Am I ready for a family? Sure. I've been waiting for this all my life. Of course, I'm ready. But this sensation in my chest is strange. It's somewhere between elated and gassy. I don't know. All I know is that when I get to Storybrooke, I'll no longer be alone. I'll have my parents—hopefully... Hopefully, Henry's right about this. I need him to be.

Five hours in, and my car runs out of fuel. I leave my window down at the gas station to keep an eye on Henry. I open the tank door and insert the pump nozzle, which drips leftover raindrops. The air's refreshing after being cooped up in the car, and it's good to see the sun after the downpour. Clouds are grey but softer.

Somehow, the world seems joyous. Hopeful. I haven't seen that in ages. Everything seemed so bleak. Now, there's hope. I will find my parents. They're only an hour away. One hour. I've waited sixteen years, yet an hour feels like an eternity.

"How much longer?" Henry calls from inside.

I don't get him. He remained silent for most of the ride, which surprised me. I thought he'd go on and on about how I'm supposed to be a made-up character, but all he did was turn pages of his book.

"We just got here," I say.

"Well, hurry up. The sooner we get there, the sooner you can accept your true identity."

How stupid does he think I am? Probably a lot since I agreed to drive him to a strange town no one knows about. But I need to get used to it if that strange town is going to be my home. I'll see Henry often if we live in the same neighborhood, so I should get to know him and figure out why he's insane. His book could be a suitable topic. It intrigues me since he'd rather pay more attention to it than me, someone he traveled so far to find.

"That's a strange textbook. What is that? English?" The book sits wide open on his lap and has large, colorful pictures resembling concept drawings for stained glass windows. It looks like something I'd find at a thrift store or antique shop, not in a crazy kid's backpack.

"It's not a textbook. It's a storybook."

"Wow, kid. Aren't you too old for that?" I say with a subtle, fake chuckle.

"No. No one's too old for anything," he says with irritation. "Also, everything in this book happened. So, no, not English. It's History."

I look over my shoulder to ensure the person across us didn't hear him. All good. "Whatever, kid. Are you sure you're mentally stable?" This is going to be harder than I thought.

"I'm serious. You'll believe me later."

My eyes shift to the digital clock on the dash. "We still have an hour. Are you hungry?"

"I'll eat when we get there," he says, turning a page.

"I'm starving."

"You'll eat when we get there, too. So, who were those kids inside your house? Are they your family?" Now, he wants to strike up conversation? Five hours in? And it has to be that question?

"It's a foster home. None of us have a family." I shift my sights to the meter. So far, I can afford it.

"Why was that little girl injured?" Chrys. How could I leave her behind? I should've taken her with me. She doesn't deserve to stay back there. I should've helped her yesterday. It's all my fault. "Bella?" he says, looking at me. I must've been silent for too long.

I quietly say, "The mother attacked her," so the person doesn't hear.

"You must be glad you get to leave that place for a while."

"I am. But I feel bad for leaving her and that boy behind." I could've saved them. All I did was save myself.

"If they aren't your family," Henry begins, "why do you care?" It's complicated. I'm not sure why. I just do.

"Because I've gotten to know them. They don't deserve to be there." No one does.

"Neither do you. Once we get to Storybrooke, I'm sure you'll find your parents," he says with eagerness.

"I hope so. But are you sure Phillip and Aurora are their names?"

"I'm more than sure. And you're Queen Anna." Not this again. But I did bring it up.

"My God, kid. I'm not a queen, and my name isn't Anna." I check the meter.

Too much. I stop the gas flow and yank the pump from my car.

"Once you remember, you'll know what I'm talking about." I'm sorry. What?

I turn toward my car. "Remember what?"

Henry pokes his head out my window as far as his seatbelt will allow. "Who you are. You've lost your memories. It happened when you jumped through the portal." What do I do? There's a crazy kid in my car. How do I escape from this?

"What book have you been reading?" I ask, my heart speeding up.

"This one," Henry says, referencing his storybook.

