Hawthorn Academy: Year One

by D. R. Perry

  The walls weren't carved wood in here, they were covered with chalkboards. Not the mundane kind. These were magipsychic, which means they generated illustrations to go with what was written on them.

  One wall actually had a window. It looked out on the Axelrod walking park behind the Peabody Essex Museum. I could almost see my house from here.

  Checking the board at the front, I read a message beside a gorgeous multicolor chalked mural of a beach with a man in a Santa suit sunbathing on it. That had to be what Christmas was like in the southern hemisphere. I chuckled before reading aloud, "Welcome to Professor DeBeer's homeroom."

  "Yes." Headmaster Hawkins nodded. "Dylan and Hailey will report here for class in the morning. Please feel free to explore the room and read all the messages left for you by your professor. You other four can follow me across the hall."

  We left the classroom, all a bit dismayed that the seemingly fun Susan DeBeers wouldn’t be the person we reported to in emergencies or come to when we had questions or concerns. She wouldn't be giving our lectures or running our labs either.

  "Don't worry," Hal whispered. "You’re not alone."

  I nodded, then took the chance to look around the hall.

  It was more wood, but bleached and polished instead of stained this time, allowing for a brighter though less warm feeling. It was brisk in there, giving the impression that it was designed for students to hurry through on their way to different places.

  When we reached the room across the hall, we found it equipped the same way. However, the chalkboard illustrations were abstract instead of immediately recognizable. The colors and placement exuded a depth that was more intriguing than whimsical.

  It was obvious that serious learning went on in here, but never in a boring way. This reminded me immediately of Bubbe. I headed directly to the front, curious to know the name of the person with this oddly comforting teaching style. I was too shocked to read it aloud. Faith did it for me.

  "Professor Luciano?"

  "Yes." Headmaster Hawkins leaned against the doorframe. "He's excited to have all of you in his homeroom this year."

  "Interesting." I turned my back on the headmaster, using my impulse to examine the window in here to cover my disappointment. Outside was the roof of the Bridge Street parking lot.

  "I'll be in the hall. You have five minutes."

  "I'm not sure I can handle it in here." I glanced at Hal, who gazed out the window with me. "Luciano's tough, by all accounts, and he's in charge of all our academic testing."

  “Oh, boy.” Logan hung his head. “You’re right. Poison owl man probably won’t cut us any slack.”

  "If we stick together and study, we'll get by." Hal gestured at a diagram of different magics and how they interacted with each other. It was straightforward, while still containing new-to-me subject matter. "The way these look, it seems like he'll at least be fair, even if his assignments are challenging."

  “Are you sure?” Logan’s eyebrows rose. “I mean, I’m not horrible at tests on paper, but labs freak me out.”

  “So we stick together, like Hal said.” Faith elbowed Logan in the ribs. At least we were in agreement. Better together.

  The four of us circled the room like restless cats. It was hard to concentrate on reading all the messages, but we managed. Luciano's tone was what I expected—business casual. He'd expect decorum and following the rules, for sure, but all of that was stuff I'd done before.

  "We don't spend all day in this room, I hope." Faith leaned against a desk.

  "No." Hal pulled his schedule out of a pocket in his blazer, pointing out the blocks. "We'll get broken out in the middle of the day for lunch, library time, and our specials. See?"

  "Gym before lunch and Health after." I peered at the paper. "And thank goodness for the library period before we go to Lab."

  "Yeah, and Creatives is before Gym. We get to pick what kind of art we make or practice, and we're together with DeBeer's class in one big room."

  "Awesome." I was relieved I’d get at least some time with Grace and Dylan during class days. Hal seemed like a good guy, and Logan was mostly harmless. I was still worried about Faith. She was intimidating.

  "It's almost time." Faith jerked her chin at the clock. "What's next?"

  "Not much." Hal smiled at her. "Dad's just going to show us where the specials are, and then we're done."

  "Thanks, losers." She stood and hurried out, contradicting her gratitude by avoiding us like the plague.

