Death to the Prom Queen

Chapter 1 ~ The curse of Meadow Hills High ~

School and me are not friends. At least me and my most recent school. Don't get my wrong i can't stand the 'know it all' teachers with their online degrees and piles of mindless homework either, but that's not the reason i despise school so much. This school is a bad omen for me. It seems whenever my feet hit the property line of Meadow Hills High that's when the bad shit starts coming my way.

In the past year of going to Meadow Hills i have broken my left arm skating the ramp outside the front entrance. I've caught my year long crush banging one of my friends behind the bleachers. And...Oh yeah! Now i'm being arrested for serial vandalism and distruction of private property on Junior prom night.

Yes serial vandalism. This isn't my first time rodeo. In fact to some people I'm actually kind of famous. Around my town and on the internet people named me "Skull Face". I'm a street artist. I tag pieces under a disguise. Kinda like a super hero... but instead a... teenage criminal foster kid. I'm known for the skull bandana i wrap around my mouth. Originally I just used it to protect myself from the fumes of the paint but after the moniker I can't really leave it behind.

Honestly, this is totally my fault. I should have known not to spray here with all the bad juju surround this place. But the temptation was too strong and my crew so persistent that I caved before I really put up a fight. And if we're being REALLY honest spray painting a peice against social hierarchy blonged nowhere else but on the school itself.

This peice that twisted my life into a total 180? The image was of a blonde teen socialite in a pink frilly dress and high heals dangeling from a noose. A shiny silver tiara sitting crooked on her pretty head. And in bold below, the title, "Death to the Prom Queen".

I had painted a bunch of peices like this all around town. One was of a stick of lipstick all the preppy girls owned in the same shade of 'bubble gum pink'. Newley labeled with a toxic sign for obvious reasons. I labeled that one "Bitch Gloss".

And after a couple months I even did one for the police on the side of the local Dunkin' Dounuts. It was a skeleton in vans running from an obese police officer. Under it read "You just missed me". They really upped the anti when they found that one. Every cop north of Cali was trying to find my ass. And I end up being taken down by the curse of Meadow Hills High. How sardonic. The great "Skull Face" taken down by a high school's bad juju.

The one upside to being arrested? The absolute shocking looks I got from some of the cops when they found out I was a girl. Everyone just assumed I was a boy. Which I can understand. No one but me and the crew knows that "skull face" is me. I use to hide my hair in the hood of my hoodie and the cops were to busy trying to keep up with us to determine much of anything really.

Down side of being arrested? THEY TOOK ALL MY SHIT. I wasn't suppose to have spray paint cans on me anyway (it's against the law if your under the age of 18 and sadly 17 and 1/3 doesn't count). And probably threw them all out. Do you know how expensive buying that much paint is?! I know I still have a few good cans at home but some of my best ones were in that bag. Like any artist their kit is their lively hood. To me? It's my soul. Art's always been in me. It just so happens this is the way I choose to express it. Luckily I left my fake I.D in my other bag so I can go and buy some more. (Not to mention that's a whole felony in itself) But a kit like that took months of saving. Months of tips from bussing tables at the bar.

The cop that caught me at the school is swapped for another one who looks much more professional in a tan suit. He looks like one of those guys off of C.S.I. He's older then the other one. Maybe in his late forty's early fifty's with salt and pepper hair and a mustache to match. After exchanging a few words with the other officer salt and pepper leads me down the maze that is the police station. The hallways are all white wall and white tiles and the boring white on white makes me lose track of where were going. If I tried to get out of here there's no way I could do it without getting lost.

After what feels like twenty minuets of walking down halls I decide to break the silence.

"Ok we've been walking forever and I haven't seen any fire exits. Are you sure this place is up to code?" I sarcastically remark.

I don't get a response. Salt and pepper just kept walking.

Finally we passed a door that we actually open and enter through. Or rather Salt and pepper opens the door for me and motions toward one of the chairs. "Sit."

It's nothing special. Just a interrogation room. A steel table sat bolted to the ground with three chairs surrounding it. One on one side facing the wall with a big window (which I assumed was where I would be sitting) and two on the other side facing the opposite direction.

"Wait here." He slides a  file I didn't notice he was carrying into a clear holder on the wall by the door, shut it, and left.

I don't see any camera's in the room, not to say there probably isn't any (i've seen spy movies) and who knows who's watching from the other side of this glass but I feel secluded. For a moment I wonder if that's intentional.

I suddenly wanted to go up to the glass and like knock on it or something. How long can they hold me here? I should probably ask for a lawyer. Are they going to hold me here for hours integrating me in this cold boring room?

The only thing other than the table and chairs in the room is the clear plastic file holder.

Wait. It's moderately sized and through the clear holder I can see that there's a label on it. I can't make out my name though.

In a rush of adrenaline I leap up and grab the folder from its spot.

Well I kind of guessed right. It does sort of has my name on it.

"Skull Face: vandalism, destruction of property, evading." I read aloud.

I open it up.

It doesn't have much at all to describe me but there's more here then I thought. There's even photos of all my pieces along with little field notes for each one. Apparently they called in a psychologist to "interpret" the meaning behind each one. She's actually pretty spot on from what I can skim through.

"The assailant's artwork touches on a number of social subjects and frames of reference popular in high school circles. The assailant targets societal norms of wealthy affluential students in a means of targeting those he/she determines as 'other'. This may mean the assailant is likely from a lower income household or is somehow seen as a 'outsider' among these groups."

Not bad. I continue,

"The assailant specifically targets female student circles leading me to wonder if he/she is actually female. If so the lack of positive female symbolism might refer to strained relationship between the artist and -"

-and that's enough therapy today.

I go back to my non evasive, non-specific, description.

"Hair color: unknown.
Eye color: unknown
Height: 5'5-5'7
Approximate age: 16- 19
Caucasian
Unknown gender." Well at least they have something to add. I can finally put a real name to my work.

I'm so engrossed in the file I don't process the footsteps coming down the hallway. Many pages reminiscing deep into photos of old pieces, the door swings open to reveal a short older man.

"Your not suppose to read that."