Clockwork Academy

DISCLAIMER: hahaha. . . haha. . . ha. . . ha. . . *goes and cries*

Chapter One: First Impressions

What matters is how well you walk through the fire.

—Bukowski

"Have fun, Theresa, dear," her mother called after her.

"This is going to be a wonderful learning experience that will look excellent on your transcript, Theresa!" her father told her right before she went through security at the airport.

She gulped, swallowing the enormous lump in her throat. Suddenly, her small suitcase felt like it was a million pounds, like it was more the suitcase dragging her arm off than her pulling it around the airport. Her parents' words echoed in her ears.

Have fun! This is going to be a really good experience that will make you look even better for colleges.

Now if she could just convince herself, she'd be set.

Theresa, or, as she preferred, Tessa, Gray stepped out of the taxi, collected her suitcases, took a deep breath, and stared up at the imposing towers of her new boarding school that clashed with the grey London skyline.

The Institute. The most prestigious academy in half the world— or in the UK at least. It was rumored to be filled to the brim with snobby, wealthy teenagers whose parents were multi-millionaires. Teenagers that swam in money and went to expensive places around the world for a "weekend getaway." Teenagers that had free, unrestrained access to their parents' hefty credit cards and bank accounts. Teenagers that bragged constantly about how perfect and superior and amazing and awesome they were at all times of day. Tessa had always hated those kinds of people—not necessarily the wealthy ones, but the ones who paraded their money in others' faces. And now that her parents had decided she should accept her scholarship to the bloody Institute, she had to pretend to be one of the people she loathed, like an actress playing a part she had never even gotten the script for.

The taxi pulled away with a screech, water splashing rebelliously onto the tires, probably leftover from the rain last night. Tessa steeled herself for hordes of judgmental students, their beady eyes boring into her face and reading everything she was not right off it. She pushed open the weathered iron gate, noting the strange symbols that danced through the iron. They almost looked like Khuzdul, but were more ornate. Tessa passed through the gate and shut it behind her, pulling her suitcase along.

When Tessa had accepted to go to school in Britain through a student exchange program on a scholarship, she hadn't expected it to be the Institute, of all places. She thought it'd be a normal boarding school, not a high-prep, filthy-rich hellhole swarming with miniature celebrities and their paparazzi-like lapdogs. She wasn't looking forwards to hearing the girls squeal about their thousand-dollar bracelets or fancy designer labels, nor to listening to the boys talk about the rich-kid sports they played or the designer of their stupid polo shirts. Tessa just didn't care about that sort of thing either. But if I want to fit in, I guess I have to.

But the one thing Tessa had to admit about the Institute was that it was a beautiful hellhole. The campus was absolutely enormous, with emerald-green, manicured-to-perfection lawns and blooming flora. Stone walkways paved the paths between buildings. Everything exuded a strangely relaxing air of tranquility, which Tessa was certain would be ruined by the students that would flock around on Monday. But on the bright side, the ocean wasn't too far away, and Tessa found it comforting to hear the faint roaring of the waves. She felt herself beginning to calm down a millimeter as she passed the main building and headed on to the dorms.

Goodness, Tessa, why were you so worried again? It's a lovely school and you'll be getting an amazing education, she tried to convince herself. You should be singing praises straight to the heavens, not worrying the hell out of your—

"Ouch!" a voice said indignantly, interrupting her thoughts. "Don't bother to go walking around if you're half-blind!"

Tessa looked up to apologize and wished she hadn't. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I'm a right idiot. . .

The voice belonged to a boy about her age, and he was so handsome it hurt. His jet-black hair was artfully messy, and his violet-blue eyes were the most intoxicating shade Tessa had seen. His mouth was full and his face looked as though it had been chiseled by a Greek god.

"Aren't you going to apologize?" the boy snapped irritably. "I do know I'm incredibly good-looking, but must you continue to stare?"

The self-absorbed jerk, Tessa thought angrily. She knew exactly what this type of guy was like—there had been many at her old school. They thought that just because they were marginally attractive and charming, that they could do whatever they wanted, which meant they acted like assholes ninety-nine point nine percent of the time. "Fine. Sorry. And I wasn't staring at you—"

The boy smirked and fury boiled up in Tessa's veins. "Sure you weren't," he commented sarcastically. "No one can ignore my beauty. I find it tends to send females into a stupor."

