? That they were dead, probably. I'd lived with foster parents for as long as I could remember, with not so much as a picture of my true parents, so I couldn't exactly say that I missed them. But the though still triggered a little twinge of sadness hat I might never find my real parents.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">I bet they could transform, just like me. Maybe they even knew other families that could transform. Perhaps the Figgs were a family friend. I would've known of my unique power as young as I could understand it. Maybe I wouldn't even have had to go to normal school.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">I snapped myself out of my daydreams. I had to get going. Where, who knows, but I couldn't just sit around here all day in the form of an ant. My foster parents never got home from work until an hour or so after I usually got home, so they wouldn't know I'd skipped half the school day. I wiggled under the door as an ant, and then transformed into an eagle. I flapped my wings and soared into the sky. It was an amazing feeling, flying so high, with the wind on my wings on such a perfect, blue sky day. I was almost disappointed when my light brown house came into view below and I ended my fly.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">I easily transformed back into myself and grabbed the key under a stone in our front yard. Unlocking the front door, I wondered what I should do. I had left my stuff at school, but it's not like I could ever go back to my school, Cherry Creek, with everything that had happened. I'd probably be expelled soon anyways.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">I was sitting at the kitchen table with my head in my arms wondering what on earth I could do when a humming bird banged against my window. Instead of falling down dead, it kept right on hovering in place.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“Shoo!” I yelled and flicked my hand at the humming bird. It wouldn't leave. I got up and banged on the window, shouting at it, because quite honestly it was creeping me out.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">It still didn't leave. So, figuring my day couldn't possibly get any weirder, I opened the window and let the bird fly in. It flapped its way through the window, clearly satisfied. Then it landed on my kitchen table and immediately turned into a rolled up piece of paper tied with a red ribbon.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">Yes, I know. That's not normal. But that's what happened. So I picked up the letter untied the ribbon and unrolled the long piece of paper.

<p style="margin-left:0.2in;margin-right:0.2in;margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">

<p style="margin-left:0.2in;margin-right:0.2in;margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">Dear Annie Johnson,

<p style="margin-left:0.2in;margin-right:0.2in;margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">''We have been notified that recently you have demonstrated transfigurational abilities. Because of this, you have been accepted into the one and only School of Transfigurational People. Because your abilities were noticed after the usual start age of five years old, you will be tutored for a month in place of elective classes. There will be a tutor available to help you with homework and get you fully caught up for the rest of the year. The school's start date is in one week. You will find more information such as school supply lists at the Shop for Transfigurational Education. Please press the red button below to be transported to our world, Alacceliana.''

<p style="margin-left:0.2in;margin-right:0.2in;margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">Good Luck!

<p style="margin-left:0.2in;margin-right:0.2in;margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">There was a red button actually protruding out of the piece of paper. I was tempted to press it straight out, stunned that there was a whole world of people like me. I mean,I knew that Mrs. Figg and Emma could transform, but a whole world?

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">Then I thought about my foster parents, and my school, and what they would do I suddenly disappeared.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">But I had powers. I couldn't just say here and ignore them. I kept on having a war with the part of me that wanted to go and the part of me that was worried.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">The part of me that wanted to got won. With a deep breath, I pressed down the button. Immediately the world around me started to blur. Shapes whirred by me and I felt a little sick. After a while (well, I'm sure it wasn't that long, but it felt like a while) the spinning stopped and I fell on the ground out of dizziness.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">I got up and brushed myself off, looking around. I was in front of a large, metal gate with patterns carved into every bar. Soon a girl with red hair who was leaning against the outside of the gate noticed I was there and silently got up to open it.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">And there, standing at the gate to the transfigurational world, was Emma Figg.

<p align="CENTER" style="line-height:150%;page-break-before:always"> Chapter Two: 

<p align="CENTER" style="line-height:150%">Alacceliana

<p align="CENTER" style="line-height:150%">

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“Emma,” was all I could say.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“Yes,” she answered calmly. “Follow me.”

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“Where are we going?” I asked.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“Alacceliana. Our world.”

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“Alacesella... what?”

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“A-lace-sell-ee-ana. It's the technicla term for our land, but everyone just calls it 'our world.' Means 'land of the transformers' in the Olde Language.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“The Olde Language?” I asked anxiously. Would I have to learn a whole new language to communicate here?

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“Don't worry,” Emma assured me quickly, “nobody speaks it anymore.”

