The Facility

SEMESTER 1: Blood On The Table

How's your English?

Who would have thought that that question would lead to the worst punishment of his life.

Jimin was standing in front of the mirror in his room, not even using the object for what it was meant for. He was not looking at himself.

The guy's alarm clock was still going off but he did not have the will to raise his hand to stop it.

He had gotten here in the morning yesterday and then they had shown him around.

A massive building it was. Mainly because of all of the dorms and halls that it contained. There were many rooms for support group meetings for students.

Support group meetings. He thought with his dull eyes staring in space. Like he was some kind of troubled child. Like he wasn't someone who used to be the top of all of his classes and class captain every year. Like he wasn't supposed to be back at his top high school in Korea for his final year right now. Like he was . . . one of them. Some sort of outcast.

Americans . . . they have no discipline. He did not think of that with an air of anger at all. In fact, the thought caused his eyes to well up because he was afraid of Americans and their rough culture. What if he got hit in the face?? He had not even been here long enough to get used to anyone or anything. He was blank.

And worse enough this was a correctional facility school. He was bound to run into some of those ruffians he saw on TV in the American movies.

The only thing his parents kept telling him to keep him from panicking too much was that the school was expensive. Most of the students who went here came from wealthy families who wanted to straighten up their not so decent children. Some others may have been sent by other people who found that they needed help and decided to sponsor their aid. It had an overall rating of five stars from people who had graduated and apparently, whoever came from the school was expected to do great things. It usually turned the worst of the worst into some of the best people somehow.

I know how. Through being rough. To Jimin, the outside looked like a prison. It was probably so bad here that kids really wanted to escape so they did well just to get the heck out of the place. Yeah there were fancy uniforms that most American schools didn't have but he just didn't trust anything. All he kept dreaming of since the day his father said that he needed 'help' and that he was shipping him off to 'Jones' Academy for Troubled Youth', was a recurring nightmare of himself being hit in the face by some big American guy.

Jimin rubbed at his nose as he imagined it. I-I have never been hit before. What would that feel like? Awful.

He finally turned his alarm off and then took in a deep long breath.

He then released it and decided to get ready. At least he didn't have a roommate.

"It is what it is Jimin." He said in Korean. Hopefully he would adjust to the language shift quickly. Over the summer he had been taking rigorous English courses every single day.

Right now what he needed to do was focus on finishing his final year of high school here and then moving on. Hopefully he'd still get into a good university right?

His shoulders fell. Just get ready Jimin. Just try to get ready. So he dragged his feet away from the mirror towards his bathroom.

______________

Jimin had been shown his class yesterday so he knew where it was. Apart from regular classes like Math, English and Chemistry they also had 'sessions' every now and then. Those would be group meetings with some psychologist or other specialist. Just walking through these halls made him feel insane. What sort of labels would people impose on him now?