Life is funny.

Not ha-ha funny, but strange, smack-you-in-the-face, bizarro world funny.

Who knew that one decision, one small, insignificant choice, would change my life? Change it in ways I could never even begin to imagine. And according to my mom, I have quite the imagination.

Okay—let me back up, start closer to the beginning. Before the strange.

My name is Alex Finch. Alex to everyone—except my mom, who insists on calling me by my given name: Margaret. Which is short for Margaret Agnes Alexandrea Finch. A mouthful, I know. I was blessed with the name of every aunt who didn’t have a child of their own. I was just thankful Mom didn’t have more sisters.

Fortunately, Mom only drags the full name out when I’m in trouble. Since I tend toward the loner end of the social scale—meaning I spend copious amounts of time in my room—it’s easy to stay Margaret free most of the time.

Basic statistics: I am sixteen, on the short side of short at barely over five feet, a devout tomboy, an only child, and more than a little bit of a techno geek, trapped in a school full of blonde and tan beach bunnies.

Trust me, it can be challenging.

The dance classes I’ve been taking since I was six get me out of my own head, and help keep me sane and centered. Without them I’d be kicking some blonde booty out of sheer frustration.

I find myself talking to my laptop more than other people. Don’t laugh—I’ve had some of my best conversations with Red, my lightning fast, do-anything-I-can-program system.

It may sound pathetic, and scream wallflower/no dates ever/why bother going to the dance syndrome, but at least Red doesn’t ask me if I’m sick again, and how a twelve week session in the tanning salon at the mall would give my pale skin such a nice glow...

Yeah. So, there is my life in a few sentences. Short, pale geek, loner, and pretty much happy with the status quo.

Until the day I discovered that monsters were real.