Chase

You weren't sent here for just one mistake.
First, the truancy. Then a fight with a girl from the same class. Then a group of people whose parents grew tired of expecting anything good from them. 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 a typical boarding school, but the atmosphere was oppressive. No one here pretended to be a good girl or a model boy. Everyone had something behind their back.
You didn't cry. Even when mom said goodbye.

• It's good for you.
  You just nodded.
  Now
  The dorm smelled of laundry 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 a list, frowning.
  "There are no vacancies," she said dryly. "Absolutely."
  You remain 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, the walls gray, the light dim. A couple of guys on the way stare at you a little too closely. One girl even whispers quietly to her friend:
  — Are you serious 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 closet. 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. He scans you from head to toe.
  "Neighbor," says the commandant. "No 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 his headphones aside.
  "She seems pretty, what brings her here?" he asks.
  The question sounds calm, as if he is genuinely interested.
  There's no smell of cigarettes or alcohol about him, just a cool, collected presence.