Read Becoming A Butterfly (The Butterfly Chronicles) Online
Authors: Mia Castile
Becoming A Butterfly (The Butterfly Chronicles)
See what readers and bloggers are saying about Mia’s other Novels. . .
The Ocean
“
I feel like Castile captured the feelings and behavior of a teenager perfectly. It was a joy to read and I highly recommend it to young and old alike!”
-Nic of Fiktshun.com
“
I really liked this book. It was a sad backstory from all of the characters, and this gave the whole book a REAL kind of feeling toward it.”
-Claudia S. from Shelfari.com
“
I really loved this book. I read it in 8 hours while I was at work because I could not put it down.”
-Tee of Sheknownasjess.blogspot.com
Generations I: Book Of Enlightenment
“
A creative and captivating storyline, Mia Castile has created a unique storyline that will have you hooked, line and baited from within the first few chapters!!”
-Katrina Whittaker from goodreads.com
“
Mia Castile’s concept for the Generation series is unique and inspirational. She has broken out of the paranormal usuals by taking away the focus from the vampires and werewolves and she created The Generations.”
-Hebah of Wovenmyst.com
“
Well this book was AWESOME! I loved it : ) perfect for ya paranormal readers who like romance ; ) The plot was original and the characters were funny and believable.”
-“Rated PG 17” from Amazon
Copyright © 2011 by Mia Castile and Entwined Publishing, LLC
.
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Entwined Publishing P.O.Box 1240 Brownsburg, Indiana 46112,
Visit our website at www.entwinedpublishing.com
First edition: May 2012
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN-
10-983510830
ISBN-13-9780983510833
Table of Content
I would like to thank God first and foremost. He has enabled me to enjoy the many blessings
in my life. It is with His guidance that I am able to navigate these choppy waters of life.
I would also like to thank Mano; your support means the world to me. This past year has been quite a journey. I’m just glad that you are there with me, encouraging me and never giving up on me.
My little ones, you are my heart and my joy. I love you so much. Thanks for being proud of me. I love you this much!
Grandma, thank you for loving me.
Chasadee, I wish there were words to convey how I feel for you. You are my fiercest protector and my deepest sanctuary.
Brooke, Jamie, and Dawn, the fact that you read my stories means so much. You don’t know what our time together means to me.
Carrie, you believe in me when I’m not so sure. Thanks for giving me that push.
Sue, where do I begin to express how much you mean to me? You make my words readable. You are a true blessing, and I am so glad that you are a part of my team.
To the town of Brownsburg, you were the landscape that I molded and changed into the setting for this series. Though it’s not a perfect description, I hope you are proud of the way I represented one of my favorite towns.
I would also like to thank you, the reader, for taking the time to read my novel and escape with me into the lives of my characters. You are a true blessing.
Just when the caterpillar
thought the world was over,
it became a butterfly.
-Anonymous
Splash! The water engulfs me as, humiliated, I sink heavily to the bottom of the pool. By sinking, I hope to avoid the fate awaiting me at the surface of the water where my wig floats. I deserve this; I thought I could trick everyone—trick Henry—and get away with it. Things did
NOT
go as planned. Things were so complicated now. I miss simple obscurity. Though even in obscurity, I always end up dumped in the pool. It’s what the jocks did to
Lacey-bracey-four-eyed-facey
after all. I can’t say that I completely give them the credit for coming up with the bright idea of it all by themselves. I mean, after all, I’m the one who originally tripped and fell into the pool at Stacey Gibson’s Memorial Day pool party in the seventh grade. In the years that followed, as careful as I was, I still ended up being dropped into the pool. One year it was a subtle shove; the next, I was lifted by two jocks and deposited. This year, it was a blindside tackle that sent me into the pool. At least my assassin came with me this time.
Stupid Derrick Chandler
. If I had stuck to last year’s pool party resolution, “never attend pool parties again,” then I wouldn’t be in this mess. I should have been content with the fact that for the rest of my life the only pool I sat beside would be my own. Now all I wished for was the Delorean
,
and the cute 80’s version of Michael J. Fox to help me go back to the fateful night that set me on the slide into this night, into this pool. I thought I wanted to be someone new, different, and exciting; but now I just wanted to be me.
Two months earlier over spring break, my life had changed forever. I had been counting down for six months to that 8:00 a.m. orthodontist appointment on Friday. For five years, I’d had enough silver in my mouth to fund a small country—preferably in the Caribbean. My braces were finally coming off, and I was graduating to a retainer—not just any retainer, an overnight retainer, that meant, yep, you guessed it; my smile would be beautiful and wire-free. I spent the morning in the dentist’s chair. Finally, he held the mirror in front of my face; I gave myself a big cheesy smile.
“
I love my smile.” I grinned goofily at Dr. Reeves.
“
Just make sure you take good care of it,” he replied.
I walked out into a beautiful spring day. I stood at the intersection and felt as though I was at a crossroad of my life and the possibilities were endless: popcorn, bubble gum, salt water taffy, gummy bears; these words exploded in my head. I texted Tasha and Jade a picture of my new smile while I waited for the light to change; Jade responded with:
Slumber at six?
That was a great idea. I told her so and made plans to meet up with them in the evening. We had a ritual every Friday night, rain or shine, football or basketball game, art show or movies, and that was a sleepover. We’d done it continually since junior high. It became a challenge when Jade’s parents divorced, but we all muddled through it.
Being there for each other was a very important part of our relationships. Together we were the most mismatched clique in the entire school. Jada, or Jade as everyone called her, was my longest friend from kindergarten and she was into photography. Her hair was always perfect in a jet-black, stacked bob. She had long since graduated to contacts, and thanks to perfect genes, had perfect teeth. She usually rocked out in black and often made me jealous of her ability to coordinate so well, but when you think about it, really black always goes with black. Tasha was on the verge of being popular. She was a cheerleader and always knew the latest happenings. With her long limbs she made tumbling look easy, even graceful. We bonded in first grade by the suspension bridge at recess when Jade and I asked her if we could touch her milk chocolate looking skin. We were kids and didn’t know any better. She smiled and said only if she could touch our vanilla white skin in return. We were bonded for life through inappropriate questioning. That never held us back—with each other anyway. We were more reserved when others were near. Sometimes I was a bit envious of my two friends coming into their own so gracefully and easily; it all looked so easy for them.
I hit up the drug store for all of our late night snacks and began my trek home. As I crossed the street, I heard the familiar sound of wheels rolling over pavement. In the far corner of the parking lot by the grocery store were Henry and Byron with a couple other boys skateboarding. Henry. I’d lived next to Henry since I could remember. As toddlers we’d played in the front yard while our mothers sat in the porch swing and gossiped about the neighbors, but in elementary school we said hellos in passing, and in junior high he began skating. While I rode my bike up and down the street, because the farthest I could go was from the stop sign on one corner, to the oak tree past Mr. Williams’s house, he ran the streets of Brownsburg with his alternative friends. Henry had emerald green eyes and shaggy, sandy brown hair. In the summer he would get golden flecks sprinkled through it, turning it blond, and I often imagined running my fingers through it just to watch it glint in the sun. Henry had an angular face and almost always had a tan. His favorite color was plaid. He often wore his regular slim jeans tucked into his throwback Jordans or long cargo shorts with his vans. Then there were his graphic T’s that always made me laugh. Henry was rarely without admirers though he never had a girlfriend longer than a year; yes, I was the Wikipedia of Henry’s life.