"Nothing in there's true. They're stories to make people feel better about their future."

"To give them hope. I know. But these are different. Like I said, everything in here happened in real life—in another world. It's not make-believe." He's so annoying.

"Let's be clear," I say, lowering my head to the window. "The only reason I'm going to Storybrooke with you is so I can take a much-needed break from the foster home and find my parents, who are not characters from a movie. And neither am I."

"Are all foster homes that bad?" he asks.

I sigh. "Not all of them. Just most of the ones I've been to. But, no matter what, the younger kids are better. They're the kindest. The older kids? Forget about it. They're the bullies. They think they can control any-one - they - want. I don't blame them. Once they reach a certain age, they realize no one will adopt them because they're too old."

He tilts his head forward, maintaining eye contact. "What about you?"

"I'm not like them. I'll find my family someday. Even if it isn't with my birth parents, I'll be happy."

"I can't keep it in any longer. What happened to your hair?" he asks like something's wrong with it.

"What do you mean?" I say, touching it. I lift sections to see if there's anything in them.

"It's not red."

"I've been dying it brown ever since middle school. Being a ginger doesn't exactly make you fit in, and, at my school, fitting in was key if you wanted friends and didn't want to end up eating lunch alone with the nurse... or in the janitor's closet... or the bathroom."

"Sounds like your hair didn't have much to do with how you were able to fit in." He smirks.

"Hey. Who are you to judge? It wasn't like it was my fault. Kids are cruel. And, besides, I like my hair brown, even if I was a little too young to color it—" I pause and narrow my eyes at him. "How did you know I had red hair?"

"You're Queen Anna. Red hair is one of your most prominent traits."

"Enough of this. It's not like I'm Ariel—or anybody. I'm not anyone. You got that, kid?"

I wish he would drop this. How could I be a queen? I'd be a terrible one. He makes it sound like I've lived another life. Nope. Just the one, and it's awful. But things are looking up.

Over my shoulder, I gaze at the gas station's store. I'm starving. Surely, Henry will let me hop in and get something.

"Mind if I go inside and get some things?"

"Are you not paying attention? We need to get to Storybrooke right away."

"I understand that, but I need fuel just as much as my car does."

"Are you for real?"

"I have to go in to pay, anyway." My shoulders shrug when I put my hands in my pockets. "I don't have a credit card."

"I do." He takes it out of his pocket and reaches to pass it through the window.

"Are you kidding me right now? Where'd you get this? You're ten."

"I'm twelve."

I inspect the card. "Emma Swan?"

"She's my mom."

"I'm guessing she didn't let you borrow it."

"It's for emergencies."

"This isn't an emergency," I say, looking back at him.

"I used it for a cab. Now, you use it for gas."

I don't think his mom would appreciate a stranger using her credit card. The temptation's there, but so is my conscience, and it's a lot louder.

"Thanks, but no, thanks, kid." I hand it back to him. "I'm going in. You're welcome to stay here and read on." I straighten and move away from the car.

"Wait," Henry calls.

I turn around, and he unbuckles his seatbelt.

"I'm coming."

The moment we step inside the store, I catch two guys lingering at the back. I know trouble when I see it, so it doesn't seem like I'll be getting food after all.

"Stay close, Henry."

I head straight for the register, feeling safer in the cashier's direct field of vision. After explaining to him about the gas, I give him the money and purchase a box of bandaids for the glass cut on my arm. Henry leans his elbow on the counter like he's never been more bored.

In a display box by the register is a row of Apollo bars. My mouth produces more saliva from me looking at it. Chocolate. I'm so hungry right now I could easily turn into that crazy fish from Spongebob who goes nuts over chocolate. It's my weakness. Possibly an obsession. All I know is that I need it.

"Is that the lottery total?" I ask the cashier. The amount is calculated on a large, rectangular digital sign.

"Oh, yes." He turns around. "It's unbelievable, isn't it?"

As he talks, I take an Apollo bar and put it in my back pocket.

