Covens:
I: Elmwood coven in the
North (Ally to Firestone coven)
O< Anayban Frost: High Priest of the Elmwood
coven (eccentric, studious, faithful)
)O( Thelma Flamewind: High Priestess of the Elmwood
coven (willful, enthusiastic, encouraging)
II: Firestone coven in
the South (Ally to Elmwood coven) largest group
O< Osiren Breeze: High Priest of the Firestone
coven (serious, leader, persistent)
)O( Antigone Moundsnow: High Priestess of the
Firestone coven (shy, introverted, thoughtful)
III: Airleaf coven in the
East (Enemy to Wavesoil coven), later disbanded by authority
O< Horan Spark: High Priest of the Airleaf coven
(greedy for money, flamboyant, lustful)
)O( Hyacin Icecrust: High Priestess of the Airleaf
coven (self-centered)
IIII: Wavesoil coven in
the West (Enemy to Airleaf coven) smallest group, gained new members and moved
out of state
O< Thothen Rock: High Priest of the Wavesoil
coven (mistrusting of outsiders)
)O( Theia Airpyra: High Priestess of the Wavesoil
clan (mistrusting of outsiders)
Spirit council: Head
group of the covens. Oversees all activities and sets rules.
Character cast
Catherine Dajinay: an
African American middle class high school teenager, daughter of two lesbians. She
falls in love with Alex Connors at school in addition to another guy friend.
Although she is frequently bullied, she has a group of friends she can rely on.
Common misconceptions about her include that she is a lesbian, she practices
Satanism, and that she should not be shy since she is Black, all of which are
untrue. She is interested in psychology and biology.
Betty: her adoptive white
non-biological mother, fairly strict but still loving.
Susana: Catherine’s
African American biological mother, sweet, supportive and independent. She
later falls ill due to lung cancer, which causes stress in Catherine’s life.
RavenMoon: fellow member
of the Elmwood coven. She has long black hair and blue eyes. Though not a
gothic person, she is fascinated by the moon, death, and the spirit world.
Iris Greengrass: red-haired Elmwood coven member and
environmentalist
Tracey: blonde class bully and mean girl. She believes that all religions are "made up myths."
Destiny: Catherine's fashion-loving best friend
A dark-skinned girl maneuvered
around the herd of chatting students from every direction down the white-tiled
hallway. Dark blue jeans hugged her long legs and dark pink tennis shoes fit
over her feet. She held her textbooks in front of her blue and white tye-dyed
long-sleeved shirt, her brown eyes staring straight ahead. Short black curls
hung down slightly past the back of her neck. For this day, she decided to use
silvery-gray eyeshadow on her eyelids and magenta lipstick. On occasion, she
would glance behind her to make sure that no curious ignorant person decided to
touch her hair from behind. No one had the right to casually twirl their
fingers through her locks. Many white people were merely jealous that their
straight boring hair could not match up to hers. Of course, she wasn’t the only
African American at Bailey high school in Massachusetts, but she was one of the
main targets of bullies. Thankfully, she saw no familiar freaky faces in sight.
Catherine arrived to her
anatomy class and took her place in the front row. Destiny, her good friend,
sat next to her. She was one of the few friends she had at school who was also
black like herself. Sure she enjoyed the company of other black individuals but
those people would mostly discuss cheerleading, basketball, and calculus, all the
things she had little knowledge of. For Catherine, anything about the human
body and mind fascinated her: anatomy, psychology, sociology, and certain
periods of history that did not involve the U.S.
“Hey Cat!” smiled Destiny
as she sat beside at her desk.
“Great to see you Des,”
Catherine replied. Destiny was always the kind energetic person to everyone she
met. She was also a fashionista as well. Today, she wore dark dress pants,
shiny shoes and a silky black and white top. A gold band necklace hung around
her neck, glinting in the florescent light. Every day, Destiny dressed like she
was going to a business casual interview.
“How’s life?” asked
Catherine.
