So here is another story to fill the gap once I finish Nectar of the Gods. (What gap?) I had this idea for awhile, and I'm really excited about it. If I succeed, this will be a thorough, modernized rendition of the Gemma Doyle Trilogy. Obviously, The Sweet Far Thing hasn't been released yet, so I only have plans for AGATB and RA. This story will be a mixture of both. Thanks in advance to my beta girl GxK, even if I am publishing this before she actually gave me any feedback. Ah well. I am impatient.

"How's my birthday girl?" My father sets his briefcase on the floor and hands me a bouquet of pink roses and honeysuckle.

"As sweet as a sixteen year old can be, Dad," I say, smiling giddily.

He lets out a booming laugh that seems to make his large stomach rumble. "Come here, you, Miss Sweet Sixteen!" He swoops me into a bear hug and I squeal with laughter. I may be sixteen today, but my father always makes me feel like a little girl. "I've got something for you."

Make that a spoiled little girl.

"Is it a car?!" I can't help but wish for one, preferably silver and expensive.

"Now, now," my dad says, brandishing his finger at me. "How do you expect a car when you don't even have your license, Gemma?"

"But I have my permit!"

"Don't whine!" my mother calls from the kitchen. I sigh and slump back into my chair.

My father's eyes twinkle merrily. "Gemma, do you recall that bicycle you wanted a few years ago? The one with the pink streamers and light-up stars?"

My mouth drops open in horror. "Dad! You didn't!"

"No, you're right. I didn't. Let's see, what other forms of transportation tickle your fancy?"

Excitement rises in my stomach. "A horse?" I've wanted a horse of my own ever since I started taking lessons a few years ago.

My dad frowns and sets a wrapped box on the table. "I don't think a horse could fit in here."

"But you said transportation…" I trail off uncertainly.

"Open it, love," my mother says, appearing in the doorway. She wipes her hands on her apron and smiles.

With a sigh of perfected disdain, I tear open the purple paper. What I see nearly makes me want to cry. "Roller skates," I say flatly. "Oh boy, oh boy."

My parents share an amused look. "Perhaps you might like to try them on, Gemma?"

"No thanks mum, I think I'm set in the roller skates department."

"Be a good sport, love."

"Fine." I open the cardboard box only to discover there is nothing but a mess of tissue paper. "Oh come on! Enough games," I say, grinning despite myself. I reach into the box and pull out an envelope. "Money?"

"Better," my parents say in unison.

I open the card and out falls a picture of a black horse with a small white star on his head. I know this horse. I test rode him just in case and I absolutely fell in love with him. "Is he mine?!" I shriek.

"Yes, Gem. He's all yours."

"Oh my god! Thank you so much!" I jump up and hug my parents fiercely.

Dad frowns thoughtfully. "I don't know Gemma. Perhaps you'd rather have a car after all? It would cost us less."

"No! My horse is better than any car!"

The three of us sit down for supper. My brother Tom is absent, working the graveyard shift at the hospital he interns at. Even without him, dinner is a happy affair. My parents are content to listen to me brainstorm about show names and new tack for my new horse; even though they probably know it means more money for them.

Cake is served and with it comes another surprise.

"Gemma darling," my mother says in that offhanded way of hers. "Your father and I have some news for you."

"You bought me a car as well?"

My mother smiles and shakes her head. "John?" She turns to my father. "Perhaps you'd like to tell her?"

My father reaches across the table and pats my hand. "We're moving to the city, love."

"You're joking." I hate the city. It's loud and dirty and filled with crazy people.

"We're not, honey," my mother says. "Your father got a promotion at work and it'd be easier if we moved into the city."

"Oh," I say hollowly. "Congrats, Dad."

He winks. "You'll finally have your own bathroom!"

I smile weakly. "Sounds like a blast. Can I be excused?"

"Of course."

I thank my parents again for my birthday dinner and of course, my horse, and steal away to my bedroom to reflect. I love my room; it's been nearly the same since I was a little girl. Same purple walls and frilly white curtains as always, though my princess mural has long been painted over. Except for the unicorn. That part I insisted on keeping, no matter how much my friends tease me for having a large white horse on my wall.

I sink into the soft pillows on my window seat. It's always been my favorite spot in the whole house. I'd spend hours, curled up, reading or writing, or just staring at the sky and daydreaming. Just another reason for me to hate the city. It doesn't have window seats, nor any open sky.

And where does one board a horse?

In a split second's time my mood lightens considerably. I have a horse! So what if I have to move? The city is only about an hour away. My friends can take the train. What matters is that I'm sixteen years old, I have a horse, and I'm a borderline C-cup in bra size.

I hop up from my seat and stick the picture of my new horse into the frame of my mirror. What shall I name him? He's perfectly black, aside from his star. Onyx? Too common. Black Magic? Again, too common. He's tall and elegant and perfect. His name has to convey that. It must be perfect.

There is a knock at the door.

"Gemma? May I come in?" It is my mother.

"Sure, Mom," I say as she opens the door. "I was thinking of what I should name my horse."

She smiles and takes a seat on my bed. "It must be very exciting," she says.

"It is."

She smoothes the comforter on my bed. "I'm sorry this is all so sudden, Gemma. I know it's hard in you, to move away from your friends."

"Do we really have to move?"

"I'm afraid so, darling."

"But why? Don't I get a say in anything?"

