"W.I.T.C.H. 1

W.I.T.C.H. Сила пяти (книга 1) ("The Power of Five")

Пока только первая глава, но впечатление составить можно (честно взята с www.hyperionbooksforchildren.com). Кстати, она на инглише (скоро переведу и выложу русский вариант, хотя и так понятно ;) ).

Глава 1
Taranee Cook walked into the courtyard of her new school. She cringed as she looked at the sign looming over the entrance-a big, green archway that read Sheffield Institute.
Institute. Taranee still wasn't used to that word. She remembered when her parents had told her the name of her new school.
Oh, yeah, Taranee thought, rolling her eyes behind her tiny, round specs. That was just before they made me pack up my entire life and move to a new city where the air always smells like salt water and the sidewalks are overflowing with skinny fashion models.
"The Sheffield Institute's one of the best private schools in Heatherfield," her mother had said, nodding briskly.
"You're putting me in an institution?" Taranee had wailed back.
Turned out, a lot of schools in Heatherfield were called institutes. It was just one more way this city was totally different from Sesamo, Taranee's real hometown.
She shivered as she wended her way toward Sheffield's front door, tiptoeing around the puddles still left over from that thunderstorm the night before. It had been a wicked downpour. Taranee must have spent an hour watching the lightning bolts zapping the ocean just beyond her bedroom window. With every strike, the lightning had seemed to inch a bit closer to her new cliffside house. But for some reason, Taranee had barely flinched.
Scared of fire? she thought. Not even. Scared is knowing that the tofu stir-fry Mom packed for me is going to be reeking by noon. Which means the stylish Sheffieldians will have yet another reason not to sit with me at lunch. The first reason being, of course, that they don't know I'm alive.
Taranee hopped around another puddle. But for all the leftover rainwater this morning, one would never know the storm had happened. The sun was shining and the sky was so blue it didn't look real. The stream of kids trotting up the school's stone steps all seemed to be wearing the latest fashions.
Just looking at all those strangers laughing and shouting hello to each other as they rushed into the school made Taranee shiver again. It was only her third day of school, and she was already dreading it. She yanked the cuffs of her orange turtleneck over her hands and gazed up at the Euro-style pink stucco building, complete with a mottled green copper roof and a big clock. A big clock that read 8:08. As in, two minutes till she'd be late for history class.
By the time she made it into Sheffield's main hallway, most of the kids had rushed off to class. Taranee caught her breath and made a dash for the big marble staircase. She was just about to launch herself onto the bottom step when she skidded to a confused stop.
"Oh, man . . ." she whispered. "I have no idea where to go!"
After only two days at Sheffield, Taranee realized, as dread swirled in her stomach, that she still hadn't mastered the maze that was her class schedule.
She tore open her kente-cloth book bag and began pawing through it. Tofu in Tupperware. Lip gloss. Eyeglass cleaner. Two shiny, new notebooks. And her schedule? Nowhere to be found.
Just when Taranee was breaking into a cold sweat, she heard the familiar clomp-squeak-clomp-squeak of frantically late sneakers behind her. She glanced up to see yet another stranger. But this one was a skinny girl with half a dozen cowlicks in her red hair and a chest that was almost as flat at Taranee's. She looked lost, too. The girl dug her schedule out of her jeans pocket and blinked at it. Then she spun around looking for an arrow, a trap door, a sign from the heavens-anything to save her from the dreaded first day of school. (How did Taranee know this? That had been her, forty-eight hours ago. She recognized the signs.)
Finally, the new kid's brown eyes flashed. She threw out her hands and screeched, "So, what does a girl have to do to get to room 304?"
Taranee grinned as the girl stomped her green sneakered foot in frustration.
"How to get to room 304?" she answered. "Hope to get promoted out of room 303, maybe."
The girl's skinny shoulders shot up to her ears as she spun around to stare at Taranee. Taranee tried to act casual. She didn't want the new kid to think she was too excited to be making actual human contact or anything.
"Two days ago, I had the same look on my face," Taranee said, tossing the longest of her randomly assorted, beaded braids over her shoulder. "I'm new, too. My name's Taranee."