"What would you do with that kind of money?" the cashier says, turning back around.

"I never really thought about it. But I guess I would donate a good portion to Lockock."

He jolts his head back, pressing his lips together. "Orphans?" What a jerk?

"They deserve just as much as familiebarns do."

"Excuse me?"

"It means 'family kid' in Norwegian. It's what I call non-orphans."

He's as skeptical as he was with Lockock. "You speak Norwegian?" And other languages. It's ironic, though. I teach myself how to communicate with people from around the world, yet I never have. I probably never will. But it doesn't matter where a person is from. They all suck.

"Here and there. I read a lot. I've had a lot of time on my hands."

"But why Norwegian?"

Why does it matter? "Don't know. I always sort of..." I shake my head, trying to figure out why, "liked their culture." It speaks to me.

"Can I get you anything else?"

I point behind him. "How much is that Tylenol over there?"

The cashier turns, and I take another Apollo bar.

"$6.26."

I smile and let out an unsuspicious chuckle. "You know what? I don't need it. Thank you."

Outside, Henry says, "Why'd you do that?"

"Do what?"

"I saw you take those chocolates."

I hand him one of the bars. "You're welcome."

"Don't get me wrong. I like your mischief-making side, but I thought you'd be different here."

"I didn't have enough money, alright. I need to save it for emergencies in Storybrooke."

"What kind of emergency?"

"I don't know. Food, a room, gas. I'm responsible enough to think about these things."

"Says the girl who stole two chocolate bars."

We reach the car.

"Get in and shut up."

He is such a piece of work. There is no way I'm going to get used to that.

"Thief."

Those two guys approach us with that "too cool" attitude. They may be a bit older than me, but my stomach churns, and my head is as light as a feather. My mouth goes dry, but I can still say, "Henry, get in. I got this." It came out breathier than I intended.

I walk up to the guys and say, "Can I help you?" I'm hoping they can't hear the anxiety in my voice.

"We saw what you did. Swiped those Apollos and stuffed them in your pockets." The forerunner reaches to get the bar from my pocket, but I step away.

"I don't want any trouble. Please, go and leave us alone."

"You're a thief," the second one says, jutting out his chin.

"You two don't look so innocent yourselves."

"Where're you driving to?" the first one says, looking at the car.

I move over, blocking his line of vision. "That's none of your business."

"Leave her alone." Henry walks around the front of my car and hurries over with his storybook. Did he have to bring that with him?

"Get back in the car," I tell him.

"You two oafs better go back to wherever you came from." Oh, my God.

"What did this punk just say?" the first guy says, toughening up and staring down at poor Henry.

"He's crazy. He doesn't know what he's saying," I say.

"You tell your brother to go back in his booster seat."

"He's not my brother. And booster seat? Really?"

"If you don't leave us alone, she'll punch your guts out."

"Henry, shut up."

"Is that so?"

"Yes."

"Henry."

"I'd love to see her try," the second guy says, folding his arms, amused.

"Do it, Bella," Henry says, looking up at me.

"Would you stop?"

"You can do it. Show these trolls that you're someone to be feared."

"Quit acting like you know me. I'm not gonna hit them."

"Aww. Is the little girl afraid?" the second guy says in a baby's voice.

Little girl? Little gir—I'm about to scare these guys so bad, they won't know what hit 'em. And the best part—I'm not gonna hit them. "You wish. I can't hit you because that's against the code. You see, I'm with S.H.I.E.L.D."

"S.H.I.E.L.D.?" the first guy says, not buying it.

"You know? The Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division?" I say, taking a step forward.

He shakes his head and scans me with his eyes. "You're too young to be a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent."

"I'm an intern." I pull my shoulders back and stand a bit taller. "And I have Nick Fury on speed dial. You know? The Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.? The guy who got the Avengers together?"

Fear appears on their faces.

"We don't want any trouble," the first dude says, moving backward.

"Good. Now, bye," I say with a wave.

The guys scramble from us and hop into their truck. What a relief? Honestly, I wasn't sure that would work.

