Eldridge Academy: Chapter 1

A tale of three boys and their time at a prestigious academy for dragon shifters, fae, and humans.

When she messaged him, it was always a distinct set of three vibrations, each one an increasingly lengthy warning not to pick up. Yet, Tristan always did, because the consequences were worse if he didn’t.

He tried to be discreet about things as he tugged the phone out of his pocket and held it beneath his desk, the brightness turned far enough down that the device wasn’t a shiny beacon alerting his teacher of the distraction.

The notification sat right at the top of the screen, where he caught a glimpse of the words without having to open the message in its entirety. Ultimately he did, because he couldn’t believe what his eyes were seeing. Tristan stared, for a long time, willing the text to contort itself into another shape and when it didn’t, he swallowed.

Your father is home.

Once, twice, three times, Tristan read it, his head tilted down so long, that Mr. Isley finally called his name.

“Tristan!”

His head snapped up, expression wide eyed like he’d just seen a ghost. There was a chorus of giggles around him, but Tristan did not register it. For a moment, it was like he was looking through someone else’s eyes, at some one else’s hands.

“That’s the last strike, out in the hall.” Mr. Isley sounded more tired than anything else, but it was enough to put Tristan back in the here and now. The boy huffed and pocketed his phone as he stood. He used a hand to merely slide all his things haphazardly off his desk and into his bag, held open at the edge.

The zipper sounded impossibly loud as he closed the bag, then he threw it over one arm and left the room.

Outside, the phone was back in hand as he read over the text again. He tried to decode some hidden meaning, but there was none. There was only the horrifying reality that the man who had left his mother half dead was returning.

He didn’t get much time to ruminate over it before a chill settled over his body and silence became punctuated with swears and intermittent thuds.

Tristan peered over to his right, where he spotted Jaxon, dangling some kid in front of him by the collar of his shirt.

Jaxon was tall and broad shouldered, but with a youthfulness about him that betrayed his true age. His crop of dark hair spiked out wildly and gave way to an undercut. He wore his uniform in the antithesis of Tristan.

Tristan maintained a pristine button up shirt, shrouded by a sweater with the academy emblem sewn over the chest. Despite slip ups here and there, he tried his best to look like the model student. He was in the gifted courses, after all.

About the only thing Jaxon wore correctly was a pair of black khaki pants that were a size too big, so it was baggy at the bottom, but nevertheless held up by his belt. His shirt was unbuttoned, showing off a T-shirt that was absolutely unprofessional by Eldridge Academy standards. The most striking thing about Jaxon, however, was the golden Eldridge Academy tie, tied around his wrist as a warning to everyone around him, that he was a dragon.

Tristan didn’t need to see the other boy’s green tie or green emblem, to know he was not a dragon, not even fae, but merely a human. A human at the mercy of a dragon’s strength and ferocity.

Tristan watched them a second longer, debating on intervening. He didn’t know what the scuffle was about, but he could only assume Jaxon had been paid by his handler to torment this guy. He glanced back at the door to Mr. Isley’s class then back at Jaxon, a considerable way down the massive hall.

Jaxon was the best player on the siege team, when they were able to get him to show up to matches. Tristan could see it now, in the way he roughed the boy up like he was an opponent on the field.

But he wasn’t that. He was just some scared, scrawny thing and Tristan, heart too full and mind longing to be far away from the devastating news, decidedly made his way over to them.

“Quit it, Jax.” Tristan began as he reached for Jaxon’s shoulder, only for the boy to shake him off. He was admittedly more intimidating up close, with those slit pupils now bearing down on him. “Let him go.”

“You his friend or something?” Jaxon’s tone is sharp, with a controlled intensity. Tristan knows he wants him to say no and turn around and if he did that, he wouldn’t turn his face black and blue. Unfortunately for both of them, Tristan was quite stubborn.

“Yeah, actually. I am. So I’d appreciate it if you could lay off him.”

“You know what, why not. I was getting tired of humans.” Jaxon tossed the boy off to the side as if he weighed nothing at all. Then Jaxon stepped closer to him, his hulking figure casting a dark shadow over Tristan. He reached out, yanking him closer by his golden tie with a toothy smile on his face. “Maybe you’ll offer me more of a challenge.”

Tristan didn’t know who threw the first punch, only that they were now rolling on the floor, growling and punching one another like two kids rough housing in the sandbox. At some point, when Mr. Isley had exited the classroom to speak to him, he’d come rushing over to break them up. Students trailed behind him, jeering at the bloody display.

Jaxon had everything to lose if he went down in a fight to a runt like Tristan, so he fought like his life depended on it. His reputation certainly did.

Tristan was sore, every muscle aching as he reeled back his arm to throw another punch at Jaxon’s smug face. He looked utterly confident that he could best Tristan, because this wasn’t just a fight of wills. It was one of raw power and no one wielded it like Jaxon did.

Maybe Tristan should have given in and just let him win. If he shed a few tears and called Jaxon the aggressor, no one would think twice about this ordeal. He would just be another kid suffering beneath Jaxon’s military grade combat boots. But Tristan was no coward and he certainly could not let Jaxon’s callous remark go. Jaxon had said, “You try to look so nice for these snobs, but you’re just a gutter rat kissing their rich asses. You’re not better then me, you’re worse.” And thinking back on it, Tristan was certain he threw the first punch.

Jaxon caught his wrist and flipped him on his back, both hands pinning him to the ground as he panted. A drop of blood traveled from his temple, between his creased brows, until it fell on Tristan’s cheek.

