Nightworld Academy: Term One(Nightworld Academy #1)(7)



"The swearing in is hardly a big deal," Jamie retorts. "It's not as if blood and humiliation are involved."

I choke and the chip falls from my mouth. "Is this a euphemistic way of calling it an initiation ceremony?"

Amelia laughs. "No. They're making a big deal. All that happens is you meet with the house head boy and girl, in their meeting room, read and sign the allegiance contract, and they give you your colours."

"A blazer edged by the house colours," explains Jamie. "We're supposed to wear them to lessons, but not everybody does."

My head spins. Don't I already have the uniform I need? Why didn't people mention blazers and initiation ceremonies and mean girls with jock and emo sidekicks? I close my eyes. Is there an escape route from here? If I call my best friend Tessa, she might come and collect me. I huff. Apart from the fact she can't drive.





Chapter Four





MAEVE



The tables are empty at the cafeteria the next morning and the breakfast choice uninspiring. I sit in the window and stare across the grounds towards the road leading away from this bizarre place. I take a sneaky glance at the few people around me eating toast and cereal. Seriously, I'd kill for a bacon sandwich right now.

I'd hoped Amelia would be around, but when I woke this morning and peeked into her side of the room, her bed was empty. What internship is she on? We never discussed last night. After they went to their advanced class lessons, I returned to the room and collapsed on my bed in a tired heap.

I spread marmalade onto my toast and bite. I've not calculated the exact number attending the academy, but the idea the majority could be on internships or day release at a local college confuses me. For a start, the nearest college must be an hour’s drive at least. The thoughts dizzy me as I eat breakfast. Perhaps I should find someone to ask how I can spend daytimes away from this maudlin building and in the real world.

I make my way from the cafe to the front of the academy. Today, the sun attempts to shine and gives the surroundings a less oppressive feeling. The sports fields at the back of the area are painted up for rugby and I wander over. A small group practices, passing the ball or joining the scrum. I wrap my arms around myself and stand close to the goal posts.

I've met few people so far, but instantly recognise the guy who stands head and shoulders above the rest the moment he breaks free from the scrum. Ash charges across the field with the ball under his arm at a speed that would impress my sports teacher from my old school. That poor guy struggled to get anyone interested in the rugby team. I'm not a huge sports fan, but I can appreciate how vastly Ash's skill outweighs the others who struggle to catch him.

I can also appreciate his tight shirt and how much the shorts reveal. Ash's blue and black top stretches across muscular shoulders and as he passes me, I stare at his face splattered with mud and hair plastered against his forehead. He moves with determination until he reaches the edge of the pitch, then kicks the ball over the crossbar. It sails high into the sky before landing the other side.

Unsure whether I should stand and stare since I'm conspicuous, I wrap my coat around myself. The Yorkshire autumn weather is bad enough, but on these moors the rain and wind add extra dreariness, even with the sunshine struggling through the clouds. No wonder so many who live here are in bad moods. I watch anyway, short of something to do since no teacher has told me what to do in the daytime, and I don't want to sit in my room alone.

Rain now spots from the sky and I wrinkle my nose, hoping this doesn't become another downpour. What happened to the sunny day? The practice match comes to an abrupt halt, and a muddied Ash approaches me.

"Are you a rugby fan, Maeve?" he asks.

Mud streaks his strong jaw and his cheeks are red, his face shining. The scent of the earth and perspiration mingle and add to the powerful guy's overwhelming presence.

"Not really. I had nothing else to do."

The loudest laugh I've heard in my life echoes across the playing fields. "Right. You just like the view, then?"

I widen my eyes. Does he know I've watched from the side lines, objectifying him? "Uh. Um."

Again, that laugh. "I meant the better view you have of the moors from this part of the academy grounds. What did you think I meant?"

"Nothing. I don't know what to say to people here half the time." I tell him, which is halfway true. "Why are you here? I thought everybody worked or studied off campus in the daytime."

He pushes damp hair from his face and a large silver ring glints on his middle finger. "Rugby. I'm a sports player."

"Do you have a scholarship?" I ask.

"Something like that." He continues to stare at me intently. "Are you on a scholarship?"

"No. Long story. I'm your archetypal troubled teen, apparently. My family sent me here for my own good."

"That's unusual." He inclines his head towards the academy building. "Want to get out of the rain?"

As I squelch along beside him, my pulse rate picks up at his strange questioning and the secrets I swear he has. "Why is that unusual?"

"All kids here have special talents, and there's an advanced program late in the evening for the most gifted." He pauses. "Do you have a gift?"

I give a wry smile. "No. No sporting or musical talents here."

L.J. Swallow's Books