"Is that true? Are you with S.H.I.E.L.D.?" Henry asks.

"No, of course not. Why would they ever want me on their team? And like he said—I'm too young."

"What's S.H.I.E.L.D., anyway? And who're the Avengers?"

"Are you joking?" blurts out of my mouth. He has to be joking. Who doesn't know about the Avengers?

"No," he says, a bit offended.

"How do you not... You're a kid. Don't you look up to the Avengers?"

He shakes his head.

"Captain America? Iron Man? Thor?"

"Never heard of them," he says with ease and gets in the car, leaving me stupefied.

How has he not heard of S.H.I.E.L.D. or the Avengers? Doesn't he watch the news? Read comics? Everyone in the world knows about them. There was a literal alien invasion, and they saved us. How can anyone forget about that?

"The Battle of New York?" I say with my arms spread out.

* * *

I understand this is crazy—thinking my parents might be in Storybrooke—but that doesn't stop my insides from trembling. It's possible. Unlikely, but possible. I might have a chance at happiness. Though, I can't assume it. Henry could be wrong. But what if he's not wrong? He has to be. He's a kid. Who went all the way to New Jersey to find me—to bring me home.

It's not home, and you know it.

Sometimes, I hate that pessimistic voice. Can't it let me be happy?

I keep my eyes on the street and turn, leading us off the highway and into the middle of nowhere. I continue to follow the glossy road to wherever it may lead.

"Am I going the right way? I think we're lost." A forest is on either side of the street, and there aren't any other cars.

"Keep going straight and take the second road on the right." What a coincidence? I'm sure he loves it, though. Why does he think fairytales are real? Did he experience the movies a little too much? I knew the difference between real and fantasy. Maybe he doesn't.

I wonder...

"Is there a reason you believe your fairytales are real?" I ask.

"Because they are."

"That's not a reason."

"If I tell you, you'll think I'm crazy."

I smile. "I already think you're crazy, so, really, you have nothing to lose."

There's some silence while he ponders. Then, he says, "I guess I should tell you. After all, you'll be in Storybrooke for a while."

"Get talking, kid."

He takes a deep breath, then says, "First, you should know about Regina. She's the Evil Queen, who cast a curse that brought everyone from the Enchanted Forest to Storybrooke. They were all frozen in time and didn't remember their true identities." Oh, boy. It's worse than I thought.

I focus on the road, so I don't look in the eyes of his delusions. "Let me guess. You think I'm the one who's supposed to break this curse."

"No. It was broken over a year ago by my mom." Should I stop and drop him off on the side of the road like a puppy? No. Even the disturbed shouldn't be abandoned. He needs help. Professional help. Maybe there's someone in Storybrooke who can give it to him.

"O-kay?" I say, making the right turn.

"Then, there are my grandparents, Mary Margaret and David. They're Snow White and Prince Charming. Next, there's Mr. Gold. He's the Dark One. A cunning, manipulative, and lying coward," he says with such loathing. It's unsettling.

"Whoa, kid. Do you have some sort of personal vendetta against him?" I ask, glancing over.

"He's a villain."

I mouth, "Wow."

"Also, you should know that last week, two of Peter Pan's minions kidnapped me, and he trapped me on Neverland. He almost murdered me, but I was lucky my family was there to save me."

"Peter Pan almost murdered you?" I look at him again, intrigued.

"Yeah, but I forgive him. He had his reasons, as anyone does for doing the things they do."

"Nothing's an excuse for murder. Except, maybe to defend yourself."

"What about to save your own life?" he says as though he's been in the situation before. I don't get it. Why is he asking me this?

I turn to him.

"Sacrifice another to save yourself?" Everything about him is chill. How would a kid know about situations like that? And why is he calm about it?

"It depends who the other person is... But, even then, ...I think I'd take the plunge."

"You would?" Why is he surprised?

"Who am I to tell someone they can't go home to their family?"

"What if they don't have one?" Is he saying it's okay for someone to kill me? Because I don't have a family? What is going on right now?

