Chapter 1 (Original)

We arrived at our newly founded institution, the Academy for Young People of Bloodridge, at half past seven. This was quite early, as classes did not begin until eight or so. I hopped out of the carriage, my black boots sinking into the wet dirt and grass beneath them. I trudged along the pathways, in front of my ever so sunny sister Margot. It was only about ten meters from the drop-off lane to the academies courtyard. It didn’t seem so long, mostly due to the fact that there were all sorts of shrubbery surrounding the narrow lane. Walking down that lane was almost like walking into Wonderland. The greenery on either side of the beige stone path, opening up into a beautiful courtyard, with a large fountain in the center of it, and stone pillars supporting the open hallways made this academy far more bearable.

T

he open hallways I mentioned before are the four corridors that surrounded the courtyard. They were open on one side, the side closest to the courtyard, and the short stone pillars held them up.  These pillars, the lovely simplistic pillars, stood roughly two meters high. They were marbled stone, a light beige with speckles of chocolate brown. They were smooth, besides the minor scratches students managed to place on them. If a person was ever caught defacing these pillars, they were made to buff out the markings on that pillar, and the two on either side. Margot has volunteered to do this several times, saying that the mischievous boys carving nasty things into it were horrid monsters. And if anybody wants to make up for others’ mistakes, it is Margot.

You see, my family is naturally well-to-do, by my father’s inheritance and also by my mothers’ past marriages. She seems like a very elegant, no-nonsense lady in this day and age but in truth she used to be quite different. And she hasn’t changed completely, as she still has her youthful moments.

I realized by now that in all my readiness to tell you my tale, I had reached the door to my first class, French. My hand was idly sitting on the brass knob of the door, and I was brought out of my earlier daze by my sisters’ voice, along with the bustling of the other schoolgirls and their haughty male counterparts- I never did like the way the schoolboys talked of my sister. She was painfully polite, even when they called her a harlot. It was almost as if she were immune to the sting their words induced, that depressing prickly sensation of rejection, aimed directly at the heart.

 

 

 

I shook my head, turning the knob and letting myself in. I moved quickly from in front of the doorway, letting all the other students pass me by. I clutched my book in my arms, holding it against my chest. They all filed in, a ruckus of laughter and happiness spilling over from them, left on the floor to dry. I sighed and walked up the far left aisle, sitting in the very back row.

This was my usual seat for French, as it was a good place to see the goings-on in the schoolroom. And secondly, the teacher hardly ever called on me from back here. So I was left to my own, daydreaming and pondering. I was well off in French, my parents instilled that trait in us from birth; Speaking to us in French for most of our early years, using English as a secondary language. So I grew up with it.

I heard the girls beginning to whisper, their giggles barely stifled. Darren Colvere had just entered the room, I was thinking to myself. I had not even looked up; my assumptions were proven correct when Madame Larene cut through the girls’ giggles with her sharp French accent, “Monsieur Colvere, I am sure you have a wonderful explanation as to why you are late, yet again.” Her piercing brown eyes shot at him, as if they were arrows causing him to be paralyzed there in the middle of the aisles.

“I am sorry, Madame. I was intrigued by a bird I saw in the tree, I couldn’t ignore its beauty. I stopped to draw-” He stated, his voice politely loud, unshaken, and solid. We all had to do this when speaking to Madame Larene, as anything less was unseemly. Yet and still, she interrupted his explanation.

“Well, Monsieur Colvere, I sincerely hope the picture was magnificent, as it has earned you another special assignment. I am sure you would enjoy writing a two page essay on the importance of priorities, completely in French.” Her eyes glistened at him, before turning to the rest of the class. “Let this prove a lesson for you all.” She stated simply, moving behind her desk to sit down.

Darren smiled brightly at her, his gracious and gleaming smile. He bowed slightly towards her, even though she was no longer focused on him. “Yes Madame, I shall have no qualms with such a task.” He went on to his seat, two rows ahead and one seat over from me.

Margot looked to her right glancing at Darren who was seated directly beside her. She smiled her own friendly smile, her blue-gray eyes dancing in the light. She said nothing, but looked back at her own book; even from here I could see the girlish blush that graced her slim facial features.

I went on for the first few minutes of class, pondering my sisters’ response to Darren. She’s never shown any sort of embarrassment like that before, nor had she ever given any indication that she liked him, or anyone for that matter. It was very unusual of her to do this, it was. I stared at my schoolbook, a black leather cover with elegant gold wording on the front of it. It was the standard French book, but this one had a persistent look of antiquity that the others lacked. Yes, it is odd isn’t it? That I would receive such a special form of something so usual and-

“Well, Lynnette?” Madame Larene asked me, her eyebrow was raised in a stern questioning manner. I had only just looked up at her when I saw this expression on her face. I raised my own eyebrow slightly, but more in confusion than in anything else. I looked at the blackboard, translations. I scurried through my thoughts, trying to find the right words.

“Err, Je…hm…Je ne comprends pas que… vous dites,” I tried my best to focus on the board and not the snickering students that surrounded me. “Vous le répéteriez s'il vous plaît?” I looked at Madame Larene, hoping to have pleased her expectations. And I believe I did, as she said nothing further to me. She turned back to the board and began writing new sentences, calling on other students to translate them.

“You are such an idiot sometimes, Lynnette!” My sister called after me, I could hear her flat shoes smacking onto the ground as she caught up with me.

