One of my favorite spots is the tiny marker at the center of the quad. I’ve even been in the library’s secret archives. I’ve been trapped on this island for more years than I want to remember and-out of a combination of sheer boredom and a quest for mischief-I’ve explored every single inch. No one except maybe Headmaster Petrolas knows the campus like I do. I shove my hands in the pockets of my hoodie and head for the middle of the lawn. Except for during the school year, when I have to actually function during the day, that would totally work for me. Between it being summer and the middle of the night, it’s no surprise that I have it to myself. The Academy campus is so quiet I can hear my own breathing as I walk across the quad. If it doesn’t, I’ll just walk myself somewhere far enough away so that no one will be able to hear me scream. Maybe going for a walk will clear my head. When I can’t stand the thought of counting cracks anymore, I swing out of bed and step into my boots. Even his catchy, soulful songs aren’t enough to hold back the visions. When he finally gets the courage to release it-or I decide to leak it on his behalf-he’s going to have label execs and tween fangirls beating down his door. Instead, I turn up the volume on my headphones and try to drown it all out. But when I did that last night, someone called campus security and I had to answer way too many questions. How am I supposed to predict the future if I see it all at once? ![]() As much as I would pay good money to see Petrolas get crowned Princess of Hearts at the Aphrodisia festival next month, I think he’s a longshot. It’s like they all crash into me at the same time, mixing and merging in ways that not even the Fates could imagine. I can’t even make sense of them because they get so jumbled up with each other. I can’t close my eyes without being bombarded with nonstop visions that I have no clue how to control. Heck, if I weren’t so sleep deprived right now I’d be yucking it up, too.īut the sad truth is that I’ve been lying awake counting ceiling cracks every single night since my mothers gave me the gift. I don’t have to have the second sight in order to know he would laugh himself into stomach cramps at the thought of calling me-aka perpetual-thorn-in-his-side Nicole Matios-his star pupil. ![]() Surely Headmaster Petrolas doesn’t want the plaster crashing down on his star pupil in the middle of the night. Maybe I should put in a maintenance request to have them repaired. It has to be getting pretty close, though. Okay, maybe not precisely that many times. I know this because I’ve counted them precisely two hundred and eighteen times. ![]() There are precisely two hundred and eighteen cracks in the ceiling above my bed.
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