Wuthering high: a bard academy novel by Cara Lockwood Page A

sophomore who came to Bard several years ago. Just like you, Kate Shaw tried to escape. They sent out a search party the next morning looking for her…”
    “You’re not telling it right,” Samir says. “You left out the part about her backpack.”
    “If you’d let me finish, I was getting to that part.” Hana glares at Samir, who just shrugs. “So she took her backpack, right? They searched for her for five days. And on the fifth day, they found her backpack in the woods by a stream. And it was covered in blood.”
    “You are so telling this wrong,” Samir says. Hana ignores him.
    “And it was empty, except for one book and a note. The note was covered in blood, and it said, ‘Beware the Third Bell.’”
    “She was telling people not to be tardy?” I ask.
    Samir laughs. “Hana, you’re forgetting that they also found her Bard jacket and it was —”
    “Wait, let me guess. Covered in blood?” I’m not scared at this point. Just amused.
    “And sometimes, late at night,” Hana says, continuing even though I’m clearly not scared, “people have seen her ghost wandering the woods and asking people if they’ve seen her backpack.”
    “It’s much scarier when I tell it,” Samir tells me.
    “It would’ve been fine if you hadn’t interrupted,” Hana says.
    The lights above our heads flicker.
    “What’s with the lights?” I ask them.
    They shrug. “The island is powered by a generator,” Samir says. “But it’s not exactly like being plugged into General Electric.”
    “Okay, so now back to noncampus legends and real-campus people,” I say. “Who are those people?” I nod my head toward a table two over from us. It’s filled with Goth types, complete with black lipstick and spiky black hair. “What’s their story?”
    “Those are the E/rave kids. They’re always connected, even in here, with drugs.”
    “And them?” I ask, pointing to what looks like the jock table.
    “Impulse-control problems. Those guys steal everything that isn’t nailed down,” Hana says.
    “And nearly all of them have probably hit one of their parents,” Samir says.
    “What about them?” I ask, looking over at what must be the geek table, where Well Girl from the bus is sitting.
    “The freaks? They’re the harmless ones. They aren’t trying to be social outcasts, they’re just that way naturally. They look all weird, but they don’t really want to harm anybody but themselves. There are a lot of cutters over there.”
    “Gross,” I say, wrinkling my nose.
    “Yeah, it’s pretty much the rainbow of problems here. Do their parents send them to therapists? No, they send them to a prison school, hoping it’ll all work out. Does that make sense to you?” Samir points his fork at me for emphasis. “But, like Headmaster B says, we’re all here because we have self-esteem issues.”
    “Ugh,” Hana says, rolling her eyes. “Everything here is about self-esteem.”
    “But what about them? They look normal,” I say, nodding toward a table full of people wearing Izod shirts.
    “Oh no, they’re the worst, ” Hana says. “They’re the rich kids. They tend to fall into the “Daddy got my drug/ date rape charges dismissed because he knows the DA” category. They’re the worst criminals here by far. The ring leader is sitting in the middle with the ponytail. That’s Parker Rodham, a junior. She poisoned her own mother with rat poison, or so the rumor goes.”
    “The mother lived, but she lost a kidney,” Samir says.
    “Seriously?”
    “That’s the rumor,” Hana says. “Also, all of Parker’s boyfriends keep dropping off the face of the earth. We think she kills them.”
    “Speaking of, looks like Parker found a replacement boyfriend in record time,” Samir says, as a blond boy who looks like he ought to be on the cover of a J. Crew catalog takes a seat next to Parker.
    With a jolt, I realize I know him.
    Ryan Kent, former star of the varsity basketball team at my old school. He was one