Hook: When a teenage girl is hidden away at a unique boarding school that worships Aesop’s Fables, she soon learns that someone at the school is operating with a different moral code, and she must unravel the truth in order to save the school, find her way back to her father, and discover what happened to her mother who died years before.
Opening Pages: The following is the opening chapter of Aesop's Academy (working title). I included the whole thing to get to the 30 lines of dialogue. It introduces the protagonist and her current situation, sets the tone, and gives a sense of how her life is about to change.
Chapter 1: The Storm
The muffled voices floated up the stairs to Evelyn's hiding place. Through the house's thick walls, she could only catch fragments of the hushed conversation — "dangerous," "for her own good," "it's past time, Charles." Her heart quickened with each word, and a mix of fear and curiosity bubbled up within her. Who were these three strangers talking to her father? They never had guests.
Outside, a windstorm raged, rattling the windows of the small adobe house, which sat isolated on the outskirts of Taos, New Mexico, a mile away from prying eyes. From her vantage point at the top of the stairs, Evelyn could see the wooden front door straining against the fury of the wind. Tumbleweeds raked against the other side, their frantic scratching amplifying her growing unease.
Her dad’s tired response, “I know. I know,” was barely audible over the howling storm. The weariness in his voice twisted in her chest, fueling her anxiety.
Long after midnight, the visitors finally left, pulling their scarves and collars tight to shield their faces from the biting wind. When the door shut behind them, Evelyn crept down the stairs, her breath shallow with apprehension. Her father, his back turned to her, leaned with one hand holding the door closed as though it might blow open, the other hand raking through his salt-and-pepper hair.
"What's happening?" she asked, her voice trembling as her heart hammered against her ribs.
"Evelyn." He exhaled and straightened before turning to face her. "I thought you were asleep." His eyes were tired, and she could see the shadows of worry etched into his face. But her gaze didn’t waver, and he sighed heavily. "Not now, little one. We'll talk in the morning." He patted her shoulder, his touch meant to soothe, but it only sparked frustration in her.
She shrugged off his hand, her chin jutting out defiantly. At 14, she despised when he treated her like a child, especially when she knew something was wrong. "What's going on? Who were those people?"
He brushed past her, climbing the stairs two at a time, evading her questions.
"In the morning, Evelyn."
"Does it affect our plans?" she pressed, desperation creeping into her voice. Were they still leaving for Morocco in the morning? Or had something changed?
He paused at the top of the stairs, his back to her. "Go to bed," he said, his voice firm, before disappearing into his room and shutting the door with a definitive click.
Evelyn glanced at her suitcase, already packed and sitting by the door. They were supposed to leave in the morning, but now uncertainty gnawed at her. Her thoughts swirled as though the windstorm outside had forced its way into her brain, scattering her hopes and filling her with dread. She dragged her suitcase in front of the door, blocking the exit, hoping its weight would keep the wind — and her fears — at bay.
***
At dawn the next morning, the storm had blown through, leaving a heavy stillness outside. Inside the house, Evelyn moved with a sluggishness that felt foreign to her, her legs heavy as she stumbled down the stairs. The comforting aroma of coffee hit her first, even before she saw her dad standing over the stove, his eyes fixed on the overly complicated contraption he had rigged up to coax the dark liquid into two waiting mugs. He was focused, almost obsessively so, as though this routine could somehow ground them both.
She sank onto a kitchen stool, her hands grasping the mug he slid across the counter. The warmth seeped into her fingers, but it did little to quell the chill that had settled in her chest. Evelyn didn’t like coffee—not the taste of it anyway. It was bitter, jarring, and she imagined her mother’s voice chiding her, "It’ll stunt your growth." But her mother wasn’t here and hadn’t been for a long time.
She had learned to love the jolt of caffeine, though, the way it snapped her out of sleep and made her feel awake, alert, ready to take on whatever was thrown at her. They drank their coffee black, not out of preference, but because it was easier. Simpler. Moving around as much as they did, there wasn’t always room for the luxury of cream and sugar. Better not to get attached to things that could be taken away.
"How is my Purposeful Petunia?" Dad’s voice cut through the silence, his attempt at cheerfulness belied by the dark circles under his eyes. He looked as bad as she felt.
"Hmph," she grunted, playing her part in their morning ritual. It was a routine they had fallen into over the years, a little game where he would call her by a silly, alliterative nickname and she would act the part of the grumpy teenager. Today it was the P’s—Purposeful Petunia. Yesterday, it was Outrageous Ottoman, and tomorrow? It would be a challenge with the Q’s. Maybe Quixotic Quadrangle? There was always a pattern to it.
This was his way of teaching her vocabulary, a game that had started when she was much younger, shortly after her mom died. Back then, it felt like a lifeline, a way to connect through the fog of grief. Now, it was just one more reminder of how much had changed. She wasn’t a little kid anymore, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to keep pretending. But she played along because it was easier than confronting the undercurrent of sadness that threatened to pull them both under.
