How is it that life can never be just simple?

Ever since I can remember, I have known that when I reach secondary school age, I would get my letter telling me which magic school I had been selected for. Today is that day and I am so ready for this. With tingling fingertips and a racing heart, I am praying for Oxbridge - the most prestigious academy in the whole world. With my parents both being executives of leading magical product manufacturers, I was guaranteed a good spot at either Oxbridge, or at the very least, the next best, which was Mancaster.

So why is it that a dark forboding cloud has settled round me like a cloak? I am a good kid. My parents are smart, well respected and ambassadors for our community, so what is causing me to feel so reluctant to open the envelope?

I sit down on the bottom step of the stairs, turn the envelope over in over in my hands and come the conclusion that my question cannot be answered unless I open the envelope up. I break the wax seal, lift is the flap of the envelope, place my thumb and forefinger around the parchment and slide it out. I unfold the creamy stiff paper and drop it in horror.

Wastelands Academy? WASTELANDS ACADEMY? Why the hell has my fate set that monstrosity in my path? What did I do to deserve such a falling from grace? That school is for those with weak magic, waster parents and no hope for the future. It must be a mistake. A very grave mistake indeed when my parents find out! There will be hell to pay at the Council for Education. Heads will literally roll.

I wait all day for my parents to finish work and come back through the front door. I am comforted in the knowledge that they are powerful, strong and connected, so this will get sorted and I will be placed back on the right path. They should be home any minute. I replay over in my mind what I think their reaction will be and it is not pretty. It is seven o’clock and they are late. They are never late, yet here I am sitting and waiting in the dark for the sound of the key sliding into the lock and turning.

The sound never comes and they never come. I am alone in the darkness, clutching the letter containing my future and terrified at the prospect of facing it alone.