Knox Academy Omnibus

Chapter One

Amelie

Pulling up outside the campus, I peer out of the tinted windows, enjoying my last minute of freedom. I could open the door and make a run for it, but for the last half an hour there has been nothing but trees.

The old wrought iron gates open, reminding me of an opening scene from almost all vampire movies. The car pulls forward, cutting through the shadows of the trees dancing across the pebbled driveway.

Anger radiates from my pores, remembering the day my new fate was decided. I’m innocent - I told the judge as much - but with a rap sheet of misdemeanours like mine, the judge said I needed to realise I’m only a child for a few more days, and that it was time to grow up.

The humorous part was when my mother walked in, the absentee mother that up and left her family in the middle of the night.

The woman who used to burn and hurt her daughter over the slightest wrongdoing.

Who spent days, if not weeks at a time, completely out of it on booze and pills.

The woman who didn’t give us a reason, just vanished.

You’d think I’d be glad to see the back of her and the abuse, but what eight-year-old understands that she’s better off without a mother like that?

She did reach out a few years later, but my brother and I weren’t interested in her excuses by then; she made her bed, so she could lie in it.

After that, she simply became the incubator to me. No familial connection necessary.

She persuaded the judge that the university her new partner runs for wayward children would help me with my behaviour and transform me into a respectable adult in their four-year program.

Four years! Can you believe it? All I allegedly did was plant weed cookies in the teachers’ lounge of my high school, but apparently drugging people unwillingly is frowned upon.

How was I supposed to know Mr Jenkins would eat all the damn cookies? Had he never heard of self-control?

My father - the traitor - also agreed that this could be an opportunity to make something of my life, that adding 15,000 kms between my friends and I should keep me out of trouble.

I refused to speak to the incubator, but in the end I told them I would come willingly, as long as no one knew I was related to her.

She’s nothing to me and that’s the way I plan on keeping it.

I’m not stupid. I’ll bide my time until I turn eighteen and then I’ll get myself kicked out. I didn’t really do anything bad enough to warrant jail time, so they will send me home, where I can go on with my life and forget the incubator even exists.

Why would she pop up now after all these years and start acting like she cares? More importantly, what is her ulterior motive? There has to be one.

The driver slows to a stop. The old building looks ancient, moss growing between the sandstone bricks. If this is a school for rich pricks’ wayward children, then why have they not invested in an industrial gurney to clean the building up a bit?

The driver opens my door and I hesitate, taking in a deep breath before stepping out of the limo.

A girl about my age is standing in front of the black double doors with the school’s silver logo embossed on the front.

She doesn’t look like a bad kid: Her golden hair is perfectly straight, not a hair out of place and it’s all held in place by a thin material headband.

I give her the once over, trying to find something wrong with her.

The school uniform is pristine. The black pleated skirt is the perfect length, not showing off too much leg but short enough that still makes it trendy.

Her white blouse is buttoned to the top, a black bowtie tucked between the collar.

Even her frilly white ankle socks are perfect.

There is no damn way this girl is anything less than an angel.

She approaches me with a smile. “Hi, I’m Elsie, your student guide.” She holds out her hand. I look down at it and back to her. She retracts her hand, but doesn’t seem offended.

“Amelie.” I at least offer her my name - it’s not like it’s her fault I’m stuck here.

“Come, I will show you around, and help to get you settled.” She turns and walks back up the stairs to the front doors, pushing one side wide open. I run to catch up. She is significantly taller than I am, my short legs struggling to keep up with her.

It’s boring as fuck. As I traipse around after her, she spouts a load of shit about architecture and history.

Seriously, what teenager gives a damn about buttresses and bargeboards?

If the kids who go here are as anal about this crap as she is, I know I’ll never fit in.

Not that I plan on staying long, anyway.

After the tour, Elsie leaves me to settle into my room and we agree to meet in the dining hall for dinner.

She left me with instructions on how to download the school app onto my new tablet.

We’re not allowed mobile phones here, they have to be earned as a privilege, but Elsie informs me that very few people manage it when I asked her about the rule.

She went on to explain to me that every room has a telephone that looks like it’s been here since the 90s, where family can call once a week on a Sunday.

I bet those calls are monitored though. I cross the room to mine and try to dial out. Nothing.

The small handheld tablet that was waiting for me on my desk is used to load our timetables and a school-based email system to contact our teachers.

We can also access a school map that works the exact same way as google maps.

Just, no actual internet access on it. God forbid we contact the big bad world from this prison disguised as a learning establishment.

Elsie also mentioned that it’s mandatory to read the school rules booklet.

A breach in rules is a serious offence here.

I have a quick flick through but figure it really can’t be that different to any other school.

One rule does catch my eye though: All students must be in full school uniform between the hours of 8am and 5pm, the only exception is for your chosen sport.

Are they serious? We have to do some kind of sport!

I have the coordination of a toddler; tripping over my own feet happens at least once a day.

I’m no psychic, but these square heeled leather school shoes they expect me to wear are a certain death trap.

I flick open my one suitcase I brought, which contains hoodies, yoga pants, sneakers and hats.

I have a couple of pairs of ripped jeans and some tops, nothing fancy.

We didn’t have much back home anyway, and because I come from a tropical climate, I was just told to pack my winter clothes and leave the rest. Ha, this is as good as it gets!

I managed to steal the hoodies from my brother, Aadi, and our best friend, Smalls.

He got his nickname because the guy is huge.

I know it seems stupid, but it’s the only name I have ever known him by.

My brother was cool with our friendship when he realised Smalls and I would only ever be friends, despite us both wanting more. He’s my wingman.

I shove everything into the drawers provided for me, not bothering to fold them, knowing damn well they will end up all over the floor by tomorrow. I hate order and thrive on chaos. A clean room gives me hives.

Someone taps on the door and I shout for them to come in. I scowl when I notice it’s my incubator.

“What are you doing here?” I snap. She looks like a damn stepford wife, the polar opposite to the mother I remember; one who wore her pyjamas most of the day, sporting a messy bun.

“Don’t take that tone with me, young lady.

” She has an English accent now, barely sounding Australian.

She doesn’t even sound like my mother. But then again, it’s been close to a decade, so I guess we’ve both changed.

Closing the door, she takes a step closer to me.

I stand against the far wall, my hands defensively crossed against my chest.

“And what tone should I take with the woman who abandoned me and decided almost ten years later that she would drag me halfway across the damn world and cut me off from my family and friends?” Her face shows no signs of emotion. Must be the botox.

“With respect, I saved your ass and you know it. I was hoping that we could build some kind of relationship. I know you will never see me as your mother, and I have come to terms with that. I do expect you to be at dinner every Sunday night. Our house is slightly off the school property.”

“No.”

“This is non-negotiable, but I figured you would say no, so I have a deal for you. If you come to our house for dinner on Sundays, as well as Tuesday for your birthday...” I scoff, surprised that she actually remembers my birthday.

“Whilst you are there, you can have access to this.” She holds up a brand new iPhone.

“You can call your friends, your father, your brother. I’m pretty sure, with it being his birthday and all today, that you’ll want to speak to him and catch up.

But under no circumstances can it leave the house.

You are free to use it anytime you come visit.

I have a room set up for you there. All the boys also have rooms.”

“Boys?” What damn boys? No one mentioned anything about that.

“Monty’s sons. You will be introduced on Sunday. They are good boys, and I hope they can be a good influence on you.” I huff out my frustration. Great, I have almost stepbrothers and they are damn nerds. At least it should be easy to get myself kicked out. I give her a smile.

“Fine, what time is dinner?”

“Seven. I will send a driver to pick you up, since you don’t have a car.”