Chapter One: I Have a 'No Talking to Douchebags' Policy

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Chapter One: I Have a ‘No Talking to Douchebags’ Policy

      “Screw you!” I screamed at the person considered an “educator” to some. I grabbed my belongings, and dramatically stormed out of the room. That lady was seriously in-freaking-sane! What was her problem? So what if I didn’t “do my homework”? She didn’t need to flip out! What. A. Bitch.

      I stalked down the hallway, resenting every sight my eyes were being exposed to in the building. The place in which I was currently detained absolutely sucked. It was just like jail, only worse. Mahogany lockers lined the walls, oppose to the clichéd metal, because they made the school appear more “expensive” and “elite.” Bullshit.

      Continuing to stomp down the hall, I was about ready to leave the building, but stopped when I heard the annoying sound of my name being called, “Olivia!” I quickly turned to see who had ruined my perfectly thespian exit. Just my incredible luck, a lady in her early forties stood before me, arms crossed as her red-stained lips pursed into a tight line I knew far too well. She was in no means “happy.” Of all the times for her to be here, it obviously had to be just as I was mentally planning my escape.

      “What?” I yelled back sharply, anger radiating off of me.

      “Why aren’t you in class?” she demanded, reaching me.

      “I didn’t feel like getting prosecuted for being dumb today, sorry,” I rolled my eyes.

      “Why aren’t you following the dress code?” she interrogated, looking over my outfit selection.

      I merely shrugged, not having a valid enough reason to express verbally. To be honest, I wasn’t breaking the dress code that much. Sure, my jeans were ripped, my shirt had moderately “inappropriate” words on it, and I was wearing a hat (a stupid one, at that), but, compared to some people, I looked pretty damn conservative.

      “We’ll address this when you get home, young lady. Now, you have two options: go back to class, or come with me to a meeting involving your principal,” she said seriously, as there was no other way to communicate with this lady. Everything about her was grim.

      “Oh, you mean Harry? I love that guy! Let’s go!” I said, taking the road that didn’t lead to a classroom. She shook her head, disappointment spreading across her expression, and led me to the familiar area outside of Harry’s office. 

      We both took a seat, mine one over from hers, so I could keep my distance.

      Her strict face snapped to me sharply, her mouth opening as words exited, “When I was your age, I too was on a first name basis with my principal—the only difference being that I was a genius, and not—”

      “Me?” I supplied.

      “Getting into trouble,” she said critically.

      “Whatever,” I mumbled, not caring the slightest bit. We sat in the two seats in an uncomfortable silence, before a door swung open, a tall man with graying hair walking out. He had on a charcoal suit, that practically screamed, “I think I’m important”, and an intricate tie that lay in the center of his chest. I always liked looking at Harry’s ties. Today, he wore one that mainly consisted of red and blue triangles. Not my favorite, but it was still a nice one.

      “Elle!” he greeted too enthusiastically for my liking. The woman who shared half of my DNA and I had the legal obligation to call “mom” stood, shaking his hand formally.

      “Harry,” she smiled at him politely.

      “Shouldn’t Olivia be in class right now?” he questioned, raising a brow at my presence.

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