Isle of Night (The Watchers 1)

Clutching my regulation black messenger bag to my side, I warily walked in for phenomena class.

Whatever that was. Something stupidly archaic and redundant, I was sure.

The blast of heat did nothing to ease the tightness in my chest. Old-fashioned radiators lined the hallway, and each one I passed was like walking through a pool of hot air. I followed the sounds of adolescent chatter coming from the end of the hall. The pinging and knocking of the ancient heaters tracked my progress.

I passed a few closed doors. They were the old kind, with big rectangles of wavy glass on the top half. The lights were off, and I thought they must be empty offices.

Something that looked like a library took up almost the whole other side of the hallway. I wished I had the time—or the guts—to peek in. If there was one thing I was looking forward to in this whole hot mess, it was accessing the old knowledge—and old books—of a bunch of ancient vampires.

I stopped outside the last door, my heart in my throat. The chatter was loud, and sure enough, it was girls and boys.

I was determined to take a seat at the very back. It was only a matter of time before I was identified as a nerdbot worthy of heckling. Until then, I’d lie low and do my work. Just like I’d done in Florida. Get in; get out.

Taking a deep breath, I entered. I swept my eyes across the classroom. Far from my fantasy of a genius academy, this was shaping up to be some sort of training facility for truants and delinquents.

And I’d bet they could all swim.

I scanned the seats, determined not to panic. What had I been thinking? Of course the back row was already taken. So much for part one of my plan.

First-day-of-school seat selection always felt so rife with meaning. Was one cool enough for the very back? Overeager front-row material, perhaps? Or was it to be the mediocre middle?

Avoiding all eye contact, I took the first seat I saw that had empty spots on either side. Unfortunately, it was in the very front.

I braced myself. It was only a matter of time now. I wondered if and when miscellaneous crap would begin to clip the back of my head, just as it had every day, in every class, in my dear old alma mater.

I was determined to stay focused. I needed to be stellar in my academic classes. Especially seeing as I was going to bomb swimming.

I unpacked my notebook very slowly. I imagined myself invisible.

A large body slid into the seat next to mine. Not large-large, but tall-large. My peripheral vision estimated an even six-feet, plus or minus. Black hair. I caught a glimpse of the gray sweater and black denim of the boys’ uniform.

I slowly pulled a pen from my bag. Carefully opened my notebook to the first page, smoothing it flat. I was invisible, and very busy.

“Hey, Blondie. You’re not one of them, are you?”

The body came with a voice, and it was addressing me.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I sat frozen. The jig was up. So much for flying below the radar. By one of them, the boy had surely meant “total impostor. ” Or “geek loser,” maybe. Either way, it was only a matter of time before my identity as Drew the Dork was uncovered.

Here goes. “One of what?” Taking in a steadying breath, I looked up.

A surprisingly kind face met mine. He was also startlingly attractive. If I imagined a Japanese pop star, it’d be this guy. His features were chiseled and almost perfectly proportionate. His black hair was artfully tousled by a cut that I’d wager had cost him a bundle. A pair of black eyes and furrowed black brows seemed concerned with my response.

“One of them. ”

As if on cue, a girl’s voice trilled from behind us, “What is phena . . . phenoh . . . phenomenals, anyway?”

Then I actually giggled.

Heat immediately flamed my cheeks. What am I doing? I put on my nonchalant, I-don’t-care-about-you face. “Oh, them. No, definitely not. ”

There. Conversation concluded. I looked back down, getting ready to write my name very carefully in the top corner of my notebook.

Only he spoke again. “My name’s Yasuo. ”

Social niceties didn’t come easily to me. I could reel off the name of every American president, in chronological order, but, believe it or not, an ordinary exchange like this required my concentration. “I’m Drew,” I said stiffly.