Wuthering high: a bard academy novel Read Free

with Carmen. Mom blames Dad’s midlife crisis, his BMW convertible, and his new hair-growing Propecia prescription. I blame Dad. He could’ve at least had the decency to leave us for true love.
    After a long plane ride, and then a short one on a small plane with propellers, I find myself at a tiny municipal airport somewhere near the coast of Maine. The last mall I saw was somewhere over Boston. I doubt even Gap.com delivers here. I am so not going to be getting any new clothes for a while. The thought seriously depresses me.
    Dad says that if I applied five percent of the time I use to think about clothes and shoes to school, I’d have a 4.0 average. But what fun is a 4.0 if you can’t also look hot? Life is about balance.
    My current “going to boarding school” ensemble involves: torn jeans, army fatigue cabbie hat, and olive green Juicy Couture tunic tank (bought on eBay on the cheap, but still cost me a month’s worth of lunch money and two weekends of babysitting cash). Gold bangles on my wrists and oversize hoop earrings, courtesy of Urban Outfitters.
    I’m average height, though a bit on the lanky side (lanky = no boobs or hips), and I’ve got naturally kind of mouse-brown hair, only it’s not been that color since I learned how to use Clairol in eighth grade. Current color: dark brunette, like all the blondes-turned-brunette this season (Ashlee Simpson, Mary-Kate Olsen, you get the idea).
    The whole wooded area thing is beginning to remind me of camp. Perversely, this gives me hope. I got out of that. I can get out of this.
    On the bus to the ferry, I glance around and see some of my classmates. There are boys wearing eyeliner, one guy with bright green hair, and in front of me, a girl who looks like she ought to be starring in the next sequel of The Ring. Her hair is hanging in her face in greasy strands. I mean, did she ever hear of a comb? Seriously, gross.
    These are my peers. And they are total losers.
    Great.
    I look away, slipping my hand into my backpack and wrapping my hand around my minican of mace. I’ve been carrying mace around ever since Tyler tried that stunt in his Toyota. I’m ready if any of these delinquents tries anything.
    I put on my headphones to my CD player — another great injustice in my life. All I asked for last Christmas was an iPod Nano. Instead, Mom got me a sweater with stuffed Santa Clauses on it (one that I will not wear in public ever as long as I live), and my dad got me an Xbox 360. Yes, I know. An Xbox is cool. But I don’t play video games. I don’t care about blowing up space aliens. All I want is to be able to listen to Death Cab for Cutie without lugging five hundred pounds of CDs around with me everywhere I go.
    Besides, Dad wanted the Xbox for himself, but was too embarrassed to admit it to the store clerk, so he had to say it was for me and my sister. But it was Dad who played Halo for four hours on Christmas Day.
    Even worse, when I tried to sell the Xbox on eBay, Dad grounded me. Sure, it’s a bratty move. But consider this: Dad played the Xbox more than I did. It was clearly a me-to-me gift disguised as a dad-to-daughter gift. I called him on it, and I’m the one who got grounded. How is that fair?
    The bus pulls up to a dock by the ocean, and we’re directed to board a boat that will take us to Alcatraz Academy. The wind whipping off the Atlantic is strong and cold, and the sign on the ferry says TO SHIPWRECK ISLAND .
    Great. The island where I’m going to school is called Shipwreck Island. Why not go ahead and call it Skull Island? Or Dead People Live Here Island? I mean, where am I? A Scooby-Doo cartoon?
    The brochure in the office where we wait for the ferry says that the island is called Shipwreck Island because of its odd ability to pull in ships during storms, when it was usually hidden by fog. Scores of sailors died when their ships hit the island and sunk. Great. I look at the island in the distance. It’s got a bit of fog around it, but I