The Magpie Effect - The Magpie Chronicles Book 1 (#Wattys2015)

Chapter 17.2

As I predicted, Mrs Vanderbilt didn't extend her new-found generosity to me. The final school bell rang, and she still hadn't summoned me to her office to relieve me of my sentence.

I was still banned from the Halloween Ball, but a very smug Carmen Vespin made it very clear that her punishment had been reversed. I saw her patrolling the corridors toward the end of the day, her entourage in tow, feverishly discussing costumes and dates and make-up tips.

When she saw me walk by, she ensured that she spoke extra loudly. "I was thinking of going either as a sexy harlequin, or a sexy zombie cheerleader," she declared to Holly Ryeland, who nodded approvingly to each suggestion. "Oh, hello, Sweet-Eater. Did you hear the good news? I'm allowed to the Halloween Ball again."

"Good for you," I mumbled, and I tried to pass without further interjection. Before I knew it she'd pounced in front of me, cutting me off.

"So what do you think I should go as? A harlequin or a zombie cheerleader? Talk to me, Eater of Sweets."

I glared at her. "The point of Halloween is that you dress up as something you're not, so obviously the only option is the harlequin."

Carmen's smug expression vanished. "You're just jealous," she snarled, so low that nobody else could hear. "Or maybe you're relieved. Maybe you're relieved that you're not invited to the Ball anymore because now you won't have to dress up in some outfit that will only make you look ridiculous. And you're relieved because now you won't have to both trying to find a date, knowing full well that if you did go to the Ball, nobody would be interested in you."

My cheeks were burning. If I told Carmen here about what had happened earlier that afternoon in the library, she'd only laugh in my face. I needed Jet to be here, to back me up.

Carmen puffed out her bottom lip in sympathy. "Poor Sweet-Eater," she said. "It's such a shame, really. Paint you orange and you'd make a perfect pumpkin."

Holly and the rest of her back-up burst into a fit of giggles as Carmen re-joined them, her blonde ponytail swaying behind her. I immediately set off down the corridor, wanting nothing more than for a black hole to swallow me up right there and then, when Carmen called after me.

"Oh, and Sweet-Eater?"

I stopped in my tracks, but I didn't dare turn to face them.

"If you ever call the police on my family again, I'll ruin you. You hear?"

The Peroxides started to giggle all over again, but amongst the high-pitched squawks was a sweeter laugh that I recognised immediately: it was musical, like wind-chimes being played by the fingers of the breeze. It rose up out of nowhere, beautifully ribboning itself through the blackboard screech of their glee.

I turned, and there she was. Mona, standing behind the dancing form of Carmen Vespin with her hand poised on the door of a locker, her eyebrows raised as though she were awaiting my command.

Triumph surged up within me. Our gazes met, and I gave Mona a tiny, imperceptible nod.

Without a moment's reluctance, Mona tore the locker open and rammed it squarely into Carmen's face. Carmen dropped to the ground with a shriek. It took a couple of seconds for her friends to realize what had happened, but when they did they swarmed around her like flies. Mona stood over them, her arms crossed over her chest in a pose of quiet dominance.

As Carmen was helped to her feet, I saw that she was cradling her face. There was blood running through her fingertips, and tears forming like buds at the corners of her eyes. She looked over in my direction, and I knew that the last thing she would have seen before I vanished down the corridor was the smirk on my face.