Evelyn savored the feel of the coffee as it hit her system and watched her dad scribble in his notebook. The sound of his pencil scratching against the paper filled the silence between them, and she waited. He couldn’t ignore her forever.
Finally, he looked up, his expression grave. "Evelyn," he began, his voice so soft she had to lean in to hear him. "My work won’t cover the cost for you to come with me to Morocco."
The words hit her like a physical blow, and she flinched, spilling hot coffee onto her hand. She barely noticed the pain, though, as a wave of disbelief washed over her. "We can figure something out," she said quickly, desperation creeping into her voice.
He handed her a cold cloth, his expression unreadable. "It’s time you were with kids your own age. That you made friends."
Friends? The word felt foreign on her tongue. For her entire life, Evelyn had been her dad’s shadow, his sidekick, the one who helped him catalog rare plants and navigate the treacherous terrain of academia. She had always been more comfortable with adults than with kids her own age. It was why she spoke like a 30-year-old, why she felt out of place whenever they stayed anywhere long enough for her to meet other kids.
"Since when do you care about my social life?" she demanded, her voice rising in panic. "You’ve never mentioned it before."
He held up a hand, silencing her. "There’s a school—Aesop’s Academy."
Evelyn’s heart pounded in her chest as she shot to her feet, the stool clattering to the floor behind her. "I don’t want to go to some school!"
"It’s beautiful… in the Adirondacks." His voice hitched, and he turned his head away, but not before she caught the flash of pain in his eyes.
"Dad!" Her voice cracked, and she hated how small and frightened she sounded. She had never attended a real school. Her education had been pieced together from books, tutors, and late-night discussions with him. The thought of being sent away, of being alone, was too much to bear. And the Adirondacks? All she knew was that it was a wild, rugged place where people got lost. It was full of dark shadows and creatures she didn’t want to imagine.
"It’s the largest protected land in the United States," he said, as if that would somehow make this easier. “Bigger than some countries.”
Evelyn’s mind raced. This wasn’t his idea; it couldn’t be. He would never do this on his own. "Who were those people last night?" she asked, her voice shaking.
He busied himself with pulling eggs and bread from the refrigerator, avoiding her gaze. "My… colleagues."
Colleagues? Her dad was a botanist. His colleagues were scientists, people who studied plants, not people who made decisions like this. "What do they have to do with this? What were they telling you?"
"It’s an excellent school. You’ll be safe there." He cracked the eggs into the pan, his tone dismissive, as though that was all the explanation she needed.
"Safe? From what?" Her voice trembled with fear and anger. "What are you so afraid of?"
He didn’t answer right away, just watched the eggs cook, the grease popping and sizzling in the pan. When he finally turned to her, his expression was one of deep resolve. "The world is a dangerous place, Evelyn. Sometimes we need to lie low from the storm."
She recognized that look, the one that meant there was no arguing with him. The last time she saw it, they were in the Everglades, and she had almost stepped on a crocodile hidden in the grass. "Walk away now," he had whispered, his jaw clenched tight. She hadn’t questioned him then. But there were no crocodiles here, at least none that she could see.
"I’ve already packed for Morocco," she said weakly, gesturing to the suitcase in the corner, a last-ditch effort to change his mind. She felt the weight of the world pressing down on her, as though if she could just get him to see reason, everything would be okay.
He shook his head, his expression sorrowful. "I’m sorry, but you can’t come with me this time. We’ll leave after breakfast." He pushed a plate of eggs and toast toward her, the finality in his gesture making her stomach churn. She wanted to refuse, to scream and shout, to throw the plate across the room. But instead, she picked up her fork and ate because she knew better than to skip a meal when you didn’t know when the next one might come.
As she forced down the food, she looked around the house, the place they had called home for the past three months. It had felt so safe, so permanent, but now it was just another temporary stop on their endless journey. The colorful blankets and artwork that had made her feel like she belonged here now felt like a cruel joke. This wasn’t her home. It never had been.
Evelyn rinsed the dishes, the cool water soothing her burned hand. She scrubbed them clean, her movements robotic, as though by erasing all traces of their presence here, she could somehow erase the gnawing fear in her chest. By the time they left, the house would look as though they had never lived here at all.
"I’ll miss this place," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Her dad’s voice was thick with emotion when he finally spoke. "Evelyn, we always planned to leave today. It was just a temporary place to rest."
But it wasn’t just the house she would miss. It was the idea of them together, The B Team, moving through the world as a unit. Now, everything was changing, and she wasn’t sure she could face it alone. She couldn’t shake the feeling that once they left, nothing would ever be the same again. And for the first time in her life, she wasn’t sure she was ready for that.
