Flames with Fire

Chapter 1

03:00.
I look at the minute hand of the clock on the wall above the holoscreen behind Ms. Fernsby.
2:47.
I hold back my sigh as I turn toward the calc problem being projected. I can't focus on the numbers- at this point of the day, the migraines feel like there's a hammer pounding on my brain, pushing it on a row of red-hot spikes.
I turn up the volume on the pods in my ears, hoping that the music will muffle the headache.
02:00.
I try to make myself look alert, if not interested as Ms. Fernsby drones on about Short multiplication formulas, or linear equation systems, or cartesian coordinates, or whatever we're supposed to be learning.
She seems oblivious to the fact that the entire class is waiting for the bell, and, subsequently, the end of her boring lecture. Maybe I should tell her?
The only person who looks alert is Winifred Lancaster- the schoolteachers darling.
I've only been at this school for a month and I already don't like Winifred. Well. I've seen my fair share of girls like her.
00:59.
I feel elation, somewhere behind the pounding in my head.
00:33.
Yay.
00:30.
00:26.
00:19.
Come. On. Fernsby.
00:11
Is this crazy teacher actually going to keep us here when there are 10 seconds until the bell- and she knows it?
I literally just saw her looking at the clock!!!
00:03.
Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
00:02.
Ring, bell, ring!!
00:01.
00:00.
Brrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiing!!
I stuff my holopad in the gray vintage backpack that I convinced the salesperson to give me practically for free and head for the door, impatient to get out of here.
 "Jessie?"
I turn around and see Winifred, of all people, standing behind me.
"Jessie?" She repeats, as though she's not sure that I heard her the first time.
"Yeah?"
She looks as if she wishes that she could be anywhere else in the world at this moment, and I brace myself for the worse- seemingly in vain, because when she opens her mouth she says the last words you'd expect after seeing her expression; "Mrs. Kain wants you in her office. I'll take you there."
I trail after her, dreading the conversation but not too surprised; I've bounced between schools my entire life, usually on purpose, sometimes not.
It's not like I'm a hopeless idiot or anything- I hardly listen in class, do nothing at home, and get an 82. I just don't see what I have to gain from this whole school thing, so I just stopped trying a long time ago. I pull the pods from my ears and stuff them in my pocket of my hoodie, accidentally knocking the hood down in the process. My hair spills down around my face, and before I can tuck it back under the jacket Winifred announces "Here we are" and motions for me to sit on a chair in front of the secretary's desk while she talks to the secretary, a young woman who looks about 20 years old. I tune out their voices, focusing on their facial expressions instead. The secretary- who's name I can't recall to save my life (probably because I was too distracted by her neon green springy curls) - looks stubbornly righteous (a strange combination), while Winifred looks anxiously around. I suddenly notice that she has a piece of bubblegum in her mouth, colored a bright pink, and that she keeps blowing bubbles and popping them at a rate that is increasing as rapidly as the bright spots of anger on both girls' cheeks.
I kinda wish I'd thought to bring popcorn- this is surprisingly interesting. And it also distracted from thinking about my migraine- at least for a few moments.
Great. I just thought about it.
I glance at the telenovela scene in front of me, trying to understand what I missed in my few moments of distraction.
Judging by her self-satisfied expression, Winifred came out on top of the little quarrel. 
The secretary points wordlessly at Mrs. Kain's door, and I debate whether I should tell her that the combination of her hair and flushed cheeks make her look like a light-up garden ornament. I decide against it, and simply walk through the doorway and sit silently in front of my current principal.
Mrs. Kain is a tall, middle-aged woman whose hair looks like it might have been blond once but is now to gray to tell, and I think that she may have been pretty, once upon a time.
There are a few digiframes that show rotating photos of people who can only be her family, and I scrutinize these with a detached sort of interest. One of the frames switches to a photo of a boy and a girl who is obviously his little sister making faces at the camera, and I drop my gaze to my hands, which are curled in my lap. Ms. Kain picks up a pair of simple black reading glasses, puts them on and then picks up a simple yellow folder- one that I quickly recognize as my personal file. It contains all the pieces of info that the state has on me; name, details of birth, school records (waaaaaaaaaaaaaay too many of them), place of residence, and just about anything else they could find. 
I notice that she's also picked up a different envelope along with my file- one made of an expensive looking paper that looks heavy, as if it's full of documents- and she places it on her desk without opening it.
Suspicious.
"Jessamine Lynnette Owens; 15 years old, born September 3, 2,000; parents- deceased; siblings- N/A; current residence- 1172 Queens Avenue, Centropolis City"
