"Your lack of trust in me is hurtful," I grimaced, holding a hand to my heart mockingly as I looked at Dwyte standing outside my door in full uniform with his own scowl on his face. Today was my first day at B.A.D. and it looked like my babysitter was going to be tagging along for the ride. Couldn’t say I was surprised. It was just a good thing I’d seen him through the front window and managed to pull myself together so I was no longer limping and cursing every other step I forced my abused body to make. I didn’t need him asking questions.
"It's your first day of school,” he reminded me as if I didn’t know myself and hadn’t been dreading this day since I’d signed the contract with the DA. “I've been instructed to make sure you actually show up and attend your classes," he said stiffly, obviously no more pleased with this turn of events than I was.
"Seriously?” I arched my brow at him at him in surprise. Though I suspected they’d someone to watch over me and make sure I didn’t ditch out I hadn’t expected a full blown police escort throughout the door. I guess it was nice to know the cops were oh so concerned with my education. “Couldn’t they find anyone else to handle this? I thought you were supposed to be a cop- don’t you have criminals to catch or something?" I couldn’t help but pour salt onto his no doubt wounded pride. If I was going to be dealing with the tagalong all day I was sure as hell at least going to have some fun with him.
Carefully looping my nearly empty messenger bag over my shoulder to avoid putting pressure on any of my bruises I stepped past him and slowly made my way towards the car. Let him think I was dragging my feet because I didn’t want to go to school. It wasn’t technically a lie. "Does this mean I get to ride in the cruiser?" I asked over my shoulder, eyeing the idling vehicle with whose backseat I had grown intimately comfortable with over the past several years.
“Shotgun!” I exclaimed before he could ever answer, feeling my aching and stiff body protesting any further exertion. If I could just make it inside the car I could sit down and rest for a bit- catch my breath. I promised my sore legs that if they’d just carry me over to passenger seat door I’d stop moving them for a little while.
"Maddison, you're supposed to be wearing your uniform," Dwyte called out behind me with barely masked frustration, having finally taken note of my outfit of choice. I paused and turned to face him, leaning against the door and using it to support my weight while my legs were still trying to turn into jelly.
"I am," I gestured to my navy blue slacks, white button-up and matching blue blazer with the school's crest embroidered on the breast pocket. The tie had been a lost cause though and was rolled up in my pocket at the moment.
"That's the boys' uniform," he said pointedly, staring at my slacks and massaging his temples as if he had a headache. A gesture he seemed to do often when he was around me. “Five minutes without causing any trouble Maddison, just five,” he heaved a heavy sigh and I rolled my eyes at his antics. I resisted the urge to point I just went several hours without stirring anything up- granted I was asleep but that wasn’t the point.
"I'm not wearing a skirt," I said flatly- and for more reason than one although I wasn’t about to let on about that if I could help it. "Besides, the school handbook said students have to wear THE uniform, they never specified a gender," I shrugged and tried to not to wince at the pinch in my shoulder the gesture cause. Admittedly even if it had been against the rules I wouldn’t have exactly cared. The entire reason I was attending the stupid academy was because I had a tendency to break them after all.
I'd called a cab yesterday and gone by the school on my own to check it out and get a few last minute things squared away. All I’d had to tell the people in charge of the uniforms was that I was picking one up for my brother and they’d just handed it over after I paid. You'd think a school for delinquents would ask more questions but then again the school more or less catered to the children of the super-rich so I guess they were used to not questioning a lot of things.