Crescent City Academy

Chapter One

Never in my wildest dreams did I think I'd see myself in a school uniform. At least it fits. That's something.

I grab my hairbrush from my dresser as I continue staring at my reflection in the mirror. The navy-blue uniform makes my dark eyes pop in an almost unexplainable way.

Crescent City Academy.

A prestigious school for the talented, the influential, and, apparently, people like me.

It is the first school I'll ever attend. I've always been homeschooled, which means I've never had to deal with crowded hallways, noisy classrooms, or—God forbid—actual classmates.

This is going to be hard.

I'll have to interact with people.

...God, no.

At least it beats seeing old Mrs. Bernard's wrinkly face every week. I'm pretty sure she's tired of me by now, anyway.

I look down at my black loafers before slowly examining my "uniform" from the bottom up.

My long socks reach just past my knees, leading up to my well-tailored flare skirt. Above that is my crisp white shirt, neatly tucked beneath the navy-blue blazer. And then there's the cute black bow that girls wear instead of a tie.

Some girls wear ties, but I like the bow. It adds a little personality to the uniform.

Or at least, I think it does.

"Malia!"

Oh, God. Martha is here.

"I'm coming!" I call, quickly grabbing my backpack from my bed before hurrying downstairs.

"Oh, Malia, you look wonderful!" Martha beams when she sees me, immediately reaching out to brush away a piece of lint that I'm pretty sure isn't even there.

"Are you sure?" I ask, biting my lower lip. "I feel weird."

"Of course I'm sure."

She gives me another once-over, looking far too pleased with herself.

I glance down at my uniform again.

Maybe I do look okay.

Maybe.

But looking okay isn't the problem.

Going to school is.

We make it outside through the grand gates of the estate, and I'm greeted by the sight of our mansion towering behind us.

Calling it a mansion almost feels like an understatement. The enormous white structure rises several stories high, with tall glass windows stretching across its walls and grand columns framing the entrance. The perfectly trimmed gardens surround it on either side, with fountains scattered along the stone pathways. From the outside, it looks more like a luxury hotel than a home.

Our driver is already waiting beside the car.

Martha leads the way, apparently determined to come with me to "finalise whatever is remaining of my admission process."

We both know that's a lie.

But I'm not going to argue with her. I could use the company.

We get into the car, and within seconds, the driver pulls away from the house.

Oh, God.

I'm a nervous wreck.

My feet keep bouncing against the floor, and I've been biting my lips so much that I'm pretty sure I'll have nothing left of them by the time we reach the school.

At this rate, I'm going to faint before I even get there.

I turn toward the window, watching the trees blur past us. We may have left the house, but we're still within the estate. The acres of land stretch so far that sometimes I forget where our property actually ends.

It's strange.

Really strange.

Knowing that I'm leaving the comfort of my home not for a business trip with Mom, not for a vacation in another country, and not even for some fancy family event...

But for school.

School.

Me.

Malia Janet.

Going to school.

God, I must be dreaming.

It's funny when I think about it. Most teenagers my age would probably do anything to be free and out there in the world. It's not like I'm not free, but I love my peace and quiet. I love my solitude, and the fact that it's about to change is making me nauseous.

I've sat with ministers, politicians, and even more influential people when accompanying Mom, but somehow, this feels different.

They're adults. They know how to behave.

This...

This is different.

They're kids.

Okay, maybe not kids, because I'm the same age as them, but that's exactly what scares me. I don't know how to interact with people my age.

We turn onto the main street, heading toward the highway, and I'm moments away from telling Patrick, the driver, to turn around.

Of course, that's not possible.

I could lie and say I'm sick, but Martha would see right through me. She's known me for too long.

She and Mom want this for me. They want me to stop being stuck in my bedroom all day and actually experience life like my peers.

But I'm not them.

I'm me.

Still, I suppose I can at least give it a try.

I turn my head and glance at Martha. She's sitting beside me, completely absorbed in her iPad, probably setting up my schedule for the day after school.

I look back through the window.

Martha is sitting close enough that I can see her reflection in the glass, but my attention is drawn to something farther ahead.

A school bus.

It has the Crescent City Academy logo printed on the side.

The bus is the same navy-blue color as my uniform, with a faint crescent symbol in the middle. Through the windows, I can see students packed inside, chatting away like they've known each other forever.

They look so...

Normal.

And somehow, that makes me even more nervous.

I turn my head away, letting out an exaggerated groan. Martha laughs—or chuckles, or whatever sound of amusement old people make.

"What's so funny?" I ask, already knowing she's laughing at me and my predicament, if I could even call it that.

"You are going to be fine, Malia."

She and Mom are the only people who call me that.

To everyone else, I'm Malia Janet.

Always formal. Always cordial.

"How can you be so sure, Martha?" I ask, dropping my head back against the headrest and letting out an even louder groan this time.

Even Patrick is laughing.

Oh, gosh.

I'm being laughed at by old people.

Yet another sign that the world is coming to an end.

I blow away the piece of hair that has come loose from my headband.

Well, my life is officially about to come to an end because we're here.

Actually here.

I didn't come for my admission process myself. Martha handled most of it for me, so I never really got the chance to see the school properly. And when she told me about Crescent City Academy, she didn't exactly do it justice.

Actually, what am I saying?

She didn't do it justice at all.

All she told me was, and I quote, "Oh, it's just a prestigious school with some students from important families."

Just?

Apparently, Martha's definition of "just" includes an institution that looks like it could swallow my entire neighborhood and still have room for more.

Crescent City Academy is nothing like what I imagined.

