Stormweather Academy

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My First Day - Angel

So this was Allie’s great idea. I guess we’re going in alphabetical order, so it’s my turn now. Joy.

My name’s Angel Ramirez, china doll daughter of the Senator. I was first punted over here when I was a five-year-old with a massive mouth. I am thirteen, still treated like a five-year-old, and still have little discretion. Still, this place has changed my outlook on a lot of things.

I was dropped off at the gates of Stormweather three weeks before term started. I had one suitcase and was dressed in a set of clothes my mother deemed “appropriate” that I hadn’t destroyed yet. It was a fluffy pink dress. I don’t like pink or dresses. However, another girl in a dress exactly like mine was waiting beside me. Quickly, a Jeep pulled up, with a blond boy behind the wheel.

“You’re Angel?” The boy asked. I scowled at him. “Brilliant, now there are two of you. I’m Malcom Everard, and this is Alexandria Robinson.” The other girl scowled at him.

“My name’s Alex,” Allie told me in a voice that could kill.

“Allie,” I said, and stuck out my tongue. “I’ll call you Allie.”

“Sure, Angie.” The rest of the car ride was spent by Allie and me arguing and Malcolm keeping us from killing each other. Within minutes, we were at the complex of pale buildings that actually were the school. “Angel, you’re in room 346. Alexandria, room 342. Dump your stuff there and get changed. Dinner’s in two hours. Grand tour’s tomorrow. I followed Allie, who seemed to know where she was going, up three flights of stairs and two right turns. Right where the 340’s were, I saw a couple of shimmering blue lights lurking at the windows.

“What are those?” I asked. Allie looked to where I was pointing.

“Oh, those are the pixies.”


“Yes. Like fairies, but meaner. Generally, they’re gold. They have nests in the forest and swamp. Oh, you’re not supposed to go in the swamp.”

“They’re just tiny lights.”

“No, they’re tiny blue people. Malcolm says exposure strengthens perception.”


“The longer you stay here, the more stuff you see.”

“Pixies don’t exist.”

“They do here. If you want to know why, ask one of the adults. I want to get out of this damn dress.” With that, Allie’s door slammed shut. Grinning at the fact that the Stormweather casual uniform was a pair of khaki pants and a t-shirt with the logo on it, I quickly changed. This place was the coolest; there were pixies and I didn’t have to wear pink. In my five-year-old mind, it was paradise.

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