I hate my life.

Last year, Sophie and Agatha were taken. Year before that, Snow and Fang. Year before that, Jack and Butch. The year before that... well, you get the idea.

I thought I had no chance of being taken. Penniless orphan, doesn't care about her appearance but was never ugly, rolls her eyes at prissy girls and sticks her tongue out at bullies, is homeless but doesn't let it shake her, refuses to wear dresses but would never wear shapeless rags. I hated the idea of being a princess. I detested the prospect of becoming an evil witch. You could have asked anyone in the village, and they would all say the same thing: "She ain't no witch, but she ain't no princess, neither," or "She simply doesn't fit in, the poor dahling!" from the desperate girls who insist upon hoping to be wooshsed away to a school they may never come back too.

So why was I chosen? I can't help wondering as I ride on the back of the big wolf. Well, it's not exactly riding.

More like laying-on-top-of-and-hanging-on-for-dear-life-ing.

Why wa-

Whoosh.

What the heck was that?

I squint up at the sky.

Whoosh.

Is that what I think it is?

Kaw! Kaw!

A strange, skeletal bird swoops down and takes something out from under the wolf.

"Kyra?" I ask, looking up, shocked, at the pretty in pink, completely full of herself bratty bully who tries so hard to be good.

The girl looks at me, and a grin spreads across her face.

"Hah! Tough luck, garbage girl! I'm going to the School for Good. Have fun where you're going. You'll fit right in!"

She lets go of the fur of the giant wolf, and the bird carries her up and away.

I gulp.

If she's going to the School for Good, that means I'm going to-

Kaw!

Oh no.

As the bird swoops down, I scramble around desperately, trying to position myself better.

My only hope?

Grab onto the collar.

I shuffle over to the wolf's neck and wrap myself around the rope dangling around it.

Just in the nick of time, too.

I feel the bird's bony claws grapple onto my shoulder, just barely avoiding ripping a foot-long gash in the side of my black hooded cloak.

Then it beats its wings, and

Puuuuuuuuu

uuuuuuuuuuu

uuuuuuuuuuuu

uuuuuuuuuuuuu

uuuullllllllllllllll

llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll

llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll

llllllsssssssssssssssss

sssssssssssssssssssssss

ssssssssssssssssssss!

The rope stretches and then breaks in my hands.

The three-foot broken-off long piece of rope still clutched in my hands, I watch helplessly as the world becomes smaller and smaller, growing further and further away with each flap of the bird's wings.

I.

Hate.

My.

LIFE!