The Shapeshifter

August 13th, 2014. I’m Christine, I’m 11, but in 9th grade. I moved from Beijing to California for my dad’s work. I have a secret- it’s that I’m a Shapeshifter. Don’t tell anyone, or else…

I stepped into the high school, and everything was so big, but maybe that was just because I was small. I’d walk into my homeroom, while some glanced as I passed by.

I’d sigh in annoyance, already wishing for the day to end as I’d follow the others to

class.

I’d enter the room and sit down, reading the chalkboard.

“Welcome all, today we will be going over powers”. which was both on the

chalkboard and also coming from the teacher’s mouth in perfect sync.

Oh-I didn’t tell you? This is a school for well the supernatural, or people with powers. I wonder how so many people got accepted; half their powers don’t exist. I just pretend to have a weak power like flame to hide my real power, but it’s still a real power, unlike theirs.

Everyone here thinks I’m just weak and is here because my dad is rich- he isn’t, but it was the best lie I could think of.

And, talking about the things I didn’t tell you about, I’m part of the C.I.A. (Central Intelligence Agency),

and speaking of lies- I didn’t move here for my dad’s job, I moved here to join the C.I.A. Everyone in my family is in the C.I.A. anyway.

Now, back to the present- I’d watch another student control…air? They just formed air, though I think they were just moving their hands in the air randomly. Pretty weird, isn’t it? But according to them, they could form tornadoes and hurricanes. Though Ms. Paddock told them not to, because she didn’t want them to wreck the classroom.

Time seemed to fly as students did different powers, though I feel like half the names were made up.

I’d use my power to fast-forward time because I didn’t want to stay the whole school day.

After school ended, I’d turn into a common raven before flying off to the C.I.A. headquarters.

As I reached headquarters, I’d sign in. I’m pretty sure those agents were more confused by the fact that there was an 11-year-old agent.

I’d mutter, barely looking up, “What’s the mission for today?”

The agent glanced toward me, then said, “Criminal, down in Phoenix, Arizona, since you can transform into something that can fly, it shouldn’t be too hard.”

I’d nod in agreement before flying off as a Great-Horned Owl. I didn’t really care if someone saw me as an owl, even if they did, they probably can’t do much.

To be continued