Tessa sputtered furiously. Unable to conjure up a scathing and witty retort to that, she stomped off, viciously dragging her suitcase behind her. What an absolute jackass! Jesus, if everyone else at this insufferable school is like that, I think I might smash my head in after the first day. . . or purchase the first plane ticket out of London. I don't even care where it's to.

"Hey! Don't leave so fast, " the boy called tauntingly after her. Tessa could practically hear the proud smirk in his voice. "What's your name again?"

Tessa proceeded to ignore him, shoving down various retorts of Shut up or None of your business as she stalked off towards the first girls' dorm. Her parents had taught her that manners were important, and she was lucky she still had a slight grasp on her self-control after. . . him.

Room thirty-six, room thirty-six, room thirty-six, Tessa chanted like a mantra. Room thirty-six was where she was staying in the dorm and therefore the only thing she had to focus upon to calm herself down again. Now, if I could just find that blasted room without any other interruptions, today won't be counted as absolutely awful. . .

"Oh my God! Jessamine!" Tessa heard a girl squeal in a shrill voice that grated annoyingly upon her eardrums.

"Aline!" Another equally as obnoxious squeal/absurd giggling noise

Just great, Tessa thought, missing her friends— Clary, Isabelle, Jace, Simon, Alec, and Magnus— back in Brooklyn already. Apparently I have the worst luck in the entire universe. Or at least this cursed school.

The pair of squealing girls rounded the corner, shooting identically disgusted and catty glares at Tessa, who was fighting the urge to take out a particularly large book and give her forehead a good whack. Which evil is worse: Stupid Douchebag or Catty Girls?

Catty Girls. Definitely Catty Girls. At least there was only one of the Stupid Douchebags so far, but the Catty Girls have accomplices. . . help.

"And who're you?" sniffed the blonde one as Tessa passed them. The blonde girl was ridiculously pretty, with curlicues of long, honey hair and chocolate-brown eyes. At least she would've been pretty if her face wasn't twisted up in an ugly sneer and her eyes narrowed into a haughty, cold stare.

"Oh. I'm Tessa Gray." Tessa forced a faux smile onto her face. It felt more like she was either vomiting or signing an agreement to her death.

"So you're the new girl," the one with glossy dark hair sniped, pronouncing "new girl" as though it were a set of expletives in another language.

Tessa kept silent, unsure how to respond. She had never wanted to bring the word "bitch" into her vocabulary more, but held her tongue, shoving all the nasty names she could dream up back down into her throat. Seriously, a few more rude words from the pair of them and they'll find themselves with my handprint on their faces. . .

"You're quite plain, aren't you?" the blonde girl laughed cruelly, giving Tessa a skillful once-over. A boiling combination of sudden shame and anger swept through Tessa at the blonde girl's words.

Then the two girls swept past Tessa without another word, giggling and whispering in low hissing tones like poisonous serpents, all the while making Tessa feel very small and plain and undoubtedly furious indeed.

How dare they! she thought angrily. They have no right to say anything like that to me. Why didn't I say anything back? Christ, why didn't I say something? Ugh, I'm so stupid. . . Tessa sighed heavily, rubbing her eyes with her free hand. And the rest of the people in this dratted school will probably be exactly like the Catty Girls and the Stupid Douchebag! God, what have I gotten myself into?

She continued down the hallway at such a rapid pace that she nearly bowled over two girls who were rolling expensive-looking carrying cases behind them. Tessa heard their startled squeaks of astonishment, but went on. Every so often, she'd catch a glimpse of girls swinging shopping bags from expensive designed boutiques, girls squealing like Jessamine and Aline, girls bragging to their respective cliques about their newest pair of stilettos. The stretch of hallway to room thirty-six seemed like a marathon—a marathon that she was sadly losing at the pace of a tortoise.

After what felt like eons, Tessa arrived at room thirty-six. There was a girl leaning against the door, her ruby lips pursed in a superficial sneer as Tessa neared.

"Aren't you the new girl?"

Oh, for the love of—!

"Yes," Tessa got out from between her teeth, "I believe that would be me. And who are you again?"

"Camille Belcourt." Camille's eyes were like hard green stones: pretty, but with no warmth in them whatsoever. "I would ask your name, but I needn't learn it."

Tessa felt her jaw clench dangerously. These. . . people had tested her patience and her temper beyond the limits of her self control, and she couldn't help the sarcastic remark that slipped past her hold on her patience, "Didn't anyone teach you any manners at all?"