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">After a while longer of walking in silence, I brought up a different question.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“Is this why you never talked to me before? Because you were afraid of letting something slip about transforming?”

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“Yeah, pretty much. You'd figure out how my mom was, not that it mattered a lot, it just made everything simpler. But it drove me insane, pretending I didn't know you, pretending I didn't want to know you... And all the while we where cousins!”

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“We're.. ''what?! ''Why didn't you tell me? It had nothing to do with transforming!” I shouted, shocked.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“But if you knew we were cousins... the you'd have to know that mom was your aunt. That would be hard to keep secret.”

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“Why does it matter?” I had a feeling Emma wasn't done explaining, but I had to ask.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“Well, this isn't real important... but Mom didn't want to trust me in Sierra... er, Mrs. Hawston's class,” She seemed to realize that she had said too much, but she recovered before I had time to ask here more. “That's not the most important reason, though. If anybody knew we were related, we would have to take care of you. And then it wouldn't be possible for you to not know our secret,”

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“I don't get it,” I declared. “The letter I got from the School for Transfigurational People-”

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“STP,” Emma corrected.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“Whatever. The letter I got from STP said that the usual start date was five years old. Why did I have to wait until I was twelve?”

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“If kids don't show transfigurational abilities by age five, they are sent back to the normal world until they do, just in case they don't have powers,” she explained.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“Weren't you getting behind, attending a normal elementary school?”

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“A little bit, but not really. Mom has been tutoring me almost everyday, and I did go to first and second year at STP. But enough talking. You know we could've flown here, but I thought it would be good to catch you up a bit. Anyways, I present you with Alacceliana!”

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">We were at the end of the path. In front of us stretched a huge but old-fashioned city full of buildings and people. People like me. People who could transform.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">“Shall we explore?” Emma suggested with a grin, and we were off.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">Our first stope was STE, or the Shop for Transfigurational Education. I never thought shopping for school supplies could possibly be exciting. But I was wrong. My list contained things far more interesting than paper, pencils and pens. Regular paper, pencils and pens at least. It went:

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%"> Supply list for 7 th years at STP:

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">Books:

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">Transforming Essentials, volume 7

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">Alaccelianian Culture

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">It Can Transform: a Guide to Giving Objects and Animals Transfigurational Properties

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">Transforming Essentials, Special Edition: Finding your Patron

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">Supplies:

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%"> 3 Self-sharpening pen-pencils

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%"> 1 Color-changing marker

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%"> 1 Color-changing colored pencil

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%"> 1 Five-subject transforming notebook

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">Clothing:

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%"> Girls: Dress or skirt with school appropriate top

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%"> Boys: Dress pants and colored shirt

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%"> *All supplies for electives will be provided or sold by the school

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%"> Thank you and please be sure to have these supplies by September 14, the start date of this school year.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%"> I stared at the list in wonder.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%"> “We can find all of this in this store?” I asked Emma.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%"> “Yep,” she replied.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%"> “And where will I get money to buy all of this?” I questioned. I didn't have much money of my own, and I hadn't brought any of it with me.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%"> “I'm sure Mom will pay for some of your stuff. I also bet you get some from, er, your parents' account.”

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%"> “My parents,” I said, hoping she might explain something. But, of course, she didn't.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%"> Picking out my school supplies was interesting, but after we finished I realized the best was yet to come. Now we could actually explore.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%"> The stores here were much more exciting than back home. The clothing stores (we had shopped at four) had a huge variety of unique clothes: shirts with changing logos, patterns and colors; coats that adapted to the temperature outside; a dress that transformed into a nightgown after a certain time, and more. Just for fun, we stopped at a toy store, and I saw a huge selection of transforming toys. A home supply shop contained self-cleaning dishes, plates that turned into bowls, brooms that turned into shovels, et.c

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%"> I was exhausted but happy by the time we had finished our shopping. My purchased items (mostly clothing) were stuffed inside and expanding purse that looked like it would just fit a wallet and some change. We stopped at a fast food place to eat (the food was pretty much the same in this world, at least what I had seen of it) and then talked about going back to Emma's house.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%"> We decided travel as eagles. As I soared into the darkening night sky and followed Emma, I thought of what a day it had been. It didn't seem possible that just earlier today I had been sitting in class, getting yelled at by Mrs. Strict to take the lunch count to the office. So much had changed since then.

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<p style="margin-bottom:0in;line-height:150%">