The Destined

Chapter One: Anna

    Anna    

I arrive at Brookfield Boarding School for Girls at seven in the morning with my sister. The large, intimidating white building stands tall, surrounded by an evergreen forest. It is impossible to ignore or pass by, but it is not like cars drive along the lonely old road we had to travel on to get here. It leads into a thick forest, spirals up the side of a hill – or possibly, a mountain, if we have any of those nearby in New York – and immediately stops at a dead end to the cracked, nearly vacant parking lot of the school. Several coach buses – all colored in blue and white, school colors, even if it is purely coincidental – are lined up in front of the entrance. My sister, Millie, curls her fingers around my hand as we step out of our dad's car. He doesn't say anything. Not even a single word of good-bye. I make sure to slam the door – hard – as we get out.

We walk past the school buses to the steps of the main entrance. Those too, like the parking lot, are cracked, mossy, and neglected. Two large columns support a small roof over the front doors. A few vines are hanging down, and their leaves are shriveled up even if it is only the beginning of august.

An old man in a gray, formal suit stands at the entrance, greeting the swarms of girls entering the building. Some of them stop at the front to get their schedules, which are passed out by what look like a few frantic teachers from the school. The man steps down and talks to a woman passing out the small slips of paper. She nods and they both laugh. I notice that he is hunched over, looking very old and somehow fragile. He has a long, gray beard that hangs to his waist, the hair at the back of his head tied into a ponytail. He wears brown rimmed glasses that seem to slide down his nose every once and a while, and his face, even from afar, appears to be creased with deep wrinkles.

I hear the sound of tires grinding against the gravel, and I turn around to see dad's car, the license plate with my birthday on it, speeding away. A cloud of dust is left behind, trapping a small group of girls who are carrying their suitcases. I am not surprised. Isn't this why he is dropping us off at a boarding school in, literally, the middle of nowhere? He is sick of us. He never wanted children, and he never will, and to him, we are nothing more than another buren, now temporarily taken care of.

"Hello, I am Headmaster Lotso." I quickly turn around, startled, to see the old man standing before us. My first thought is, how the heck did he get over so fast? But he gives us a warm smile and then outstretches his hand out in a friendly manner so we can shake it. Millie lets go of me and quickly shakes it, smiling proudly. "And are you two Anna and Mildred? Your mother called and told me a lot about you."

"Our aunt," I correct him. My mother is dead. She passed away when I was only seven.

"Right," he says, nodding, like he knew all along, but I doubt he feels any sympathy right now. Just doing his job, I guess.

"Can you please call me Millie?" my sister asks. She's in the second grade, which she has been excited about for a while. Unlike most little kids I know, she was – and still is – ecstatic about going to this school.

"Whatever you say, young lady," the headmaster says warmly. He flashes me a smile, too, and I try to give a fake one back to hide my anger, which is still centered at my dad right now. "Shall we go in? I am willing to help out the new girls personally."

We nod.

As he turns around to face the doors, I notice a small book sticking out of his suit pocket. It looks old and very fragile, the spine probably not very strong at all. It almost slips out, but his hand quickly reaches back to stop it from falling out. It seems a little over protective, the way his face looks relieved when he pushes it further down his pocket.