When Dallas Baird, lovingly doted a "troubled teen" by the society she so dearly despises, is left to rot at a therapuetic boarding school somewhere in the middle of dark and rainy Oregon, the last thing she expects is to get caught up in a murder i...
Dallas walked into the room and had to fight against her better judgment not to turn around and walk right back out. There was no way anyone actually expected her to stay here.
The room itself wasn't so bad; a twin-sized bed, a desk, and a wardrobe for each of the girls. The roommate is what Dallas was worried about. She hadn't even met the other girl, but it felt as if she'd known her all her life.
The right side of the room looked like it'd never been touched before, let alone lived in, but the left side was an explosion of personality.
Above the bed, the wall was covered in vinyl records, organized by color, to the point where it could be wallpaper. The bed itself was a mountain of colorful pillows piled on top of a fuzzy comforter that looked as if it were made from the fur of a baby blue yeti. Two windows sat in between the beds and twin desks pressed against the back wall, draped in a sheer fabric with white star cutouts plastered to the gauzy material.
"Let's see," Mrs. Graves mumbled. She glanced at the baby pink smart watch on her wrist. "Your hall should be at extracurriculars right now, but I presume your roommate will be back in time for free time so you can meet her."
The woman shut the door behind Dallas and her parents, pointing to a paper taped to the back of it. "Here's your daily schedule. I meant to have one printed out for you upon arrival, but never got the chance. We switch off classes on an A/B schedule. On Maroon days you'll have History and Art on Gold days, etcetera, etcetera."
Dallas blocked her out as she babbled on about extracurricular activities being required and whatnot to study the schedule.
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"Therapy session?" Dallas blurted, interrupting what was probably a very important discussion about punctuality.
Mrs. Graves startled, pursing her lips in disapproval, and hummed her assent. "In fact, I'll show you there next if you'd like. Parent-child sessions will be held every week on Wednesdays."
Dallas' father turned to her mother and muttered, "Parent-child therapy?"
"Jare, I told you about this," she replied in hushed tones.
"Do we both need to be there for that?" He asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Dallas' face grew hot with shame.
Her mother recoiled. "Yes, of course we both have to-"
"I've got to work, Amanda!"
"Jared-"
"I thought we were both going back to Sacramento," he continued.
"Jared!"
"Isn't that the whole point of a boarding school?"
Dallas' mother tried to smile away her grimace, but failed miserably. "Jared."