  “Uh, wow.” Logan blinked after Faith. “She’s dramatic. I’ll just say thanks, I guess. You guys are nice.” He grinned, then sauntered out of the room, tossing a wave overhead.

  "I don't get it." Hal’s frown surprised me. "She didn't talk like that after I followed her."

  "She's been a mean girl, Hal." I sighed. "Maybe it's her default mode when people are looking. Old habits—"

  "Die hard. I know." He hung his head. "I'm trying to change a few of my own, so I get it. But hope dies hard, too."

  "Don't expect much." I chewed my lower lip, wondering whether Hal was one of those angry "nice guys" who think being helpful is money in some sort of twisted romantic bank. But I knew anger when I saw it, and Hal seemed more sad than anything else. Or tired. "Low expectations mean less disappointment later."

  "All I wanted was to make some friends here." He winced. "Which is going to take a miracle. It doesn't feel like I fit in."

  "Oh?" I blinked. Bubbe always says I ought to be a light in the world. Hal was so amiable I didn't understand how he would have a hard time making friends, but here we were. All I could do was try to help. "Well, you're not alone."

  "Yeah. I guess Dylan and Logan not having familiars makes them feel weird too." He fidgeted with the sleeve on his blazer, staring down at the silver buttons. I wondered whether he felt as lonely as me, even with a familiar who clearly loved him and his father in charge of the school.

  "Don't forget the gal who set the café on fire." I rolled my eyes. "She's a literal hot mess. I hear she wants to be friends with you, for what it's worth."

  "Thanks, Aliyah." He perked up. "It means a lot."

  We had a chuckle as we headed out into the hall. Everyone else was there, so Headmaster Hawkins started walking as soon as we emerged. Following him, I thought maybe my second chance just might work out.

  If only.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Creatives room was locked, so we didn't get to see inside. Knowing its location was a relief, though, because there was no way I would have found it on my own. Professor Hawkins only told us it was directed study with instruction on request. As we walked on, he spoke.

  “For those of you in Familiar Bonding, it meets in the infirmary after the last class block.”

  “The infirmary?” Logan’s chuckle was a little too high-pitched. “Are we sick in the head or something?”

  “No.” Headmaster Hawkins shook his head. “Nurse Smith has all the knowledge and materials needed, however, and he prefers to assemble where he can handle any medical emergencies.”

  “Makes sense.” I nodded.

  The gym was open. In there, the walls were once again wood but stained like the academic hallways. It was interesting how something as simple as wood stain changed the sense of place. Izzy would say there was psychology to it, that certain colors helped the mind focus on different types of tasks. Cadence would disagree and say the decor's purpose was emotional.

  I wished they were with me.

  Bleachers stood against the walls, folded in on themselves. Unlike the ones at my old school, which were made of metal and plastic, these were wood. It was impossible to tell how they opened, but when I brushed the back of my hand against one, I sensed its magical energy.

  Great. I was a barely controlled fire magus in a school made almost entirely out of wood.

  "Peep."

  Ember used her tail to give me a hug. Somehow, she always knew when I needed one, which reminded me of Bubbe and Mom. If they had go
tten through education at Hawthorn Academy with solar and fire magic, I suppose I might make it too.

  If only I could keep from burning the school down.

  I dismissed the seriously unhealthy thinking and continued to check out the gymnasium. It helped take my mind off the idea that my academic career might literally go up in smoke.

  The gym had three carved clocks, a scoreboard that was the second cousin of the chalkboards in the classrooms, and four magic chandeliers. I had to crane my neck to look at them because the ceiling was so high.

  There were a handful of students inside, running laps on the track outlined on the hardwood. That was where I got what I thought might be a pleasant surprise.

  "Hi, Noah!" I smiled and waved.

  My brother ran by, totally ignoring me. Lotan didn't do the usual and wave his tail at me, either, and he was only jogging, not even close to his regular level of exertion when working out at home.

  I had thought going to the same school would improve our relationship.

