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THE HANDS OF the large, antique clock hanging in the abyss of the dark green wall hadn't move since the last time I had glanced at it

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THE HANDS OF the large, antique clock hanging in the abyss of the dark green wall hadn't move since the last time I had glanced at it. Which I swear on all things good and cheesy was at least twenty minutes ago. 

I groan under my breath, reclining further back into the very uncomfortable leather chair and gaze around the small Admissions office. It was the very first room of the stone structure I was guided to by wooden street signs. If it wasn't for the modern twist such as the large glass doors, I would've assumed I had relocated to Hogwarts. 

Across the rather spacious room was a woman perched behind an antique, wooden writing desk. Her hair was pulled as tight as physically possibly to the back of her head while a pair of thin framed glassed balanced near the tip of her turned-up nose. The only time she has verbally acknowledge my existence was when she had asked me for my name. 

Even that seemed to annoy her. 

The silence was suffocating as was the tiny chair against my thighs. Was this chair made for fucking four year olds? 

Caldwell Academy sat on the outskirts of Maddison, a small but vibrant town that was three hours and fourteen minutes north-east of Seattle. Trust me, after my phone battery died all I could do was count the seconds. It was a boarding school for troubled, dysfunctional youth. In more simpler words; me

During my trial, my lawyer had encouraged me to enter a plea deal that indicated I was to spend my senior year at Caldwell Academy, a boarding school in Washington state and in which my case will be reviewed at the end of the year. Or other wise I would be sent to prison for defacement and vandalism, endangering the life of a faculty member and...oh, that's right, blowing up a whole fucking high school cafeteria. 

Or so I assume. I wasn't paying attention at all during my court hearing. I just sat there staring at the judge because I swear she looked like Meryl Streep and I kept trying to spot hidden cameras, assuming I was being pranked.

I mean, it wasn't my exact  intention to set the fire that ultimately lead to the poorly timed explosion of the cafeteria. But Mr Jacob's testimony sure made it sound like he. He obviously has never heard the term snitches get stitches because if I die in this hell whole, I'm am coming back to haunt the fuck out of him. 

My little bitch of a cousin Spencer wasn't trialed because his stupid ass didn't get caught on the security cameras that the school installed without my knowledge. 

I sigh out, exasperated and glance down at the pamphlet in my lap that had been folded in to a paper swan and unfolded many times. Caldwell Academy, the school for troubled kids. That bullshit was printed on the front page, under the school's crest.

Resting my head back against the wall, I allow my eyes to flutter shut. I didn't get any sleep at all on the plane ride because a; there was a piece of metal from my chair sticking into my hip bone and b; there was a man two rows in front snoring who sounded like his respiratory system was failing 

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