DIVERSIONBOOKSThe Elementalists, C. Sharp

Chapter 1Bees and the Birds

Chloe lay in the grass on the side of a gentle hill, unmoving, as a honeybee hummed through the air only a few inches from her face. It landed on the yellow crown of a buttercup, and the thin stem bowed toward the grass with its weight. Its legs were already dusted yellow with pollen as its head busied about the stamen, the tiny flower bobbing with every movement it made. Her eyes tracked as it rose again into the air with the blurry triangles of its wings returned.

It hovered in place a moment, as if deciding which direction to go, and then came closer, landing on her elbow. She watched from the corner of her eye with her chin perched on her steepled knuckles. Her heart lurched as the tickle of its legs navigated the hairs of her arm, stepping closer to her cheek in a zigzag pattern. But she kept her cool, remaining stone still, knowing that there was nothing to fear if she didn’t give it reason to sting.

Chloe’s favorite teacher last year, Mrs. Greenwald, had told them that a disturbingly large percentage of the honeybee population had been dying off over the last few years and that the death of the bees had a domino effect that could disrupt the balance of nature. With no bees, there was no pollination of the flowers, and that meant far less of the fruits and vegetables that humans and animals rely on to survive. And of course, no more honey. Chloe loved honey.

Some of her classmates, like Kendra Roberts, the Queen Bee herself, had made a joke out of it, saying, “Whatever, less bugs is less bugs, right? My dad runs like a massive bioengineering company that totally knows how to pollinate flowers without bees. And I use Splenda anyway.” Her drones had all giggled in compliance before returning their fleeting attentions to the latest texting exchange. But Chloe couldn’t stop thinking about what Mrs. Greenwald had said then, noting that “some scientists and theorists speculate that the death of the bees is an early sign of the decline of Mother Earth itself,” the beginning of the end.

A breeze kicked up and the bee let go of its hold, carried away toward the pond at the bottom of the hill. Chloe watched it until she lost the receding speck among the dance of dandelion parachutes that pinwheeled through the air to land gently on the sheen of the water. Just then, a small fish jumped, no doubt investigating the slight disturbance on the pond’s surface, hoping to find a tasty gnat rather than the wayward seed tuft. From high up she heard the cry of a hawk, and her eyes found its red-tailed form circling beneath the gathering clouds as it watched the flop of the fish far below… All of life’s little movements, flowing in their natural cycles of cause and effect.

She loved this place—alone with her thoughts, at peace in a way she could not find at home or among her peers. Here it didn’t matter that her mom was

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DIVERSIONBOOKSoverworked and unlucky in love, or that Chloe had worn the same pair of running shoes every day for months and they smelled like something had died in them.

Another fish jumped, and her gaze returned to the concentric circles that rippled out from that spot. Then another? Soon sunfish and perch were taking to the air with frantic tail-flapping leaps all across the pond before splashing down to the unremarkable looking water.

Chloe sat up to get a better look, amazed that so many fish could even live in this pond, let alone all decide to try to escape it at once. Over the summer, she’d spent most of her free time on this hillside, hiding from her mom and Brent and the struggle to be cool. She came here to read and watch the animals. To listen to the wind in the leaves and fantasize about all the places she would escape to when she was older. But she had never seen the fish act this way.

Maybe they could sense her anguish, offering their joined protest over her need to report to school again tomorrow. The tenth grade—the first day at Charlottesville High School.

A blustery wind whipped through the trees, and her unkempt, brown hair lashed her cheek. Being in the accelerated program had always seemed like a blessing throughout her three years at Buford Middle school. But now, as the other girls in her class laid out their competitively slutty outfits for the big day while gossiping over the phone about which boys they hoped to find in homeroom, Chloe was left wondering if her bookish ways and latest Walmart fashion wouldn’t prove a horrible curse. She was not ready to face the morning.

She tracked the red-tailed hawk as it sailed into the clearing above the pond and fluttered to a graceful, wing-tucked perch on a branch overhanging the water. Still the fish were jumping, but the raptor only watched with jerky ticks of its head rather than going for the easy meal. Something about the scene didn’t seem right. Then the mad squawking of a murder of crows raced overhead, and twenty or so of the black birds landed in the surrounding trees opposite the hawk.

Their chatter continued as they also seemed to watch the riled water. Smaller birds joined the odd vigil as well: sparrows and robins, chickadees and blue jays, more and more flapping to join the ring around the pond every second.

Chloe stood, blue eyes squinting in the wind as she put her hair in a ponytail with callused hands. Her nails were bitten short with nervous attention. The rain started a few moments later, tapping the leaves above her with a building rhythm. She looked up at the dark clouds above the branches as heavy drops spattered across her forehead.

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DIVERSIONBOOKS “Where did you come from?” she asked the storm, as a jagged claw of lightning flashed across the sky. She counted, “One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three—” and the thunder roll followed. She wanted to continue her observation of the strange avian gathering, but a soaking sheet of rain descended, blocking her view.

Chloe ran, sprinting toward home, as lightning fell again with a deafening crack. Her feet carried her deftly through the woods without need of a path to guide her. She let out a merry yelp as the cold wet clung to her shoulders, but she didn’t stop the liberating run until she’d reached her back door a mile away.

She did not see the muddy fountain of bubbles that rose in the center of the pond, nor did she glimpse the silvery form that stirred beneath the surface and then was gone.

As quickly as it started, the fish stopped leaping, the birds scattered, and the storm moved on. In moments, the water settled again into a glassy sheen.

• • •

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