"Then I bet they have dreams."

We don't say another word for the next thirty minutes. Then, at last, something comes into view.

It's a sign that reads, "Welcome to Storybrooke."

* * *

I'm here. This is it. There goes that elated or gassy feeling again. It seems strange to be here like I'm not supposed to be. That's weird, right? It must be because I'm an outsider. This doesn't feel like coming home. It's more like... the start of something new. It's a new chapter of my story—of my life. Something good has to come out of this. I don't want to have come here for nothing.

My car cruises by a triangular red and yellow building with a Tinker Bell garden pinwheel on the lawn. Wow. Even the town has some sort of deal with fairytales. I'm hoping it's not too serious.

Storybrooke appears as though it may have once been booming but, now, is quiet and dull like it's lost in time. Everything seems empty, and there aren't many people out. I mean, it is a small town. A small town that's giving me a chance to change my lonely world. It's giving me what I've been dreaming of.

Henry tells me to park beside a corner building—an old library with a clocktower on top. Wooden boards cover the windows, but there's a business hours schedule on one of the double doors.

I get out of the car, which is parked in one of the slanted spaces at the side of the building, and stretch my legs while Henry gathers his things. Our six-hour drive left me with a numb bottom and sore feet. My legs tingle with pins and needles.

This trip better be worth it.

I stand under the library's covering, which is supported by thin white beams. Droplets of excess rain drip off it and splash on the sidewalk.

The town seems quaint. Everything looks perfect, as I imagined it would be.

A network of electrical wires runs overhead from one pole to the next. The store windows display chic clothing and vintage home decor while others show off the interior. Pairs of people, here and there, walk up and down the sidewalks or in and out of shops. Every inch radiates New England small town charm. It doesn't seem like anything bad happens here—ever.

This could be a great place to be my home.

"I can walk the rest of the way. You should stay here," Henry says.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. See that diner over there?" He points down the road. "Meet me there at two-thirty. There are a few people I want you to meet."

Are they as crazy as you? "You should go home. I'd hate to know your mother killed you because of me."

"You're right. Thanks for coming to Storybrooke with me." He smiles in the cold.

"No problem, kid. You know? If I actually find my family here."

A loud screech fills the air and makes my heart jump.

It came from the sky.

I can't explain how or why I'm seeing this creature.

I want to scream. I want to run. But I can't.

It has the body of a monkey but with wings. It flies around and stops when it sees us.

"What the hell is that?" I yell.

"You can see it?"

"Of course, I can see it. Who can't?"

The monster shrieks again, showing off its razor-sharp teeth and dips.

"Get down!" I guide Henry to the side of my car, and we lower ourselves to the ground while the creature flies overhead. "What kind of bird is that?"

"It's not a bird. It's a winged beast." What? What? Did he just say... winged beast?

"Your town has what?" I say through clenched teeth.

"It's Storybrooke," he says, shrugging. "But you saw it."

"Who couldn't see it?"

"You believe in magic, then. If you didn't, you wouldn't be able to see it. That makes my job easier, at least." Magic isn't real. I may have believed in it as a kid, but I don't anymore. That's child stuff. I'm not a child. I grew up.

"That's ridiculous. And thanks for the heads up, by the way."

Henry points to himself and says, "How was I supposed to know it would come this close to town?"

"You still could've told me your town has flying monsters."

"If I did, would you have come?"

"Yes," I exclaim. "I'd do anything to find my parents and get away from that house."

"So, why are you mad? You're here, aren't you?" He's right, but not mentioning flying monsters is a huge thing to leave out.

"I still would've liked to be informed."

"Remember—Granny's—Two-thirty." He stands and walks off.

"Whoa, wait a second there, kid." I go to him. "I don't know what the hell that was. I can't let you walk home alone."

"But it's nothing."

"Nothing? Nothing? It was a fucking monkey with wings."

"I'll be fine. My family must be worried. I'm going home."

"Get in the car."