Camille sniffed, raising her chin, tossing her thick blonde hair over one shoulder. "Didn't anyone teach you your place?"

Okay, that is it!

Tessa breathed in slowly through her nose and counted even slower to ten before managing, "Now, could you please get out of my way so I can open the door?!" The last word came out a bit more snarled and strangled than Tessa intended, but she thought herself to have had a perfectly good excuse anyways.

"Why should I move?" Camille whined coolly, her shrill tone piercing Tessa's eardrums and reminding her of a spoilt child. "This is my room too. It's not like I have to let you in here or something."

That did it. Tessa's hand spasmed on the handle of her suitcase as the last shred of her self-control vanished and she snapped out, "In case you haven't noticed, I live here now! And I would like to get to my room. And I really don't give a crap on if you're going to get the hell out of my way or not, but I'm going into. My. Room. Understood?!"

Camille sneered again before shifting off to the right the smallest amount. Tessa ground her teeth together as she tried her best to ignore the other girl and roughly shoved her key into the lock, turned it, and twisted the doorknob. She dragged her suitcase in behind her and slammed the door, knowing that Camille could probably waltz in whenever she chose, but slamming the door was a nice feeling.

Tessa ran a hand through her brown hair and yanked it frustratedly. What have I gotten myself into?

The first thing Tessa did was deposit that infernal suitcase by the bed she guessed was hers—the other was messily unmade and strewn with a great deal of pink clothing, dresses, and varying makeup products. The sheer amount of lipstick rolling around on the floor made Tessa shudder. What does Camille like to do, pretend she's just had her first kill as a vampire or what? Ugh.

Then she slowly and methodically began to unpack her suitcase. First was the books—Tessa had brought all of her favorite ones, reasoning that she could just buy more in London. Surely there had to be a decent bookstore near the Institute somewhere! But there wasn't a decent bookshelf in her room, nor was there any bookshelf at all. Sighing and even more vexed now, she decided to stack them alphabetically on her desk.

After the books were the clothes. Tessa opened up the dresser on her side of the room only to find it full of. . . Camille's excess clothing. Great. Just great. Part of Tessa told her to leave it be and politely ask the blonde girl to remove her own clothing from Tessa's dresser, but the other half of her told her to move the damn clothing and be done with it. So she found herself carting out armfuls of designer-brand blouses, slacks, leggings, and skirts and then dumping them unceremoniously on Camille's bed, smirking slightly to herself all the while.

I can practically hear her shrieking about wrinkles on her precious Prada shirt already. . . whoops. Tessa laughed inwardly while the other, respectable half of her scolded her on rudeness and how she should treat others the way she wanted to be treated. Except I've had enough of Camille! And, worst of all, I haven't even known her for twenty-four hours yet!

It was later than expected when she finally finished unloading the suitcase, which she slid under her bed. Camille hadn't made another appearance, surprisingly, but Tessa wasn't complaining. The less time I spend around that absolute bimbo, the better, honestly.

She climbed into her bed and fell asleep after worrying about what Monday would bring, thinking, For the last time, what on Earth have I gotten myself into. . . ?

Hello everyone! I have no doubt that you're probably expecting a new chapter, not an edited Chapter One. . . sorry. I'm having awful writer's block with this story, and I was re-reading it over the other day and realized how much I hated it. So I'm editing all the chapters (and changing a fair bit, such as slowing down the Wessa and Jessa and whatnot. . .). Yeah. Kill me later. But on the bright side, they'll (hopefully) be better and longer too! I'll probably get more ideas from extending and editing CA, so this might just work out well for us all in the end. . .

And yes, I do know that I changed Tessa's roommate. . . to Camille. Sorry. Well, I'm not really that sorry, but yeah. When I was reading over CA, I also realized that Tessa sounded a bit like a Mary-Sue, and I bloody hate writing Mary-Sues without noticing. That's sort of an explanation, eh? Also, I also realize I've fucked with the plot a little. . . okay, a lot. Don't hate me because it'll be awesome! A fair bit of things will still be the same, but I'm changing a lot. So yeah. Hang on for a wild ride!

Also, I'm guessing most of you think Tessa's anger is pretty OOC, which it probably is. . . but c'mon, Camille is bloody annoying! Honestly, if I were Tessa, I would've started on the expletives within my second sentence.

Tell me what you think (even if you completely loathe it) and thank you for the continued support! YOU GUYS ARE FUCKING AWESOME!

—Vex