The Center

[PART I - THE MIDDLE] Chapter 1 - "The question isn't who is going to let me;

This sucks! It's the middle of May and I should be at Saks buying shoes to make my graduation gown less boring, not handcuffed on a plane headed for god-forsaken Grand Junction, Colorado. Freaking sucks!

I drop my head against the seat in front of me. Pep rallies and proms are over for me. Thanks to my ridiculous parents and a stupid judge, I get to finish high school at The Center.

Big smile.

Not.

Life couldn't suck more. It's not even a real prison. No "Orange is the New Black." No street cred. Nope, just one of the few disadvantages of being rich, I guess. The Center is, according to my mother, a "reform school." Of course internet blogs try to freak people out, make it sound like some kind of concentration camp.

Students tasered.

Inmates deprogrammed in a dungeon.

I don't buy all the hype. Seriously, Colorado is in America. My family is not only wealthy, we're politically connected. A school for bad, rich kids will be monitored. Constantly monitored. No one can get away with torture.

The plane bounces on its decline, stirring up the airline peanuts I ate on the previous flight. Man, I feel sick. The chemical funk of recirculated air hurt my head. I tap my blue stilettos in the nonexistent legroom. I might have to go to jail, but I want to do it in style, and public puking isn't cool. The small, wannabe plane twists at random angles as it encounters turbulence.

Ping.

The fasten-your-seatbelt sign illuminates.

The officer sitting next to me doesn't move, so neither do I. He thinks he's in control because of his gun. My stomach can tell him it's really in charge.

Bounce.

Oh, no.

Thump.

Don't puke, Courtney. Do not puke.

With my wrists cuffed, I press my hand on my gut to fight back the nausea. I've been in a lot of messes before but nothing quite as big as this. My parents accuse me of trampling over anything to be seen or heard. School counselors say I have an overwhelming need to be validated. They're all nuts if they think I wanted this.

The small plane rocks and bounces toward the runway. Outside the small window, a layer of snow dusts the mountain range below. Not good. Most of my life was spent near the ocean in San Diego where it never snows. But living near DC for the last year, I learned that fast wheels don't work on icy surfaces. I brace myself for a crash.

Metal cuts into my wrists as I squeeze my hands together. I'm not the kind of person who regrets much, but man do I hate every minute I spent in Virginia. I hate that my father made us move. I hate Daniel. I hate Nicole. I hate my cousin Bailey. I might have messed up. But I didn't mess up alone.

With a bump, the back wheels of the plane grab tarmac.

I hold my breath and wait for us to spin out of control and smash into the side of a mountain. Good-bye life.

The front wheels drop.

I clench my jaw and tighten my shoulders. I don't know the best position for a plane crash. Who watches stupid safety demonstrations?

The brakes skid.

The wheels roll.

No spinning. I brave a look from the window. Surprise, surprise, no ice on the runway. Snow still tops the mountains, but the airport is dry.

"You okay?" The officer asks.

"Yeah," I say a little bit snarky.

He chuckles. "Just checking, thought I heard you say something like 'good-bye life.'"