The Shadow Wolf

Fantasy: Oh, wow, everything. Kids with weird powers, one mysterious creature, you name it...
Maturity: Kissing, hugging, your general romance.


OK, so I'm not going to post my entire prologue, because it's kind of boring. I just have to get across a few important points, so here's an overview of it:
Something about 13-year-old Oliver Amipleck has never been quite right. He's disliked by the school, parents, and bullies.
Something key that happens during a pop quiz is that blue letters suddenly float in front of him giving him all the answers. He copies them, and his teacher freaks out because he normally has bad grades and so on.

If you'd like the entire prologue, which is about page long, PM me and I'll send it to you.

Now, onto the first chapter finally!

Chapter One; Part One: Oliver's Slip

“Knock it off Malpert,” Oliver exclaimed over an enormous and loud clap of furious thunder.
Dexter Malpert showed no sign relenting his very painful beating. He had a crooked yellow smile on his face that didn’t match his cold grey eyes, so different from Oliver’s piercing blue ones.
“Why don’t you make me Ollie?” Dexter asked, adding a horrid, fake, simpering sound to his rough, deep voice.
“Yeah Oliver,” guffawed Malcolm as Dexter threw another well-aimed punch.
Oliver’s white-blonde hair flew around him as a gust of wind hit the boys' backs. He shook a wet strand out of his eyes, and elbowed Dexter hard in the center of his stomach.
“Mr. Jones! Mr. Jones!” Malcolm yelled, his booming voice hard to immediately distinguish from the thunder.
“What is it?” he bellowed back loudly, his face fierce and rigid.
Mr. Jones was the strictest teacher Malpert could have gone to. He was, well, he was always the teacher who wasn’t afraid to give out harsh punishments, and it was just Oliver’s luck that he walked right up to the boys.
Oliver knew he was about to be given his third detention for the week, and let his head fall so he was examining his wet, discolored shirt.
The boys explained their side of the story, which included humming a choir song, and minding their own business. Oliver snorted in disgust. What did they have against him? But then again, it was always Oliver. It was always his fault. Even the most ridiculous stories that would have never passed had it been another student, it was always all right if it was Oliver. He sighed.
“Why does it seem that it’s always you?” Oliver heard Jones’ curt voice above his head.
“I don’t know,” he admitted, raising his head a fraction of an inch.
“When you speak to me, you will call me Sir, or Mr. Jones,” he said for what appeared to be about the eleventh time this week.
“Yes Sir,” Oliver murmured weakly, hoping against hope that he might let him slide for once.
“Amipleck,” he said, it took Oliver registered the use of his surname, ”I’m going to have to give you detention.”
“Yes Sir,” he said meekly again.
“And I expect you to get this slip signed by a parent or guardian,” his voice shaking from the cold, and handing a sea foam green slip to him.
Oliver swore that he’d just swallowed a ten-pound dumbbell, ”By-by my parents?” He stuttered.
“Yes, Amipleck, you’re parents. You know, Mom and Dad?” he said smugly, a smile played on his lips now.
Oliver bit his lower lip in nervousness, but didn’t grin, “Are you sure that’s necessary, Sir?” His parents weren’t likely to take another note very well.
“I’m quite positive.” He said shortly, “Now get along home. You’re bus is bound to leave any minute.”