"Gemma, don't be difficult."

Suddenly it's not about moving anymore. "I'm not being difficult! It's not fair!"

My mother sighs. "Life isn't fair."

"Spoken like someone that lived in the same house until she got married," I spit. My mother is silent, so I speak to keep myself from feeling bad. "You know, this will absolutely ruin my life. I'll have no friends. The city's dirty. I'll catch a disease just walking to school. Is that what you want, Mom? A diseased daughter?"

"Gemma you are being ridiculous!" Her eyes flash warnings. "Be grateful for what you have! The city is a fine place to live."

"Yes, if you want to get raped."

My mother rolls her eyes. "Not everyone in the city is a criminal."

"But Mom," I plead pathetically. "There are homeless people in the city!"

"Don't be a brat! Now I don't want to hear anymore on this matter. I do have something for you if you'd care enough to be civil."

I cross my arms defensively. "Funny you should mention caring. Some parents actually care for the happiness of their children."

My mother stands up abruptly and throws a small box on the bed. Before I can utter another snide remark, she exits my room, slamming the door behind her.

I return to my window seat with a spiteful harrumph. I throw venomous looks at the box she left as if it was my mother herself. It shames me to admit that I am indeed curious about it's contents. I flop onto my bed and pick it up.

It's a small, velvet box – the kind notorious for containing jewelry. Inside is one of her old necklaces, a silver crescent moon hanging below a single eye. I've seen it from time to time when I'd snoop through her jewelry box, and I've always secretly coveted it.

I feel a stab of remorse for acting up. I have no excuse for acting like such a brat. With the box in hand, I tiptoe downstairs to the den, where my parents often relax before going to bed. I can hear them speaking from the spot just beyond the door, where they can't see me.

"She's just upset, Virginia. Sixteen is a tricky age."

"Tom never acted this way."

"It is different with boys." There is silence. "You never gave your parents trouble?"

I do not wait to hear my mom's answer. I walk uncertainly into the room. My parents both look up at me.

"I'm sorry, Mom," I whisper. "I acted terrible."

Her face softens and she opens her arms to hug me. "It's alright, Gemma. I understand."

For a moment, I let myself melt into the warmth that is my mother. She still smells faintly of Chanel perfume and roses, like she has every day for as long as I can remember.

"Thank you for this," I say, holding up her second gift to me.

"It's an heirloom," my mother explains, lifting the necklace out of the box. I lift my hair so that she can place it around my neck. "Your grandmother gave it to me when I turned sixteen, and you will give it to your own daughter someday."

The necklace is cold against my skin. I spy myself in the mirror. The pendant looks fierce, tribal, a complete contradiction to my personality. Perhaps that is why I love it so much.

"It becomes you," my mother says, looking at me with a glint of pride in her sharp green eyes. I was blessed to have been born with those same eyes, large, bright, and attractive. They are easily my best feature, my one redeeming quality. Otherwise I'd be a plain Jane, though at least not an ugly Betty.

"Our Gemma is becoming a beautiful young lady," my father says heartily. He and my mother exchange the sort of look I can only describe as "parental", warm, nostalgic, and proud, all wrapped up into one.

"Well darling, I'm going out for a bit." My mom kisses my forehead.

"Okay, Mom."

"I love you, precious," she says with an odd look on her face. Her eyes hold a sad look for some reason.

"I love you too," I say uncertainly. My mom is seriously freaking me out.

"I will see you later."

"Right, bye Mom."

When she leaves I say good night to my father and get myself ready for bed. I take one last look at my horse's picture and turn out the light, certain I'll dream of the endless shows and blue ribbons ahead of me now.

Instead I have a terrible dream. I can see my mother in the passenger seat of a car. The car is not the black Lexus she usually drives, but an ordinary-looking Sedan that could belong to any Tom, Dick, or Harry one might meet. The driver is not my father. It is an Indian man, about the age of thirty. Even in my dream, I marvel at the details I can pick out.

The man and my mother look anxious, worried. They speed down the empty road near the lake, the one with all the deer-crossing signs, the one with no streetlights. There is a car following them, an expensive-looking black car with black windows. It accelerates so that it trails right behind the sedan. My mother urges her driver faster, her green eyes round and fearful.

I want to wake up. But I can't.

The black car accelerates again, giving the sedan a warning bump. The Indian man looks down at the clutch; he is driving stick, but he cannot go any faster. My mother shrieks as a deer bolts in front of the car. The sedan swerves violently, wheels screaming in protest. It smashes into a tree. Smoke fills the car so that I can no longer see the occupants.

The black car stops. The door opens. A tall, hooded figure gets out. Fingers grasp at the hood. I am about to see the person's face, my mother's tormentor. Just a bit further…

The earth is shaking. I bolt upright in bed with a small yelp. "Mom?!" I cry out instinctively. I look around at the familiarity of my room and let out a sigh. It was just a nightmare. There is a banging at my door, loud and frantic. At least I know the source of the shaking.

"Come in," I call out, my voice still shaky from the bad dream. The door opens and my light is switched on. My father stands in the doorway, as white as a ghost. He clutches the cordless phone in his hand.

"What's wrong?" I ask, feeling sick.

"There's been an accident."

What do you think? Concrit is lovely. And very beneficial.

It's hard to frolic with friends when they have Organic Chemistry exams to study for.

Is bored and therefore writing,
LunaEquus

Please review!