It was like time stood still and there was nothing but him and Jaxon and the embarrassingly quick defeat he suffered. The crowd burst into another round of hooping and hollering that dissolved into white noise. Tristan vaguely registered Mr. Isley and another man, yanking Jaxon off of him, but Tristan was not done. He wasn’t, he…he did not move. People like them healed faster then most, but his brain was still rattled and the figures around him waxed and waned in clarity.

Tristan vaguely registered a high pitched voice and he recognized the cadence and tone as someone speaking out of concern for his well-being but he could not muster a satisfactory answer for their questions, let alone grasp what they were asking. The boy thought he must have took a worse beating then he thought. The voice quieted down and was replaced by hands, tugging him up by his arms. Tristan could not recall much else before he winded up in the nurse’s office. His vision had cleared by then as he was placed on a flat mattress underneath a too bright overhead light.

“You’re a seriously stupid boy, like seriously.” It was the voice Tristan heard before, but she sounded a lot more grating to his ears now. She had a certain way of stretching out her vowels that perpetually reminded him that they came from two very different worlds. She hailed from one where riding luxury yachts and playing racquetball were probably her favorite past times and Tristan was, well, Jaxon had said it best, a gutter rat.

Tristan’s gaze finally landed on her, a little off to the side, ringing out a cloth over a tiny tub of water. She pressed the damp rag to his face, gently wiping away dry blood. It took him a minute to recognize her, but he was certain this was the girl who spent all day playing match maker. Delphine was a fae that used her magic to read emotions for love sick teens, for a price, of course.

Rooks like Delphine were obligated to help him, but as always, she used it as an opportunity to read him. Tristan could tell from the subtle tingle of magic. Don’t get him wrong, he appreciated her reducing the sensation of pain, but he didn’t like anyone snooping around his feelings. He felt enough shame and guilt as it is without her giggling to her friends about it.

He tried to block her efforts and he knew he was successful when she made sound of indignation, “Oh, what are you even trying to hide?”

“Thank you for your help, Ms. Velmore.” Came the nurse as he entered the room, “I can take it from here.” He sat down in a swivel chair and moved close to the bed just as Delphi finished cleaning off the blood.

Tristan was glad when Delphine left, because it gave him a bit more privacy to wipe away the tears from the corner of his eyes. He kept his gaze on the mahogany floor while swinging his feet, which dangled off the edge of the bed. Tristan did not make a habit of coming here but all the previous times he had, the nurse had been a man of few words. Yet, what he did not say, could easily be read on his face. When he looked at Tristan, it was an expression of surprise, followed by a sigh and a shake of his head. He was disappointed in him and Tristan thought, fair enough, he should have just called Mr. Isley instead of fighting.

“I am going to heal you, it will not take very long.” The nurse said as he reached for Tristan’s face. He had a certain way of speaking that made each word sound thoughtful and deliberate. “I have been told to relay to you that the principal wants to have a meeting with you this afternoon at 3 pm in his office. If that is too much-”

“It’s fine.” He mumbled.

“You can stay here for the rest of the day, until the meeting, if you would like. The other thing is, you and Jaxon have detention tomorrow after school.”

Tristan scrunched his face up a bit as Delphine’s pain numbing magic began to wear off, making him much more aware of the throbbing in his face. Jaxon had got him real good in the nose, he was pretty sure that was where all the blood was from. Sensing this, the nurse began to pick up where Delphi had left off, his magic washing over Tristan’s body. Healing him took no longer then ten minutes and when he finished, Tristan tugged off his bloody sweater with a huff. He held up to look it over as the nurse began to straighten up the area.

“I will be in my office. It is right back there-” He gestured towards it, “-so just come find me if you need anything. There is also extra clothing in the closet over there.” He gestured again.

Tristan nodded and once the man retreated into his office, he heard the swish of a curtain being pulled back. Startled, Tristan lowered his arms and searched for the source of the noise. He found it behind him, where one bed over was the boy he had saved from Jaxon. He looked happy and much too eager to talk to him.

“I can’t believe you did all that! For me!” He said.

“It was nothing.” Tristan folded his sweater and left the bed. He walked over to his backpack, which had fortunately been left in the corner for him.

“No, it was definitely something! I mean, when you stepped in, I thought you had a death wish, but you actually-”

Tristan finished that thought for him. “Lost. I lost.”

“Losing is a state of mind. To me, you’re a winner.” The kid smiled at him, “I’ve never seen anyone not go down in one punch from ‘ole Jaxon.”

Tristan snorted. That was because Jaxon mostly fought people weaker then he was. Still, he would be lying if he said the way this boy talked about him didn’t fill him with pride.

He sat back down on the bed, fluffed his pillow. It dawned on him then, that he hadn’t seen Jaxon in the nurse’s office. Tristan imagined he said something like, I have better shit to do, then stormed out of there. And whatever that better thing was, it certainly wasn’t class.

“I’m Lucky.”

Tristan looked up, staring at the boy for a moment. Was that his name? He let out a short laugh, the sound quiet and airy as if he was trying to be subtle about it.

“Yeah, I know.” The boy rolled his eyes.

Tristan laid down on the bed. He shifted a bit, trying to make himself comfortable on the paper thin sheets. When he did, he positioned his arms behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling.

“Tristan.”

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The hardest thing about writing is just starting the story. The 2nd hardest thing is choosing names. I spend 99% of my time fussing over what things will be called. I'm forcing myself to be okay with placeholders! To be okay with not having everything figured out. So be prepared for rewrites, character changes, and more between chapters. I’m trusting the process and figuring things out as I go along, I hope you enjoy figuring it out with me.