Diamond in the Rough

I took a step out of the limo. Then another. Then another. I didn’t want to go to the camp. I wanted to read my books. Stay home.

Yet a part of me wanted to go to this camp. Wanted to learn. But most of all, that part of me wanted to stay at this camp. Stay away from my rich family. I was only six, going on seven, but at that age, I knew that this thought would be planted there. Forever in the back of my head. Forever growing, thriving, until one night my life would change.

“Diamond, I hope you like this camp.” my mother said from the limo, a cup of champagne in her hand. She drank any kind of alcohol. Champagne, wine, mead, heck, she could drink an entire bottle of 200 proof alcohol. I had told her it wasn’t good for her liver, and she ignored me.

“Yeah, Mom. Sure.” I said, walking to get my stuff. A maid came and took some of my stuff out, and I sent her away with a silent glare.

I took out the rest of my stuff. It wasn’t much. It was a couple of suitcases, containing a water bottle, sunscreen, clothes, and other essential things you need for a camp with smart kids in it.

I walked away as the limo drove off. The camp bus slowly drove in, and kids climbed in.

“Hello, child!” a counselor said, “Sorry, no hair dye.”

“This is my natural hair color, little Mrs. Counselor woman. If you saw my portfolio picture I gave to the director at the beginning of the school year, you would’ve seen and remembered, unless your hippocampus is that of a persons with short term memory loss,” I said. Okay, to be fair, I’m only six at the time, but I know all these words.

The counselor looked at me, kinda like she was wondering what to say to that.

“What? You’ve never heard those words before? I have a dictionary in my bag. I’ll get it out if you’d like. “ I said, starting to search through my bag labeled “Books” in cursive, light blue letters. Stitched it myself.

“Oh, no, that’s not necessary, Ms…”

“Diamond Amelia Lazuli. But call me Diamond, okay? Understand, multicellular eukaryotic Homo sapien?” I said.

The counselor waved for me to get on the bus. It was almost full, with a couple empty seats in the back.

“Hey, Big Mouth!” a kid yelled, “Think fast!” He threw a can of soda, unopened, at my head.

I caught it midair.

All catching and throwing is about is mechanics. I let my reflexes take over, I catch it. Easy.

“If your going to throw something at me, juvenile Homo sapien, make sure I can’t catch it and throw it back at you.” I said. And then I threw it as hard as I could back at his head. I hit the target, the boy’s head, of course. I knocked him out because there was so much force behind the throw. I wasn’t strong, but part of throwing mechanics is power generation. It comes mainly from the hips. Even so, I can generate more power if I use my entire torso.Meaning me throwing a can of soda at a boy’s head turned into me throwing a can of soda at about ten point five zero eight miles an hour at his head.

He got hit in the head, and passed out from the force of the can.

I sighed, “I don’t think he had the brain cells to spare.” I said, and sat down in the back, getting out a book to read.

When we got to the camp, the kid who I knocked out on “accident” was staying away from me. He had woken up, and was muttering something like, “Why don’t you take volleyball, girl? You got the arms for it.”

So they were explaining how we got to choose our classes and whatnot, then passed out the class lists. There was tennis, volleyball, swimming, the normal camp stuff, and then there was reading, science, and stuff you’d learn in school.

But what caught my eye was a class at the very bottom of the list. The least popular. Next to it it said that nobody had attended the class since the teacher has gotten here in their twenties.

Alchemy and magic related things.

I knew this class was for me. I knew that all the books I read might help me here. I knew this class would challenge me to think and do things I’ve never done before. It was my class, and I wanted to be in it.

“I’ll take alchemy and magic related topics!” I yelled at the top of my lungs.

Everyone looked at me. I didn’t flinch under their gaze, or even move. I would take alchemy. I would outsmart them all.

“What? That class is still on the list?” the director of the camp said, looking at the list.

“It is. I will take it. Now, where is it?” I said, looking directly at the director like I looked at the maids when they make my bed when I told them not to. I looked at him as if he were like my parents. Richer than rich, wealthier than wealthy. Snobbier than snobby. I looked at him like he were my brother, a spoiled brat that got everything he wanted. I looked at him as If I were to look at myself. Determined to change, all the while hating myself for having to be rich and wealthy.

I looked at him with the determination to make him see I wasn’t a worthless street brat. I looked at him with determination to prove to him that I wasn’t a spoiled little rich kid like everyone thought. But most of all, I looked at him with a feeling I knew was frustration. Frustration that I was those things. Frustrated because of my stupid parents.

For the longest while, he said nothing. For the longest time, I sat there, glaring at him with everything I had. And I glared until my eyes hurt from keeping them open for so long and from looking in one spot for so long.

Finally, he pointed to a shack no bigger than my tiny room, “In there you’ll find the old man who teaches that stuff. But when you see he’s dead, don’t come crying to me.”

I went over to the shack, and opened the old, rotting door. Inside, there were cobwebs everywhere, as if the person in here hasn’t cleaned it in eighty six years.

An old man came out of a back room, and looked at me, adjusting his glasses.

“Ah, they send me a child to do what with now?” the old man said in an annoyed tone.

“I would like you to teach me the ways of alchemy and other magical topics, sir.” I said.

“Bah! They sent you to spy on me! Just so they can fire me. I bet you don’t have the brains to rival a jellyfish!” he said.

“Excuse me, sir, but I have more brains than most seventh graders have ribosomes in their cells. I may look soft and squishy like a cell membrane, but I will not bend to you.” I said. “Besides, they think your dead.”

He looked at me, “Perhaps there’s some hope for you after all.” he pulled up a chair, “Come here.”

I walked towards him. I knew something was up.

“Bah! You follow directions too easily. You’re hopeless! People would kill for an alchemist’s secrets! You’d tell everything within the first few seconds of torture!” He said, “First rule of alchemy: never reveal anything. No matter the bribe, no matter the torture, even if you’ll die from it, never reveal your secrets. You take them to your grave, or not at all.” he said, pointing a finger at me.

I nodded, “Okay.”