Chapter 1, Part 2: Holograms In The Window

Oliver scuttled away, the only-too-familiar sea-foam-green slip in hand.
He sat alone on the bus. He always did. No one in their right minds would sit next to Oliver Amipleck, and all that he had to accompany him was the tight feeling in his chest and stomach. It was likely that his parents would ground him for several weeks. After all, this was the seventh time he’d had to bring home The Slip. They never took it well, but at this point, he was sure that by now, they were sure to be furious. Raindrops spattered the windows, and every now and again a lightning bolt would strike across the sky, causing some of the younger students to flinch.
* * *
The bus arrived at his stop in a surprisingly short amount of time considering the heavy rainfall, and Oliver practically leapt out the creaking bus doors, and landed directly in a puddle below, sending a wave of icy water through his shoes and into his already damp socks. He sprinted back to his house, his drenched shoes squelching with each step, rain running down his pink face, the thunder clapped, and he started. Just the thunder, he reassured himself, shaking his saturated hair off his face, which, he was shocked to find, was rather hot.
After 10 more minutes of hard running, Oliver found himself in the glorious dryness under the edge of the deck that led to his house. He remembered the sea- green slip in his pocket, grimaced, and took a hesitant step towards the wooden door. He took a deep breath, and tried to open it.
It was locked.
Oliver swore loudly, though his cursing was swept away with the wind. That was just like his parents to forget that they had to unlock the front door for him to get in. He pounded on the door.
No answer.
He threw his hands up in frustration. It seemed that Mother and Father were out. Well, it just went to show that Oliver’s parents didn’t care about him. A half hour later, he was still sitting on the doorstep. He yelled as loud as he could, but it was not enough to vent his annoyance. He picked up a rock and chucked it as hard as he could into the meadow out back. Finally he screamed, a high-pitched and slightly unearthly sound that even the wind couldn’t carry away, his chest heaving.
A neighbor poked their head out the window, ”Oliver, what are you doing out in this weather?”
“My parents forgot to unlock the door Mr. Smith,” he called, his shirt still dripping from the rain.
“Well, then come in here, dear boy!” Mr. Smith called joyously, ”We’ll give you some dry clothes and a warm drink.”
Oliver accepted the more than welcome invitation to warmth. He ducked under the doorframe, ”Look Mr. Smith, thanks a lot.”
“Not at all, boy, not at all,” he boomed, his mustached face forming a smile.
Oliver trembled; goose bumps had risen on his arms and the wet hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
“Right,” he said, “Here we are then.” He thrust a large T-Shirt, socks, and a long pair of dark jeans at him.
Oliver took the clothes in his hand. They were lovely and warm, almost as if they’d been sitting in front of the fire for hours.
“You can put them on in that bathroom there.” He gestured at a plain white door leading off from his hallway.
Oliver nodded and slipped into the similarly plain white bathroom, pulling off his sodden shirt, pants, and socks, and put on the clothes Mr. Smith had given him. The T-Shirt came almost to his knees, and the jeans fell far past his feet, but he was grateful for anything besides his wet clothes.
He emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed, tripping on his overlong jeans.
“You can put those,” he pointed at the old black shoes in Oliver’s arms, “In front of the fire. That way they’ll be nice and dry when you go home.”
Oliver uttered his thanks and placed his small pile of clothes and his shoes in front of a roaring fire where he saw several other clothing items hanging. So this was why the clothes had been warm, Oliver acknowledged without trying. He held his hands up to it. They were lovely and warm again finally.
Oliver spent the next hour talking to Mr. Smith. He seemed very concerned about how Oliver was treated at school.
“It’s nothing,” Oliver assured, though there was a tiny part of him that wanted to whine like a child about how life wasn’t fair, but he wasn’t going to give into it. Not now at least.
“And it looks like your folks are home,” he said, peering through the water-spotted window.
“Alright. Thanks again! Hey, I’ll wear these home and bring them back tomorrow after school, alright?”
“Sure, sure,” he said mildly, nodding him off.
Oliver ran through the rain and back under the roof of his house. He stepped through the rain-washed door that was open at last. He pulled The Slip out of the pocket of his other pants, wishing Mr. Jones had just let him off the hook.
“Mom, Dad?” he asked, tentatively.
“What?” the responded simultaneously, neither of them looking down.
“Err, well, you’ve got to sign this,” he said, working hard to keep his voice from shaking.
“What is it?” Mrs. Amipleck, taking the green piece of paper out of her son’s hand, her long nails digging into the his palm.
Oliver said nothing. His parents would know soon enough.
Before he knew it, they’re voices had filled the house, ”Not another one!”
“How are we ever going to teach you?”
“Why can’t we just have some normal child for once?”
“You’re grounded. Two weeks. Go to your room. No supper.”
He scampered off, eager to gain the peace of his dark bedroom and give his pounding head a rest. It was hard to believe that a mere hour ago he was sitting in front of the fire in Mr. Smith’s house.
As promised, Oliver did not get any dinner. He lay awake, long into the night, his stomach rumbling loudly with hunger. He rolled over, trying to take his mind off it, and looked out the window.
It happened in a flash. One moment there was nothing there. The next, strangely familiar blue letters had appeared in the window.


