Page 18 of Jinxed

Written in gold script on a wooden beam across my head is the school’s motto:WE BUILD THE FUTURE.

My fingertips tingle and heat rises in my cheeks. ‘We’ve done it, Jinx,’ I whisper to him. He wriggles out of my arms in response and jumps to the floor, arching his back and flicking histail at me. ‘Fine, don’t care.’ I stick my tongue out at him. He responds by choosing a direction and shooting off at lightning speed.

I jog to catch up with him, the orientation information from Profectus displayed on his back. When even a function this ordinary works on Jinx, a spike of pride shoots up my spine – to know that I fixed him up from next to nothing. He gives me the number and locationof my locker, which is in one of the more modern wings. Now it’s starting to feel more like an ordinary school. There are clusters of students in their uniforms, some lounging on the floor or leaning casually against their lockers.

I’m struck by how old some of students look, but then people graduate from Profectus when they’re twenty – heading straight into a proper job at Moncha. Monica’s dream– in the face of skyrocketing tuition fees and resultant student debt – was for Profectus to be a fully paid-up bridging academy for only the brightest and best who knew they wanted to work in science and technology. And there was no form of indenture – no debt to be repaid to Moncha, no obligation to work there. If another company – a rival firm like BRIGHTSPRK or Apple – wanted to offer a studenta job, there was no clause that would prevent a graduate from going. But with the high starting salary, provided accommodation and excellent standard of living offered in Monchaville, hardly anyone jumps ship, so it’s a win-win for Moncha.

And a pretty great deal for those of us lucky enough to get in, too.

Jinx stops in front of a locker and, with a couple of bounding leaps, settles on a smallshelf that is especially designed for bakus to hang out. To stop the bakus (big and small) from crowding the hallways, there are alcoves above each locker for bakus to leash up and charge between classes.

I stop and stare at Jinx, who appears to be ‘grooming’ himself, but which is really a way for him to run through his systems and check everything is working okay by brushing up against all hissensors. Then he crawls deep into the alcove, curling himself up so that only the two tiny LEDs in his pupils are visible. I run through the plan for the day, taking deep breaths to prepare myself. Most of the morning is blocked out for a giant orientation session. I’d looked it up online to see what that might entail, if there was anything I could do to prep. But there was surprisingly littleinformation available.

‘Lacey? What are you doing here?’

The slimy voice sends drippings of ice down my spine, which turn to shivers as I hear the snuffling and snorting of the boar. My body tenses, flashing back to the memory of the forest and the ravine.

I wait a beat, willing my voice to sound utterly normal. ‘I’m getting ready for orientation.’ I spin the combination of my locker, thankfulthat Jinx projects the code for the lock from his tail to a place on the locker just above my fingertips. I dump my bag, not taking out any of the postcards and pictures I brought along to stick to the inside of my locker door. There’s no way I’m decorating it in front of Carter.

‘Isn’t your school a bit further down the street?’

I bite my lip and take a beat.He doesn’t have any advantage over you now,I tell myself.You belong here as much as he does.I spin around to face him. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ I say, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. ‘I’ve got a locker, I’m in the uniform – I’m a Profectus student too, Carter. Just like you.’

His jaw drops. He attempts to rearrange his expression back to normal – but I’ve glimpsed the truth. He’s worried about me being here.

I don’tsee why. It’s not as if this is a competition. It’s school.

He folds his arms across his chest. ‘You can’t be here. You need a level 3 baku in order to come here. I saw you buying that scarab.’ He storms over to my locker, sticking his face right up to the alcove. Jinx lunges out, hissing like a wild cat.

Carter yelps and leaps backwards, sneakers squeaking on the hardwood. He almost falls backwardsover his boar baku, but catches himself just before, then takes off down the hallway.

I turn to Jinx, my cheeks flushed post-confrontation. ‘Come on then. Let’s go get oriented.’

JINX LEADS ME DOWN TO WHAT IS MARKED as the school gym. I could never get lost with Jinx by my side, but I needn’t have worried about that – there’s a steady stream of students and bakus all headingin the same direction. Some of the students look a lot older than me, strutting the hallways as if they own the place. I try and hold my head high too, and act as if I belong. But being around lots of people always makes me feel nervous – I’m far more comfortable in the darkness of my cave than in the crowded hallways of school.

I wait for Jinx to react, but he doesn’t. Strange. Bakus are designedto help soothe their owners if they’re feeling stressed or anxious. Maybe I need to look into Jinx’s empathetic sensors...

But all thoughts melt away as I enter the gym.

At first I’m a bit disappointed that it looks like an ordinary school gymnasium – with its glossy wooden floor painted with lines for different sports. Two glass-backed basketball hoops hang from metal rafters painted inpale green that criss-cross above our heads, serving as hanging posts for brightly coloured celebration banners. Not that any of them are for sports achievements (Profectus students aren’t exactly known for being jocks). Instead, they’re emblazoned with the Moncha logo, that same stylized M, and carry the names of former students. I wonder what they did to deserve having their names up there.

Different from my old gym at St Agnes, though, is the massive stadium-style seating on either side of the gym, rows of benches that stretch up across two storeys. There’d be room for the entire school in here – and then some. I’m grateful to see Carter and his boar taking a seat on the far side – well away from me.

I file into a row of seats about halfway up, confronted by a cacophony of noisystudents and the wildest collection of bakus I’ve ever seen in a single place.

Monkeys. Dogs. Cats. A small version of a bear.

All of them level 3 and above.

And hovering above a guy sitting right in the front row: an eagle.

I recognize that eagle.

His wings are outstretched so I can’t see the face that’s behind them, but I know it all too well. I purse my lips. The eagle doesn’t seem tohave suffered any long-term damage from my pine cone throwing. He flaps his wings and soars up even higher. I wonder if the eagle senses me looking, because he spins his head so his dark mirrored eyes take me in, his gold-edged beak opening in a squawk. I quickly take a seat and stare at the back of the student in front of me.

Jinx crawls up on to my shoulder to get a better view of the action.

He licks his paw. >>Four hundred students entering, and counting.

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