“How so?” I asked her, a cool air in my voice. I was still wondering what she had meant by her actions that morning. She sighed, holding her books to her chest much like I had been earlier in the day.

“You know, we all know, that Madame Larene despises not be listened to! She saw the daydreaming look on your face, and by God, she pounced on you like a wild beast! She’d called you at least three times before you responded, why can’t you listen to the school marm for once?” She asked me, her eyes looked like they’d been dipped in clouds.

“I do listen to her, I was simply thinking. Is it not proper for a young lady to think?” I smirked inwardly, knowing that I was taunting her. Her whole point of starting this conversation was to tell me to think more, and here I say that my reason for wandering off into daydreams was because I was in fact thinking. How confusing it must’ve been for her now.

“You were thinking, you say, about what?” She asked, her voice rose quickly into a very annoyed tone when she said this, almost as if my logic was bothering her.

“Well, about you, and how you looked at Monsieur Colvere,” I snickered, as I’d used my best impersonation of Madame Larene. “You seemed to have been embarrassed about something. I was just wondering what it was about was all.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter. I may look at people however I very well choose to.” She huffed at me, her tongue moving faster than her brain. “It’s not like I’ve taken a liking to him or anything!”

“Darren Colvere! Oh, of all people, Margot. I never would have guessed it!” I wasn’t taunting her now; I was honestly surprised she’d liked anyone, especially Darren. He was one of the popular boys who had his oddities like much of the rest of us. But then, he was a sharp boy and he hadn’t any siblings. Most of all he was of ‘noble’ blood. His lineage is rumoured to have been in service to the kings of ages ago. “You should have told me sooner, Margot!”

“Told you what, Lynnette? Are your ears full of wax or do you just refuse to listen to the words coming out of my mouth?” She remarked defensively, she resumed walking towards the drop off. She clutched her books much tighter now, I could tell by the way her fingers flattened against the edges of them. “Maybe, I have. A little.”

“I knew it before you told me! We should invite him over for dinner. Oh, Margot. I could cook for you both! And then you could have a nice dinner on the balcony, or perhaps mother would rather eat with you both. You know how she likes to observe. But maybe you could do it out in the garden? I really think it would-”

“Lynnette, please! The others will hear you!” I stared at her as she motioned to the people around us. None were close enough to hear me, or was I really that loud? “I’ve not told him anything and I’d rather he not know until I tell him myself. If I ever do that, I expect you to let him alone. I don’t want him thinking the Bloom Sisters are loony bins!”

“Oh, Margot! Why must you wreck the fun of everything? It would be just wonderful to see my sister with a boy like Darren. Mother would be so pleased that you happened upon a boy of such nobility. Although I can’t see what’s so noble about them, but it is just the way it is, I suppose. I’ll figure it out one way or another.” I trailed off into thought, Margot walked beside me until we were at the drop off. She stopped and looked at me. She meant for me not to say a word of this to anyone, I’m sure. But I couldn’t help it much.

“Oh please Margot, I’ll only tell Caroline. I swear we won’t tell a soul else!” Caroline is my dearest friend on the entire planet..

She has worked for the Bloom family since I can remember, and I’ve always loved her as a mother. She used to be my nanny, and still she watched after me even after my tenth birthday. She said she enjoyed it too much to stop.

“Only tell Caroline, Lynnette. If you tell anyone but her, I will hang you myself. I swear by it!” I had half a mind to hug her, but instead I grabbed hold of the carriage, which had arrived moments before. I climbed in first and Margot after me.

“Oh Bernard, isn’t it a lovely day? It looks like it may rain, doesn’t it?” I asked our driver, he was the oldest man I knew. At least, I think he is. He’s been around since my great grandfather, and I believe that was at least ninety years ago. He must be ancient by now, right?

He nodded and started off in the direction of the Bloom household. “Yes indeed, Miss Lynnette. I would suppose it does look like rain, maybe we should watch out for it tonight, hm?” I nodded eagerly and looked at Margot, who was staring wistfully out the window. I decided to keep quiet about everything; I knew she was too shy to talk about anything of the like just yet. But I would get it out of her eventually.

Now, my sister Margot is nearly eighteen. She has always been shy, timid, and soft spoken. But when she is around me she tends to come out of her shell, I think it’s because of how close we are. Other times she won’t talk to me for days, usually when we’re upset with each other. But we make up quite easily, and won’t fight again for at least a week.

My father is a quiet, serious, and thoughtful man. And my mother is a beautifully elegant woman. They fit together quite nicely. They almost never argue, but they do give each other looks every now and then that would give away their thoughts. I find it quite cute, the way you can know someone so well that you needn’t have to speak to them to get your point across.

My father is nearly fifty now, he is tall and broad. He has black hair, with the nicest stripes of gray in it. He keeps it combed back most of the time, although it is most unruly in the mornings. He wears suits, with the handkerchief in the pocket, and the stripes lining it. All of his clothes have supremely sharp creases, and he likes it that way. Even after sitting down for about an hour they remain as neat as ever.

Mother is usually found wearing simply beautiful day dresses. She looks best in her dark red ones because they make her look ages younger. I think she’s about forty-four, but she never will tell me for sure. She’s usually quiet, unless she’s hosting a gathering. Only then is she bubbly, and talkative. And still, she remains completely elegant in her movements, her words like warm honey. She’d never have trouble swallowing even her most harsh words! That is how sweet she is, or seems to be.

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[Ami N.]

Will give you a decent review once I'm done reading it :)