Spearwood Academy Volume One (The Spearwood Academy Book 1)

by A. S. Oren

  I walk into the room. They follow me, their shoes clacking on the floor again. Suddenly, an alarm goes off. I cover my ears at the sound. “What is that?” I ask.

  “Remember that rule I mentioned? That alarm means it’s in force,” Perlow says before he turns to look back at Triton, who has crossed the threshold to my room. “If I wasn’t standing here now, I would’ve been summoned when that alarm went off, so you won’t have time to hide.” He waves his hand, and the alarm turns off.

  “I get your point,” I say. I fold my arms over my chest.

  “Do you like your room?” Roseman asks. “I designed it myself.”

  So it’s his tastes that went into this room, lovely. I shrug. “It’s more than what I need. The décor is rich. I’m a more rustic kind of girl: old woods, creaking floors, lived in feel. But my father told me never to complain about something I have been given, so I won’t.”

  He cocks his head to the right and looks at me, just like a dog. He doesn’t know what to make of my backhanded comment.

  Triton puts my bags down near the bed. There’s no dresser for me to keep my clothes in. I turn my attention back to the room, scanning it for another door. Finally, I spot it painted the same as the rest of the walls—almost blends in perfectly—but the gold knob gives it away.

  I sure hope this is a closet. I open it. Yup, a closet, big enough to turn into a guest room. How could anyone every need this much space for clothes? Some clothes already hang in it. They look like a school uniform. Great, I have to wear a skirt.

  “Um . . . is the skirt required, or can I wear pants instead?” Judging by their expressions my question must sound absurd.

  “The uniforms here are made from a very special kind of material. It allows you to transform into your full dragon form with them on. It would take several months to have one pair of dress pants tailored for your petite size. If you truly want some, I will put an order in,” Roseman says.

  “Or she could just not wear a uniform to transform,” Triton mumbles.

  Both Perlow and Roseman glance at him. His cheeks flush red. Perhaps, he hadn’t meant to say that aloud.

  “Mr. Lennox—”

  I sense an impending argument in the air. “I’ll wear a skirt. Don’t worry about it.”

  That seems to have diffused the situation for now. Perlow turns back to me with a smile. “Excellent. Well, I’ve given you the basic tour. There is much more to see, of course. The student president for first years will show you the rest. I suppose we should get some breakfast in you and introduce you to the student body. Follow me to the dining hall.”

  What he showed me was only the tip of the iceberg? Even with a personal assistant, how do they expect me to get from place to place in a decent amount of time? I hope they offer bikes or scooters for transportation.

  BREAKFAST

  The four of us stand in front of a set of double doors. They lead into the dining hall, where the entire student body resides, having breakfast. From what Perlow told me while walking up here, at least a thousand boys attend the school. He said he would need to check the paperwork for an exact number. Next to each of the doors stands a male servant, neither of the guys isthe one with different colored eyes.

  I wonder what the hall will look like. I can’t help but picture the Great Hall in Harry Potter. I doubt that though. Doesn’t seem like it would be their style. “Ready, Miss Clementine?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Perlow nods to the servants; they bow and open the doors. Perlow leads us into the hall. Triton follows not far behind. The glamour of a five-star restaurant meets me. Only one word comes to mind to describe it: elegant.

  Several crystal chandeliers hang down from an off cream-colored ceiling. The walls—a brilliant red with gold painted vines of ivy scaling it—sparkle from the crystal hanging off the lights. The ivy appears so real as if I could reach out and pluck one of the gold leaves. Above each pointed vine hangs a portrait of an old man with a stern face. I come to the last one; it’s of Perlow. He has to be the youngest one of the group.

  Iron, spiral stairs lead up to a balcony. Placed around the room are a few hundred tables covered with white cloths. Each one has five plush, black dining chairs.

  On each chair, a boy sits. Some of them look my age; others look like they could be around their early twenties.

