Confessions of a Closet Pagan

By Rebekah

Chapter one: Meeting in a New City

I, Ayria Anderson, pledge to never again set foot in West Hill High for the remainder of my life. I pledge to forget the memories I have of it, and I swear by the Goddess that I will never talk to Natalie Fraser ever again.

Seriously. Don't even get me started on my life at West Hill High. I swear, people at West View are so prejudice. I am writing to all Pagans out there: never come out of the closet when you go to school at West Hill. Natalie Fraser will ruin your life and you will forever be known as The Wicked Bwitch of the West. But that's a kind nickname compared to some of the names given to me. Let's name a few, shall we? How about "The Butt"? What about "The Sex Witch of West Hill High"? No, those aren't too insulting either. But let's drop that subject.

Shortly after my life was ruined at West Hill, my family--what little family I had--moved to Alaska. Frankly, I would have prefered something a little farther away from California, like England or maybe even Iraq. We moved in to an apartment on Main Street in the city Homer, which sits next to a large bay called Kachemak Bay. Apparently this place is "famous" when it comes to tourism. When we were driving down a long hill heading in to the city limits, we were greeted by a sign that said "Homer, Alaska - the Halibut Fishing Capital of the World." Great. Not only do I have to live in this boring town, but I have to deal with smelly fish too. And last time I checked, Florida had better halibut fishing than Alaska. Or maybe it was some other kind of fish...but who cares. I was lucky I was an only child--with divorced parents--so my mom gave me the largest room. It was a nice room, but it was in need for some serious decorating. The walls were pink. And I can not live in pink. But how in the Goddess' name was I going to find a good store that sold dark purple paint in this small town?

I mentioned this to my mom, who quickly handed over a hundred dollars and took out a map of the city--why the hell was it called a city? It didn't even look like one--and gave me directions to the nearest paint-selling store: good ol' Spenards. It wasn't too far from our apartment--only a few blocks--so I grabbed my sneakers and started walking. I made sure I grabbed a sweater before I left. Apparently it doesn't snow in October here, but it sure gets damn cold. My breath made clouds in the air, but the exercise was keeping me fairly warm, not to mention the warmth the hoodie gave me. I looked up to enjoy the scenery instead of looking at my feet, which I often did. The water in the bay was sparkling in the cold sunlight, but it looked remarkably beautiful. The mountains across the bay already had snow on them; which, as I last checked, was a sign that snow was soon to come. I shivered violently at the mere thought of snow. But, pushing the thought of snow away, I began to think that despite the bleakness I had pictured Alaska to be, it was starting to look rather beautiful. Silently I thanked the Goddess Diana that it was such a beautiful day.

I turned the corner, finally coming in to sight of Spenards. Not wanting to stand out in the cold any longer, I ran the rest of the way. By the time I had stumbled in to Spendards I was breathing hard and quite tired. But, sighting an aisle labeled "Painting Supplies", I grew excited and rushed in to the aisle. First I bought a roller, than a large paint brush. I also bought a small paintbrush, because after I painted the walls I wanted to paint pictures on it. After grabbing those things, I went to the end of the aisle where the paint samples were. I fingered through them, not quite sure what color I wanted. After standing there for a while, I selected the black and the purple paint. I would paint on black first and then sponge on the purple to create an interesting texture. I brought everything to one of the front counters, and pulled out my money as the woman began to ring them up.

"You new in town?" she asked curiously.

"Yeah," I answered, surprised. "How did you know?"

She smiled brightly. "I know almost everyone in this town." she tittered. "I'd know if there was someone new."

I smiled politely and paid for the supplies, then hurried out of the store. "Of course she knows everyone..." I muttered. It really was a small town, wasn't it?

On my way back to the apartment--I didn't exactly want to call it "home" yet--I again enjoyed the scenery as I passed by people who kept looking at me strangely, like I was some kind of imperfection in their perfect world. I passed one boy that was about my age who was wearing nothing but a t-shirt and jeans. I nearly died with surprise. How did he think it wasn't cold out here??? I shook my head, sighing.

I was about to turn the last corner that would take me in the direction of my apartment building when suddenly I bumped in to someone. I almost dropped all my stuff, but whoever I had bumped into caught my arms and my supplies just as I was about to fall down. I looked up to see the who I had bumped in to, only to look in to the face of the most handsome guy I will ever meet.

He had wavy black hair. His hair was dyed, obviously; his brown roots were beginning to show. He had full, pink lips and rosy cheeks. There was some fuzz on his cheeks and chin, but not enough to be visible in anything except the sunlight. his clothes were casual, but formal at the same time. His body was strong, and underneath his sweater you could see strong muscles that one could only get from genetics. But that's not what caught my attention. It was his eyes. They were an extremely pale blue. It was like looking straight in to a milky blue cloud on a bright summer day. I felt like I was looking at an angel's eyes. But, past the beauty and mysterious radience of his pale blue eyes, I caught a hint of sadness lurking just out of the reach of knowing. but that hint vanished in less than a second as he let go of me and helped me get a hold of the supplies again. I tore my eyes away from his eyes to look at the rest of his gorgeous body. Greek God. That was the only way to describe him.

"Are you alright, Ayria?"