The Destiny: A YA Paranormal Academy Romance (Deep Cove Academy Book 1)

by Madison Becker

  The Destiny

  Deep Cove Academy Book One

  Madison Becker

  Cover Photography by

  CokaCoka (Canva Pro)

  Symbol Design by

  Candace's Custom Designs

  Eleventh Avenue Publishing

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Epilogue

  PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW

  “It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.”

  * * *

  William Shakespeare

  1

  I can’t breathe.

  The freezing water courses into my lungs and I grasp my throat. It’s hard to see through the murky depths of the ocean, everything is blurred and dark. There’s no way out. My legs and arms are frozen.

  Ahead, a dark form comes into focus: a sunken, rotting shipwreck. It towers over me.

  With an ear-splitting crunch, the mast fractures. It separates from the ship and plummets towards me. Huge splinters of wood soar past and I struggle to get out of the path of the crashing debris.

  I’m going to die.

  And then, a flash of brilliant emerald eyes. I’m not alone. The eyes lock with mine, boring into my soul.

  For a moment, everything is still.

  I’ve never seen such beautiful eyes.

  I open my mouth to scream, to warn this person to get out of the way. But before I can make a sound, the mast crashes on me.

  Blackness pulls me under.

  I wake soaked in a cold sweat with my hands wrapped around my neck. I’m shaking all over. It’s pitch dark outside. Blearily, I reach for my cellphone to check the time.

  4am. Figures.

  The same nightmare has been torturing me every single night since my sixteenth birthday two months ago. I have permanent dark circles under my eyes — purple crescent moons that serve as a constant reminder of how terrified I am of going to sleep at night.

  Imagine. I’m sixteen and having night terrors like a six-year-old.

  Clammy, cold fear slithers through my veins. There’s no point in trying to go back to sleep. I shuffle to the bathroom and stare at my tired, pale face in the mirror. My wavy brown hair is in a rat’s nest. I rake my hands through my tangles in an attempt to smooth them.

  My hand grazes the sensitive skin behind my right ear and there’s a strange sensation — like burning, but without pain.

  “Weird.” I scoop my hair out of the way to take a look. My finger pauses beside a little mark, a dark slit in my skin.

  What is that? I move closer to the mirror. It’s not bleeding.

  I tentatively touch the gash and it’s like I've plummeted back into the freezing depths of my dream. The haunting emerald eyes cross my mind and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to bury the mental picture.

  It was just a dream, Maya.

  And this is just a cut. No big deal.

  I shake myself off and rub my eyes. I return to my bedroom and curl up in my comfy old armchair. Tucked under a skylight, it’s perfect for stargazing — my favorite hobby when sleep evades me. Tonight, however, the world is cloudy through my window. There is only the faint light of one star, shining alone in the midst of an inky oblivion.

  2

  Morning comes, and I have an entirely different nightmare to deal with: my mom and stepdad. They’re arguing. Again.

  I frown and try to push their bickering voices from my mind. My parents have been fighting all summer and I’m scared of what it could mean. My mom has been married to Peter for as long as I can remember. I’ve never met my biological father but Peter treats me exactly how he treats my half-sister, Hali. Like his own.

  He’s the only dad I’ve ever known, and we’re happy as a family. Well, we were happy.

  Until this summer.

  Through the hissing back and forth downstairs, I swear I hear my name. I freeze in my closet, my jean shorts in hand, and perk my ears. Does their argument somehow involve me?

  “You guys woke me up.” Hali enters the argument downstairs, her pitch going up at the end of her sentence.

  My mom’s voice is a calm and quiet muffle as she responds to Hali. The tension in my shoulders releases by a fraction.

  Hali has a talent for diffusing situations between my mom and Peter. I imagine her helping herself to a bagel and spreading cream cheese on it while simultaneously holding our parents’ attention with an accusing glare. Hali has a regal, self-assured way about her that makes everyone sit up and take notice — our parents included.

  I wish I had her confidence.

  I throw on my comfy, faded jean shorts and a tank top, perfect for the blistering summer weather. Then, I thunder loudly down the stairs two at a time to join my family, hoping that the argument will be forgotten by the time I reach the kitchen.

  “Morning.” I avoid their gazes and focus instead on the brown paper bag on the counter.

  We live right around the corner from Gruman’s deli, and they make the best bagels in town. I grab my favorite — poppyseed — and glance at my parents suspiciously. They’re wearing identical flimsy smiles. They're terrible actors.

  Meanwhile, Hali sits at the counter, texting and eating her bagel. She gives me a wave before returning to her phone screen. She’s wearing a full face of makeup and her hair is done, but she’s in her pajamas.

