Five Star Reviews for Atlantis Academy:
"Omg this book was amazing I couldn't put it down or stop reading. I carried it with me open on my phone while I did everything just to keep reading. I need more of all of this. Epic story, epic content, epic...
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Don't panic.
Don't panic.
I'm panicking.
I'm holding my breath in the doorway. I'm paralyzed. I'm trapped. I don't know what to do.
The black cloud in the hallway is growing in intensity, and when I run out of air, I suck in a breath and break into a coughing fit. The air is thick, bitter, far too hot.
I stumble back down the hall to my own bedroom and slam the door behind me.
The fire started downstairs, so it either began in the kitchen, which is under my room, or in the living room. Maybe a spark escaped the fireplace. And if it's in the living room, there's no way I'm getting down the stairs and out the front door or the back.
Smoke's curling under my bedroom door now, and I wipe the sweat off my brow and run to the window. I tear the blinds straight off the wall, throw them to the floor, and fumble with the latches. My eyes are watering, blurring my vision as I fling the window open and suck in a lungful of air and look down.
My bedroom window is half over the back porch, so there's a small, pitched roof about eight feet down. It's ancient and sagging, missing half of its shingles. I really, really don't wanna have to jump onto that.
I glance back at my bedroom door, but the room's turning into a haze of smoke.
Glass shatters from below, and I lean out the window again for fresh air.
Was that the kitchen windows breaking? Is the fire below me now?
It's so hot in here. I'm woozy, dizzy. There's no choice.
I throw my backpack out first, as far away from the house as I can, and it crash lands in the weeds.
It's not that high. I can do this. I can.
I climb up on the windowsill, legs shaking, and my mouth goes dry. I grip the window so hard, my knuckles turn white.
I hate heights. I hate heights!
Glass shatters again, and it sounds closer this time.
I swallow back my fear. And for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, I jump to my death.
I crash into the roof below, gasping, windmilling my arms, trying to grab hold of something, anything.
But I'm sliding, and shingles scrape my palms as I skid down the roof.
I grab the gutter, stopping my fall, and look down.
Only a few feet from the grass.
The gutter breaks before I can let go.
I slam into the ground, and pain slices through my leg, but I scramble to my feet fast and hobble to my backpack.
Terrible heat radiates from the house, and black smoke is billowing out of the side, where the kitchen window used to be.
