parlor (where no one is beautiful) and getting my locks chopped off.
Now I've got a modified afro (that's what Mom calls it) that only needs a pick to keep up, some glitter eye shadow Mom let me buy at a place she calls the mall, but whose sign out front says Valley River Center, and some matching glitter polish that was harder to put on than I remember.
Not that I ever did anything the old-fashioned way when I had magic. Back then, I'd snap my fingers and get what I wanted. Literally. Sometimes I had to say a spell, and sometimes I said it wrong, but mostly, I was good at magic. So good, my dad appointed me and my sisters the head of all magic for about a year.
Now I've got to be driven places in a car that's older than I am. My mom goes everywhere with me, and she's explaining stuff in this really fast voice because she knows I spent my entire life (except vacations) on Mount Olympus-not the one on mortal maps, but the one where the gods (mages, really) live-and she's a little worried I'm not going to survive my first day on my own.
I'm a little worried too. I'm learning too much to absorb-and I'm the smartest of the three of us sisters. The other two have been farmed to their moms (we all have the same dad, but not the same mom-more on this later), and we used to work as a team. Brittany and Crystal would remember things I couldn't. Right now I don't have my backup memories-one's in New York (which is kinda cool) and one is in Northern Wisconsin, wherever that is, and we're not going to see each other until winter holiday break.
I didn't even know there were such things as winter holidays before, even though I've seen movies about Christmas. More on that later, too.
First, a little bit on now:
I live in Eugene, Oregon. I can give you the street address if you ask, but Mom says I shouldn't go divulging information to strangers unless it's necessary-which I find to be mystical talk of the first order. Same goes for the landline and the cell numbers. Mom didn't want to give me a cell, but she finally decided to give me my own with extremely limited hours. She decided to give me mine after sending me shopping in that so-called mall-three stores on my own before I saw something I liked, and then I learned about this concept of paying. Weird and a bit cumbersome. But most stuff here is cumbersome. A lot of work for very little reward. Which, my therapist says, is One Of The Reasons I'm Here.
My mom's name is Serena VanDerHoven, which makes my name Tiffany VanDerHoven because my dad, Zeus, doesn't have a last name at all. He's like Madonna or Cher-so famous he doesn't need one. He met my mom when she was on some college-sponsored year abroad in Greece, and the rest, as Mom says, is history. Only I'm just beginning to find out about all the delicate negotiations that went on before history could happen.
Mom says that in order to explain things to my teachers and future friends, I have to say that my dad had custody for the first fifteen years of my life, and I lived everywhere (kinda true if you add “and nowhere at the same time”) but never spent any real time in the United States. Because of our weird lifestyle, my dad home-schooled me (not true; I learned mostly from my older sister Athena, who hated that we younger kids didn't have much education, so she set up this little temple and…oh, never mind. That's one of those digressions Mom says I can't make), and because of that home-schooling thing, I didn't spend a lot of time with people my age.
I'm having trouble keeping track of the lies and the half-truths-the things I can say and the things I can't say-and, as I said, that's weird for me because I'm the smart one.
Although I don't feel that way as I stumble through the doors of Central High (Home of the Cougars! whatever that means). We have to go through metal detectors, which I recognize from the movies, and which seems kinda strange just for going to school.
Mom's beside me, looking stern, which I've never
Now I've got a modified afro (that's what Mom calls it) that only needs a pick to keep up, some glitter eye shadow Mom let me buy at a place she calls the mall, but whose sign out front says Valley River Center, and some matching glitter polish that was harder to put on than I remember.
Not that I ever did anything the old-fashioned way when I had magic. Back then, I'd snap my fingers and get what I wanted. Literally. Sometimes I had to say a spell, and sometimes I said it wrong, but mostly, I was good at magic. So good, my dad appointed me and my sisters the head of all magic for about a year.
Now I've got to be driven places in a car that's older than I am. My mom goes everywhere with me, and she's explaining stuff in this really fast voice because she knows I spent my entire life (except vacations) on Mount Olympus-not the one on mortal maps, but the one where the gods (mages, really) live-and she's a little worried I'm not going to survive my first day on my own.
I'm a little worried too. I'm learning too much to absorb-and I'm the smartest of the three of us sisters. The other two have been farmed to their moms (we all have the same dad, but not the same mom-more on this later), and we used to work as a team. Brittany and Crystal would remember things I couldn't. Right now I don't have my backup memories-one's in New York (which is kinda cool) and one is in Northern Wisconsin, wherever that is, and we're not going to see each other until winter holiday break.
I didn't even know there were such things as winter holidays before, even though I've seen movies about Christmas. More on that later, too.
First, a little bit on now:
I live in Eugene, Oregon. I can give you the street address if you ask, but Mom says I shouldn't go divulging information to strangers unless it's necessary-which I find to be mystical talk of the first order. Same goes for the landline and the cell numbers. Mom didn't want to give me a cell, but she finally decided to give me my own with extremely limited hours. She decided to give me mine after sending me shopping in that so-called mall-three stores on my own before I saw something I liked, and then I learned about this concept of paying. Weird and a bit cumbersome. But most stuff here is cumbersome. A lot of work for very little reward. Which, my therapist says, is One Of The Reasons I'm Here.
My mom's name is Serena VanDerHoven, which makes my name Tiffany VanDerHoven because my dad, Zeus, doesn't have a last name at all. He's like Madonna or Cher-so famous he doesn't need one. He met my mom when she was on some college-sponsored year abroad in Greece, and the rest, as Mom says, is history. Only I'm just beginning to find out about all the delicate negotiations that went on before history could happen.
Mom says that in order to explain things to my teachers and future friends, I have to say that my dad had custody for the first fifteen years of my life, and I lived everywhere (kinda true if you add “and nowhere at the same time”) but never spent any real time in the United States. Because of our weird lifestyle, my dad home-schooled me (not true; I learned mostly from my older sister Athena, who hated that we younger kids didn't have much education, so she set up this little temple and…oh, never mind. That's one of those digressions Mom says I can't make), and because of that home-schooling thing, I didn't spend a lot of time with people my age.
I'm having trouble keeping track of the lies and the half-truths-the things I can say and the things I can't say-and, as I said, that's weird for me because I'm the smart one.
Although I don't feel that way as I stumble through the doors of Central High (Home of the Cougars! whatever that means). We have to go through metal detectors, which I recognize from the movies, and which seems kinda strange just for going to school.
Mom's beside me, looking stern, which I've never
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