The Fated Fire Princess

Sixteen Candles

Harper’s POV—Six Years Later

I know I’m a total loser, but I really wish my parents didn’t.

They’ve probably known for a while, I guess, but I’ve done my best to keep it a secret from them. After all, I still have Effie—my best friend for as long as I can remember. She might not be considered “popular”—neither of us are—but a friend is a friend, right?

And then there’s Jack.

Effie’s my best friend, but Jack’s my soul mate.

I know, I know—you’re probably rolling your eyes as you read this. Soul mate, at sixteen? Is this girl for real?

And, yeah, I’ll admit that it’s a bit far-fetched. After all, Jack doesn’t see me as his soul mate. He’s a “regular,” as we call them—a boy from the real world, not Farnethia. The only reason he lives at the HQ is because his father’s a janitor and his mother works in the cafeteria. If he could, he’d transfer schools in a heartbeat and go lusting after some beautiful, blond Kiwi with an accent as delicious as his own.

We’re in New Zealand, by the way, if you didn’t know. That’s the one place that Grandma could convince to let the Farnethia Project to set up shop. Us Farnethians are glamorized and idolized by regulars, but few of them turned out to be keen on actually living amongst us.

We’re freaks, is what it boils down to.

Which is exactly why Jack Davis will never fall in love with me.

Anyway, back to the point. My having two close friends—Effie and Jack—has always sort of shielded me from my parents realizing I’m a loser. But today, as Mom hangs up the last of the decorations in the ballroom for my sweet sixteen, she’s finally seeming to figure it out.

“You’re sure you don’t want anyone else from school to come?” she asks me as she pins up the N in SWEET SIXTEEN. “What about that sweet girl whose mother was a mermaid? What was her name?”

I roll my eyes. “Melanie,” I say dismissively. “She’s a cheerleader.”

I know that sounds harsh, but really, I mean no disrespect to cheerleaders as a collective. At least, as a big-picture collective. It's a perfectly cool and legitimate sport. It’s just that the cheerleaders at Farnethia Academy are, well, mean girls. And that’s putting it nicely.

Mom claims that she was a social outcast in high school, but I have my doubts. She’s a total knockout, just like Dad is a total heartthrob, and everyone from Kenton Crowley—who my parents always seem dead-set on avoiding at all costs—to Headmaster Morrison seems to be in love with her. I have a hard time believing she was ever anything but the cool, beautiful Prophesized Queen.

(Yes, that does make me the Prophesized Princess. They also call me the Fire Princess. Don’t mistake my world-famousness for coolness. It’s dorky as hell, and the kids at school make fun of me for it.)

Before Mom has the chance to tell me that I shouldn’t make judgments about people based on their school sports, Jack walks in.

Jack is everything I’m not, and everything my family isn’t. He’s plain; he’s simple; he’s honest; he’s easygoing. His forest-green eyes, speckled with bits of brown and gold, always seem to smile, whether his mouth is smiling or not. He keeps his messy, sandy-brown hair long—just long enough that he could probably wear it in a short ponytail, though he never does. When he smiles, dimples form in both of his cheeks, but when you point them out, he covers his face with his hand and reddens.

I love him.

“Happy birthday, Harp!” he exclaims as he jogs over to me and embraces me in a tight, warm hug. “You’re finally as old as me! For another month, anyway.”

I scowl playfully at him. Jack will be turning seventeen soon, but he’s in the same grade as me at Farnethia Academy—eleventh. They had me skip seventh grade due to my super-smarts. Another reason I’m one of the least cool kids around.

“Hey there, Jack,” Mom says politely from her perch at the top of her ladder. “Why don’t you take Harper up to get ready? If I know Effie, she’s standing by to pounce.”

I try not to turn crimson at the thought of Jack helping me dress for my sweet sixteen. Is Mom really so clueless that she thinks it’s harmless for us to go off together? She clearly has no idea how madly in love with him I am. I suppose it’s implausible to someone like her, who thinks the world revolves around Farnethians, that a Farnethian might be interested in a regular.

She’s right about Effie, at least. Effie can never resist a good makeover.

“Sure, Mrs. Rivers,” Jack says obediently to my mother before taking my hand and pulling me out of the ballroom.

Another sign that Jack clearly doesn’t feel the way I do—the way he holds my hand.

The thought of taking his hand in mine is almost as scary as the thought of kissing him; if it’s this easy for him, it must be because he thinks of me as no more than a friend.

Right?

He lets out a yelp when we reach the lobby, dropping my hand like it’s on fire.

Shit, I think to myself as I glance down at it. It is on fire—at least, my kind of fire. 

Whenever my emotions get the better of me, fire happens. Sometimes it’s as simple as my skin getting hot, like right now; others, it’s full-on flames. Farnethia HQ has seen its fair share of fire trucks come and go as a result, though Mom and Dad always do their best to shield the real story from the outside world, which still believes “true magic” like mine doesn’t exist on Earth.

“So f*****g cool,” Jack mutters as he scans his burned hand. “You really don’t have any control over it?”

I groan, coming to a stop to scan his hand without touching it again. The burns are pretty minor, but I still feel bad. “We should get you some ice.”

“I’m fine,” he assures me. “Seriously, though. You didn’t mean to do that?”

“To burn you?” I demand. “Of course not!”

He looks amazed, which is absurd, if you ask me. “So f*****g cool,” he says again.

I really don’t understand what’s so f*****g cool about my complete inability to control my extremely dangerous fire powers. Nor do I understand why I’m the one person in the entire world who seems to have powers, aside from the commonplace abilities of teleportation and telepathy.

But I don’t want to linger on it, either, so I continue walking in the direction of my family’s suite.

Sure enough, Effie is there waiting for us.

“I want you to look good,” she announces when we enter, “but I’m also really sick of Logan Townsend looking at you like you’re the hottest thing since sliced bread. So I’ve laid out some tasteful, elegant options for you.”

Poor Effie has been in love with Logan Townsend for years, despite him having virtually no idea that she even exists, aside from his parents’ friendship with hers. Don’t ask me why; Effie’s absolutely gorgeous, and has an awesome personality to boot. Logan does, admittedly, have something of a crush on me, but I think it has more to do with his mother’s friendship with mine than anything else. 

It doesn’t matter, anyway. Logan is boring. 

And he’s not Jack.

“Logan wasn’t invited,” I say dismissively. “So dress me in whatever you want.”

A tiny grin spreads over Effie’s face---a grin that makes me very nervous.

“That’s what you think,” she says.

And with that, I deduce that trouble is coming.