Young Writers Society

(ok, so we are all waiting at a gas station for a bus to pick us all up and take us to the Academy. This is where we all first meet. Anyone can join at any time, you must make an entrance of course. If you would like to play the role of multiple characters you may. If you want to make a character in the charter selection please do. You do not have to. Anything goes! You can be anything!)@Slaughtamelon
Characters:
Students: @Bambi

Preview…

You all are being sent to Pointview Academy, in the brochure it seems like a nice place. Nice teachers, good food, even has a swimming pool. So of course your parents thought it would be a wonderful idea to send you their, hoping it will help you. Thinking you will come back a changed human being, more respectful, thankful for what you got. In other words, its a school for the trouble.

Me:

I sigh as I walk over to the front of the gas station. I look for the closes bench their is and sit down. looking around I notice i'm the first one here, maybe even the only one. Thinking to myself

“Great I am alone at a station late at night waiting to be picked up by a bus and heading to who knows where this school is located.”.
I lean my head back against the cold wall and shut my eyes for a little while.

Eni:

“Miss, we’re here.”

I looked out the black car’s window into an equally black night. The intense glare of the nearby streetlights hurt my eyes, and I quickly looked away. Searching the scene for any signs of life, I spotted one other girl sitting on a bench in front of the gas station. I suppose she’s also here for the school… no one else would be out after dark… not around here.

The driver cleared his throat. “Um, miss, we’re here.”

“I can see that.” I replied, turning my eyes from the pristine glass of the window into the murky gloom of the car’s interior. I bent slightly to pick up my backpack, along with some other little bags--all made from plain, black nylon--then exited the car. Slinging the black backpack unceremoniously over one shoulder, I felt the rough material scraping against the nape of my neck, and hated it. The driver stepped out also, and headed to the trunk to take out my suitcase. I watched him for awhile, not wanting to look around at my dreary surroundings.

He presented me with my things, and glanced off to the side to avoid my stare. “Sorry about this, miss. I have to follow your parent’s orders.”

“Oh, do not be concerned. I will be fine.” I nodded curtly and dragged my heavy suitcase towards the benches, where the other girl lay with closed eyes.

The clatter of the black suitcase wheels alerted her to my presence, and she opened her eyes. I nodded at her, received a similar greeting, and sat on the bench next to hers. The black car that had driven me here growled slightly as its engines sputtered back into life, and soon it was gone. It left no sign--neither the car nor the driver did. Here I was, suspended in time, surrounded by unfamiliar things, and cut off from the only home that I know.

Suppressing a sigh, I began observing my soon-to-be schoolmate through the corners of my eyes--I’ve always been told that staring is rude, so I make my stares inconspicuous. She seemed to dread the idea of this school as much as I did, and I relaxed slightly, knowing that I was not alone.

Rose

"alright, kid. Get out." The driver of the prison bus grunted callously. I slowly stood up, and strode relaxedly over to the door. When I was beside him I shot the cuffs of my leather jacket as well as I could with handcuffs on, then moving rapidly, stuck out my cuffed wrists for him to unlock. I smirked when the driver flinched away. "What? I can't really do much schoolwork locked up like this. How am I supposed to 'Better my life' If I can't even write a history report?" The driver scowled at me and took out a set of key. he unlocked the cuffs and I shook the feeling back into my hands. I laughed to myself, remembering how afraid the driver was of me. He'd been a little paranoid around since arrest number 8 when I hijacked the bus. I hopped lightly down the steps, my short blonde hair bouncing a little as I skipped down. I was careful to keep everything I could in my line of sight. I didn't want to embarrass myself just because I couldn't see something on my right and I faceplanted. Being half blind can really take it outta you.
Instead of heading right towards the the bus station, I drifted over to the gas station behind it, staring at my reflection in the darkened windows.
I gazed into my own blue eye, regarding the scar slashing down the right side of my face. Secretly I was proud of the blemish. I had earned that winning a knife fight with some stupid kid who thought he could beat me. The downside was after that I socked the cop that had been trying to break us up, which lead to arrest number 12. I regarded my right eye, which was clouded over and sightless. I wasted no more time gazing at my appearance (There wasn't much to look at anyway) and strode over to the bench where two other girls were sitting. I paid them no attention. I never really got along with other girls. Or people in general. I slung my arm over the back of the bench, rested my head in the crook of my elbow, and fell asleep.

I had the horrible feeling that my parents had misunderstood.

When they said troubled kids... on the bench in front of me sit three kids. Whilst two of them look scary enough, staring sullenly into the dim evening, the third was next level. Her otherwise attractive face had a narrow scar right across her eye, which was so inflamed with stiff, ruddy scar tissue it didn't completely close, even though she was asleep. And there was a band of chafed skin on her exposed wrist.

How could they have sent me here? I wasn't a criminal, the only person I had ever damaged was myself- and even then, I didn't do drugs, or smoke- I didn't even drink! I didn't even make their lives hard. I was just a silent, passive presence in our home, maybe not the ideal daughter. I often saw them looking at each other when I walked in, with panic in their eyes, all to clearly asking, "What did we do? How did we let this happen?". But I wasn't a bad girl.

I stumbled forward, and perched on the very edge of the now crowded bench. My hands were shaking now, much harder than usual. I dug my nails into my thin arms, but that couldn't warm me up. I was wearing two fleeces, but the frigid night air that I pulled into my lungs radiated aching cold into my core. The others didn't look nearly so cold; I was more sensitive than most, having very, very little body fat.

It was a relief to put down my duffle bag- I had been worried my shoulder joint would dislocate under the strain. when I had first packed, I had thoughtlessly put in my hyper-accurate digital scales, whole armfuls of books, and half my wardrobe. I tried to lift my bag, and found that my weakened body couldn't straighten, although it only weighed fifteen pounds or so.I took out the clothes, and half the books.

Clearly, these girls hadn't been packing light, unlike me. They had big, heavy, official looking suitcases- just one more way they were better prepared for this than me.

I was no social butterfly, but this oppressive silence was starting to worry me. I shot a quick glance along the bench- and met the startling eyes of the scarred girl.