  Once the doors opened they all went silent. Their gazes piercing me with their curiosity and some with indifference. It’s hard trying to keep myself from appearing nervous, but hopefully I’m doing a good job.

  “Good morning gentlemen. May I introduce you all to Miss Clementine. You have all been briefed on the rules. You know the punishment for breaking them. Please treat her with respect. Now, where is Horace King?”

  “Up here, sir.”

  I stare up at the balcony. A boy looks down at us. He has short brown hair with bangs that almost hang in his eyes. He wears a pair of silver wire-rimmed glasses. I can’t see the color of his eyes.

  “Oh, good! Since you are the president for the first years, it will be your job to show her the rest of the school along with how we get around with ease. First, however, why don’t you show her a seat, so she can order herself some breakfast? Mr. Lennox, you can join them and also be her tour guide since you two already know each other.”

  “Sir, I rather not,” Triton says. He runs his hand through his hair as he looks up at the boy named Horace. The tension between them runs thick. I shift myself from foot to foot. I don’t want to be stuck with two guys who have issues with each other.

  Perlow glances back at Triton. “I wasn’t asking if you wanted to do it.”

  Triton watches his feet shimmy back and forth. “Of course, sir. I’d be more than happy to help King show her around.”

  “Good.” Perlow turns on his heel and faces the entrance to the dining hall. “Roseman and I have work to attend to, so this is where we will leave you, Miss Clementine. Have a nice day.”

  “Wait, Mr. Perlow. You said you’d set up a meeting with me, so we can talk.”

  He walks away as he answers me, “I’ll have Jessica send you an email about it later.”

  I have a feeling that’s code for it will be awhile before I get my answers. Perhaps the boys around here have the answers.

  I look around as the double doors shut behind Perlow and his lap dog. Silence hangs, still heavy in the room. All their eyes are on me. Am I supposed to make a speech or something? “I’m a girl, not a zoo animal for you to gawk at.”

  They all come out of their stupor and go back to what they were doing before I entered the room. The noise level rises until it’s at a normal level.

  Someone taps me on the shoulder. I turn to see the boy called Horace, his eyes as green as emeralds. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Clementine.”

  “Avalon, or Avvi, either is fine. Miss is too formal for me.”

  He smiles. “All right, Avvi. Come with me up to the second level. There’s room for you up there.” He motions for me to go ahead of him. I start up the stairs. “Coming, Lennox?” I stop to look at Triton. He still stands where I left him, his jaw tense and his hands shoved in his pockets.

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  The second level has fewer tables than the bottom half, but it all still the same. Only some of the boys stop eating to glance up at me. I can’t wait until I’m old news. All these guys gawking at me makes me feel both like a side show freak and a piece of meat. I really should’ve had more of a social life before I came here. I’d probably be able to handle it better now if I had.

  Horace leads me to a table that stands in the corner near the iron railing. Two other guys already sit there; both have a thick book in their hands. I take a seat. Horace clears his throat as he takes his seat next to me. Triton completes the circle as he sits down across from me. The two boys look up from their books.

  “Avvi, this,” Horace gestures to the boy directly on my left. Short, golden curls sit on top of his head. I can’t he
lp but sense a twinge of familiarity when I look into his hazel eyes. They remind me of my own eyes . . . strange. “Is Amr Radcliff, and the guy next to him is Dante Mathis.”

  Ebony locks fall down to the tops of Dante’s shoulders, and pools of liquid amber pierce me with their stare. My cheeks heat up, and I have an urge to hide my face, but I don’t want to act like some kid. He’s really cute. “Hello,” they both say in unison.

  “Hello,” I say.

  I almost jump out of my chair when a shadow falls over me. I didn’t even notice them walk up. Another one of the male servants hands me a menu. “Please, choose what you wish, Miss. I will come back in a few minutes to take your order.” French rides heavy in the tone of his voice. Is everyone at this school unbelievably hot, or am I just that undersocialized? My fingers tighten their grip on the edge of the leather bound menu, and I give him a nod. He walks away. I crack it open slowly as if the actual food will come jumping out it at any moment. All of the dishes have some sort of breakfast element to them. Most of them I’ve never even heard of. Edgar and I usually have a normal breakfast of an egg and some toast, and on the weekend’s bacon or sausage—for him—with pancakes. I see neither of those things on the menu.

