Hey. I'm Summer. This is my first story on Fiction Press, so hopefully it won't be too awful!

Narrated by Phil

When you humans hear the word "witch", you probably picture some chick with green skin shouting "I'll get you, my pretty!" or belting Defying Gravity. Well, that shows how much you know. If you, the reader, happen to be a female, witches (like myself) aren't terribly unlike you. We endure boring classes, we squeeze into too-tight jeans, and we fuss over our looks -though not as much as nymphs, of course. The only difference is that a select few of us can do magic. That and we're forced to live in the same environment as stuck up nymphs, antisocial fays, and hot headed dryads -all of which can be infuriatingly hard to put up with.

But this is a story, not an encyclopedia. And, like many stories, it begins on a relatively normal day that lead to a disaster.

On this particular day, I woke up when my alarm clock rang, like always. I groggily dressed for school in traditional navy blue, like always. I dragged myself into the kitchen, to find my brother, Gerald, curiously absent ... not like always.

I threw a glance at the table, where my younger sister was quietly seated. "Hey, Kristeen," I called to her, "know where Gerald is?"

She looked up from her cereal bowl and said, "Nope. He's probably just out looking at the clouds or something. He always stays out late doing stupid stuff like that."

I frowned. "Someday, that boy will stay out too late."

Gerald is a warlock, the masculine equivalent of a witch. For the record, warlocks are boneheads. They use the weather for spells and stuff, which Gerald is really good at. So the fact that he'd run off at some totally random time to see what the clouds were like wasn't completely unusual. Plus, my brother was sixteen, so he had no sense of responsibility to speak of (no offense to any sixteen-year-olds who might be reading this).

Kristeen rolled her big, black eyes at me. "If he hasn't yet, he never will. Stop worrying, Phil."

Let's get one thing straight. Yes, my name is Phil. But don't get all worked up about how stupid it is to give a girl a guy's name. It's short for Ophelia. Try to find a more feminine name than that. Go on, I dare you!

I rolled my eyes back at her. "I've got to get to school. So do you. Let me know if you find out where he went."

The first few hours of school went as usual. We all talked through class, didn't even pretend to pay attention to the teacher droning about history -they didn't teach anything about magic and the homework was going to be laughably easy, so what was the point?

The fays spoke softly and only to each other, as they always did. Fays are supposed to be kind creatures with loving hearts and all that. I guess they are. But, unless the rest of us are either newborn puppies or choking to death, they never give us a second glance. People say they're shy, I say they're prejudiced.

Us witches and warlocks kept to ourselves, we're loners mostly, except for family. In fact, we usually tend to make enemies out of one another once we get older -while we're still kids, we make war with the nymphs. I practiced my magic. I was trying to figure out how to conjure a decent force field without any help, but they always came out all misshapen.

The nymphs flaunted the facts that they were better looking than the rest of us. Disgusting, I know. It's a defect they're all born with: they're all sickeningly beautiful and even more sickeningly selfish. They can cast all kinds of charms from turning frogs into princes to enticing men of all shapes and sizes. They don't even have to use magic for the second one. The only species worse than them is the dryads.

The dryads are the highborn folks, the creme de la creme, or so they think. They're too high and mighty even to come to the same school as us less wealthy people. All their kids go to fancy home schools in trees. Trees! I suppose they like to feel above the rest of the world. They all live in New York, manipulating forests and sucking up to The Ruler.

My attention was snagged to a slightly (very slightly) less degrading subject when a voice blared over the intercom: "Ophelia Witch, please come to the principal's office."

The nymphs exploded into a fit of harmonic giggles. I snarled. Of course, embarrassing things happen to someone else and it's the best thing that's ever happened to them.

I stalked swiftly from my desk, through the hall, and to a room I, for the most part, tried to avoid. Principal Stewart Fay sat across a desk of shining polished wood, his hands folded, his eyes sympathetic. He indicated for me to sit in a near by chair.

I crossed my arms and continued standing. "Well, what do you want?" Witches aren't guaranteed to speak politely.

He swallowed and his expression oozed nicety. "You are the second youngest sister of Gerald Warlock?" he asked softly.

"Yeah. What about it?"

"Your brother has gone missing."

I shrugged and glowered at him. "He always goes missing. He's just run off to do something dumb."

"Has he ever before been gone for over thirty-six hours?" he looked genuinely sorry for me. I didn't want his pity! I didn't answer.

He heaved a sigh and said, "I'll say it one more time. Ophelia, I'm so sorry, but your brother is missing."

Thanks so much for reading! Please let me know if you noticed any mistakes in my grammar. I don't own Wicked or Wizard of Oz.

Sorry if Phil was obnoxious. I'm just trying to give my character voice, but I'm scared it will end up a horrible failure... I'm kind of self-conscious about my writing.

Please, please review! Constructive criticism will be greatly appreciated.