HOLY

Kaida Knox

Chapter One

            "Trinity Marcovets, please come to the principal's office. I repeat, Trinity Marcovets to the principal's office."

            The intercom filled the whole damn room. Did they honestly need to use it? Why not just send a messenger guy from the office to come get me? Well, actually, I normally get a kick out of it when kids get called to the office via intercom...

            The only reason I thought about the messenger thing was because, well, I'm Trinity Marcovets. It's not as funny when it's you. You'll probably find that out one of these days.

            I guess everyone else in the class thought it was though, because as a packed my things into my backpack, a roar of laughter could be heard for miles around. I tried not to think about them, because I normally don't, but you know it's kind of hard to when the people you're trying to ignore are all staring and pointing and laughing at you. I hate people...at least the ones at my school. They all suck.

            It took a few seconds, but I finally got my over-sized history book into my backpack. I looked around the classroom before grabbing my bag up off the floor, and you know what? They were still laughing. How can someone laugh for sixty seconds straight? Okay, I'll just go back to ignoring them. Grabbing my backpack I almost raced out of the room, anxiety piercing my heart. Why? I have no idea. Anxiety has been apart of me for my whole life. You could say I was born with anxiety ripping my head apart. And just so you know, it is not very fun.

            The hallways of my school were never very inviting. Normal high schools have decorations the students made littering the hallways' walls, but not at mine. The ugly off-white paint didn't seem very happy. It was supposed to be. It was supposed to make the students feel welcome and at home.

            Why? Well, in case you haven't noticed yet, my school isn't exactly like a normal high school. It is more of a mental institute for kids that just happened to be in grades 6-12. It had small dorms, nasty food, no lockers, and stupid teachers, so nothing was really very inviting or happy or anything, but no one seemed to notice a lot. Most of the kids here were in the popular crowd back at their old schools, then got into drugs or alcohol or something and got sent here. So, a lot of the kids are friends with each other, and generally happy. Or whatever a poppy would call happy. If I were one of them I'd be miserable.

            Me? Well, I'm happy. On my standards. Most of the kids here call my attitude shitty, crappy, or downright bad. I'm the only one here of my kind, which means I'm no poppy, obviously, and the other kids don't really like it. But do I shut up and play nice with the other kids? No. What's the point? They hate me anyway. I'm one of the kids they'd call a "goth", but I don't really like being called that. I'm me, not a "goth" or a "punk" or a "rocker" or anything. Just "me". I think it works a lot better than being a clone of everyone else.

            I'm an old hand at this school compared to everyone else here. I've been here since grade 6. Most people get out six months to a year after they come, but I was so messed up they kept me. So now I know all the staff members by first name and they hate it. Actually, I think they just hate me. Oh well. Screw them.

            Up the hall, turn left, there ya go. The principal's office. You know, in my first year here, I was pretty intimidated my this big, hideous brown door that said "Buckler" on it, but now I think I was just being an idiot. How can someone be scared of a dumb ass door? Well, I was an idiot back then... I mean, I actually let them bring me to this stupid place. I should have covered for myself better, now that I think of it.

            Anyway, looking at that door did bring back memories. But I can't really think of any of them at this point, so I'll just walk through the door. You know, I would, but I think my arms are bolted to my sides. Am I still so dumb that a stupid inanimate object can still strike fear in the gallows of my soul?

            No, I just don't like the way the window looks. Yeah, there's a spot on it. The maids will be hearing about this. If the school's not completely spotless every morning, the maids have to work overtime and clean the dorm rooms. I hope they'll leave mine alone this time... last time they totally messed up my book collection. And they threw away my lipstick and nail polish and eyeliner, so I had to buy new ones. And in times like these those things don't come cheap. I had to go six months without baby powder!

            My arm finally became mobilized and I turned the stupid silver knob slowly. There was also a couple of spots on it. When I get through with them, I don't think the maids are going to like me very much.

            The door was heavy, but it was nothing I couldn't handle. I became immune to the overwhelming thickness of the doors in this school years ago. The office was the same as always, a few shelves here and there, all filled with non-organized papers, two hard brown chairs for students, two rolling chairs with pads for teachers or parents, and a brown desk filled with more papers that didn't seem to have a particular home. Behind the desk sat an executive's chair, ripped, I might add, and sitting in the chair was the principal himself. I hate this room. Disorganization annoys me.