The school is enormous. The main academic building rises ahead of us, surrounded by separate sections that seem to stretch endlessly across the grounds. There's an entire wing for academics, another for the arts and performance, and what looks like a massive sports complex farther off. I can even see what appears to be a science and technology building, along with several smaller buildings scattered around the campus.

And that's just what I can see from the car.

There are wide courtyards connecting the different sections, landscaped gardens tucked between the buildings, and pathways filled with students moving in every direction. Some are carrying sports equipment, others have musical instruments slung over their shoulders, while a few are gathered around what looks like an outdoor performance space.

It's not just a school.

It's practically a city.

We enter through the rear gates, where cars are being directed toward a large parking area.

I stare through the window.

No.

Absolutely not.

I'm not stepping out.

Maybe if I squeeze my eyes shut for long enough, I'll wake up in my bedroom and realize this was all just a terrible dream.

I close my eyes.

One second.

Two.

Three.

I open them again.

Still here.

Great.

I close them once more, just in case the universe didn't get the hint.

Nothing.

I won't complain about Mrs. Bernard anymore.

I swear.

I'll listen to every single one of her stories.

I'll even stop making fun of her wrinkly face.

Just please...

Let this all be a dream.

"Malia... Malia... Malia."

Huh?

I open my eyes to see Martha staring at me, holding the car door open for me to step out.

"We are here," she says, directing my attention with her eyes toward the person standing in front of her.

It's a woman. A middle-aged woman.

Oh, gosh. Where are my manners?

I quickly step out of the car and straighten my uniform before turning to her.

"Good morning, ma'am. I'm Malia Janet Ashbourne."

The woman smiles warmly and extends her hand.

"Hi, Malia Janet. It's lovely to finally meet you."

I shake her hand, then subtly look around.

Students are streaming through the school gates, while staff members move around the entrance, some carrying folders and talking among themselves. Cars are pulling up one after another, dropping off students as the morning rush continues around us.

So this is it.

My first day of school.

After the greetings with the vice principal, we take a walk around the school—or, more accurately, a tour.

And somehow, Crescent City Academy is even bigger on the inside.

I didn't think that was possible.

The vice principal shows us the different buildings, pointing out classrooms, laboratories, the library, the arts wing, and several other places that I'm definitely going to need a map to find again.

Eventually, we make our way to her office, where I have to sign a few documents that require my signature.

Apparently, I'm officially a student now.

That feels... weird.

Once everything is signed and sorted, I'm handed the school crest, which I'm expected to wear as a badge on my blazer.

I pin it carefully onto my uniform.

For some reason, seeing that little crest sitting there makes everything feel more real.

I'm actually here.

I'm actually going to school.

After a few more words with the vice principal, I'm given the code to my locker along with directions on how to find it.

And now I'm here.

Standing outside my locker.

Alone.

Martha is beside me, but she's about to leave.

I can sense the hesitation in her movements. She keeps looking at me like she wants to say something, and I already know what it is.

She doesn't want to leave me.

I guess she isn't as certain as she claimed she was.

Honestly, if she could come with me to school, I wouldn't be against it.

Not even a little.

But she can't.

And I need to do this on my own.

So, I guess this is farewell until we meet again after closing hours.

"Goodbye, Martha," I say.

Her eyes immediately begin to fill with tears.

"Oh, my girl. You're really all grown up."

Before I can respond, she pulls me into a hug.

I wrap my arms around her, unable to stop the small sniff that escapes me.

She's been there for me for as long as I can remember.

Martha isn't just someone who takes care of me.

She's my best friend.

"Okay, that's enough. I don't want you crying on your first day of school," Martha says as she pulls away, wiping her tears.

I scoff.

"Crying?! You're the one crying, not me."

I quickly wipe my own eyes.

We look at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter.

"You're going to have a great day. Bye, Malia," Martha says as she walks away.

I watch her head toward the car, trying my best not to feel emotional again.

She's almost inside when she suddenly turns around.

"If you need anything, just ask the vice principal."

I nod.

"Okay."

She gives me one last smile before getting into the car.

Trust my mom to make sure her daughter has the best possible support system.

The car pulls away, and I watch it disappear through the gates.

And just like that...

I'm on my own.

Now that Martha is gone, I turn my attention to the next challenge.

Finding my locker.

I pull out the card the vice principal gave me and stare at it.

Locker number. Building. Floor. Section.

There are so many numbers and letters on this thing that I'm starting to wonder if finding my locker is actually part of some secret entrance exam.

I look up at the hallway.

It's... huge.

The ceilings are high, with elegant lights hanging above us and large windows stretching along one side of the corridor, allowing the morning sunlight to spill across the polished floors. Lockers line the walls in neat rows, their dark blue doors matching the school's colours.

Students are everywhere.

Some are standing around talking to their friends, while others hurry down the hallway with books tucked under their arms. A few are leaning against the lockers, completely unbothered by the chaos around them.

Everyone seems to know exactly where they're going.

Everyone except me.

I look back down at the card.

"Okay... Building B, second floor, west corridor..."

I glance around.

Which one is the west corridor?

I squint at the card as if staring at it hard enough will somehow make the answer appear.

I really don't want to accidentally try opening someone else's locker and get accused of being a thief on my first day of school.

That would be a terrible first impression.

I start walking, still completely buried in the card as I try to dissect every word and number printed on it.

Maybe I should have asked the vice principal to show me.

No.

I can figure this out.

I'm smart.

Probably.

I reach the end of the hallway and turn the corner, still staring at the card.

What I don't realize is that someone is coming from the opposite direction.

They're just as unaware of me as I am of them.

And then—

Bam!