Read The Glass Wall (Return of the Ancients Book 1) Online
Authors: Madison Adler,Carmen Caine
Tags: #Fiction, #magic, #fairies, #legends extraterrestrial beings, #teen fiction juvenile, #Romance, #young adult, #science, #myths, #action, #fairy, #adventure fantasy
The Glass Wall (Return of the Ancients Book 1)
The Glass Wall - Book One
The Glass Wall
By
Madison Adler
Bento Box Books - First Edition
Published By
Bento Box Books
Edited By
Grace Benson
Copyright © 2011 by Madison Adler
ISBN: 978-0-9835240-1-4
Bento Box Books Edition License Notes
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This book is dedicated to the wonderful kids in my life.
I love you all.
To Jasmine - For your gentle, justice-loving soul and for being my biggest fan
To Hanna - For your creative “twisted” streak and your wonderful heart
To Hunter - For your thoughtful enthusiasm and chivalry
To Kailyn - For your incredible imagination, clever mind, and for being my secret buddy
To Kian - For being “Epically Awesome” and for your sarcastic wit
Table of Contents
Chapter 02…..A Weird Coincidence or Two
Chapter 07…..Jareth Doesn’t Exist!
Chapter 09…..Bean There, Baked That
Chapter 11.…First Day on the Job
Chapter 13…..Aliens and Tinfoil
The Glass Wall
I flipped my cell phone shut.
I’d just told Maya, my mother, goodbye.
Again.
It was her fifth stint in rehab. I felt sorry for her. I knew she tried her best.
The social worker sent me a sympathetic smile as she zipped along Mercer Island Parkway. Through glimpses between the evergreen trees, I could see flashes of Lake Washington as our car whizzed by. I wished she’d just keep her eyes on the winding road. She was a wild driver, weaving through bikers in spandex outfits and dodging incoming traffic at top speed.
I was seasick.
“Mercer Island is a nice place,” the woman repeated for the tenth time. “You’ll love it here. It’s always green in Washington State.”
Her name was Neelu.
Neelu was a chubby woman in her fifties, with hair dyed a most unnatural Clairol red. She wore traditional Indian attire and sported an armful of gold bangles that continually buried her watch. Shaking them aside, she glanced at the time once again. “We’ll have to hurry, Sydney. I only have ten minutes.”
She zoomed past a park and a surrounding greenbelt of trees before finally turning onto a tiny side street. With a sigh of relief, she stopped in front of the most obnoxious, blue-painted rambler I’d ever seen. There was a bright yellow Ford pickup truck with oversized wheels parked in the driveway.
I couldn’t get over the blue house. Who would paint their house neon blue? I wondered if the occupants were color-blind.
I glanced around.
It wasn’t a poor neighborhood, but it certainly wasn’t a wealthy one either. There were two houses across the street. The first was a little rundown but an average two-story home with minimal landscaping. In the front yard there was a for sale sign with the word “sold” plastered proudly over the smiling face of the realtor.
The second house rivaled the blue rambler in gaudiness. It was an ancient-looking Victorian house, painted a fading pink. The yard hosted a menagerie of lawn ornaments. Crammed in every conceivable corner were garden trolls, dwarves, deer (including Rudolph), pink flamingos, at least four different birdbaths, and even a replica of the famous Dutch peeing boy,
Manneken Pis.
Neelu sprang out of the car and clicked up the sidewalk in her heels to the blue house. “We have to make this quick, Sydney. Hop out!”
I slammed the car door shut and shouldered my backpack.
The social worker was already knocking on the door, frantically motioning for me to follow. “Come
on
, Sydney,” she called louder. “I’ve got another appointment!”
As I stepped onto the creaking porch, the door opened.
“Sorry, Neelu,” a mousy brown-haired woman apologized as she beckoned us inside. “I had to place another bid.”
“Sydney, this is Betty. Betty, meet Sydney,” Neelu said, introducing us.
I shook my new foster mother’s hand.
Betty was hard to describe. I could really see nothing unique about her. Her hair was medium length, and she was of average height and build. She could have been almost any age. Her face reminded me of at least a dozen others. She was one of those people who could pull off the perfect crime; no witness would ever remember what she looked like.
“Glad you’re finally here, Sydney,” Betty said, shaking my hand heartily in return. She glanced over her shoulder to the computer on the other side of the living room. “Got to go, Neelu, the cat toilet trainers are ending in five minutes. I can’t miss them this time!”
With a friendly smile, she picked her way over a sea of boxes littering the floor.
“Betty runs an Ebay business,” Neelu explained.
“I’m an Ebay reseller,” Betty said, waving her hand as she settled into the white plastic chair in front of her computer. “Make yourself at home, Sydney. I’ll call Grace to show you to your room. Grace! Grace!”
After a moment, the back door banged open. A tall girl appeared, dressed in red sweats and carrying a lacrosse stick in one hand. Her black hair was even darker than mine, and she’d pulled it back in such a severe ponytail that I found myself wincing on her behalf. She was big and muscular, and she looked mean.
“Hi,” she said curtly, watching me closely with her jet-black eyes.
I nodded warily.
Neelu had already told me that my new foster parents had a daughter my age, almost eighteen. This girl looked at least twenty.
“Good, then,” Neelu said, smiling in relief as she patted me on the shoulder. “You have my number. Call me anytime.”
With that, she was gone.
“I got them!” Betty leapt up from the chair and did a little dance.
It looked strikingly like the “Chicken Dance”, but I doubt that was her intention.
“Come on,” Grace said, nodding toward the hall with her chin. “Your room is this way.”
“Carry her things, honey.” Betty quit dancing to smile at me and asked, “Is your luggage on the porch?”
“I just have this,” I said, jiggling my backpack a little.
“I can carry it,” the girl offered. She reached as if to pluck it off my back.
“Don’t touch my things!” I snapped. My hands clenched the straps possessively.
They both blinked, a little startled at my aggressiveness, but I couldn’t let them see what was in there.
“Your things are safe here, honey,” Betty said, recovering first. Waving at us, she turned back to the computer and began to cackle about the next item on the screen.
Grace stalked down the hall, and I followed her, wondering if I’d just made an enemy.
She gave me a quick tour of the house on the way to my room.
Betty reserved the living room for her Ebay business and it contained her computer, a printer, and several tables overflowing with bubble wrap and cardboard boxes. Off to the side there was a family room with shaggy brown carpet, a shimmery gold couch, and an old TV. The kitchen was light yellow with vinyl tile and décor from the sixties. A giant wooden spoon and fork hung on the wall. There were four, square bedrooms, the last one down the hall had been converted into a storage room for Betty’s business.
My new room was simple but nice. I had a bed with a fuzzy tiger print blanket, an oak dresser and matching nightstand, and a rug shaped like a sunflower. Everything was clean and smelled of lemon furniture polish. A window, with yellow curtains, looked out onto a greenbelt of trees behind the house.