Dear Mr. Amipleck,
On September 5th at approximately 10:36 A.M. Come to your nearest forest. Find the largest pine tree and sit on the bottommost branch where you will await the arrival of something that will change your life. I cannot say now in case the wrong eyes read this message. And yes, it was I who helped you on that social studies test.
- D. M.

D.M… Who might that be? Oliver wondered. He strained his memory with someone who had the initials D and M. The only thing that came to him, he laughed when he thought of this, was Draco Malfoy, from Harry Potter. Surely he couldn’t be in contact with anyone out of a fantasy series. It was absurd. Turning over onto his stomach, he laughed. The first time he’d laughed in a week. He rolled his eyes and turned over again, the thought of the mysterious DM was enough to sustain him until breakfast.

Chapter 1: Part Three: Waiting for September
“I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately! He’s going to ruin our career! If it ever got out that our son--” Oliver heard his father exclaim unpleasantly over a cup of steaming coffee as he walked into the kitchen, hoping for more to eat than what immediately met his eyes: Watery oatmeal, and a glass of apple juice. He sat down and scooted his gleaming chair towards his measly little breakfast. He gobbled down the oatmeal; it was already cold, and gulped the bland apple juice, forcing it all to stay down. He put his hand on the table, feeling a bit sick.
“Keep your hands off the table! You’ll fingerprint it and we have someone from the agency coming today! You’re to stay upstairs.”
“Thanks,” he said unappreciatively and a little sarcastically, and meandered back upstairs to a bathroom where he would once again attempted to comb his hair, useless no matter how wet it was, and brushed his teeth. After doing so, he left for his room again and pulled on his only pair of non-ripped jeans, hoping to make an OK impression when he walked into school as his hair only had one sprig standing up today. He pushed a strand of it out of his eyes, which, to his slight embarrassment, were slightly wet. He blinked it away quickly, for Oliver never cried, and pulled on a shirt that he found in the back of his closet that wasn’t nearly as awful as the rest of them. He smirked mildly. Why was he trying to impress the teachers? Or was it the…. He shuddered. Don’t think that. He told himself. And tripping over his own feet, he left the house to go and catch the big yellow school bus that was just rounding the corner.
When he got home from school that day, he stopped by Mr. Smith’s house and returned the borrowed clothes, and went back home to where, from his parent’s glares, he was still grounded. But it wasn’t for nothing. It was nearly July, and school was letting out for the summer holidays just the next day. And he’d asked his favorite teacher, the one who taught the only class he liked, if he could have her old calendar. She’d looked shocked, and held it out to him, clearly wondering why he needed a calendar. She pursed her lips, and bustled away, high-heeled shoes clicking. He’d also managed to nick a bit of Scotch Tape off a teacher’s desk, which, one he’d returned to his room and put the lights on, he held in his hand.
He tore a piece of the tape off, and then another one, and then two more. He picked up the calendar, and stuck it on the back of his closet door, where no one else would see it, marking September 5th with his red sharpie and circled it. He figured that if he was going to be grounded for a few weeks, he might as well have some way to keep track of the days. He took out a black pen, and crossed off June 27th.
Oliver completed his homework absentmindedly, figuring that if he didn’t get the answers right, the teachers couldn’t give him detention anymore, and slipped it back into his accordion folder, in the ‘Math’ section. (His teachers had wanted him to write ‘Arithmetic’ but he didn’t see the need. After all, there was no difference was there?)
By the time that he was, per say, un-grounded, it was late July; July 27th to be exact. Oliver was shocked when he realized that he’d been doing this for exactly a month. He’d been continually crossing off days on his calendar, and before he knew it, he was to August 17th, and in about a week, he would be starting school again. He wasn’t frightened though, seeing as he would be attending a different school this year. Perhaps this would be his chance to not be the victim of a bully.
He’d already gotten into a spot of bother with a neighbor, simply for stepping in the wet grass, therefore leaving a footprint in the dew as he left early to go and get the mail. His utterly unfair parents told him that he should have known better, and stayed on the sidewalk, even as he tried to spell out that he’d slipped off the edge of the cement, uncoordinated as he was. And he was back in his room for a week. Crossing off the days.
