Angel Academy

Chapter One

"—the new students transferring here from the rehabilitation facility arrive tomorrow, so please act appropriately and set a good example," Mr. Woodrow, the headmaster, announces.

There was a chorus of 'yes sirs' and disgruntled comments that make me roll my eyes. He speaks for a few minutes more on other changes coming this semester then dismisses us. It's pretty much the same spiel every year so hardly anyone listened anymore. 

I wait for the auditorium to empty before standing. I trudge behind the crowd of students, clenching my jaw as I am suddenly surrounded by people. I walk through the hallways with my hands tucked deep in the pockets of my hoodie.

The other students shove past me, throwing me nervous looks and nasty glares. It used to make me want to crawl in a hole and die, but now I just want to die. 

Just kidding, dying would mean I never get to see those sons of bitches suffer.

Someone's shoulder bumps mine, forcing me out of my thoughts. I sigh, rubbing my nose hard when my eyes start to water. All of the students have special uniforms that are backless to accommodate their wings—well, all except me. It's just a shame that none of these idiots know how to put their wings away or they'd be able to have a more diverse wardrobe.

They don't teach that here though. They want to make sure everyone at the Academy is under eighteen and the best way to do that is to look at their wings. On an angel's eighteenth birthday, their wings change into their own unique shape and sometimes even color. But before that they all look the same; some are white and some are black.

They usually stay the same color when they become an adult, but they change their form and grow much larger. At that point they must decide their career. Adult angels dress in certain colors based on their field, while all of us under 18 wear grey. It's a ridiculous system but God forbid the angels demonstrate any kind of disorder. I snort; they're so desperate to separate themselves from the shifters and witches that they label and color-coded every aspect of daily life. 

I get to wear a different uniform than the others but it's still that dreadful grey: baggy pants, a fitted T-shirt, and an oversized hoodie. There's no need to wear special clothes when you don't have wings to accommodate for.

And, of course, the Council just had to make sure everyone knows I'm the only wingless Angel in the school. They just had to make sure I'd be spit on and ostracized for one simple difference.

No need to protect me or keep me away from these assholes; why bother when it's the easiest way to keep torturing me? I growl to myself when I spot a familiar blonde head.

I quickly turn down the nearest hallway but it's no use. She saw me.

"Luciana!"

I stop with a sigh of frustration. "What do you want?" I ask tiredly.

She crosses her arms and smirks, stopping to stand just in front of me. "You heard Mr. Woodrow, we want to set a good example for the new students, so you should probably find a way to make yourself scarce. We wouldn't want them to think we're housing fugitives now, would we?" She sneers.

I purse my lips. "What makes you so sure I'm a fugitive?"

"Oh please, everyone knows you did something. Why would the Council take your wings if you weren't a criminal, huh?" She smirks.

"For all you know, some human could have taken them," I retort before shoving her aside and pushing past her friend.

Many of the light angels were full of themselves, and the dark angels always got into trouble. I just wish they'd at least try to refute their stereotypes; being able to predict someone's personality by their breed quickly grows annoying.