The author is Elizabeth of ReadWriteReview--YA Style. At thirteen, she already shows an AMAZING amount of writerly talent. Please go visit her blog (which she shares with Leslie, another very talented teenager). And while you're visiting, you should go ahead and follow. I'll wait.
Back yet? Excellent.
Tanya looked down towards her feet, “Sorry, Mr. Nelson, it won’t happen again.”
She made sure her hair was covering most of her face and wiped away a few tears.
“It had better not. Next time I see you sneak into the school at five in the morning with a can of spray-paint, you’re going to get a lot worse punishment than community service. Understand?”
With that, he turned around and walked towards his classroom.
Tanya glanced up again at the graffiti on the lockers. Not only did she have to do community service, but she also had to clean it off completely. Life sucks.
She didn’t know what had gotten into her—she wasn’t the type of girl that would normally do something like that, and yet there she was. It had really been something that had grown over time, turning into something so consuming that it was practically impossible to get out of. So she just let it grow, and grow, and grow.
Tanya picked up her rag from the bucket of water and soap and started scrubbing.
But when she was halfway finished, she ran into a problem. The bucket was empty, and she didn’t know how to get more water.
Ugh. She thought, Not this. Could this day gett any worse? I need water!
And then and there, the strangest thing occurred. To her astonishment, water was pouring out her fingernails.
Then, when the bucket was nearly full, she willed it to stop—and it did.
For a moment, she couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.
What just. . .wh. . .what just happened to me?
Mr. Nelson’s voice brought her back to attention, “Are you ok, Tanya?”
Tanya looked up from the cracks in the floor, “Yeah, sir.”
“Do you need some more water for your bucket?”
“No. . .I think I’ll be good for a while.” She gulped, I hope.
Tanya doubled her previous speed, attempting to get out early enough to see if any of it was for real.
She completely bypassed my parents, both of whom were giving Tanya very disappointed gazes that screamed the classic, “We need to have a serious talk. Like, now.”
She didn’t even turn around--just walked straight to her room.
She got out a bucket and held her hands over it.
Water. Come out! It came.
More water. More. . .more. . .More!!!
Soon, the bucket was half full.
Less water. Less. . .less. . .stop.
Tanya was filled with amazement. She didn’t even think something like that was possible. At least not for her, anyway.
Tanya found it immensely amusing.
She had always been terrible at fishing, and watching her grandfather try to figure out how she suddenly became a pro was very fun—even enough to make her laugh, something she hadn’t done in forever.
It was simple—not only could she command water to come out of her hands, but she had also been practicing making currents in pools, which she then applied to the pond they fished in. She simply made the fish swim towards her hook, and then reeled it in.
Tanya glanced over at their piles, hers being over twice the size of her grandfathers, “Grandpa, can we go back to our tents and cook one of these for dinner? I’m hungry.”
He smirked, “As long as it’s one of yours.”
They walked back to their camp site, which was only a small walk away.
Grandpa prepared the fish for cooking, and then turned to Tanya, “I’ll start the fire if you grab the pan and
Tanya went into her tent and grabbed the necessary things, but Grandpa was still getting the fire ready when she came out.
Then she saw it.
Grandpa bent over by the wood and held his hands out towards it, and flames suddenly jumped off of his finger- tips, setting the wood ablaze in seconds.
He looked up and saw Tanya staring at him with an astounded gaze, but Tanya was the first to speak, “Y. . .you. . .you can do it too?”
“It depends on what you consider ‘it’. . .But, yes. . .I can control the element of fire.”
Tanya held out her hands and allowed the water to come down and feed the dirt, “Water,” she was startled to see that her grandfather didn’t look the least bit surprised, “How?”
Grandpa smiled grimly, “It’s a long story.”