Page 8 of Sweet Nightmare

Oh, fuck no.

CHAPTER FIVE

BETTER LATE

THAN CALDER

Ms. Aguilar continues pairing people up until everyone has a partner, completely oblivious to the fact that she’s just blown my shit straight up.

The bell finally rings less than a minute later. “You are on the right path for you. Stay the course.”

Geez, Aunt Claudia. On the nose much?

The rest of the class heads for the door, but I hang back. Once everyone has cleared out, I head toward Ms. Aguilar, who is watching me expectantly.

“No need to thank me, Clementine,” she says with a conspiratorial grin.

“Huh?” I ask, bewildered.

“For pairing you up with Jude. I could tell there’s something going on between you two.”

“There is nothing going on between me and Jude—”

“Oh, come now, you don’t have to hide it. I do have a poet’s soul, after all.”

“I’m not hiding anything. Jude and I have a…very strong mutual dislike of each other.” Or at least that’s the vibe he’s been throwing my way since he ditched me with no warning and absolutely no explanation.

“Oh.” She looks startled. “Well, then, maybe you can use this time to mend fences—”

Mend fences? There’s no mending fences with Jude Abernathy-Lee. How can there be when he obliterated the fence and the entire plot of land it was built on a long time ago? “Actually, I was hoping I could swap partners.”

“Swap partners?” Her eyes go wide, and she bats her naturally sparkly eyelashes like the idea of changing out of her assigned groups has never occurred to her. “Oh, I don’t think that’s a very good idea, do you?”

“I absolutely do!” I give her my most winning smile. Or at least I try to. But judging by the way she rears back, I’m certain the day’s trauma has turned it into a frightening grimace. “That’s why I brought it up.”

“Yes, well, I can’t very well swap your partner around, Clementine. If I do that, then everyone will expect a change as well. And if I don’t do it for them, then I’ll be accused of favoritism toward the headmaster’s daughter, and I can’t afford that. I just got here.”

“No one has to know!”

“I assigned the groups in front of the whole class. Everyone will know.” She shakes her head. “You’ll just have to make the best of it. And maybe you’ll find out the two of you have more in common than you think. Now get to class. You’ll be late.”

She pivots to her computer to let me know the conversation is over. I give her a half-hearted goodbye and slink, defeated, out of the classroom.

I make it to my last class of the day, Anger Management with Danson the Dick, just as the affirmation bell sounds. I spend a miserable hour listening to him explain to us how much we suck and how we’ll never amount to anything if we don’t get our powers under control. I’m tempted to ask how anyone can be expected to learn how to control their magic if the school locks down every student’s powers from the second they land on this damn island to the second the graduation boat leaves, but I don’t have the fight in me today.

After class, I race for the stairs. This afternoon is Calder Conclave, and showing up in anything but a dress uniform is “completely unacceptable.” Only being late is worse—well, that and missing it completely. But I’m pretty sure you’d have to be dead for that to happen—although I’m not certain that would stop my mother from requiring my attendance.

Thunder booms overhead as I book it toward the dorms, but the rain that has been threatening all day still doesn’t fall. That only makes the heat and humidity worse—September in Texas is just another word for Hell—and by the time I reach the huge fence that separates the classroom buildings from the dorms, my uniform shirt is sticking to my back. Built by Giant blacksmiths, the two fences that surround the whole island and separate the academic buildings from the dorms ensure that every Calder Academy student is powerless with a combination of magic-dampening spells and paranormal technology. Eva and I like to call it the lack of honor system.

And I’m subjected to the same draconian rules.

Even if I didn’t philosophically disagree with my mother on absolutely everything, I’d be angry with her for that alone. She grew up with her magic. My aunts and uncles grew up with theirs. A special spell keeps them exempt from the dampening and lets the adults access their power while on the island. They even renew the spell every year, whenever it’s weakened. But, when it comes to my cousins and me, we can’t be trusted to have access to ours.

It’s what makes Danson the Dick’s lecture so infuriating and unfair. I’ve never abused my power, never lost control of my magic, never hurt anyone—how could I when I’ve never, even for a second, known what it’s like to have magic?

I’m in pain and annoyed as I head down the buckled sidewalk that leads to the dorms. On either side of the path, haphazardly placed live oak trees cast eerie shadows while the Spanish moss hanging from their branches rustles and chatters as it blows wildly in the wind. I speed up as I pass beneath them, their nefarious conversation sending chills down my spine until I can finally turn onto the long center mall that leads to the senior “cottages.”

Freshmen through juniors have to stay in the primary dorm, which was once the resort’s main accommodations—while the seniors get the privilege of staying in the now run-down guest cottages. The little New Orleans–style bungalows have front porches, storm shutters, and gingerbreading, though the pastel paint is now faded and peeling.

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