Remmington's School for Troubled Teens

Chapter 2

16 hours and 49 minutes. That's how long it took to drive from the exciting city of Seattle to the warm, sunshine of Pasadena.

I was too lost in my thoughts to realize that the black, BMW had come to a halt. We were pulled into the half circle driveway of a huge, bricked mansion. The grass was too green and not one piece was out of place. The trees seemed to wave at me, greeting me in a way that was almost too human like.

The short, plump driver with a small bald spot, made his way to the trunk. He got out what little belongings that I kept in a faded, purple duffel bag, and I grabbed both of my guitars.

My guitars were sacred pieces of my soul. They spoke to me and I to them, in a language that was only understood by us. They made flat words, written on paper, 3D and available for ears to hear. But the availability was limited to only my ears.

I walked up the three steps and through the glass doors. As soon as I walked in, I was immediately greeted with the smell of rich people, and a faint smell, but prominent to those who frequent it, of weed.

While I was looking around and trying to find out where I would be living for who knows how long, a tall, dark haired, tattooed, teenage fuckboy ran into me.

"Dude! Is your eye sight is gone from the amount of cum shot in your eyes? You just ran into me!"

He just stared at me with his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth hanging wide open.

"You're gonna catch dicks with your mouth open like that." I tilted my head and smirked.

He regained his composure and smiled wickedly. He circled around me like a cat ready to pounce on it's prey. It was intimidating, but it was nothing I couldn't handle.

"You must get into a lot of trouble with a mouth like that, baby girl." He bit his pierced lip and then brought it between his teeth.

"Well, I am here, aren't I? Does that answer your question?" Then I turned around to walk into the office and he came over brushed his hand up against my butt. I stopped. No. Not again. I couldn't take it. I tried to get away, but he followed me.

No, Scarlett, it isn't your dad, I told myself.

So I whirled around and punched him in the nose. Blood gushed down his face and dripped onto his shirt. He yelped and then pinched his nose and held his head back.

"What the fuck!" I just stood there, laughing while he was using the bottom of his shirt to stop the bleeding.

"What is going on here?!" A short lady with a horrible bobbed hair cut and glasses from the 1980's came running from the front office.

"The new girl just fucking punched me in the nose!" He was in pain, which he deserved.

"Lucas Vega! Language!" She scolded him with her long, witch like finger.

"It's Luke! Jesus Christ when is that going to get through your thick skull!" He retaliated and shot her a look of disgust. She drew in a long breath and proceeded to usher him to the nurse. 

While she was gone, I wandered around and looked at the two painted portraits of people hanging on the wall.

A tall man with a pointed nose, holding his hand in his shirt and a white, curly wig and a short, plump woman wearing a mustard yellow dress with buttons begging for relief. Underneath the portrait was "Sir Remmington II and Mrs. Margot Elizabeth Remmington, Founders of Remmington's School for Poorly Behaved Young Maidens.

"You must be Scarlett Trixie." 1980's Lady broke me from my thoughts.

"The one and only." I smirked my signature smirk and she drew in a long breath.

I like being on people's bad side, because that's where the darkness in their heart lies.

"Come with me, Scarlett. We have a lot to discuss."