  Salmon fillet with a poached egg and roasted tomatoes.

  Berry crepes in orange sauce.

  Apple cinnamon ricotta pancakes.

  Chilled blueberry soup.

  That’s not even a quarter of what they offer. I look for the most basic thing: toast with a bowl of fruit. The drinks list goes on forever as well, but I manage to find regular orange juice on it. I put the menu down, just to realize the boys at the table have been staring at me in silence.

  “Um, is there something on your minds, or do I have something on my face?”

  They all clear their throats at the same time and look away from me.

  “Sorry. We’re still trying to get used to the fact that a girl is here and sitting at our table,” says the boy named Amr. He looks at me with a frown. “Have we met before?”

  He feels the weird connection, too? “I don’t think so,” I say. I don’t want to reveal I feel the same way. I’d rather not seem extra weird on the first day. “Perlow was telling me that females are rare in dragon ‘families’, I think that’s how he put it.” I look at each of them to see their reaction. They all keep their eyes down.

  “That’s right! You grew up away from us. So you don’t know who your parents are?” Dante asks. They all lean in closer toward me as if I have a piece of juicy gossip they’ve been dying to hear.

  I swallow hard. “I don’t know who my biological parents are. My father is Edgar though; he’s the man who raised me even though he didn’t have to. He found me near his barn.”

  “Wow. That must’ve been rough,” Horace says.

  Triton scoffs, and Horace glares at him along with the other two. The tension at the table rises ten-fold.

  I let out a nervous giggle. “It’s my life. I wouldn’t change it.”

  “Do you want to meet your real parents? Since there is a chance you could meet them now?” Dante asks.

  I hadn’t thought about that. There is a good chance I could meet my biological parents now. How weird would that be? “I don’t know. I guess if I find out who they are and the chance to meet them comes up, I will. If it happens, it happens. If it doesn’t, oh well. I’ve gone this long and have been fine with not knowing.” I just told a lie. I’ve always wanted to know who my mother was, but I would never admit that to anyone.

  The servant comes back to grab my menu and take my order.

  “I’ll have the fruit and a side of wheat toast with an orange juice. Thank you.”

  He seems taken aback by the fact I thanked him. He’s hesitant as he answers me, “You’re welcome, Miss. I will get your food and yours as well, sirs.” He walks away.

  I look back at the guys. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “We don’t normally thank them for anything. Their job is to be our servants,” Triton says.

  I frown. “Regardless of if it is their job, they should still be thanked for the work they do. That only seems fair.”

  “It’s not done, though,” Horace says.

  “Is it against the rules?”

  “No,” Amr answers.

  “Then I will thank them when they help me. I don’t care if it makes me an outsider. People should be thanked for the hard work they do.”

  “You have a fiery spirit. I like that,” Dante says with another one of those heart-thumping smiles, more like a smirk.

  Amr elbows Dante in the shoulder. “Ignore him. He’s like this every summer when we go to the beach and all the pretty girls are around. He doesn’t know he looks like a moron smiling like that.”

  Dante shoves him back. “Shut up. The ladies love me!”

  Horace laughs. “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that. The river of denial runs deep, my friend.”

  Dante huffs and folds his arms. “Some friends you are. At least she as my back. Right, Miss Fire?” He gestures to me.

  I have no idea how to respond to that. Thankfully, I don’t have to, the food has arrived.

  Five servants circle the table, each carrying a silver platter covered with a dome. Do we really need all of these theatrics? The servant with the different colored eyes places my food and drink down on the table. He smiles at me as I thank him. It’s almost painful for me to look away from his eyes. He bows to me as he steps away from the table. I wish I knew his name. Like a big piece of food, my voice stays in my throat, unwilling to dislodge for the life of me. He walks away, and I can’t even utter a word to make him stop.