She pauses and looks at me over her glasses. "I trust that all this information is accurate?" she asks, fixing me with that piercing stare of hers, which is beginning to be ever-so-slightly unnerving. I nod and she continues perusing through the documents. She shows a special interest in the school files; I wonder if she's gathering inspiration for a file that she herself will add.
She sighs, sets the folder to her left and shifts the fancy envelope so that it's sort-of-between-us-but-not-really (it's closer to her.).
She gives me a look that is as familiar to me as my fucking name- one that is known among denizens of the understreets as 'the look'- that one look full of pity and regret and stupid, shitty hope.
Let me tell you a secret- hope is the single most dangerous thing in the whole flippin' world. It pushes you up, makes you think that there's a chance that stuff will work out, and then it dumps you. It stands you up at the restaurant, kicks you to the curb, takes you skydiving and conveniently forgets the parachute until after you've risked your ass and jumped.
I drag myself back to the present, shoving dusty memories to where they should be- gone and forgotten- and see my principal looking at me.
I realize, maybe teensy-tiny-bit too late, that she's asked a question.
"Umm, sorry, could you repeat that maybe?" I ask, and Mrs. Kain sighs, "I said that I truly think that you could really go far if you actually applied yourself and attempted to succeed.".
And I truly think that this conversation has gotten old.
I'm about to give my usual answer, a 'But I really do try!' followed by 'But I just can't!', and then some forced sniffling and rapid blinking- but before I can, Mrs. Kain cuts me off. "And before you tell me that you 'really do try', you may want to consider that there are only so many times you can pull that trick before it gets old." she says, and then smiles drily. "I am to assume that you look like a rather shocked fish because I figured out your little secret?", she asks. And then it hits me- if we'd been born around the same time, I might have really liked Mrs. Kain.
I take a few moments to asses this revelation.
I decide that these few moments are not helping my headache in the slightest.
I quit thinking about said subject (See, I'm not even saying what the subject is).
Mrs. Kain proceeds to explain how she figured out my secret- something about phone calls and principals- and then she picks up the fancy envelope. It feels like it takes her an eternity to finally open the wax seal (Who the fuck uses wax seals? What's next- a white horse to whisk me off to a palace in Lalaland?), and as she does, I notice that there's a symbol imprinted on the wax- a square with an odd star-thingy inside- but before I can start searching my memory to see if I've seen or heard anything related to it Mrs. Kain is talking.
"As I was about to explain, this is a registration form for a boarding school project run by the company 'clix'- I've never heard about them- and the project is called 'CDET'."
I tell her: "It doesn't matter. I'm not going.".
She gives me a sympathetic look and says "I'm afraid that you are , in fact, going to this school- your orphanage headmistress, Ms. Rotvile has already signed the necessary documents and you'll be leaving the day after tomorrow."
Fuck.
I really don't think that this is legal.
I mean, this is my whole life!
You can't...uproot someone as though they were a rather bothersome tree without informing them!!
I really don't think that this is legal.
When I say as much to Mrs. Kain, she informs me that this is, in fact, legal (Dear person in charge, a message from yours truly: "Que te folle un pez!!!"), which leaves me rather disappointed in our system.
 I try to wrap my mind around this fact- I'll be gone to some...trou à merde in less than 48 hours. Gone. Away from the Under, away from the city and from everything I know.
I sit there, slightly shocked, as Mrs. Kain does a shit-ton of explaining- flights and buses and hours and packing and a million little details that I'll never remember.
"Do I...Do I really not have any choice in this?", I ask, already knowing the answer but not really believing it yet. "At all?"
Mrs. Kain shakes her head, giving me 'the look', accompanied by a sad smile.
'The Look' feels worse this time, because I know that there is a justified reason beyond the usual 'You're a street rat' crap and whatnot.
She hands me the envelope, telling me to go over the files when I have a spare moment. I shove it into my bag, nod silently and walk out of the room. As I'm exiting the office, I hear Mrs. Kain call "Pegasus, would you be a dear and get me those reports I asked for?".
Normally, I would currently be wondering who the hell names their kid Pegasus, but my mind is still stuck on Mrs. Kain's words.
Leaving. City. 48 hours.
Leaving. City. 48 hours.
Leaving. City. 48 hours.
On and on and on.
Until I look at the time  and say a few words that make the janitor give me a reprimanding glance.
I've been here 35 minutes, which means that the time is currently 3:25pm.
My job starts 10 minutes ago.
I make a desperate dash for the subway, shoving aside thoughts of migraines, boarding schools, and mythical flying horses.
Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.
Mim is definitely murdering me.

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A/N:

Sooo!!!

What are your thoughts?

*Tell me if you find typos and mistakes*

xxxxx Kaitlynn