August 19th.
Oliver was sound asleep, having slipped out of his room to nick some bread from the upstairs pantry. Suddenly a streetlamp went out just outside his window with a loud POP. He woke up as though his alarm clock had gone off. Seeing that nothing was wrong, he glanced at the clock. 3:52. He slid silently off of his creaking mattress and into his closet, where he pulled out his black Sharpie, and crossed out the next day.
August 23rd.
Nothing seemed to be going on, and Oliver was itching to get back to school, where, even if it did cause problems, he’d at least have some kids his own age to be around.
August 27th.
He’d gotten up early and caught the bus without saying a word to his parents. He exchanged an awkward glance at a girl with dark brown hair that reached about halfway down her upper arms who was watching him intently. He had a bizarre tingling feeling in the tips of his long fingers. Something made him slightly nervous about her.
August 29th.
Oliver noted that there was only one more week until Saturday, September 5th.
September 2nd.
He’d clambered lazily out of bed, lost his footing, and immediately fell, ensuring that the rest of the house was awake as well. His parents had, of course, shouted themselves hoarse again, but Oliver hadn’t been bothered. He put on his shoes and turned his back on them without a thing for breakfast.
September 4th.
It was Friday, and, making sure he’d set his alarm for 8 o’ clock the next morning, he shuffled across his room to his creaking bed with navy sheets, and without bothering to undress, fell asleep.
Oliver awoke with a start as if somebody had been prodding him. It took him a full thirty seconds to notice that his alarm clock was beeping. He got out of bed and immediately pulled a cold T-Shirt, or what he thought was one, over his head. After trying several times to put it on, he realized that he was clutching a sheet. He laughed and went back to rummaging through his closet.
After putting on an old Beatles tee, a pair of worn out jeans, and mismatched socks, he moved down into the hustle and bustle of the kitchen. After a hasty breakfast, for it was already 9:45, he made to go out through the front door.
“Mother,” he called unceremoniously, ”I’m going out. Be back later.”
“No you’re not! You will stay here and do the dishes young man.”
Oliver’s heart sank. How could he have been so stupid as to think his parents would let him go?
I have to do this. Oliver thought I’m going to have to take the chance.
He turned on his heel and ran out through the door. He heard his parent’s shouts of rage, but didn’t care, and kept running. What did he care? Suddenly, he was free from their clutches. It was a wonderful feeling, knowing that he was faster than them and that they’d never catch him. Knowing that if he didn’t want to, he never had to return there. After only about 5 minutes, their horrid voices screeching through the little neighborhood subsided, and he was alone. Oliver smiled his first honest smile for nearly a week. At this point he slowed to a jog and made his way to where he knew there was a forest just around the bend. He looked at the watch he’d had since the age of six, and his eyes widened. It was already 10:11. He had exactly 25 minutes to find the largest tree and sit on the bottom branch.
Oliver entered the forest, just to find that finding the tallest pine would not be a problem in the slightest. There in the center of a dusty clearing, stood the most enormous tree Oliver had ever seen. He jumped up on a branch that seemed the perfect place to lie and read a book for hours at a time. It was a wide branch with a slight devoted in the middle where he could have fallen asleep had he wanted to.
Glancing down at his watch yet again, he saw that he was just in time. It was 10:34 right now. Oliver leaned back in the chair-like branch. 2 minutes passed, and precisely when his watch clicked from 10:35 to 10:36, the portal appeared.
A portal was the only word for it. Yellow and purple swirls went around and around in circles, creating the effect of a whirlpool. It started no bigger than the size of his fist, but as it spun, the circle in the ground became larger and larger until it was quite wide enough to admit a quite large man. It was making a sound rather like a balloon inflating.
Oliver was left with no doubt that he was supposed to go through this vortex type thing He wasn’t sure how he knew, but it had to be. There was no other way. He got down from the tree, clumsily as usual, and made to uncertainly step into the portal. He’s just about shifted his weight to his air born foot when he heard a strangely familiar voice cry, ”No! Don’t! It’s a trap!”

