The car ride to the school was stonily quiet. The last defiant sparks of fight in him had already been snuffed out hours ago by a sharp snap from his mother--it’s already done, Kyle, and your attitude won’t change anything, so grow up and wipe that look from your face--but that didn’t mean he was going to making himself fucking happy about it. His teeth remain grit and his lips pursed and considering the fact that his parents were fucking abandoning him in some random-ass part of the state for his own good, then Kyle at least thought they should share in his suffering and be subject to his silent seething. (For his own good his ass; he can laugh about it.)
They arrive at the boarding school and, subjectively, it looked like a grand old place, like some miniature university--very well off with sophisticated architecture, reeking of a social class for privileged twats with their iron gates and regulatory uniforms and urgh, he fucking hates it already. His parents drop him off at the reception entrance with his single suitcase and a kiss in the air before they’re already speeding off, as if they couldn’t wait to get out of here too.
Kyle’s returned smile at them had been subtle poison.
He goes through the motions, checking in at the reception desk. He can just believe that they checked his bags for any prohibited goods; it was a process that was becoming more common lately so he isn’t exactly surprised. He scowls, though, when they frisk him and confiscate his utility knife from his pocket. Damn bastards.
Feeling out of place and naked, like he’d just walked into a prison (not to be melodramatic or anything but fuck it), he makes his way to his dormitory room. The only thing that could make this whole experience worse is if he had a prick of a roommate (considering what kind of place this was, highly probable); still, he prays to God that the kid he’ll be living with for the rest of his middle school (and eventually high school) days was someone quiet.
