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SETTING: SEATTLE, WASHINGTON. REDMOUND HIGH SCHOOL TIME: 4.36p.m
IVY DULCE WAS A NAME THAT DIDN'T SOUND DETENTION WORTHY. Thank God, it resonated expensive, luxurious for a below par man to even read yet her "luxurious" ass sat unwillingly pert in the plastic blue chair awaiting for the hour to ultimately finish. Every so often she'd sweep the under of her bottom, dusting off her layered chiffon tennis skirt that modishly matched her wheaten beige sweater that clung to her willowy frame; her back feverishly grazed the back of her chair.
Doodling mindlessly into her notebook, her deep eyes watching her pen etched into the thin paper, she knew she don't belong here. See, Ivy could drive— barely —but could drive nonetheless: She had a stunning frost white audi, she had the license but her Latina mother had this strange fucking mindset as if Ivy driving in the morning is completely unsafe because 'her brain isn't fully awake'. So forth, she walked drenched in the tumultuous rain to school, thirty minutes late.
On an conventional day, the receptionist would've probably let her off; Ivy had a charming smile, perfect attendance, a high GPA and exceptional grades however; Rules are rules. No matter how much 'rules' right now, screwed her right over.
On the bright side, for the first fucking time, she finally understood the concept of detention. Before today, it would've been a complete different story. It's undeniably unquestionable to acknowledge that 99% of the time, it's the same students attending. Befuddled looking, edgy type of people who were labelled delinquents. If people aren't learning their mistakes, then detention is a shitty waste of effort? Pointless.
However, Ivy realised detention is specifically calibrated for people precisely like her; Embarrassingly goodie-two shoes, demure and puritanical students.
Detention felt like an eternal anguish as each hour cackled dauntingly in her pretty face as she groaned mentally into the palms of her clammy hands ( Ivy is a little dramatic to say the least ). Glaringly obvious she didn't belong here nor would opt to ever return, finally serving the actual purpose of detention. Hopefully, the opportunity never arises again.
"Late again!" The administrator snapped, his hairy hand writing something probably bad down.
Ivy didn't half-realise the mahogany doorway was swung widely open, with a frazzled looking boy standing there, his backpack strap gripped in one hand, dripping rain water on the floorboards. The entire classroom sharply twisted their heads towards the front, including Ivy. She stared at him and her stomach just—Flipped.
Darker gingery—blonde undefined curls rambled against his pale forehead, half stuffed into a skull designed fitted cap feathering his high cheekbones. Underneath burnt oakwood eyes stare dauntingly at the administrator. A blazing vague obscurity following his pupils gaze; Miles and miles of mystery no detective would have the talent to uncover. Pretty roseate lips tugged into a disgruntled frown, his face resembled a Godlike renaissance painting that Ivy would love to paint in her free time. Definitely the cheekbones, and sloped nose that held that impression. Baggy black tee void of any printed design that hung loosely onto his lean torso, coordinated with his cargo pants, an outfit that Ivy eyed conspicuously.