Henry scrunches his face. "You can't tell me what to do."

"Yes, I can. I'm older than you." I've become Agatha. Wait. No, I haven't. This is totally different. I'm way older than Henry. She's only a year older than me. She has no excuse.

I take a breath. "I listened to you. Now, you listen to me. Sound fair?"

"I guess." He shrugs.

"Good. Now, get in the car."

He trudges back and gets in. As I walk behind my car, I gaze up to where the monster flew off. I have no idea what the hell it was.

What is this place if it can't be found on a map and has winged beasts?

"Are you okay?" Henry asks after I shut my door.

It's way too cold in here. My arms and legs tremble, and goosebumps form.

I replay the event in my head, but it doesn't make sense. I can't believe what I saw. I don't believe it. It was a creature out of folklore, but it couldn't have been real. I freeze up, thinking about its sharp claws and teeth. Its shriek... I will never forget that shriek.

I'm not sure if I can get the car started or drive. "I will be... after therapy."

Henry directs me to a tall, charming brick apartment building. The interior, though, lacks that beauty. It's an old establishment, that's for sure. The upper halves of the walls are beige, and the lower halves are desaturated bluish-green. Dusty grey-blue carpeting that has a bit of an odor covers the floor and steps.

I hike up the flight of stairs with Henry. At the top, there's a small landing with a dark block window above it. There's nothing on the other side, so it must be for decorative purposes.

"I want you to come to Granny's, so you can chat with my family," he says outside the door of his flat.

"Why do you want me to chat with them?" I ask quietly to not disturb the people inside.

"They're great at helping. My mom knows how to find people. She used to be a bail-bonds person." I could use someone like that. Since she's a professional, I could find my parents in no time.

"That might come in handy."

"Also, a warning: They might come off a little strong when you first meet them. But don't worry. You get used to it."

"Okay?"

Henry opens the door.

"Henry!" A blonde woman rushes to hug him, but her hair blocks her face. There are three more people inside who also shout Henry's name.

"We were so worried about you," a woman with short black hair says.

"Where were you?" The blonde woman kneels in front of him to meet him at eye level. I still can't see her face.

"I went to find Bella," Henry says.

"I told you not to."

"But she belongs here."

"Henry, that was dangerous what you did. Never leave like that again."

I head down the stairs without being seen. I can't watch that. I can't watch someone being bombarded with worry and care from their family. I had to go.

I park my car back at the library, but when I turn off the ignition, I find an ocean lying beyond some buildings. The street goes straight into it like an airplane runway. The water beckons me. I can't refuse her call, especially when I've suppressed it for so long.

I walk in her direction, even though it's chilling to be here, knowing some creature is flying around this town.

The ocean calms me. I've always loved it, but I could never go. The foster home's too far from the beach, and those parents never took us during summers.

The street ends at a sidewalk leading to a shopping center right on the harbor. I cross under the canopy connecting the two buildings and enter the alley. The pavement was incorporated to include the wooden planks of the wharf. At the end of the pathway is a large, open patio, and a giant sun made of cement is at the center. I follow the boardwalk to the right, where there are evenly spaced-out benches.

I lean against the protective barrier and stare out at the sea. The waves ripple and curve against the surface, and the beams below interrupt them. A crisp breeze blows through my hair, and I breathe it in. It's refreshing and energizing. I could do anything if I wanted to.

The ocean's surface distorts the sun's reflection. I want to jump in and meditatively swim underwater like they do in those commercials with the girls wearing thin, long dresses, posing for the camera. I want the water to heal and clean me of all my sorrow. Right here, right now, the sea is tempting—so inviting. I lift my leg and rest my foot on the bottom rung of the barrier as if I'm actually debating whether I should jump. As exciting and golden as the idea may seem, I can't swim. I drop my foot.

The cracking of sails catches my attention next.

A ship is at the docks.

The bell dongs as the vessel rocks with the waves.

First, a monstrous beast. Then, a legit pirate ship.

Where the hell did this kid bring me?