Sara Garcia and The Moon Eaters

God, I Hate Elevators

My name is Sara Garcia. I'm 15 years old and the most overworked Filipino demigod since Laon slayed that dragon on a mountain named after himself.

Now I know that you're thinking, "Being a demigod is cool Sara, you get cool powers and become destined for greatness," and you are surprisingly correct. I too have always wanted to have the 'cool powers' that you speak of. But the last bit about being 'destined for greatness' is not all rainbows and sunshine as one may think.

A hero's destiny requires sacrifice. And more often than not, they're sacrifices that you don't want to make. Speaking of sacrifices, this is a story about mine.

I went - I'm sorry, 'lived' in Nightingale High, one of the few boarding schools in the Philippines. I've been here for as long as I can remember.

Coach Jefferson told me I was found on the cement doors of the school entrance when the guards were doing rounds one night. After police reports and searching for missing kids on the newspapers, Coach Jeff took me in then played single-father with a kid he never met for 15 years. Eventually I got older then studied here since it was convenient.

I was most likely going to study here again after 8th grade until everything started going wrong.

Today was the last day of periodical test and Rosa was seated adjacent to me. I finished earlier than she did so I was munching on a bag of Piattos from my bag while she was shading away letters on her answer sheet.

I dare not speak to Rosa every time we have lectures or exams, especially this one. I finished early sure, but that was just because I gave up 30 minutes ago.

She on the other hand liked reviewing her answers and always passed when the time was up, not a second before.

The last test was Mythology, the elective that Rosa convinced me to choose. It was the lamest class I had to take the entire year, and that's saying a lot since I took Chemistry class as well.

While I took the test, I was relieved having realized that this was the last time that I will ever have to encounter anything about myths ever again. Of course, I had never been more wrong.

"Sar," Rosa called from the front of the class. I hadn't noticed that she passed her paper already. She strutted towards me. You could never see Rosa doing something aimlessly, much less walking. Every step that she took was calculated and deliberate.

"I still think Sara is a short enough to not be given a nickname," I replied.

Rosa faced me as she sat on the armrest of her seat. She was wearing our school uniform which was composed of a white straight-buttoned blouse tucked underneath navy blue knee skirts and black school shoes and white socks. I was wearing the same thing but that was where the resemblance stopped.

Rosa had very long and curly pitch black hair, or at least it was compared to my very short, very straight and very brown hair, and it was ponytailed behind her head while her eyebrows, which seemed darker whenever she raised them, was of for some reason fully raised and directed at me.

"The semester is over." she said, eyeing me as if waiting for a comment she would like to hear.

"I am most fully aware of that," I laughed. It was probably the only piece of information my ears caught when the professor mentioned it while giving test instructions. Rosa however, was not as amused as I was with my selective hearing.

"I insist that you come to the retreat." she blurted.

"I told you already that I don't go to those sort of things."

"It'll be fun," Rosa insisted, "and it'll be a new experience for you too. You've always said you wanted to get out of Nightingale for the summer"

That was undeniably true. Being stuck between the walls of the school with no place to go even on summer was depressing.