Name: Robin Weeks
Brina knew better than to go out in public looking less than her questionable best. But she was late, it was rush hour, and home was thirty minutes away by car… but only ten by air. So she dumped her school bag, gym bag, and purse in her best friend Moira’s closet, threw open the window, and sat on the sill.
She closed her eyes, and, concentrating on the gland behind her heart, started pushing Black pixie dust through her body. When her skin started to tingle, she thought small and opened her eyes to see the window frame rising large around her as she shrank down, down, until she was the size of a mouse, buffeted by the warm fall breeze.
Moira lifted a hand, already headed for her shower. “See you tomorrow,” she said.
Brina grinned, waved, and launched herself into the sweltering air of San Antonio, gliding above the manicured gardens that stretched out under Moira’s window.
The first flash came from her left and, like an idiot, she twisted toward it. Which is how the photographer’s zoom lens caught her: eyes opened wide, long braid slicked back from her face with her own sweat, and limbs sticking out at startled angles from her workout tank and short-shorts. All of it glowing softly brown in the dusk.
As a special bonus, the magazine’s cover photo captured the moment her four bright white wings froze in shock, sending her plummeting a few feet downward.