“So far so good,” replied
Destiny. “I passed my recent Financial Planning quiz and got the highest grade
in the class.”
Being passionate about
business and planning for careers, Catherine wasn’t surprised at the fact.
“Financial Planning,
Greek history, AP Geography, Anatomy, Algebra, and Piano practice,” said
Destiny, listing off her classes. “I bet you can guess which one I am not doing
well in.”
“Algebra” they both said
at the same time, with giggles.
“Me and my family are
going to Florida in a week,” said Destiny. “I’m visiting my cousins there and
helping Kelly out with her hairstyling job.”
“Nice,” said Catherine.
“Will you get to go to Disneyworld?”
“Maybe after several more
months of saving up,” she answered. “Besides, it wouldn’t be right to go
without you around.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll write to you and
send you a postcard.”
“Much appreciated, but you’ll
only be gone for a week.”
“Still, it’s the thought
that counts.”
More students hustled in
through the doorway as the two girls talked some more. The anatomy teacher came
into the room; a large white man with glasses and a bald head. He wore nice white
pants and a light blue shirt with two large pockets. With a white piece of
chalk, he wrote the date up on the board: September 5th, 1998. “Mr.
Sanderson” was printed on his name tag.
The class filled up the
seats and gradually settled down.
“Another day, another
diaphragm” the teacher announced out of the blue. He always had a quirky sense
of humor. “I assume you’ve all read chapter 4 on interior skeletal muscles this
week, yes?”
There was a nodding of
several heads.
“Well we shall find out
when we review today and when your second quiz begins on Friday.”
A girl with a brown braid
was busy fiddling with her dark pink iPod.
“Mandy, I assure you that
your music comes in handy,” said Mr. Sanderson. “But not while in my class if
you want to pass.”
Mandy’s classmates
giggled under their breath.
“Put it away if you want
to stay,” he ordered.
With an upset look, Mandy
shoved her iPod back into her backpack.
“Are you sure you weren’t
a poetry teacher before?” asked a guy named Max.
“Surprisingly not,” he replied.
“Throughout my life I have discovered many forms of great art in the world.
Perhaps the greatest art of all is nature itself. And with nature comes the
complex, fascinating natural system known as the human body. Everyone turn to
chapter 4 and pass up your reading response sheets forward.”
The sounds of crinkling
paper and footsteps filled the room as each student placed their assignments in
a pile toward the front. The teacher took all of the papers and placed them at
his desk for future grading.
For the rest of the
class, the students were put into several groups to fill out worksheets. They
labeled different parts of the skeleton, ligaments, and muscles by looking
through their textbooks in front of them.
“Remember that you will
need to memorize each part on the upcoming quiz,” the teacher announced. “The
quizzes are each worth 15% of your grade, so be sure to take your time when you
study.”
After several hours, the
bell rang, and the class hurried out. “See you around!” called Destiny.
“See you soon!” called
Catherine.
Catherine then looked at
her list of classes:
Anatomy
U.S. History
Lunch
Psychology
Critical Literature
Algebra
All her favorite classes
were in the morning and the list went down from there. While she had an A an
anatomy, an A in psychology, and a B in history, she was barely passing in her
literature and algebra classes. Like destiny, she was bad, no worse, at math.
At least Destiny had the basics of financials down pat; Catherine couldn’t even
figure out have the terminology. Her literature class involved writing MLA
literature reviews on assigned books for the class. Thankfully, most of her
teachers were understanding and easy going. History class, though, was another
matter. She was lucky to have a B to begin with. Catherine sighed and entered
her history class. The week’s topic involved the Salem witch trials and she
hated every minute of it.
The ironic part about the
class was how witch-like the teacher herself looked. Long dark crept down
slightly past her neck, while the gray hair on top of her head indicated aging.
“Mrs. Bridget Hollow” was printed on her name tag on her desk. Every day, she
would wear a long black skirt, dress shoes, and a matching colored blouse. A
Christian cross necklace hung around her neck. Her attire coupled with her
black reading glasses made her look like she was going to a midnight job
interview. Though there were no warts on her nose, her pale face displayed
wrinkles that were barely noticeable from a distance.
