Bradford.

33. Set.

Chapter 33: Set.

"Excuse me." I say, shuffling through the crowd. I hit a fellow freshman as I push people in front of me.

"Hey, watch where you're going." She yells as I keep walking.

"Sorry." I yell as I make my way to the administration building.

You're probably wondering why I'm going there on this fine Tuesday morning. Well, I'll tell you why.

Over the weekend, I went to this rave with Tobias and Riley. Tobias got into a fight with this dude. It was a whole mess. The guy thought my Porsche was Tobias' car because he saw him get out of it. Long story short, that guy and his friends torched my car and ran away after. I'm not talking to Tobias right now, or Riley. I'm so mad at the two of them.

Some friends they are.

Anyway, the school's blaming me for the fire. Since Tobias and everyone else ran away and left me at the scene, teary-eyed and all. I had to call the fire department and it took them a while to get there. By the time they had arrived, my car was totally burnt and the fire had spread and caught two buildings. Thankfully, it only burnt the paint off the walls, nothing too major. I have a meeting with the Vice Chancellor in ten minutes.

This fucking sucks.

So much for the 'Bradford experience'.

"Good morning. I have a meeting with Mr. Mendes today." I tell the blonde receptionist.

"Name?" She asks me.

"Valarie Stone." I tell her and she nods before she types the words into her computer.

"Second floor, first office." She says after a while and I nod.

I walk towards the elevator and I press the button. When the elevator doesn't come, I take the stairs instead.

I'm already late as it is, I can't wait for this stupid elevator.

I arrive at the office and I take a deep breath before I walk in.

As I enter the office I see my parents and all the blood immediately drains from my face. Staring at them in shock, I freeze in my place.

"Miss Stone, so glad you could join us. Have a seat." Mr. Mendes says and I gulp.

I walk towards the chair and seat down beside my dad.

"Mr. and Mrs. Stone, we've called the two of you here to discuss your daughter's actions this past weekend. She started a fire on school property. Thankfully there were no fatalities." He says and I roll my eyes.

"With all due respect sir, I didn't start the fire. Why in God's name would I torch my own car?" I ask him.

"I don't know, maybe you did it to show that you're independent and you don't need mummy and daddy's handouts." He says, shrugging.

That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard.

"We gave her the car as a gift, I don't know why she would do this." My father says, rubbing his forehead.

"Do you think she needs therapy?" My mother asks the old man.

Oh, here we go.

"That would help. It'll help her control her anger. And it certainly would prevent her from torching the whole school up." He says, before he starts writing something on a piece of paper.

"Anger? I'm not angry. Two dumb dudes got into a fight in the parking lot of Hamilton Hall and one of those idiots lit my car on fire and now I'm the one getting the blame?!!" I tell.