The Book of the Watchers

Chapter One

“Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what I’ve tasted of desire,

I hold with those who favour fire.

But if it had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate,

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice.”

-Robert Frost

I’d known there was something strange about me from the day I was old enough to have such thoughts. I was different from the other children. I wasn’t openly mocked about it, but there was something about me that kept most people at a distance. My mother told me they were jealous, but that’s just a thing that mothers say to their daughters to make them feel better.

The thing was—I had no idea what the problem was, so it wasn’t as if I could work on it. Bad things just seemed to happen around me. In first grade, it was a fire. In fourth grade, a savage freak storm destroyed half the school. I’d been expelled from three schools, twice for ‘antisocial behaviour’—apparently dying your hair in the school bathroom and being forced to kiss the most disgusting boy in ninth grade in order to get my History textbook back were considered antisocial behaviours—and once for allegedly being the cause of an explosion in the science lab that put three people in hospital. Funny thing was, I had been in the bathroom, dying my hair when it happened. Everyone assumed that because my hands smelt like peroxide, I was the culprit.

So now, seeing as none of the schools in the smallish town of Terrence Hills would let me through their gates, I had the prestigious honour of attending James Cross Reform School. Now that was going to look good on my résumé.

I let out an unattractive squeak as my only friend in the world, Piper Tress, kicked my ankle under the desk, waking me up. We were in English, and I was obviously lagging behind, seeing as the only thing I’d done so far was date my page.

“Am I boring you, Miss Gale?” Mr Fitzgerald glared at me, his eyes a vehement icy blue.

“Nope, sorry sir. It won’t happen again.” I picked up my pen and gave him a studious nod.

With a roll of his eyes, he turned back to the whiteboard, writing out the stanza from Robert Frost’s ‘Fire and Ice’.

“Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice.” The words came from the seat beside me, across the gap, or the ‘Great Divide’ as Mr Fitzgerald liked to call it. The classroom was positioned so that the girls had to sit on the left, boys on the right.

I glanced up at the silky smooth sound of the voice that didn’t seem to come from a seventeen year old boy. Next to me, across the Great Divide was the new guy. He usually sat at the back of the room and stared out the window, which was why I’d never really noticed him before. But I did now.

His hair was black and messy, tumbling over his forehead and into his eyes. With symmetrical features and olive toned skin, I took him for Italian, however his accent was misplaced. While European-sounding, it was very subtle and I couldn’t place it. He had a strong jaw and high cheekbones, and his perfect lips were turned up in a secret, dangerous smirk. But it was his eyes that caught my attention. They were as dark as night, and glittered with daring intentions.

Against my will, my gaze travelled down to his broad, muscular chest, where the traditional James Cross t-shirt was stretched taught. I’d never seen that shirt look so good on anyone. He wore a leather jacket over the tee, and black jeans. How had I never noticed this guy before?