excerpt : Mended and Torn

I didn't write a post yesterday! I'm sorry. Finals is horrific and I may not be able to post on schedule for the next bit.

Either way, I decided to go the easy route and just copy-paste a section of my story in. I hope you enjoy this excerpt from The Sleipnir Chronicles Book 1: Mended and Torn.

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Mended and Torn

The Sleipnir Chronicles by Olivia Ann Schwab

Excerpt One: Chapter One

Leaning my backpack against the chair, I glance over her shoulder and see what’s pulled up on her laptop—the name of a lawyer. A divorce lawyer. “I’m sorry your parents are getting divorced,” I tell her. “I know how hard it can be to lose them.”

She whirls around, fury and hurt welling up behind her dark eyes. “What?”

I lean forward, forearms bracing against my desk, any and every hint of care dissipating from my voice. “Your parents are getting divorced. Must suck, but, hey—nowhere near as awful as being an orphan.”

Her hair violently whips her face as she shakes her head. “How—oh, it doesn’t matter. Knowing you, you probably even know why! How dare you, though. It’s my private business, and you have no right—”

“Miss Ryan, Miss Johanssen, what is going on?” The teacher interjects, crossing his arms over his chest. The bell rings, the other students take their seats.

Kristin faces him abruptly. “She invaded my private business! I want her out!”

“Miss Johanssen…” He blows out an exasperated breath, waving his hand. “Just… you know the drill.”

I throw my backpack over my shoulder and saunter towards the door. With a flourish I throw it open and lean on the doorframe, lips pursed in fake thought. “I’m guessing this one will take about… five minutes? I’ll be back soon.”

The teacher waves me away; I step into the hall.

My blue plaid skirt swings around my legs, my penny loafers clicking the ground with each step. The sound echoes in the cavernous space. The floors are hardwood—cherry, I think. Everything here is fancy, made to seem welcoming but only pressing on the souls of the students. The walls are plaited in maple, with white crown moldings cut in intricate designs to look like flowers and banners stretched across the tops of the walls where they meet the vaulted ceiling. I always feel so small, so crushed when I walk down these halls.

That is not the case today.

I started at Crowning Academy two months before summer vacation last year. From the moment I stepped on campus, I was appointed the one calling most of the shots. Apparently, the ability to read anyone at anytime and drag ancient skeletons from closets can really put you in a position of power. Looking at me, I don’t seem intimidating; 5 feet tall, small bones, soft curves, full lips—I look sweet and popular.

In reality, I will not hesitate to blackmail anyone if it means I can be proven right or they are proven to be something other than what they advertise themselves to be.

I’m kinda nice like that.

I smile at the receptionist as I stroll in and take a seat on a painful metal bench. She looks up at me, raising an eyebrow more in indifference than anything else. “It’s only Tuesday,” she says, “and this is your third visit this week.”

I lift my hands. “It’s not my fault this time. Kristin is really touchy today.”

She nods, recognizing the statement is most likely a lie but ignoring it anyways.

Mrs. Dempsey is one of the few faculty members who actually likes me. She has told me on multiple occasions that she loves to watch when I assert myself and, quote, “throw down on those prissy princess wannabes.”

Having checked me in and notified the principal, she turns on her computer and starts up a new game of online poker. My feet swing, just skimming the ground, while my eyes drift through the room. The only clock in this room is above her desk, the seat I am in is in front of an oil painting meant to look like the painting in C.S. Lewis’ The Voyage of the Dawn Treader.

I know this room. I know exactly how many tiles are missing in the staff restroom (three). I know how many mouse traps are in the room (eight). I know, right now, the Guidance Counselor is out at Starbucks because the morning rush has subsided and he doesn’t have to wait. I know more than most faculty members.

My gaze drifts to the ceiling, my right index finger snatching the centimeter-wide strand of white hair growing directly behind my right ear. My mom called it a fairy charm, as though the single lock of hair held more power than I could ever imagine. As a child, it made me feel special, as though I really was blessed by a fairy. Now it’s my mom’s charm—and it brings me nothing but a small bit of comfort. The curls wrap around my finger, twisting and spiraling while my eyes wander the room once more.

The ornate door at the end of the hall opens and someone clears their throat. The raspy voice I know all-too well calls me to stand and come in. I rise from the bench and turn stiffly, striding past the front dest, past the principal waiting in the doorway, and towards her desk. I take a seat in a stiff leather chair and the door slams. Quickly, the austere figure of Principal Tabitha Hardwin comes into view. Her harsh eyes focus on my poor posture, silver hair swept into a knot at the base of her neck meant to add more severity to her features. Mission accomplished. “What is it this time?” she bites.

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Just a little update, I am editing the 13th draft and this is the one that I will be sending to publishers. We're so close fam!

~Olivia Ann