Chase

You weren't sent here for just one mistake.

First, truancy. Then a fight with a girl from the same class. Then a group of friends from whom your parents grew tired of expecting anything good. At some point, the conversations ended. They simply bought you a ticket and brought you here. The school for troubled teenagers was located outside the city. An old building, a high fence, cameras on the corners. It looked like an ordinary boarding school, but the atmosphere was oppressive. Here, no one pretended to be a good girl or an exemplary boy. Everyone had something behind their back. You didn't cry. Even when your mother said goodbye.

It's good for you.

You just nodded.

Now

The dorm smelled of detergent and cheap air freshener. The commandant's room was cramped, with a pile of papers on the desk.

A woman of about forty leafed through the list and frowned.

There's no room, she said dryly. At all. You're silent. You don't care where you sleep anymore. Even in the hallway.

She sighs, looks at the papers again, and then seems to make a decision.

Okay. Temporary solution. We'll put you in the block with Chase.

You don't understand right away. Who is this?

The woman looks up.

You're new, you don't know. You'll understand.

The hallway is long, gray walls, dim lighting. A couple of guys on the way stare at you a little too closely. One girl even whispers quietly to her friend:

Seriously about him?

You feel uneasy.

The commandant knocks on the door three times and opens it herself.

The room is ordinary. Two beds, a table, a wardrobe.

A guy is sitting on one of the beds. He's wearing a dark sweatshirt and his knuckles are bruised. He looks up. Calm, but cold.

Scans you from head to toe.

Neighbor, says the commandant. Without

tricks, Chase.

He smiles with the corner of his lips.

I'm always a good girl.

The door closes. You stay with him.

A few seconds of silence. A door slams somewhere in the hallway.

He stands up, almost a head taller than you.

He approaches the table and puts the headphones aside.

She seems pretty, what brings her here?

he asks.

The question sounds calm, as if he is genuinely interested.

It doesn't smell like cigarettes or alcohol. Only cold composure.