Chapter Text
The skin around Vanessa’s fingertips bleeds as she picks through them, looking down at the pristine sandy colored granite flooring beneath her boots, sitting in a suede maroon chair beside her father. By now, she’s tuned out a majority of their conversation. She only looks up to the extent of the dark oak desk with a white marble top. The crested logo of the rehabilitative, reformatory school office. Long fringing blonde locks hang down over her shoulders. To the stranger at the desk, it is father and daughter. They share the same blue green eyes, except her father’s are cold and lifeless.
He peers at the administrator in the desk chair across from him - through wide, thin metal frame wire glasses.
“And you see, Mr. O’Connor, my girl has no spunk about her.” He explains. He gestures to her, to which she hardly picks up her head in shame.
“I’m afraid I’m not understanding Mr. Shelly.” The admin answered.
“I need her to go to your school so she can ship-shape up. Get her to grow a spine, and make some real choices for herself.” A hand slaps her back, and her body tenses. “You are the best people to handle kids, any kind with behavioral problems? This one has nothin’. No personality. No loyalties. Peer pressure isn’t the way, that’s for sure.” His voice borders being nasally, and an unnerving laugh escapes his throat. Vanessa’s body doesn’t untense until William goes back to talking with his hands. “What’dya say? I told you, money isn’t an issue. I just want what’s best for my little girl.”
“I cannot argue with a man who holds his opinion so highly of us. Allow us to provide a tour of the facility, and we will begin the paperwork.” She wants to scoff at his answer. The mention of money was all it took to ship her off.
She reluctantly drags behind her father as they walk the granite stone flooring that lines the halls and classrooms. The ceilings are high and grand with dramatic chandeliers, hanging by the chain. The walls are blank - nothing but carved and varnished dark oak with wall light fixtures to add extra light outside of the great class windows. They have the lovely added feature of iron security bars. Despite the prison-like mirror it presents itself in, Willow Creek had many amenities that seemed to suit and keep students busy. Nice science labs, computer labs, a grand library that spans two stories with many tables and small nooks to hide in. Home economics, a photography darkroom. A great pool, a large gymnasium, a beautiful garden and courtyard. It presents itself so homely and proper, it could trick anyone into stepping foot into its comforting mouth to be swallowed whole.
Her black boots trudge along the floor, crossing her arms over her chest. Similar to the school color, she’s kept warm in the crisp autumn weather by a sweatshirt from her former high school. Maple Grove Senior High School. The white text is embroidered, and she pulls her sleeves over her palms. She rolls the fabric between her fingers. Blonde hair falls forward, and she tucks it behind her ears as they walk and she listens to the pointless rambling of the administrator and her father. Things like extracurriculars, clubs. Meeting peers of unique yet similar minds. The halls are silent because students are in class. They stroll through the dorm rooms - walking down the hallways. They are unoccupied, so quiet a pin could drop and it could be heard everywhere. The administrator opens the door to an empty room - save for working desks, closet doors, and twin sized mattresses on opposite sides of the room. Mr. Shelly’s mouth forms a crooked, unnerving grin.
“Here is where you would stay. Lucky for you I suppose, you haven’t gotten a roommate yet Ms. Shelly.” Mr. O’Connor speaks to her directly, while glancing up at her father. “I think you’ll learn a lot being here. The faith your father has in us and what we’ve discussed over past meetings makes me think this will be a positive experience for you.” She stares up at him, and bites her tongue, nodding wordlessly - perpetuating the thought and idea that she is spineless .
“When can we get her enrolled? We live a coupl’a hours away, it wouldn’t be too bad to get her in here by…Friday?” Mr. Shelly looks down at his watch, thinking of the day - Tuesday. “I got work and can’t call out on 24 hours notice, but I’ll let ‘em know I need time off the next few days to get Nessa’s stuff packed.” He hangs an arm around her, pulling her close in a half-hearted hug that she does not return, and hugs in return limply.
“That sounds just grand, Mr. Shelly. We look forward to it. We’ll return to the office, and finish up and provide a packing list for your daughter.” Mr. O’Connor responds, no longer pretending to pay attention to her. The adults are talking , a phrase her father said frequently rings through her mind. A bell rings, and her father reaches out and takes her hand, as if she were a little girl while they walk to the office. Her other hand is at her side, picking at the loose thread at the bottom of her sweater. As they walk back, a boy’s shoulder brushes against hers - and they shift directions to look at each other and apologize.
“I’m sorry -” They both get out, locking eyes. He glances down at her sweater, then back up at her wide eyed and she looks down. Within those few seconds, her heart flutters. His messy brown hair, small bit of scruff that grows on his face - square jaw, kind eyes. He looks almost taken aback after looking at her sweatshirt.
“Come on, Nessa. We gotta get home by sundown.” Her father calls, dragging her onwards. She looks back again over her shoulder as they continue walking.
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Mike was in a rush out of class when he left the equivalent of a finances class, taught by an aging relic of an old man. It was boring, but he needed to learn these kinds of things for going home and taking care of his sister. Abby. Learn how to do taxes, how to cook, how to be a better boy - man - for his sister when he gets home. It wasn’t an ideal situation to leave her with their aunt until he got home, but he would do anything for her. Lost in thought, his backpack slung over his shoulder, not paying attention - his shoulder crashes into another.
At first he wants to give her a dirty look, annoyed that she isn’t looking where she’s going. She turns back towards him - he looks up to see her being escorted by a man with grey and white hair, a lemon colored button up with khaki colored slacks. Her blonde hair swings in the movement, and her eyes - colors like the tide - look at his own hazel green irises. He glances down at the text on her maroon sweatshirt, reading it.
Maple Grove Senior High School
CLASS OF ‘03
He feels his face grow red in turn, and the urge to talk to her strikes - but he looks down at her interlocked fingers to her father. She looks back to him again as he reminds himself to start walking again, but the need to know her did not go away. The day went by slowly, horribly agonizingly slow as he went from class to class. Every time the bell rang, he felt like a hammer was pounding in his chest. Would he see her in the hall again?
And what are the odds, she’s from the same town as him?