  My words to Hal back in the homeroom felt more hollow than a collapsing log. A wave of homesickness washed over me. All I wanted right then was one of those long afternoons at the Willows, a time warp back to summer, before all of this.

  Headmaster Hawkins moved on before my brother completed another lap and ignored me again. Thank goodness.

  "Health is at the end of the hall closest to the infirmary, and like the Creatives room, it's closed." He spoke as he strode down the hall. "After I show you the way, you ought to prepare for the mixer. You’re short on time."

  He walked so fast, we all had to hustle to keep up, even me with my awkwardly long legs. A glance at one of the hall clocks told me why. It was late.

  I wondered why the space magus wasn’t using magic to move us around the school as he had on the way here. I was only momentarily puzzled instead of completely stumped by this. I worked it out quickly.

  We needed to see how to get in and out of the academic wing, of course. That would be impossible if he teleported us everywhere during the tour. The corridor with the classrooms was long, but half of the classrooms were locked up and dark, unused. I didn't need to wonder why our class was so small.

  Life as an extrahuman wasn't secret anymore. New laws, practices, and opportunities had developed before I was even born. This had led to lots of new freedoms for many of us, especially psychics and magi like me—including freedom of education.

  Public schools offered so many more specialized programs for extrahumans than in the years after the Big Reveal. Enough to get average and above students into community and state colleges with majors in using extrahuman skills for careers.

  Back in Bubbe's day, psychics and magi learned in secret, while shifters and changelings got pulled from mundane high schools to avoid revealing their true natures by accident. The latter often ended up as dropouts because expensive schools like Hawthorn or Trout and The Academy down in Rhode Island were the only places that could accommodate them. Post-Reveal, parents who couldn't afford to send their kids to any other school were now guaranteed public options.

  Of course, legacy students like me and families like Dylan's wanted a shot at the best future for their offspring. So, plenty of us still busted our humps to begin and sustain academic careers at the old traditional schools, but we had become the minority.

  There were even homeschool options now, online instruction with seasonal labs held in larger cities like Boston. I did loads of research on those, with the idea of convincing my parents to let me learn that way instead of having to stay on this campus.

  Considering the day I’d had, I probably should've pushed that angle further, but it was too late for that. I'd gotten stuck being the hot mess in residence at Hawthorn Academy.

  But things could only get better, right? I had to keep on hoping. It was only the first day, so even if I couldn't make up with Noah and fix all the problems, there was always tomorrow. And the day after that. But I wasn’t sure how to manage.

  My temper was a big problem. A fire magus in a school made almost entirely of wood could never be completely at ease.

  I missed Izzy and Cadence in a big way. All I needed to do was get through the next few hours, and hopefully, I'd be able to talk to them without getting caught, because my means to do so was totally against school rules.

  The headmaster pushed through a set of doors inlaid with stained glass. The cut and soldered pieces made a pair of pictures, one on each side. The first one showed the bay here in Salem, the sun rising over it in shards of orange, purple, and pink. The other depicted Gallows Hill at night, bare tree branches reaching to touch a full moon, all yellow, blue, and black.

  The designs reminded me of the faerie courts, something I didn't expect to be confronted with here at school. There was only one family with fae living in Salem, the Ambersmiths. Which made me wonder who the artist was, and how these pieces came to be here. The act of making that art might have been pure rebellion.

  I got so curious about them I stopped, not caring about having to jog to catch up with the group later. Like most other elements of decor here at Hawthorn, these doors had a plaque beside them.

  "Long Division," I read. "Created by Gamila Hadaad–Hawkins." I closed my mouth, pondering the name along with the date, which I didn't read aloud.

  The stained-glass artwork was about the same age as my new friend Hal. The fact that the artist shared his last name made me wonder how they were related—by marriage with that hyphen there, perhaps. But there was no way Hal Hawkins was old enough to get married, even with parental consent. Also, that was only a common practice among magical shifters, so Gamila Hadaad-Hawkins must be some other maternal relative. Probably with faerie blood.

