Witch Born - LJ Swallow Page 0,78

act on my visions—the world operates as it does for a reason, right? I've seen movies where people dabble with time and that never ends well.

But this is different.

The Denny in my vision died, and I decided to stop Tyler leaving school today. I had a chance to save a life.

Fortunately for me, Tyler also dislikes the scrawny blonde girl who sits in front of him in most classes. He goads me regularly, but I've never been brave enough to confront him. Until yesterday. I needed to stop him attacking Denny, so I stood up to him when he made a snide comment.

Unfortunately, smacking one of the school's most popular kids in the face isn't helpful behaviour when attacking other students leads to instant expulsion from the local high school.

To be honest, Tyler should be thanking me, because if I hadn't spread his nose across his face, he'd be in bigger trouble than I am now.

The sun shines through the window overlooking the playground, picking up dust particles that dance around the room, and the beam spreads across the counsellor's cluttered desk.

"You haven't changed your calendar." I point at the scenic image of Switzerland's wild flowers. She blinks in confusion. My mind jumps around a lot, especially when I'm stressed. "It's July 1st. Not June." I point at the calendar and she glares harder.

Mrs. Peel reaches out and flicks over the desk calendar and the paper tears with the ferocity. "I am calling your parents."

Crap. No. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound rude. I'm just stressed about exams and trying to block out yesterday's trauma."

"What trauma?"

"Tyler. "

"The trauma you caused?"

Oh hell, this isn't going well. "Please don't call my parents. I'll do anything. Put me on litter duty for a month. I'll even take on gum-scraping duty too." Checking under every chair in every classroom for disgusting second-hand gum is the worst, but better than the alternative. If I'm expelled, my already shaky relationship with my parents will go south.

Mrs. Peel's lips twitch and a look of triumph crosses her face at my sweaty-palmed fear. "I'm sorry, Maeve, but you know the school policy on violent behaviour. Perhaps this is for the best, considering your other issues."

In the words of the great philosopher: FML

CHAPTER TWO

TWO WEEKS LATER

MAEVE

The pink and white roses growing around the gates to Ravenwood Academy do little to take away the institutional look of the building. There's no barbed wire, but there are strategically placed "you're being watched" security signs along the perimeter fence. I don't doubt that applies to both students and intruders.

Dad's car rolls along the long driveway leading up to the main building. The weathered grey brick blends with the cloudy sky, and the academy looms over the grounds, casting shadows across the surroundings.

"This was once an asylum," I announce from the backseat as I stare at the rows of tiny windows. "I looked at the history."

My parents look at each other and say nothing.

"But I guess you knew that. I bet it's haunted." I hit the button to lower the window and stick my head out. The smell of freshly mowed grass from the lawns closer to the gates mingles with the petrol fumes from the car, but I can't see or hear anything. Or anyone.

"Do I have to stay long at the Academy for Bad Girls?" I ask. "Do I get time off for good behaviour?"

My parents are used to my sarcasm barrier and the light tone won't fool them. I spent the last few days wavering between tears and anger. Yes, I was expelled, but this isn't fair. I'm uprooted from my home and stuck in an ex-mental hospital to finish my education.

"Maeve, that isn't what Ravenwood is," says Mum. She turns in her seat and her green eyes are filled with worry. "We've wanted you to attend for years and could never afford the fees. You're lucky that your aunt decided to gift you with this education—this is a prestigious academy. We all know gaining your A levels and a place in university is important to you, and here, you'll receive excellent teaching."

"And we'd like you to finish your education without distractions," adds Dad, peering at me through the rear mirror.

Distractions? "Omigod, is this an all-girls academy?"

"No. Co-ed." My mother smiles but gives my father a wary glance.

I sink back in my seat. Good. I don't have dreams of boyfriends and clandestine trysts, but an academy full of girls isolated on the Yorkshire moors is likely to become Mean