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I haven’t even had time to freak out about the debt yet. The moment I laid eyes on my courses, the reality of the next four years all came crashing down.
The paper hasn’t left my sweat-stained hands ever since.
For the hundredth time, I glance down at it, trying to read through sweat-smeared print even though I know my schedule now by heart.
1st Period Faerie Courts and History
2nd Period Gaelic Language Studies
3rd Period Faerie Anatomy and Physiology
4th Period Combat Theory
Lunch
5th Period Understanding the Modern Mortal World
6th Period Mythological Creatures
7th Period Potions and Poisons
8th Period Properties of Magic: Elemental and Soulmancy
9th Period Combat Skills
I’ve also been assigned three extra shadow training sessions a week. The one-and-a-half hour sessions are before regular classes. Thank God the Fae don’t wake up until around noon, which is when school starts, or I’d be condemned to a year of early-morning sparring sessions.
Mack smooths the cute cream jumper she wears and then flashes me a smile. “You’ll do great. Just don’t punch anyone or call anyone a bitch.”
I cringe, wishing I hadn’t eaten the rolls as a wave of nausea crashes over me.
When she sees my look, she grabs me by the shoulders. “You’ll slay your classes. Just take as many notes as possible and I can help later with anything you don’t understand. Okay? See you in Combat Theory.”
Fourth period is our only class together before lunch. I watch her go and then search for my locker. After finally finding it—no thanks to Ruby, who I last saw frolicking in a tray of oatmeal—I run to my class on the second floor.
And, of course, I’m the last one to walk in. Right before class starts.
According to the name scrawled over the chalkboard, my teacher is Professor Hawthorn. She peers at me behind thick, wire-rimmed glasses. She’s tall with prominent ears longer than most Fae, bright red hair pulled into a french-braid, and jade skin. “Glad you could make it . . . ?”
“Summer,” I say as I slide into the only empty seat in the front and begin taking my books out of my backpack. Two girls snicker behind me.
Someone mutters, “Trailer Park.”
I glance back to discover Reina at a desk whispering with another girl I don’t recognize. A white bandage covers Reina’s nose, the skin around the bandage purple and swollen, and she sports two black eyes.
I’d almost forgotten a broken nose did that.
“Wow,” I say. “That looks painful. You should probably put some ice on that.”
Someone laughs, and then Mrs. Hawthorn calls out, “Enough! Any student who speaks out of turn will be glamoured into silence. Do it again and you’ll find yourself in Headmistress Lepidonis’s office. Understood?”
The girl beside Reina frowns at Mrs. Hawthorn. “I thought you were only allowed to glamour us if we try to escape or harm ourselves?”
The smugness of her tone grates on my nerves. Apparently, it does the same to Hawthorn’s because she marches toward the girl, looming over her.
“Lily Wright, this is my classroom and I can do whatever I want to you.”
“I would tell someone,” Lily insists quietly.
