Page 8 of Take My Crown

“Any other day and I would have noticed you,

Any other time and I might have forgotten you.

Forgetting is easy, cos my heart is taken.

But after what you did, how can I dare care?

After you.

Before you,

Who knows what I might dare?”

Not bad. With a bit of polish, this can be one of my best songs.

I spend the next few hours playing and singing, music becoming my escape from reality once more like it always has. I’m a bird in a gilded cage, Katy once told me, but boy can I sing.

“Ivy, wake up. Come on, wake up Ivy.”

I’m woken by Isabella shaking on my shoulder and I jolt, shoving her away and wondering why I didn’t hear the bells. In fact…when did I fall to sleep or get into bed? I must have been tired. I glance around the room, seeing the bells are still in place and it relaxes me. It’s only Isabella. Apparently she moves like a cat.

“Sorry, Ivy. You’ve got to go to school. I’ve brought you some breakfast. Eat up and get dressed. Your car’s leaving in half an hour and your father will not be happy if you’re late. Trust me. You wouldn’t like to see what happens when he’s angry.”

A shadow crosses her face that makes me wonder what my father had done to her in the past. But there is no time for questions if I only had half an hour to get ready. Isabella is right. Now is not the time to push boundaries. I need to play the game and get to grips with my new life so I can figure out the best way to escape.

Never a morning person, I ignore the food, chugging down the glass of orange juice instead before I get dressed in my new school uniform. It looks as bad as I thought it would, but I do my best to improve things with makeup. Someone had bought me a wide selection of the top brands, so I gave myself a smokey eye and choosing a dark lipstick to make a statement. Nobody is going to mess with me today. I don’t care what my dad says–all schools have a problem with bullying. It goes with the territory. But if anyone tries to take advantage of me, I will hit back so hard they won’t have time to blink. I won’t be a victim for the rich boys of King Academy.

If dad wants me to play princess...then King Academy has no idea who they are letting through their doors.

And if I get expelled for defending myself against a bully, I won’t be able to go back to school and it wouldn’t be my fault. Let’s see what dad does then.

Isabella is waiting outside for me, when she sees my appearance, she smiles. “A little rebel, just like your father. Come on. The car’s ready and waiting.”

She leads me through a warren of corridors and finally to the front of the house. I’m grateful for her help, I would get lost without her, especially since it looks like I’m going to be confined to my room for a while, and the last thing I want is to be late for school because I can’t find my way round the mansion.

A large limo is waiting for me, a chauffeur standing silently by the open door waiting for me to get in. As I climb inside, he shuts the door behind me.

“Have a good day.” Isabella waves me off as the car pulls away.

I wiggle my fingers in return, not wanting to alienate her. Right now, I can do with all the allies I can get.

There is a rucksack lying on the seat next to me, I open it up to see brand new exercise books and a pencil case filled with supplies. Dad really had thought of everything.

“How long have you worked for my dad?” I ask the driver, but he ignores me. There is a screen separating us and I tap on it, but he still doesn’t reply.

There is a slight buzzing, and I hear someone speak over the intercom.

“Your father would prefer if we don’t talk unless there’s an emergency,” the chauffeur tells me. “If you do need to contact me, press the orange button set in the armrest, but I would request you only do so if you really have something important to say. Otherwise, I need to focus on the road and be alert for any danger. In the event of an ambush, I will need to take extreme evasive manoeuvres, so I advise you to sit back, buckle up your seatbelt and let me do my job. Thank you, miss.”

That tells me.

After about ten minutes’ driving, we turn into the driveway leading to the school. A large sign by the gates announced that this is King Academy, Headmaster Mr Pilkington, Cantab. We join a queue of equally impressive limos, all there to deliver their precious cargos to the school. I assume that the gates would close once the school day starts. This is just as much a prison as the one I left at “home”.

We slowly nudge forward, patiently waiting our turn to pull up outside the entrance. I’m glad for the tinted glass making it impossible for anyone outside to see me. Now that we are at the Academy, school is all too real and the butterflies performing an Irish jig in my stomach refuse to be still.

My dad is rich enough to hire a tutor for me. He doesn’thaveto send me here. Doesn’t he know that home educated students performed better academically than those who went to school? And it isn’t like I’m going to fit in with all these rich snobs. They’d take one look at me and know I came from the wrong side of the tracks. I will never fit in here. This is a disaster waiting to happen.

At last, we reach the front of the queue. I try to open the door to get out, but it is locked. Surprise, surprise. I have to wait for the chauffeur to come and let me out.

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