  I perch on the barstool next to her to eat my breakfast.

  Mom swoops in and envelops me in a hug. “Morning May-May.”

  I blink in surprise. She hasn’t called me May-May in years. I slip out of her embrace. “Morning Mom. You feeling okay?”

  “Yes, yes of course.” Her expression is distracted, far away.

  She runs her fingers through my hair, like she did when I was a kid. Her ring catches a strand and I frown in annoyance. Then, her fingers find the gash behind my right ear and she freezes. Her fingertips hover above the cut and she exhales shakily.

  “I must’ve scratched myself in my sleep.” My calm tone is forced.

  “That’s no scratch.” She grimaces and carefully places my hair over the cut. She sighs deeply and faces me. “Maya, we need to talk.”

>   As if on cue, Peter stands from the dining table and faces Hali. “Hun, I’m happy to drop you off at the mall. Why don’t you finish getting ready, and I’ll drive you over?”

  Hali looks up from her phone, and stuffs the last bite of bagel into her mouth. “You asked for it! Thanks, Dad.”

  Hali gives him a fist bump and leaves the room. My gaze travels from Peter back to Mom. She looks deeply apologetic while Peter busies himself with the dishes.

  My stomach drops and the world spins. I cut right to the chase, my voice shaky. “Are you getting a divorce?”

  Silence from Peter and Mom. Nausea crashes on me and I think I might be sick. My mind goes into overdrive — Where will Hali and I live? Is Peter leaving or Mom? Will Hali and I stay together? Do we choose? Oh my gosh, is there someone else?

  Mom grabs my hand, limp in hers. “Oh Maya! Nobody is splitting up.”

  “What?”

  “Honey, we aren’t splitting up.”

  “But, you’ve been arguing all summer,” I say, my voice more tearful than I’d like.

  A sigh. Mom looks at her hands. “I suppose we have. The situation is… complicated. It has to do with you. With your future.”

  So I did hear my name earlier. I eye them suspiciously. Peter looks like he doesn’t want to be here, while Mom looks morose, her mouth pressed in a thin line.

  “What is going on?” I demand.

  Mom’s eyes fill with tears. “I want you to know that we love you very much—”

  My fingers clench and I remove my hand from hers. Cold sweat pricks my forehead. “But? There’s a ‘but,’ isn’t there?”

  “It's a good “but,” it really is. It’s rather exciting.” She sounds like she’s trying to convince herself as much as she is me.

  I stare at them both coldly. “Tell me.”

  Mom looks at Peter and he puts his arm around her shoulders.

  “Your dad’s been in touch,” she says quietly.

  I shoot a confused glance at Peter. He shakes his head. “Your biological father.”

  My blood goes cold. This can’t be right. “So, he’s alive then? What does he want?”

  Mom plays with her wedding band. “He’s enrolled you in boarding school for this semester.”

  My jaw drops to the floor. “And just exactly why would he do that?”

  “It was part of our agreement. Why I got to keep sole custody of you.”

  “Ha!” I spit. “He didn’t want me, but he wants to send me away?”

  Mom shakes her head, her expression panicked. “It’s not like that, Maya. I promise. The boarding school is called Deep Cove Academy and it’s on the west coast. It’s a beautiful place on the ocean. I’m sure you’ll like it, it’s—”

  My head is full of static, my ears ringing.

  “Why?” My voice is low and surprisingly calm. “Why would he do this to me?

  “It’s nothing you did wrong.” Mom’s eyes plead for me to understand, but how could I ever understand something like this?

  I stand firm. “Reject the offer. Tell them I’m not going.”

  “I can’t. It's not that simple—”

  “You can’t? Or you won’t?”

  Mom turns pale. She doesn’t need to reply, the answer is written all over her face. Traitor.

  My stomach twists into a knot. My junior year will be spent away from my friends and family. My future has been decided by a man I’ve never met or spoken to. How can he do this to me? And how can Peter and Mom let him?

  My eyes harden and my voice is weirdly formal, like I’m addressing two complete strangers. “That’s quite the custody arrangement you got there, Mom.”

  I don’t wait for her answer. I spin on my heel and leave the room, sidestepping an eavesdropping Hali in the hallway.

  I bolt for my bedroom and slam the door behind me. I haven’t heard from my deadbeat father in all of my sixteen years, and now, he’s packing me off to boarding school?

  Nothing about this makes sense.

  3

  Portland airport is a hive of activity. I follow the signs to the baggage hall, and try not to trip on any suitcases. I’ve never traveled alone before, save for the time Hali and I took a Greyhound to visit our grandparents in Pittsburgh last summer.

