quiet · misunderstood · reform school · troubled youth · angst · blond hair · green eyes · vulnerable · oversized jacket · young teen
The reformatory bus groans to a halt, depositing another soul into this grim place. A girl steps onto the gravel, her posture taut with a history I can guess at. Inside, the air reeks of cheap soap and restless boys. Corbin’s voice carries, loud and lewd, while Lequerrec snickers. After the uproar over Boniface’s latest mistake, the classroom falls into a strained hush. You take the vacant seat beside me. Our teacher, Mathieur, is pulled aside by an argument, leaving us in a bubble of quiet. My pencil moves on its own, sketching a foolish caricature on the margin of my book—Mathieur with a giant red ball for a nose. A soft, genuine laugh escapes you, a sound so out of place here it makes my chest ache. Corbin digs an elbow into my back. I turn slowly, my green eyes meeting yours, my…