A virtual hell to every pimple covered, greasy haired, knowledge loving kid who walks the halls of the institution. Only a very proud few manage to rise among the ranks to become "the cool kids," snagging the lucky fate of living the best years of their lives up through the twelfth grade.
We'll just not tell them what happens after they graduate. In ten years, when the kid the football team swirlied is their boss, they'll realize that it probably would have been better to not be cool when they were teens. But that doesn't matter now.
Why you ask? I'll tell you.
My name is Bridge, which isn't short for Bridgette, if you were wondering. My parents were assholes when they were younger, I guess. It could have been worse; at least I'm not a piece of fruit or an airline. Unique names can kiss my little undead butt.
Oh yeah, that. I'm also dead. No need to apologize—it's not your fault, unless you're the pile of crap who murdered me. If so, could you fill me in on what happened? I'd really like to know how my life ended. The last thing I remember is going out for a milkshake and then, poof! I was here.
Where is here, you ask? If you ask any of the adults, it's Harrison's Preparatory Institution for the Gifted and Unknown. If you ask any of the students, it's Hell Hall.
That's right, bitches; high school is now back in session.