Oh OH!!!! Is this the one that you pmed me the prolouge to on WI?

Ooh... awesome. Can I read the prologue?

OMG. xD Draco Malfoy, lol . . . course, if it really was Draco, this would need to go in fanfictions or at least semi . . .

Alrightey, anyway . . . great job! :3 You did wonderfully with the detail, and I swear, I could picture myself by that fire. xD The plot and characters are great, too; they're all unique, and I'm like, "Nuuuuuu! Ollie!!!" when he got detention.

But please make sure you put the maturity and fantasy in the description of your thread, too.

Chapter Two: Part One: Melody

Oliver made a mad, fast, and quite violent swinging motion in a circle to see who had been the one to talk. His shirt was tangled in a large branch, and he almost fell face first directly into the portal. Well, actually, he would have if a pair of soft hands hadn’t grabbed him around the waist. Oliver jumped.
“Don’t worry,” the voice sighed, sounding exasperated.
It took Oliver a few seconds to register that it was a girl speaking to him. He promptly went red, and wrenched himself out of her grip.
“Whoa, personal bubble,” he said.
Oliver had finally realized who this girl was. It was that same girl he’d seen on the bus, noting that she made him slightly nervous. He still didn’t know her name.
She laughed, “You’re certainly much funnier than I’ve seen you at school.”
The girl paused. Looking at Oliver as though she expected an answer.
Oliver just gaped. But it wasn’t her statement that was making him.
“You’re funny. I’d have expected you to ask how I knew you.”
Oliver didn’t hear any of this. Instead he was staring at the girl with an expression that felt funny on his face. He felt a hand rush up and try to smooth his hair down.
She had dark brown curls that fell just past her shoulder, one side tucked behind her ear. And sparkling green eyes that were full of warmth and compassion. She was about an inch shorter than he was.
Oliver shook his head vigorously, ”Sorry about that. No, I saw you on my bus. What’s your name anyway?”
“Melody Muscamo.” She said simply, “I know you’re name already.”
“But—How?” He sputtered.
“You get in trouble so often. And I saw you get up and leave when the intercom said,” she put on a very good imitation of the annoying and wheezy voice that came over the intercom, “Oliver Amipleck to the front office please. Oliver Amipleck.”
Oliver felt a twinge of annoyance. So this girl thought it was funny that he got in trouble so often, did she?
“It’s not like I try!” he said a little angrily.
“Yes, I know that,” she rolled her eyes, ”You can never control It.”
“Control what?” Oliver asked, wishing the girl would just explain already.
“It!” she said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, ”You know! It!”
“I’m sorry! I don’t know what it is.” Oliver said incredulously, throwing his arms in the air.
“Your gift! You know how you’ve been making things happen in the past year?”
A ringing silence followed this statement. Now Oliver knew exactly what she had been talking about.
“But how did you know about it before me?” Oliver broke the silence.
“I’ve known since the age of nine. Mine showed earlier. The weaker ones show a bit earlier, the more powerful ones later.”
Oliver half-smiled at the hidden compliment, “But if—Wouldn’t you go to some, special school if you have one of these, so-called- Gifts?”
“Yes, but you have to be 13.” She said.
And something clicked into place, “So I’ll be going?”
“That’s why I’m here. I have to take you there.”
Another, even longer, silence.
“But how?” Oliver finally asked.
She stared at him; a smile played on her lips now, “We fly.”
“Fly?” He asked uncertainly.
“I was just kidding! Gosh, you can be oblivious sometimes.”
“Well, gee, thanks, that made me feel great.” Oliver said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.
He was liking this girl less and less as the minutes ticked on, but something inside him told him that he was liking her more and more as well.
He shook all these odd thoughts from his head, and, with a lack of something to say, decided that staring around at the large trees would suffice.
But suddenly, there was a loud buzzing noise. The ground started to shake, and Oliver realized that he was actually afraid.
“Take my hand!” Melody ordered quickly.
Oliver hesitated.
“If you want to survive this, do it!” she screamed, her face full of sheer terror.
That was all Oliver needed. He clasped her hand tight in his, and suddenly a humming filled the place.

