Kylice Sea is a 15-year-old girl who lives in Rockfall Maine. On her street, Hunted Road, there's a mysterious house with a yellow door. Nobody has been seen coming in or out. Kylice lives in that house and is one of the only people who know what ha...
This day is just like any other. Wake up, get ready, go to school, sleep, repeat. I feel like a robot. But a robot at least has a purpose. I get dressed and go downstairs. The sun is barely up and my parents are gone. At least I assume so. Maybe they're just hungover or something. I kind of wish I knew them better, or maybe I just wish we got along better. I'm not sure anymore.
It's already 7:00. I need to be in school by 7:10 or else they lock the classroom doors. 3 strikes and it's lunch detention, 6 strikes and it's detention. Or the "After School Behavior Club". Literally one of the dumbest things to ever exist. They treat us like we're in elementary school. The only difference between that and actual detention is that one, it's only offered to freshmen and sophomores, and two, it doesn't go on your permanent record. Which I guess is better. Detention doesn't look great on college apps.
I skip breakfast like always and just walk up to the top of my driveway. I take the bus since my parents can't drive me, I can't drive, and I live too far to walk. I could walk to the bus stop which is the neighborhood a few houses down, but I live on a main road and it's too dangerous apparently. The bus is one of the most unpredictable things ever. It only comes either 5 minutes early and picks us up 5 minutes late from school, or comes 5 minutes late and picks us up on time. Or late again, who can tell. Half days are the worst though. My bus driver is pretty old and she always forgets it's a half day so she picks us up 20 minutes late.
It comes 5 minutes late and I get on the bus. How this driver hasn't gotten fired yet is beyond me. I'm the last stop on, first stop off. It's only a 5 minute ride but I wish it were longer. That's why I do clubs. The bus ride is normally 10-15 minutes on the late bus. Whenever I get on the bus I always wonder if they all think I'm spoiled because I get picked up at my house rather than at the neighborhood like most of the other kids. If they do then they've never said anything about it. At least not to me. I could see why they'd think that though. I get picked up at the top of a big driveway, with multiple cars in it, a four-story house with a yellow door, big yard, big windows, big garage, everything. I swear I'm not spoiled. My family has money, yeah, but I don't go around buying anything I want. I know when something's overpriced and I have my own job and money.
I just listen to music and make up scenarios on the ride like normal. It's a bit of a problem. I either pretend I'm a national known rockstar, a professional athlete, or an actor whose acted in multiple movies. There's never an in between. I don't know why I do it. Maybe I just do it for fun, or maybe it's just so I can pretend I have a life that's not this. Yes, my families wealthy, but I do wish I had a different life. My past isn't the best and I've never talked about it. Too scared to I guess.
The sad part about the bus thing is that I only have time to listen to one song, two or three if I start while I'm waiting. The bus pulls into the school late and we all get off. We all stand at the front office to get late slips, none of us can really afford the tardies. When it's finally my turn, the secretary is a senior. Some of them take first period as the secretary so they can get brownie points with the principals. She turns to me and asks for my name and homeroom.
"Kylice Sea, Mrs. Lilin."
"They talk about you a lot." She tells me, nodding her head towards the principals office as she writes on the slip and hands it to me. I just give her a confused look as I walk away.
I'm not a bad kid. I'm quite a good one. I'm friends with a good amount of people, I don't act up in class, I get good grades. Why the principals are talking about me is beyond me. I've never even gone to the counselor so they couldn't of told them anything.
I go down the hallways and turn left into the sophomore hallway. There are some stragglers but not many since homeroom has already ended and it's the start of the next period. I have English, figures. Mr. Rismin, also known as Mr. Raisin. Kind of a kiddish nickname but what can you do when you're a high schooler struggling to find a will to live?
I walk into the class, he's one of the very few teachers who doesn't lock his door.
"Ah, Miss Sea. How lovely of you to join us." He says enthusiastically, but he says it in a way that just irritates you to an unknown degree. I want to shove him out the window but it's the first floor so it wouldn't do much. Then again he is pretty old so the second you touch him, he'll probably turn into dust like Mother Gothel.
I give him a close-mouthed smile and hand him the slip as I go to sit at my seat. It's in the third row out of the five and is all the way the the right, right next to the windows.
I do it so I can look out the window in a daydreamy fashion like the main character I truly am. No, I just do it because there's normally the guy who does the landscaping out there and he almost always falls off the lawnmower or trips over nothing and it's quite intriguing to watch.
I put my bag down and stare out the window as the landscaper is trying to find the spade he misplaced which is literally right behind him.
"As I was saying, we are doing a project about theories! You're all going to be paired up with the person to the left of you and you are to right an essay about theories. Whether it be about how they aren't relevant, how they all prove something, or just about your favorite one, it doesn't matter just write an essay that has to do with theories!" I honestly wanted to do this assignment. I love theories and the logic behind them. Until I saw my partner.
Perseus Brint. AKA, Percy. One of the most annoying kids in my grade and the ex of one of my friends. If he was Percy Jackson, I would be in love with this assignment. But I got the short stick.