"Nice to meet you," the girl said quietly. Slowly, her shoulders unclenched themselves. "I'm Will."
Taranee felt herself thrill inside. New-friend moment, she thought. Totally worth being late to class.
"Would you please explain what you're still doing out here in the hallway, young ladies?!"
Taranee cringed, and Will's shoulders shot back up to her ears.
"It's the principal," Taranee whispered to the terrified newbie, as the source of that very angry voice bustled toward them. "Mrs. Knickerbocker."
Ugh! Being late to history class, Taranee thought. That's no biggie. But a discipline session with Sheffield's big cheese? Taranee tried to think of things she'd rather do. Drink warm milk? Run a three-minute mile?
Ugh. Taranee shuddered. Okay, even doing time with Mrs. Knickerbocker is better than that, she thought.
Mrs. Knickerbocker stalked around the school with her ample chest thrust out before her and her even more ample backside swishing from side to side with terrifying force. It reminded Taranee of the swirling brushes of a street sweeper, dead set on ridding the hallways of filth (otherwise known as loitering students).
And then there was Mrs. Knickerbocker's hair. It was fascinating-a towering, shellacked pompadour. Snowy white. As translucent as spiderwebs. It was definitely one of the wildest old-people oddities Taranee had ever seen. She couldn't help staring at the stiffly glistening beehive as Mrs. Knickerbocker pointed a plump finger toward the east hallway.
Oh, yeah, Taranee suddenly remembered. That's where my history class is. . .
"Lessons have already begun, Miss Cook," Mrs. Knickerbocker sputtered. "Straight to class."
Taranee was one step ahead of her. She'd already spun around and begun hurrying away. She glanced over her shoulder as she slunk down the hallway.
Poor newbie, she thought, watching Will grin nervously up at the principal. I wonder what lunch period she has.
"As for you . . ." Mrs. Knickerbocker was saying, leering down at Will.
"M-m-my name is Will Vandom, ma'am," Will said, flashing the woman with the widest, fakest cheesy grin Taranee had ever seen. She liked Will already. "I think I'm a bit lost."
"Miss Vandom," the principal announced. "We're off to a bad start!"
Taranee sighed as she saw Will's chin drop to her chest. She knew exactly how the new kid must have felt: gawkily, nauseatingly, please-let-the-floor-open-up-and-swallow-me bad.
Come to think of it, Taranee thought as she finally located her history class and walked inside, that's just about how I feel right about now.
Taranee gave an embarrassed little wave at the twenty-one pairs of eyeballs that were, well, eyeballing her as she stumbled through the door. She looked wildly around the room, searching for an empty desk. Luckily, there was one right behind two girls she already recognized.
She had two other classes with them. They usually sat in the back of the room, the better to keep up their constant, whispered gossip sessions. Taranee was a little suspicious of the sassy early bloomer with the tousled, brown hair and pug nose, but she liked the Asian kid with the kooky clothes. Today the kid was using a pair of green, bubbly goggles as a headband. The goggles clashed with her fuchsia sweatshirt in the most brazen way. She was beyond cool.
"Better late than never, Miss Cook," Mr. Collins called out from the blackboard. Even from the back of the room, Taranee could see his thick, red mustache twitching with amusement.
"Students are always welcome here," he continued. "Especially on days when there's a pop quiz!"
"A pop quiz?" the early bloomer cried. "Yesterday you said there would be a review!"
"I lied," Mr. Collins said, skulking down the aisle with another mustache-shimmying smile. He leered with vampire-like glee at the girl and said, "You should know by now, Irma, that we history teachers are mean by nature."
The Asian girl giggled and gave the early bloomer-Irma-a wink.
"I thought that was only math teachers," she piped up cheerfully.
Irma, meanwhile, was pouting big time. She slumped onto her desk and whispered, "This is just plain cruel. It's completely different."
Taranee sank into her desk chair and searched for her history book in her book bag. Actually, she felt grateful. In one fell swoop, Irma had shifted all the attention away from Taranee and onto herself.
Perhaps more attention than she'd bargained for.
"Why so upset?" Goggle Girl whispered to Irma. "Doesn't your spell work anymore?"
Taranee blinked. Spell?