Chapter Two: Part Two:The Dormitory
It was a song that he recognized from a long, long time ago.

Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me,
Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee;
Sounds of the rude world, heard in the day,
Lulled by the moonlight have all passed away.

Angelic voices seemed to be singing, and Oliver knew that he was safe.
“Hold on!” Melody said, breaking him out of his slightly dreamlike trance.
“I am!” he shouted over the trembling earth.
Oliver closed his eyes tight; the whole thing was very unnerving to him. And suddenly it was a feeling like none other. He felt as if he was fading, just fading slowly out of all existence. Am I dying? Have the trees collapsed on me, or what? But then suddenly, he was very real. No longer disappearing slowly, or quickly for that matter. Oliver opened his eyes. He was no longer in the small patch of trees. In fact, he wasn’t anywhere he recognized at all! A quick scan of his new surroundings told him that he was far away from home. The place appeared to be made of foggy white crystal, shimmering and sparkling as he looked around the place even more closely. It seemed to be a hallway. His hand was still clutching Melody’s. He, of course, let go the moment he realized this, and went very red.
Melody laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Oliver asked defensively.
“You are!” she replied, a grin still on her face.
“Whatever,” he said, acting as if he didn’t care, “What the heck just happened?”
He hoped against hope that she wouldn’t say something along the lines of you’d learn in your own good time. His wish came true.
“I used my Gift.” She said rather simply considering that she was explaining how they had just traveled through nothingness to the odd place they were now.
Oliver stared at her, “I need a bit more detail than that.”
“Fine,” she rolled her eyes, “So we all have a gift, right?”
Oliver nodded.
“Mine is the ability to form a shield around me and whoever I’m touching when it’s a dangerous place, and transport myself, and whoever else, to just about wherever you want to be. Pretty pathetic isn’t it?”
Oliver gaped, “Pathetic? You must be kidding me! So if you wanted, you could just,” he snapped his fingers, “right out of class, couldn’t you?”
“There are rules. You’re not supposed to use your gift for school studies, or anything of that sort. That’s why your teacher freaked when she saw you’d gotten that A+,” she concluded solemnly.
“You’re kidding me!” Oliver exclaimed again, “All my teachers knew about this—this whole Gift thing?”
“Of course they knew! They’re required to know by the Government! I knew too.”
“What? How did you know?” Oliver asked, feeling horribly stupid, and dumbfounded at exactly the same time.
“You really are slow aren’t you?” she said, giving him a rather odd look that Oliver wasn’t sure how to interpret.
Oliver caught on, “So other gifted kids can see what happens, but just the normal kids can’t, right?”
“Finally,” she said, raising her eyebrows.
“You don’t have to be so rude about it,” Oliver pointed out.
“I know I don’t have to,” she said, a smirk creeping up on her face, “But I do with the new boys anyway.”
“Uh, why boys as to girls?” Oliver questioned a little nervously.
“Because all the boys that I don’t ask me out before long.” Melody said, now examining her nails.
“And you’re exactly how old?” Oliver asked staring at her.
“Thirteen, be fourteen next week,” she said unconcernedly.
“So anyway,” Oliver changed the topic, “Where are we?”
“Now I haven’t told you that, have I?” she said, still not meeting his eye.
“No, you haven’t. Otherwise I wouldn’t be asking, now, would I?” He said.
If Melody was allowed to be annoying to him, he had every right to hand it back to her.
“Whatever,” she dismissed him with a wave of her hand, “Anyway, this is your new school. Your dorm will be over there.”
Melody gestured to a bit silver door that read, engraved in gold writing “13-Year-Old Boys”. Directly across the hall was one that read “13-Year-Old Girls” Oliver saw that they went up to the age of 18-Year-Olds.
“But, won’t I need, like, books, and a uniform, and all that stuff?” Oliver asked Melody.
“Well, this is my first year here as well, but from what I’ve heard from people, they get all that sort of stuff ages ahead of time. So you should have a uniform and everything in there already. Check it out.” She gave him a little shove, and he fell through the door. Literally fell. The door didn’t open. He just faded through it. But Melody didn’t appear behind him.
He walked back out again where Melody was patiently waiting.
“Aren’t you coming with me?” he asked her.
She rolled her eyes, “First off, I wouldn’t if I could. Secondly, I can’t. That’s the point of the doors being like that. A boy can’t go into a girls dorm, and a girl can’t go into a boys dorm.”
Oliver didn’t believe her, and so he ran directly at the girls’ dorm, and with a sickening crunch, he knew that she was right.
“Wow, you’re right!” she exclaimed sarcastically.
“Fine,” Oliver rolled his eyes and ran back through his door, this time actually taking in the room.
It was a large circular room with a high ceiling, which was explained as he looked up: There was a huge staircase that went up in winding circles, starting out in tight circles, and spreading until it lined the walls. It was made out of white marble, and all around the top, there was a ledge that jutted out from the wall about ten feet. The ceiling was made of glass, and you could see the sky beyond it. (Here it was bright and sunny outside) The floor that he was standing on and everything else looked exactly the same! Almost as though it were a mirror. A cloud passed over in the sky above, and, Oliver jumped, a cloud passed across the floor, over chairs, and finally right under his own small feet. He didn’t know what to make of it. He ran up the staircase, now eager to see what other wonders the place held. And finally, panting, he got to the top. He looked at the various beds all around the top of the room. He was sure of which bed was his. It had Oliver Amipleck written in little gold cursive letters, just above the chestnut headboard and fuzzy whit sheets with a navy blue blanket thrown on top. After exploring for a full ten minutes, he went to go back down the stairs again. He received his next shock. As soon at the thought of how tiring it would be to scramble down all the stairs again had even crossed his mind, they had turned into a smooth slide. A broad smile broke out on his face. This was going to be brilliant! He sat down, and slid all the way down what used to be the stairs, feeling once again like a three-year-old, and roaring with delight along the way. He reached the bottom going at least thirty miles per hour, and slid seven feet before finally coming to a rest on top of a large cumulus cloud up above him. Oliver realized something else peculiar. He had no shadow, but didn’t care at the moment, for he was laughing insanely hard, eyes watering. He looked back, expecting that the slide had turned back into stairs again, but it hadn’t. It was still a smooth slope. He wasn’t sure how he was going to get back up. For the slide was insanely quick, as though it had been covered with ice. He went and sat down on the edge of it, afraid that he had broken it, when suddenly, he was zipping back up the slide, which was just as fun as going down. He let out a great shout of laughter and fear as it launched him up onto his own bed. For this had to be the most brilliant place he’d ever been.