  “Everything okay?” Horace asks.

  I look at my food. The fruit, ripe with color, reminds me of mini jewels: strawberries, honeydew, red and black grapes, and blueberries. They all look delicious. I take my silverware out of the intricately folded, cream-colored napkin and place it on my lap.

  I glance at the others. They all eat with such refined etiquette, not a morsel falls off their forks, nor do they slurp their chilled soups or smack their lips. Their movements are graceful like ballet, not at all like how I thought a school full of boys would eat. I imagined a free for all of stuffing their faces and belching.

  I almost feel self-conscious about my own table manners. Should I cut my fruit and toast into bite-size pieces? I shake my head. I’m not a slob. I’ll eat as I always have, and if they have an issue with it, they can move tables.

  First things first though, I need to cut my toast in half. There is no other way to eat it.

  “After breakfast, I’ll show you around. What do you want to see first: the stables or the track?” Horace asks.

  “Stables as in horse stables? Perlow . . . Mr. Perlow already showed me where the track is. It’s off the gym, right?”

  “Yes and no, that’s not the track I’m talking about. You’ll see.” He smiles as do the others, even Triton. I wonder what in the world he’s talking about? I’ll just have to wait and see.

  THE GRAND TOUR WITH THE HANDSOME FOUR

  After breakfast, my tour guides lead me to a door at the back of the dining hall. “This is the back of the school,” Horace says as we exit into a grand courtyard and a vast field. It’s here that the school appears grander than it did when we first stepped into it. Two more buildings stand off from Spearwood, both half the size of the school.

  Large but thin arches line the red-cobblestone pathways of the courtyard every few feet with old-fashioned street lamps hung from their centers. Huge, blooming rosebushes in all colors and breeds line the cobblestone edges like some majestic fairytale garden. As if I’m standing in Nature’s bakery, the air surrounds me with the sweet aroma of roses. Dark, wooden benches stand throughout the yard, but many of the boys choose to sit on the ground where vibrant green grass lays.

  ”Horace points to the building on the right. “That building holds the Arts. If you want to paint, sculpt, dance, whatever, you can go there. The art courses of
ten take place there instead of the actual school. And, that one is the music hall. You can find any instrument you’ve ever dreamed of playing in there. C’mon, we’ll show you the stables now and then the track.” Horace smiles about the track. I wonder what it is. The boys obviously like it. He begins to lead the way. Triton trails behind us like a lost dog.

  “You like that, don’t you?”

  Someone groans as they hit the cobblestone with a thud. I look over to where a boy has fallen on the ground. A group of boys stand around him and throw some type of pastry at his head.

  “What’s going on over there?” I ask. I gravitate in the direction of the scene. I want to help him.

  An arm goes around my shoulders and steers me back toward the path. “You don’t want to do that, Fire. That older boy over there is Lusk Mirren. He is a second year, and you don’t want to get on his bad side. He has one hell of a temper. Most fire users do. C’mon, the stables await.”

  I guess ‘Fire’ is my nickname with him. “But what they’re doing is mean. I thought this school would be above all that.”

  The four of them laugh. “Avalon, people are dicks no matter what social class they are, and I think ours is the worst. Nevertheless, listen to Dante. You don’t want to get in the middle of that. Regardless of if you’re a girl, he won’t hesitate to put you on his hit list,” Triton says.

  The others look at him as if he’s grown as second head. I guess he doesn’t speak in their favor very often.

  “But it feels wrong leaving him alone to defend himself.”

  “He’ll survive, they always do,” Horace says.

  I walk with them for a while until the school disappears behind us. The weather continues to stay nice; the sun shines, and fluffy clouds drift above. I still don’t fully understand how this works, but it has to be due to the magic that Perlow was talking about. I got my Hogwarts letter, finally. The owl just got lost for four years.