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

Chapter 2.2

Atlantic High hadn't changed over the past six weeks. It was cleaner, perhaps, and some of the gum-wedged tables had been replaced with newer ones, but other than that it was the same old dump it always was.

Atlantic High looked like it was trying really hard to be a castle, but it didn't quite make the cut. It had a turret on its eastern wing and everything, and this was one of the romantic things I tried to remind myself of whenever I was having a particularly bad day.

It was the people who attended that made my life a misery. The girls in their skirts and their buttoned-down blouses, forever inventing new ways to make the Atlantic uniform look suggestive. The shepherds and their flocks of sheep, using their noses as pedestals from which they could look down upon everybody else.  

And that was just your regular day. The first day back after a hazy poolside summer would be a hundred times worse: fresh tans and ample amounts of gossip, ready to be swapped like shreds of silver. The magpies of Magpie's Nest would puff out their chests and bring their most prized and polished jewels to market.

I, as a rule, kept my head down on the first day of term. More so than usual, anyway.  The people at school drove me crazy, with all their insignificant little burdens and their snide little remarks. It was all I could do to stop myself from screaming out loud and locking myself in the nearest broom cupboard for the rest of my academic career.

As long as the broom cupboard had Wi-Fi, I figured I'd survive.

"Saffy! Hey, Saffy!"

The voice tic-tac-toed over the heads of the crowd as I made my way towards registration. I would have recognised it anywhere. I turned and saw Debbie Pruitt wriggle her way through the crowds towards me.

"Come here, you old dog!" she bellowed, throwing her arms around me. "I missed you!"

"Debbie, we saw each other a couple of days ago," I reminded her, although there was no denying the relief that blossomed in my chest. She'd been my anchor since nursery school. We'd grown up together. I'd watched her go through all the standard teenage phases until she eventually settled for the punk look, while I pretty much stayed the same. Today her hair was a glossy black, apart from a single strip of hot pink across her fringe.

Debbie reached up and twisted at her nose stud. "I'm glad the feeling is mutual. So, how've you been?"

"I've been good," I said as we picked our way towards registration. "Apart from-"

As though on cue, Carmen Vespin and her trio of clones strutted by. Their legs seemed to flick in unison, as though they'd been practising their entry all morning in Carmen's tennis-court of a bedroom. Her father was a barista at the community court, and they owned one of the largest properties in town.

They ignored us and vanished into class, each tailing the other like a squad of synchronised swimmers.

Debbie and I stared after them.

"Hey, has Carmen always been blonde?" she asked.

I laughed. "You know, I don't think that amount of bleach is good for the brain cells."

Debbie shook her head in agreement, and then gripped my forearm with a sudden urgency. "So, have you heard?"

"Heard what?"

"About the new kid, dummy!"

I frowned at her. "What new kid? I haven't heard anything about a new kid."

"Really, Sweetman? Isn't your mother part of the Lady's Book Club?"

I looked down and grumbled my response in the affirmative, my cheeks flushing over with red. The Ladies Book Club was a society that only the most notable women of Magpie's Nest got to partake in - not that my mother was anywhere near notable, but she baked great lemon drizzle cakes and was especially good at kissing butts. She owned the best bakery in town, so I guess that counted for something.