(Sheesh, it's been FOREVER since I added. Enjoy. )

Okay. xD Just making sure, lol!

Just fine.

Chapter 1: Part Three added everybody!

Ooh. o.0 MORE.

Muwahaha! I have left you with a cliffhanger! xD Sorry... No more for a little while.

Nooooooooo. Evil Lauren.

XD

*mad evil laugh* I'm soooo evil! xD Nah... I'll add more in a bit. I just can't add too fast, otherwise I'll run out of what I have written, and you guys'll have to wait even longer.

I love it Lauren way to go!!

Thankies! Ooh, you got your big star.

Omg, I didn't even notice that!! XD Wow!

LOL! I love it when that happens.

New part added on post... FIVE I think it is.

Omg, I love it Lauren total pwnage as always

Thank you. It really does mean a lot, Cat.

Sweet job. Lol, I love how Oliver's getting so annoyed by Melody but acting all gaga over her at the same time. This line is probably my favorite in this chapter:

He felt a hand rush up and try to smooth his hair down.

I was just like, "Haha! xD"

Thanks! xD

LOL! That's one of my favorites too, because that's what my crush does. He has really long hair, and so when I walk up, he'll immediately try to smooth it down, and then I mess it up again. xD

Lol, he wants to look nice for you, eh?

Indeed. xD

Hey guys, sorry for keeping you waiting so long! I totally forgot that I had a story on here too. Added a new part on Post 5!

Awesome! I love this chapter, that slide sounds like so much fun, way to go Lauren!