Carmiabell: The Black Apple

Chapter 4

The commute took long enough to drench me, in a cold sweat that could rival the most torrential rainstorm. Honestly, you'd think I'd just survived a dragon attack instead of merely boarding a train.

Every pair of eyes I met seemed to be in on some grand secret. It was like I was walking through a convention of cryptic glances and conspiratorial whispers. Was my hair on fire? Were my shoes untied? No, that would be too normal. It was probably just the fact that I looked like I'd wrestled a herd of wild boars for my seat.

Phoebi, my enthusiastic companion, had taken it upon herself to narrate every tale she could muster. Meanwhile, her beady little eyes kept darting to my bag, which served as a constant reminder of the peril I had so foolishly invited into my life. Honestly, if I could stuff her into that bag and carry her around, I might just be the happiest person in Ellialand.

As the jagged turrets of Neporian Academy loomed closer, I couldn't help but feel like I was approaching a fortress of doom. The dark purple roof tiles marched in formation like tiny soldiers, each one waving a flag. Named after the great phoenix, Neporian Academy had a storied past.

Legends spoke of a fiery avian that defended the realm, leaving a trail of flames and smoke in her wake. Naturally, my rendition of the story had a different twist: I merely ended up lighting my own hair on fire during an attempt to cook breakfast.

Some called the Neporian a phoenix; others thought she was just nature's misfit. She had eight legs, for crying out loud! A bird with eight legs-that's just a fancy way of saying she was a real oddball. Talk about a flag design that must have given the artists a hard time.

Finally, the train lurched to a halt, letting out a hissing sound reminiscent of a kettle on the brink of boiling over. The door to my cabin slid open, and like a bunch of startled cats, the students piled out, leaving me to confront the mob of tiny giants waiting outside.

Alighting was no easy feat when half the cabin's occupants were determined to cling to their seats like they were precious treasures. I had to navigate through a sea of elbows and backpacks, which seemed intent on making me trip and fall flat on my face.

The moment my feet hit the ground, I inhaled deeply, unaware of how much I craved fresh air. Thank you, levitating train, for stealing my breath away, literally.

Across the street, a liquid timer perched atop a towering building displayed a pale bluish liquid that mocked my existence by lingering at a third of the orb. Great, I'd get another detention for sure. Last time I tried to make excuses, I ended up claiming I was afflicted by an illness known as "permanent blindness." No one bought it, especially not the teacher who had me staring down his beady little eyes for a week.

"Another week with Monday Stephens in one room-just what I need!" I grumbled, recalling the elf with the snoring problem. He sounded like a lumbering wagon.

"You shouldn't be scared anymore, Algebra. The flight is over."

Damon's voice cut through my thoughts like a butter knife through a brick wall. I nearly choked on my indignation. He was talking to me? It took a moment for me to realize he was staring at my bag. Was he suggesting I clung to it like a scared little kid with a pink cat doll?

"Do I need to remind you of my name?" I shot back, feeling feisty. I wasn't going to explain myself to a six-foot-tall vampire who probably considered his looks a weapon of mass distraction.

"Okay, whatever your name is. I'll bring you a doll tomorrow if you're afraid of heights." His taunting grin could have been a warning sign-like a neon light flashing "LOOK AT YOUR OWN RISK."

Seriously, did he think I was five years old?

"No, I'm not scared of heights," I retorted defensively. "For your information, I've been taking levitating trains since middle school!"

Damon fell silent, probably realizing he'd just been schooled by the resident weirdo. Score one for Carmiabell!

He flashed a grin that made my cheeks flush-stupid brain, why did you have to pick that moment to trigger the red alert? I quickly diverted my gaze, hoping to avoid any more embarrassing teasing.

One of his elf friends swooped in like a hawk, whisking him away before I could think of a proper comeback. He sauntered toward the school, all built and jocky, while I found myself admiring his retreating form like a lovesick fool.

"Focus, Carmiabell!" I muttered to myself as Phoebi seized the moment to launch into another of her ridiculous stories, which I was only half-listening to.

A steel sculpture of the Neporian phoenix loomed above the gates, welcoming me into my own personal hellscape: St. Douchebag Academy.

The hallways were nearly deserted, as expected, given that we were late. Great! Nothing says "I'm ready to be humiliated" like a dramatic entrance.

"Tell no one," I hissed at Phoebi, trying to sound ominous while failing spectacularly. It was a tone that would have intimidated a squirrel but probably just made me sound like a dramatic tomato.

If only there was a way to sew her lips shut or erase her memory altogether. But all I had was a sliver of hope-hope that she would keep it to herself.