Kasha CraimerMature

            School is an ephemeral waste of time. There I said it and you heard me.

            And I know; no education, no future. But as far as I'm concerned, I'll have no future anyway. I have no money, no family, no stable friends and no will to do anything to change any of that. So, why do return to the same building every morning at a crippling early hour to just sit and watch some guy strut around and try to convince us that they knew something?

            I don't know. It's a habit. A pain in my ass, more like it. A huge pain in my ass, but it was the only pain I had left, pretty much. It is, I think, the only thing that keeps me from going over the edge, fall off the cliff, drowned in the confusion, etc.

            I was leaning over the reception desk, waiting for the secretary to stop yakking on the phone long enough to get me a late slip. She finally looked up and her lips pressed into a prim line. She gave me a hard look and held out my late slip.

            It's not exactly a good sign when the secretary knows your name, and exactly why you're there before you say anything.

            "Kasha Craimer. You know this is your fourth time being late this semester, you know what that means?"

            "Call my parents all you want, but you and I both know nothing will happen." I told her and snatched the slip of paper from her hand forcefully. "I don't care, they don't care; nobody cares!"

            "We care." She said simply and paged the principal.

            "Right," I said, unconvinced. "Dry that one out, and you cold fertilize the lawn."

            Mr. White came out of his office and strode over to the secretary's desk with brisk steps. His eyes strayed to me, and some on the liveliness drained from his eyes. All in all, he was a happy, giddy man who actually cared for students well being. Well, all except for mine.

            "Kasha," He addressed me like I was a deadly curse. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

            "She's been late four times this semester," The desk lady told him and tapped her fake nailed finger on the screen. "She needs a special punishment for her situation."

            "Shut up and give me my detention notice already." I snapped and slammed my fist on her desk, making other people in the office look in my direction. "We all know that's where this is headed."

            "With your behaviour, that's exactly where you'll end up." He handed me another slip, printed on pink paper this time, with his signature on it. "For the next week."

            "A week?!" I repeated, outraged. "You're giving me detention for a week because I was late a couple times? Well, that's fake and gay..."

            "Excuse me?" Mr. White asked and narrowed his eyes behind his frameless glasses.

            "You heard me. This is whack." I was steaming mad. "You can take this and shove it where the sun don't shine."

            The principal shook his head. "You will be at detention. I will escort you from your classes if you'd like."

            I smirked, but I was still furious. "Be my guest." I turned then, and pushed everything off the front slide of the secretary's desk. A flower pot smashed onto the floor, picture frames crashed, pencils rolled everywhere, and I disappeared through the double doors into the empty halls.

The End

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