  The sound behind me practically had me jumping out of my skin. Ember flew off my shoulder, propelling herself upward and emitting a roar instead of her usual peep. I turned on my heel and felt nearly instantaneous relief. It was just the headmaster.

  "My mother made that, you know." He nodded at the doors. "She used to oversee Creatives. Do you like it?"

  "It’s sad, somehow?" And that was true. Something about the scene, its mood, maybe, or the title, nagged at my mind. “But I’m not sure.”

  "Well, come and see me in class when you decide." He nodded. "I'm in charge of Creatives for your year. But for now, there's a mixer everyone needs to attend."

  "I'm sorry about everything." I held out my arm so Ember could land. "It feels like I've done nothing but ruin your day. And a number of other people's too."

  "These things happen. What's important is that we don't let the hiccups define our ability to breathe." He shrugged. "Or some analogy more profound than I can come up with."

  "You're not anything like I expected, Headmaster." I couldn’t keep the smile off my lips without letting the laughter behind it out.

  "Well, we can't all be wise bearded sages." He chuckled. "Although with a little luck, some far future class or other at this institution will get the chance to see me that way."

  "Do I really have to be at the mixer, Headmaster?"

  "Well, at least stay for a half-hour, through the presentation of faces and names." He gave me a sidelong glance. "Unless you're still ill and need to spend the night in the infirmary?"

  "No, I'm just tired is all." The last thing I wanted was to get stuck all night away from my room and the contraband object I'd hidden in there. "I'll tough it out."

  Instead of leading the way, Headmaster Hawkins walked beside me around the corner that led to the lobby. The place was packed with students and teachers, most of them dressed in cocktail attire. Noah was right—a varied wardrobe was a necessity here.

  It seemed like everyone had gotten fancied up. Even Hailey had passable attire for the occasion, which I realized must be because her twin had brought clothes to the infirmary that'd fit her. I searched the room, hoping to find somebody—even one person—as dressed-down as I was.

  Across the room, I saw her: Grace, my roommate.
She was still clad in the same pegged jeans and threadbare flannel she’d arrived at school this morning wearing, with the school blazer, of course. As I stood in a corner, tugging at the hem of my blazer and hoping it covered the understated tunic atop my leggings, Grace guffawed with Dylan as though she hadn't a care in the world. Hal joined them, adding his quiet and grinning presence to the small group.

  If I could have bottled my roommate's confidence and sold it, I'd be a millionaire.

  As I considered my newfound lack of bravery, I scanned the room for more folks I'd met on my first day. Faith hovered at the fringes of her sister's group, saying nothing but molding her features into a resting bitch face that might just have had the power to silence Izzy's sass. I realized she must be trying to patch things up with her sibling. I couldn’t blame her for trying because I’d made the same effort in the gym with Noah. But Charity was just awful, and I was surprised Faith wasn't trying to escape her orbit.

  Until she did.

  Logan sauntered through the archway I was standing beside. He saw me and started to head over. I waffled between wincing in anticipation of his social gaffes and relief that someone, anyone, noticed me flirting unwillingly with pariah status. At least he was smiling, and the sentiment looked genuine. But he was from a showbiz family, after all. I couldn't decide whether to take his goodwill at face value or consider it a veneer.

  Faith intercepted him, hooking her arm around his. He blinked, then furrowed his brow, whispering something to her. She shook her head, giving him a look that'd wilt daisies. The pair of them headed back toward Charity's cluster of beautiful people. I suppose that was best for Logan. He certainly looked like he belonged with them, awkward or not.

  I stopped people-watching to look for my brother. He hadn't arrived yet, but Noah loved being fashionably late. Even though he’d snubbed me back in the gym, I wanted to see him.

  As I turned myself into a wallflower, leaning near the archway I came in through, I wondered how he did it. Fitting in here, I mean. Everything about this school was opposite to how home felt. Like alien territory, as though I came from another planet.