Irma blinked, too. Then she glared at her friend.
"What on earth are you talking about?" she muttered, narrowing her blue eyes to malevolent slits.
"Oh, come on," Goggle Girl said, giving Irma's shoulder a playful nudge. "I mean rigging the quizzes."
"Did you say 'rigging the quizzes'?" Taranee whispered over Irma's shoulder. As soon as the question left her mouth, she gritted her teeth.
Way to go, she thought. As if I don't have enough black marks with Knickerbocker today. Now I have to walk into the middle of a cheating scandal.
Of course, Irma's reaction was no surprise. She whirled around and clamped her hand over her friend's grin.
"She didn't say anything," Irma said, somehow managing to glare at Taranee and Goggle Girl in one sweeping motion. "She just likes the sound of her own voice."
"Rmmmph," Goggle Girl gasped, before she squirmed her face out of Irma's palm. A second later, Irma unleashed a piercing yowl. She snatched her hand away from Goggle Girl and started shaking it around. She wiped it on her sweater with exaggerated disgust. Then she waved it high in the air.
"What's going on back there?" Mr. Collins yelled.
"Mr. Collins!" Irma yelled back. "Hay Lin bit me!"
Taranee stifled a snort of laughter while Hay Lin fiddled with one of her long, glossy pigtails and fluttered her eyelashes innocently.
Clearly, Mr. Collins knew how to play dumb, too. Ignoring Irma's bite marks, he simply homed in on her hand.
"That's a raised hand," he said. "Congratulations, Irma. I needed a volunteer, and it looks like I've found one."
"Burn!" Taranee whispered to herself. She'd learned the antique dis from Peter, her surfer-dude brother. And never had it been more appropriate than at this moment.
As Mr. Collins began to ponder his quiz question, Irma's injured hand started trembling. She sank into her chair.
"B-b-but that's not fair," she squeaked.
Hay Lin just giggled again and turned to Taranee.
"Watch and learn," she whispered from behind her hand. She wore a glittery purple ring that sparkled in the fluorescent light. "When Irma's quizzed, first she gets angry. Then she gets desperate. Then she shuts her eyes tight, crosses her fingers . . ."
"Shut up!" Irma snapped.
That would be "angry," Taranee thought.
"I didn't study at all," Irma whined to Hay Lin. "All I know is a little about Charles the Great."
Hel-lo, desperation, Taranee thought. Then Irma did just as Hay Lin had predicted. She laced her fingers together, clenched her eyes shut, and began chanting.
"Ask me about Charles the Great," she breathed in a rush. "Please-oh-please-oh-please-oh . . ."
Hay Lin continued to narrate to Taranee.
"See? And if there's only one single thing she's studied, that's exactly what the teacher is going to ask her about," she said. "I don't know how she does it. All I know for sure is that it works every time."
Taranee was . . . totally confused. So, it wasn't cheating that Hay Lin was talking about. She was saying Irma had . . . what? Some psychic power? A voodoo spell? A chunk of kryptonite hanging from her neck?
All three girls stared hard at Mr. Collins as he scanned his textbook.
"Hmmm," he said.
Charles the Great? Taranee thought.
"Let's see here," Mr. Collins muttered with agonizing casualness.
"Charles the Great," Hay Lin whispered impishly.
"Irma Lair . . ." Mr. Collins began.
"Charles the Great," Irma pleaded in a hoarse whisper.
"Why don't you tell us," Mr. Collins demanded finally, "about Charles the Great?"
"Yes!" Hay Lin cried, bursting into loud laughter. It would have been a sure detention-getter if Mr. Collins hadn't been so focused on Irma.
Irma, meanwhile, practically clapped her hands with glee as she launched into a long, show-offy speech about some Holy Roman emperor.
Not that Taranee listened to a word. She was too busy freaking. Maybe she had much more to fear from this curvy in-crowder than schoolyard snubbing.
Maybe . . . Taranee thought. But before she let the idea form fully in her mind, she shook her head hard enough to make her braids click together.
What was she thinking? That Irma, with her hippie, flower-power jewelry was . . . magical?
"Naw," Taranee muttered, slumping back in her desk chair with yet another shiver. "That's just not possible."

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