The Phoenix, the Caged, and the Key (The Good Girl's Bad Boys Fan Fiction)

Chapter 3 - The Caged: Dartwell High Part One

"Claire Walker"

The voice of a middle aged woman echoed through the entire room filled with students whom I believe to be transferees like me.

"Claire Walker"

Her voice grew irritated as she could not find the student named "Claire Walker."

"CLAIRE WALKER!"

I heard her scream for the third time, probably getting angry at how no one is coming near the counter to fetch the schedules for the classes.

My senses slapped me in the face and I realized she was calling me–or like, the incognito me. I chuckled, incognito me, it sounded so... spy-like.

Before the middle aged woman get even more angry-slash-annoyed, I made myself focus on what's happening instead of getting lost in my mind.

"Oops that's me, I apologize," I state as I make my way through the crowded waiting space. I was in complete shambles that I forgot that it was my name, forgot that I and my family are once again going incognito. I never wanted to move through different places because I was forced to do it. My father was really insistent that we do even if it was against my will–I mean, come on, moving in through different places once you get used to living in one is pretty depressing.

Think of it this way, you are building a construction made of legos and once you are about to complete it, somebody comes in and knocks it down–making you feel distraught or maybe feel pain if you step on it. It was hard to move on once the life you knew would be falling to the ground in pieces and you stand there trying another way how to restart, how to get out of square one.

"Are you deaf like Hellen Keller, girl?" the annoyed middle aged woman asks with saliva (or more like, venom) coming out of her mouth as she placed emphasis on the word "girl".

"Oh...sorry," I muttered, quite unsure, "I'm not deaf but I do thank you for comparing me to somebody great like Helen Keller." I smiled sweetly–trying to make her wrinkled face laugh but that joke was to no avail for she slammed my schedule into my chest.

"Girls like you are the reason why America is shit," she spat.

"Are you even allowed to speak like that in this school?" I asked, slightly taken aback because I'm completely new to the entire schooling system. But then again, why wouldn't I be when I grew up getting my education at home with no other interaction besides my father and my older (adopted) brother, Alain?

Speaking of Alain, I'm still getting used to his new (lame) name 'Allan'. When I asked my dad why my name stayed the same and Alain's was different, he simply said it's because it's too European here on America and our business here is none of mine so that adds the mystery to it, leave the sixteen year old girl clueless so you could blame her when she messes it up–nice thinking.

"Oi! Are you even listening?" The middle aged woman angrily asks.

"Yes, yes something like America is crap."

"Good that you're paying attention," she sternly replied.

I was on my way to my next destination–which was room 412 when I bumped into somebody. Yet again, another 'accident' I'm quite prone to these days.

"Oooof" the person said, still massaging his forehead.

"Didn't see you there, sorry 'bout that lassie," he said with a thick Irish voice that I secretly loved.

"Well, it's quite ironic since we have the same height," I giggled a he laughed hard which is still new to me since I do not have a clue on how to "socially interact" with other people.