Read Online The Awakening of Ren Crown by Anne Zoelle - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Anne Zoelle
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But when I set it to the page, the color slid off like I was painting on wax paper.
Unnerved, I wiped the yellow from my desk with a tissue.
Where is the blue stuff?
“I think it fell out of my bag,” I said softly.
Will's shoulders drooped again. He tried to write something, but the paper wasn't all that large, and his writing had filled the wall between us.
I drew an eraser—a really large one. He gamely began erasing.
I chewed on the end of the charcoal pencil and gagged. I wiped my tongue on the back of my hand, then sorted through my messy desk until I found a large plastic top. Christian had bought them for me years ago.
I stared at the top for a moment, then put it on and slowly started chewing the plastic. I drew a square table and straight chair for Will to use. A little moon and three stars took shape on the white wall to the left side of the closed drapes as I doodled absently. “How did your sleeve get slashed?”
Are you sure the paint isn't in your bag? Please concentrate.
I hated being told to concentrate when I was doodling—as if I wasn't actually thinking. The moon brightened on the page.
“I'm sure. What is behind the drapes?” Looking at them made me anxious. “Do you know?”
No. You are the creator of this world. Don't you know?
“No.” My voice fell to a whisper. Not knowing deeply upset me. I took my memory for granted. I remembered every image I had ever seen. Not remembering my own drawing...?
The stars began twinkling.
He crossed his arms, frowning off to the side.
Yeah, join the club. I hated me too.
One of the twinkling stars hardened, then shot toward Will. I pinned it automatically with my pencil, reflexes saving him. Will overturned the table and ducked behind it narrowly avoiding the other two. The crescent moon, however, had other ideas, and winged its way like a boomerang around the table. I quickly pulled down the star I was holding so it fell to the sketch floor and put the tip of my pencil in the path of the boomerang, spinning it around. It rotated and whacked into the sketch wall.
Mouth agape, I stared, pencil still pressed to the page. Will peered over the edge of the table, gave me a wide-eyed look, then righted the table. He removed the stars embedded in the tabletop and examined them.
“Sorry,” I whispered.
He shook his head and wrote— What you feel makes a difference in here. I could feel the change. Like a weather mage manipulating winds. Focus and intent are a large part of magic.
With my pencil pressed to the page, as he wrote the words, the letters rearranged themselves so that they were written forward for me.
Focus and intent.
I rubbed the back of my neck. Will could feel the change? Was that why he had been frowning? Because he had felt a change in the air?
Since Christian's death, I had become so used to people being disappointed in me, that I interpreted everyone's emotions as dislike now. Depressing.
The circles on the drapes began rotating. I quickly blanked my thoughts, and they stopped. I needed to...change my attitude.
“I need to figure out how things work in there. Are you hungry?” I had scarfed down dinner in five minutes flat, then quickly excused myself saying I was going to study in my room for the rest of the night, but Will hadn't had anything to eat.
Will looked depressed as he wrote. Yes. Thirsty too.
Not good. I had never been great at those pet games where you had to electronically keep them alive. They always took time away from drawing or from helping Christian—passing footballs or deriving equations together.
“Request?”
Chicken. Simple. Cooked. Focus. Concentrate !
The last was underlined twice.
I tried to concentrate very hard as I drew a chicken breast and glass of water. I could almost taste the chicken and feel the cool water on the back of my tongue as I drew. But I forgot to draw a plate, so the chicken just sort of thumped down on the table.
“Er, sorry.” I quickly drew a plate, knife, and
Unnerved, I wiped the yellow from my desk with a tissue.
Where is the blue stuff?
“I think it fell out of my bag,” I said softly.
Will's shoulders drooped again. He tried to write something, but the paper wasn't all that large, and his writing had filled the wall between us.
I drew an eraser—a really large one. He gamely began erasing.
I chewed on the end of the charcoal pencil and gagged. I wiped my tongue on the back of my hand, then sorted through my messy desk until I found a large plastic top. Christian had bought them for me years ago.
I stared at the top for a moment, then put it on and slowly started chewing the plastic. I drew a square table and straight chair for Will to use. A little moon and three stars took shape on the white wall to the left side of the closed drapes as I doodled absently. “How did your sleeve get slashed?”
Are you sure the paint isn't in your bag? Please concentrate.
I hated being told to concentrate when I was doodling—as if I wasn't actually thinking. The moon brightened on the page.
“I'm sure. What is behind the drapes?” Looking at them made me anxious. “Do you know?”
No. You are the creator of this world. Don't you know?
“No.” My voice fell to a whisper. Not knowing deeply upset me. I took my memory for granted. I remembered every image I had ever seen. Not remembering my own drawing...?
The stars began twinkling.
He crossed his arms, frowning off to the side.
Yeah, join the club. I hated me too.
One of the twinkling stars hardened, then shot toward Will. I pinned it automatically with my pencil, reflexes saving him. Will overturned the table and ducked behind it narrowly avoiding the other two. The crescent moon, however, had other ideas, and winged its way like a boomerang around the table. I quickly pulled down the star I was holding so it fell to the sketch floor and put the tip of my pencil in the path of the boomerang, spinning it around. It rotated and whacked into the sketch wall.
Mouth agape, I stared, pencil still pressed to the page. Will peered over the edge of the table, gave me a wide-eyed look, then righted the table. He removed the stars embedded in the tabletop and examined them.
“Sorry,” I whispered.
He shook his head and wrote— What you feel makes a difference in here. I could feel the change. Like a weather mage manipulating winds. Focus and intent are a large part of magic.
With my pencil pressed to the page, as he wrote the words, the letters rearranged themselves so that they were written forward for me.
Focus and intent.
I rubbed the back of my neck. Will could feel the change? Was that why he had been frowning? Because he had felt a change in the air?
Since Christian's death, I had become so used to people being disappointed in me, that I interpreted everyone's emotions as dislike now. Depressing.
The circles on the drapes began rotating. I quickly blanked my thoughts, and they stopped. I needed to...change my attitude.
“I need to figure out how things work in there. Are you hungry?” I had scarfed down dinner in five minutes flat, then quickly excused myself saying I was going to study in my room for the rest of the night, but Will hadn't had anything to eat.
Will looked depressed as he wrote. Yes. Thirsty too.
Not good. I had never been great at those pet games where you had to electronically keep them alive. They always took time away from drawing or from helping Christian—passing footballs or deriving equations together.
“Request?”
Chicken. Simple. Cooked. Focus. Concentrate !
The last was underlined twice.
I tried to concentrate very hard as I drew a chicken breast and glass of water. I could almost taste the chicken and feel the cool water on the back of my tongue as I drew. But I forgot to draw a plate, so the chicken just sort of thumped down on the table.
“Er, sorry.” I quickly drew a plate, knife, and
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