  I locate my luggage and walk towards the arrivals area. I’m unsure what to do next — my parents were ridiculously vague with details. No matter how much I begged them to reconsider sending me to boarding school, Mom and Peter presented a united front: “You’re going. End of story.”

  I grit my teeth and roll my suitcase behind me. My eyes sting but I won’t cry, I won’t show weakness. I need answers as to why my biological dad insisted on sending me here. There’s something my mom and Peter aren’t telling me and, now that I’m here, I’m going to get to the bottom of it. That much I can do.

  Frustrated, I scan the arrivals area. I spot a well-groomed man dressed in a black suit standing by the door. He holds a sign that reads “DEEP COVE ACADEMY.”

  I approach him slowly and briefly ponder running in the opposite direction. But there’s nowhere to run.

  The man smiles cordially. “Are you a new student?”

  I open my mouth to answer when my eyes meet his.

  Framed with thick black eyelashes, his eyes are kind. But his gaze doesn't matter. The navy blue of his irises is… moving. Swirling, like a whirlpool.

  My hand flies to my mouth and I hold back a yelp.

  I blink.

  Catch my breath, look again.

  He examines me and his irises are a dark — stable — blue. Did I imagine it?

  I snap my mouth closed and blink again, flustered. It must’ve been a trick of the light. Or my exhaustion is catching up with me. My nightmares have gotten progressively worse over the course of the summer. Every night is a cycle of terror, ending with those strange, brilliant green eyes burning into my soul.

  “Well?” The man asks, a concerned expression on his face. “Are you a student?”

  I avoid his eyes and clear my throat. “Yes. Maya Murphy.”

  “Welcome.” He consults his clipboard and makes a note. “My name is Mr. Seaver. I’ll be your driver to the docks this evening.”

  I force a tight-lipped smile and my heart sinks. Driver? Docks? My parents have sent me to the loony bin.

  Mr. Seaver, not noticing my reticence, beams at me, and gestures to a girl on his left. “Maya, this is another one of our new students—”

  “Casey.” The girl grabs my hand and shakes it. “Casey Rodriguez.”

  With a grin, she sidesteps the man and stands close to me. She’s a few inches shorter than my 5’6”, and has a shock of beautiful black curls. She lowers her voice and her eyebrows shoot up over her hazel eyes. “Is it just me or is this really creepy?”

  I nod curtly, and resolve to stick close to her.

  We wait for a few more students to arrive. As soon as Mr. Seaver’s list is complete, we board a black minibus with tinted windows. I take a seat next to Casey, and sit with my back ramrod straight, on high alert. A suspicious black minibus has to be a bad sign.

  I eye the other kids curiously, then try to tune in while Casey tells me she’s from New York and also in her junior year.

  “Where are you from?” Casey grins. Her front incisor is chipped, giving her big white smile an endearing imperfection.

  I relax a touch, appreciating her warmth. “Ohio.”

  Then, I lower my voice. “Casey, why are you going to Deep Cove Academy?”

  She shrugs. “Dad always said that he was going to kick me out at eighteen. He’s either getting a headstart or he forgot the year I was born.”

  I chuckle, hoping that was a joke. She’s smiling, but a hint of sadness hides behind her eyes. I press on gently, eager to piece together details. “Do you know anything about this place?”

  “I didn’t apply or anything.” She twists a curl around her finger. “My mom told me I got in, and insisted that I was going. She wouldn’t take no
for an answer. It was so—”

  “Weird.” I finish.

  She nods forlornly.

  I’m lightheaded and I lean back against the seat. Casey’s story is eerily similar to mine — too similar. Our parents shipped us off to the middle of nowhere with no explanation or guidance.

  The cut behind my ear pulses in time with my heartbeat. It’s become a festering wound that refuses to heal, though, thankfully, it doesn’t hurt much.

  It’s nothing compared to how painful the rest of the summer was. After that fateful talk with Mom and Peter, the feeling of betrayal never eased. Why were my parents allowing a man who never bothered to be in my life dictate what happened to me now?

  Mom spent the rest of the summer looking in turns confused, sad, scared and angry. One night, she burst into my room with a bag full of jewel-toned bikinis. She held them out like a peace offering while I wondered if she knew me, her eldest daughter, at all. What did she expect me to do with a billion bikinis in rainy Oregon?

  Peter was even worse. He kept opening his mouth like he wanted to say something, then closing it abruptly. He looked more tired and stressed as the weeks went by.

  “Where do you think they’re taking us?” Casey’s low voice brings me to the present moment. Shivers run down my spine. I look at her, taking comfort in the fact that her irises are not moving.