Mrs. Hollow glared at Catherine
as she took her usual seat in the second row, closest to the door. It seemed
like no matter what she did, Mrs. Hollow always found something displeasing
about Catherine. Catherine often joked with Destiny after class about her being
“hollow-minded” and conservative.
“Let’s begin where we
left off last week,” Mrs. Hollow stated. She turned on a projector that was
positioned on a solid white cart on wheels. The light came on and the sound of
faint humming reverberated throughout the room.
“Last week, we reviewed
the events of the English Civil war, which took place from 1642-1651. The
Parliamentarians were victorious in the war and the Protectorate replaced the
Crown in 1653. As many of you know, conservative Puritanism was the dominant
form of government and religion in Massachusetts up until the 1680s.” She put
up various slides under the light of soldiers fighting on the fields and the
elaborate churches in England.
The dry lecture continued
for another forty minutes. “Now,” announced Mrs. Hollow. “I have your papers
from last week that you handed in.” She walked around the room, handing the
essays back from a large stack of papers in her hands. “Unfortunately, only a
few of you properly incorporated English and American history to answer the
prompt.”
Catherine looked around
the room and saw the class bully, Tracey sitting on the other side toward the
windows. She had long blonde hair, brown eyes, and was currently applying red
lipstick to her lips while holding a handheld mirror. Her tight pink jeans and
bright blue shirt were painful to look at. She glanced at Catherine and
sneered. “Welcome back, dirt girl! You enjoy taking mud baths every day before
school?” Several girls around her laughed.
“You’re one to talk,”
Catherine replied. “Your skin is so pale I almost thought you were a ghost.”
Tracey giggled with fake
enthusiasm. “I only dress up as one for Halloween,” Tracey replied. “Tell me,
how do you manage to care for your black bush hair every morning?”
Catherine’s face turned
red as she self-consciously moved her fingers through her curly locks.
“At least my hair doesn’t
look like uncooked yellow pasta,” she retorted, which resulted in more laughter
from the class.
“Settle down,” Mrs.
Hollow ordered. “You better have your history textbooks open to chapter 7.”
There was a turning of
pages and the sounds of backpack zippers being opened.
Tracey smiled as the
teacher walked over to her. She had a habit of being overly sweet to authority
figures, manipulating them into thinking she was innocent all the time. Many
times, her method worked. Only this time…”
“Ms. Tracey,” said Mrs.
Hollow, “Your beginning paragraphs were choppy and lacked the answers I was
looking for. You were supposed to explain in your own words why immigrants
moved to the New World and what they journey was like. Next time, do not list
facts after facts without connecting them together.”
Tracey pouted as she
started at the ugly red C on her paper. Catherine smiled with glee…until she
saw a red C on her own paper. “What? That’s impossible.”
“Why would you say that?”
the teacher asked. “You used way too many passive words in your paragraphs. I
was confused when you described the perspectives of the immigrants and the
ministers. You cannot make self-evidence claims without further explaining the
historical context. In addition, your arguments were circular, which means you
have failed to describe your essay’s key concepts.”
Catherine sat in shocked
silence.
“As a historian, I find
your essay ahistorical.”
“I don’t understand,” she
said softly.
“Well, you better
understand soon, or else your grade will start going down.”
Tears fell from
Catherine’s brown eyes after the teacher walked away. Catherine had worked
hours on that paper. How could she have gotten a bad grade?
“Oh, look, dirt girl is
crying because she’s jealous of my popularity and good looks,” Tracey remarked.
“Don’t stress out too much. You don’t want to become dirt poor like your one or
two friends.”
“Shut up,” Catherine spat
before burying her face in her hands. She
wished she could rewrite her essay to prove that she had learned how to
improve. However, Mrs. Hollow had told her when she asked about it yesterday,
“You don’t get second chances in the real world.”
At this rate, Catherine
would be getting a C in her history class by next week.