            That being said, the principal annoys me even more than his stupid office. He has long sandy hair that never is tamed or pulled back, his suit is always ruffled, so on.

            Principal Buckler sat behind his big, stupid desk on his big, stupid chair looking through a kid's file. Most likely my file. But he should have that memorized by now.

            Buckler raised his head when he heard me slamming the door behind me. I crashed into a hard brown and threw my bag on the ground next to me. And you know what he did? He chuckled. "Hello, Trinity."

            "Sup?" I asked, not wanting to get into a full conversation. But who would when they were just itching to throw everything in the damn room out the second story window behind their principal?

            "Well, Miss Marcovets, how have you been doing?" Buckler asked me, resting his head in his hands, as if he really wanted to know. But I knew better. Buckler was 25, and because of his age, thought he knew what all the kids at this school were going through.

            "Cut the crap, Buckler. What the hell am I here for?" I asked, slamming my combat boots on his desk for a foot rest.

            Buckler shook his head, still chuckling. I hate that laugh. I hate laughing period. Why do people laugh? What's the point? "No need for language like that, Miss Marcovets. I just wanted to know how you are doing."

            "You wouldn't have called me down here for that, Buckler. You and I both know that." And I did. I've known the principal for four years, spending a good chunk of that time in this very office, being lectured and "helped". "So what am I here for, Doc?" I asked, dragging out the "Doc" part. Buckler was training to be a doctor when the institution called him for a job interview to be the principal at this here merry joint. And guess what happened?

            "Well, if you really want to know, I have a proposition for you, Miss Marcovets." Buckler told me, looking down at my file.

            "I ain't no lawyer, Buckler. Small words," I reminded him. I crossed my arms across my chest. I knew perfectly well what "proposition" meant, I just didn't want to give that away. My background is a trailer park, for crying out loud. I guess I was the smart one in the batch.

            Buckler ignored me, though. "If you do this for me, you can go home."

            That got my attention. But I didn't show him that either. I learned very early on not to display emotion until you are completely sure the person or people you are with are trustworthy. Buckler's not. "Yeah? What kind of thing we talkin' 'bout, Buckler?"

            "I thought that might interest you." Buckler lifted his head up from my file. "You have two brothers, correct?"

            "What's it to ya, old man?" I don't know why, but it gave me great joy to toy with Buckler about his age. 25 isn't very old, but it's older than me, so he's an old dude in my eyes.

            "Both older, right? You would like to see them again, wouldn't you?" Buckler asked, looking genuinely interested in my life. I think he should keep his nose out of my life. Everyone else, too. They don't really care, and neither does Buckler. But I guess Buckler took some classes at one of those fancy-smancy university places. A diversity university, he says. He can make anyone feel like he really wants to help them. But he doesn't. He just wants to benefit himself.

            "What d'you wanna know?" Of course I would like to see my brothers again. I would love to. But I don't really know where they are now... Would they even remember me? It's been four years, and I've grown... they probably have too... "What do I gotta do, Bucky Baby?" Pet names always got his attention. Students having pet names for Buckler is his biggest pet-peeve; I learned that on the very first day. Worst day of my life.

            Buckler leaned forward in his chair, seemingly uneffected. "You will have to monitor another student. A new student."

            I sighed, dissapointed. "That's all? For how long?"

            "Six months." Buckler replied leaning back. "That's not too long to wait, is it Miss Marcovets?"

            I shook my head. It actually was, but I could wait. That's six months I have to put off my suicide. Damn.

            "The student will be arriving momentarily, so wait in here. I will be out greeting him." Buckler looked excited... almost ecstatic. Wierd... I nodded. I watched him leave, and I thought about the new kid. I had to take him around and show him where the bathrooms and shit were? For the bargain price of freedom? Hell yeah. I'm home free now.

            I waited with my eyes closed, trying to think about anything but the idiotic room. I filled my mind with thoughts of this new student. Who was he? Why do I have to "monitor" him? What's the big deal? Well, I guess we'll find out, huh?