Cyberwitch Academy: Learn or Burn

I'm walking down a long hill. To my right, a busy road and beyond that the edges of a massive green space they call Richmond Park. This is a city?

My new school emerges, a spaceship crash landed in field. It's large, even bigger than I expected, nothing like my fantasy of a British High School. I knew it was big, read all about it on the web. Still, it's a shock. Coming from a boutique education experience in Manhattan to this warehouse of learning.

And this part of London is so green. The school lies behind a twittering hedgerow, full of tiny birds. It looks like a bubble the size of a village and off its central inflation comes almost cathedral like arches separating off gigantic annexes.

I know that a mile beyond the school the town of Kingston, not the Jamaican one, lies in a crook of the river Thames.

I pound the sidewalk slow as humanly possible, ambling toward the school. Like if I walk slow enough there is no way I can fail to be the invisible new girl. I want with all my heart to turn and run. But I have the strangest feeling, that somewhere in that bubble, I'll find mom.

No other uniformed youth around. It's an hour past the normal start of the school day. It's a carefully arranged starting point for an 'in year admission'. We're two weeks into September and the fall is unusually warm, which I know because everybody I meet mentions it.

I'm nearly at the front gates and the lampposts display large banners like the approach to some castle, the motto 'Every Child Accepted' proclaimed to the passing drivers. But what stops me in my tracks is the crowd around the gates. What I thought was a group of parents dropping off, was something else.

Around two dozen adults are milling around the gate, not quite blocking it, but very deliberately making it look less open than it should. They have banners. A few are stood in a flatbed truck. One guy has a megaphone.

I'm keenly aware of my own pulse. My mind fluttering. Is this the right day? Did I miss some key piece of information? But no.

I check my phone. Piece of history. Ancient tech, reconditioned for the new laws. A phone that can only does calls and texts. I'm banned from the Internet. Part of the agreement I signed moving to the UK. I read through the texts Grandma sent me, it is the right day, right time.

There's a cop, (or a bobby?). Looking very bored. Lots of homemade signs. 'Our children our choice' 'let kids be kids' and the most jarring 'NO TO EVERY CHILD ACCEPTED'. I mean really? Is that a sentiment you can protest against?

The protesters look fairly ordinary. A couple of mum's chat to one another. I decide to push on.

I pull my hood up to hide the white streak in my black hair, wish I had some headphones to put on, but I huddle my shoulders and fix my eyes on my phone - wishing myself invisible.

I feel a million miles away from home. Longing for the packed sidewalks of Manhattan where nobody gives a damn who you are. I try to walk like a British girl. Not even sure what that means.

But every step I take, the more they stare.

Like, am I even in the right uniform? I'm sweating now. I'm so close to them now. Openly gawping at me. Nobody speaks. I'm going to cruise through the line, almost there...

Not quite. A man steps into my path. Looks older than Dad. Not quite old, old. Dressed like he only ever shops in thrift stores. Ill-fitting pants. A plastic shopping bag in one hand, must be an antique, the branding faded. Probably got a sandwich in there.

"I'm going to have to stop you love."

Assertive words in a weak voice.

I literally do not know what to do. Eyes flick over to the cop. No reaction at all. Does this guy work for the school?

Just passed this gatekeeper, coming up the long entrance way through the car park toward us, a man in a hi-vis jacket comes, almost running, a staff ID tag swinging round his neck. The cavalry, I hope.

Creepy protester guy actually puts his hand up in my face to stop me stepping around him. I can smell the vape juice on his fingers, read his palm for him.

'I've got a grand-daughter in their sweetheart. We've got to be careful; you understand. Are you wearing any tech today? Got any implants?'

My mouth going like a goldfish. Lost for words. Don't want to reveal my accent anyway. He takes my hesitation for encouragement. He puts his bag on the floor.

'I'm just going to check for surgery then love'.

And he has a handful of my hair. Pulls back my hood and yanks my hair forward from the back, tipping my head down, not gently. Runs his fingers from the back of my ear across the back of my neck to the back of my other ear. Adrenaline. Legs jittering. For some reason I grab his sleeve, uselessly. Other hand just grips my phone.

I half-hearted murmur of disapproval from the cop. A couple of the other protestors call out.

'Easy Dave!'

Dave replies.

'She consented! I asked her!'

'Back away from the gate or I'll have you for assault! That's assault! That's assault!'

I'm free again. Looking around like a cornered cat. Yellow jacket has arrived, thank all the gods.

'I'll be phoning the station later! Do your job!'

He shouts at the cop. Cop shifts in place uneasily.

Dave repeats over and over again in a nasal and panicky whine.

'I asked her if I could check as she said yes!'

Yellow jacket offers me his arm and I take it.

'Come on love. Sorry about that. I was on the gate but I got called away for a minute. I'm Terry, facilities manager. Are you OK? Are you hurt?'

'I'm OK' I manage

And Dave calls out after me, pleading.

'Sorry about that! Like he's desperate for me to forgive him.

'Sorry love! Can't be helped! We have to look after our girls, yeah! You understand!'

Bleating like a lamb.

And I'm drifting. In a dream. Clinging to a raft. Drifting toward a gigantic beetle shell of plastic and glass. It's growing bigger and bigger, coming to swallow me whole. Terry's voice is far away.

'It's a bit of a nightmare at the moment. I'm going to have to leave you at reception, OK? Got to get back and have a word with the police. Mrs G will take a statement from you in a bit.'

I nod and I dry my eyes, hadn't even noticed I was crying, dry my eyes on my polyester school sweater. I take a deep breath and step throw the automatic glass doors into the airlock of a spaceship, then the second set open as the first set close. And I'm into the chaos.

The reception area is packed with students, parents and staff. Arguments everywhere. Plasma screens everywhere. Most of them broken. Glitching. Everything brand new and falling apart. Ultramodern, in advanced decay.

And I'm just waiting for a receptionist to tell me what to do. And my transformation is complete. From star student at a unique special school, mommy's rich and daddy's good looking, to broke ass new girl from a broken home at a broken ass public school in a broken country. Did Lucifer fall so hard?

###THIS NOVEL IS IN OPEN BETA###

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