“Alright, turn to the
middle portion of chapter 7” said the teacher. This time, she put a black and
white image under the projector light so everyone could see. This image showed
a woman in a white dress holding up her hands while lightning came through a
half-circle window. The courtroom was full of people looking at the woman in
terror. The judge at the podium, wearing an elegant black robe, leaned back in
fright. A group of armed guards with swords and spears, stood behind the woman.
One man was passed out on the wooden floor.
“The Salem witch trials
were a series of hearings that started between February 1962 and May 1693 in
colonial Massachusetts. More than 200 people were accused of witchcraft, the
majority being women. People were accused for various reasons, such as being
possessed by demons, doing profane acts at night, and displaying some form of
deviance from the Christian norms.”
The next images that were
shown chilled Catherine to the bone. One was a black and white image of women
in country dresses being hanged in front of a large crowd. Several others
showed women being burned at the stake while a judge and soldiers carelessly
watched. A colored image showed an elderly women tied to a chair being lowered
into a lake, a look of horror on her face. An unpleasant tingly feeling flowed
through Catherine’s gut. It was the same feeling she experienced when she
looked at gruesome pictures or uncomfortable moments in films for too long. Seeing
those images made Catherine cry even more.
The teacher continued.
“Betty Paris and Abigail Williams, for instance, had childish fits and made
strange sounds. Tituba, Sarah Good, and Sarah Osborne were accused of
afflicting Elizabeth Hubbard, and Ann Putman Jr. Abigail Hobbs, Mary Warren,
and Bridget Bishop were other individuals who were arrested and examined.”
Finally, after what
seemed like an eternity, the bell rang and class was over. Catherine packed her
stuff and walked out the door, all while getting an elbow to her side by a
laughing Tracey. Catherine groaned inwardly. Not only did she have to write an
essay on the Court of Oyer and Terminer, she also had to compare and contrast
Calvinism and Puritanism. No one else had to do an extra religion paper. She
also noticed that no one else in her class had her brown skin color.
“I can’t stand those
racist bigots,” she cursed under her breath. Catherine considered reporting
Mrs. Hollows and Tracey, but she knew that she had no evidence to support her
statement. Plus, no one would believe a student who was starting to fail her
classes. Her stomach growled as she made her way to the cafeteria.
Inside, the room was
spacious with a high ceiling. Sunlight entered through the glass windows above
the doors to the kitchen. The floor was dark green and the walls were light
green concrete bricks. Students were chatting and waiting in line to buy their
lunches. Only juniors and seniors could get their lunches at outside
restaurants. The tables and chairs were spread out across the room in no
particular order. Tracey was gossiping with her friends at the senior table.
Toward the far right, several students in wheelchairs ate together at a round
table.
Destiny waved Catherine
over to their usual spot by the glass doors. Catherine walked over and sat down
across from her friend. She pulled out her red lunchbox and opened it. Sure
enough, her mother packed a ham and cheese sandwich, a thermos full of brown
rice, a yogurt, and a green apple.
“You always go for the
apple first, don’t you?” asked Destiny with a smile.
Catherine grinned as she
bit into the green apple skin. “Des, I can’t help it!”
“I get it. Though I
prefer the golden red apples and fresh salad.” Destiny started eating her salad
and steak pieces in front of her on a white tray. After finishing her apple and
picking up a plastic fork, Catherine gobbled up her rice with gusto, sprinkling
black pepper and salt on it to make it more flavorful.
As Destiny was finishing
her chocolate milk, several other students came by their table, chatting in
loud tones.
“Destiny, what’s up,
girl?” asked a woman with dark brown skin, darker than Catherine’s. “It’s great
to see you, Catherine.”
“Same here, Kelce,”
Catherine replied. Kelce sat next to Destiny, her hair in long dark braids. Her
red shirt had an independent hip-hop artist on the front along with his name:
“Old Gold Beatz the 2nd.” Her black backpack has pink letters that read, “This
tomboy loves cuddly tom cats.”
To be continued...
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