Dallas' eyes flicked open as the car rumbled along a particularly bumpy patch of road. Groggily, she removed her earbuds, still blasting Bon Jovi. How she managed to sleep through that, she had no idea. Dallas shoved her sketchpad--currently doubling as her pillow--into her backpack and looked out the window, blinking the glaze of sleep from her eyes.

The road was worn, more gray than black. Deep green trees lined the path; a chorus of pine, maple, and oak singing in the breeze. The sky was overcast in a blanket of clouds, hiding the sun from Dallas who had her cheek pressed against the cool glass to gaze out the window. Dallas had to admit, it was quite beautiful. Almost like a painting. She tried to commit the scenery to memory, keeping her eyes wide to capture every aspect so she could turn it into just that.

"Pretty, isn't it?" Her mother commented. Her eyes were fixed straight ahead, but Dallas knew she was speaking to her.

And the appeal to paint it was gone. "It looks like it's gonna rain."

Dallas' mom turned to face her daughter, graying ginger hair swishing over her shoulder. Her thin lips pulled down in a frown. "You love the rain."

"No, I don't," the girl spat. She shifted closer to the car door, refusing to give her mom the satisfaction of meeting her eyes.

"But-" her mother was relentless- "you used to sit on the porch swing during thunderstorms to sketch. I thought-"

"'Manda." Dad's voice was tired and commanding. "Just drop it."

A tangible silence fell over the car, thick and suffocating like breathing in marsh sludge. Dallas turned back to the window, counting the houses as they sped by. Each one was as worn down as the rest of town with faded gray and brown walls broken up by the occasional lemon yellow door. It was quiet here. Dallas didn't like it. She'd grown used to the constant hustle and bustle of California. Crestview, Oregon was the stark opposite.

The car's turn signal clicked in a syncopated two-count beat as the Bairds turned up a winding road. Gravel crunched beneath the car's wheels. Dallas watched a silver alley cat scamper out of the street, twitching its tail indignantly as if to chastise her father for being such a reckless driver.

"At the fork, take a slight left and your destination will be on the right," an automated voice advised from within Jared Baird's cellphone. He obeyed.

The gray Volkswagen lumbered through the remaining distance. The school yard was encased by box hedges with a black, wrought iron fence sticking out from the middle of the bushes. Dallas' father rolled down his window and punched a six-digit code into the keypad mounted on the fence post. The gate screeched as it opened, welcoming Dallas into her new prison cell.

The road, a gravel path that hardly even qualified as a road, wound around a red brick building and widened into a parking lot suited for no more than a few dozen cars. Half of the spots were taken; one, Dallas noticed, by a black police cruiser.

She grumbled silently to herself. If there were cops or security guards here all the time, it'd be a lot harder to sneak out without getting caught, but that'd be a problem for future Dallas. Procrastination was her friend, preparation, on the other hand, was not.

The gentle purr of the engine quieted as her father parked the Volkswagen next to a little red car. Shoving the door open, Dallas stumbled outside, shaking out her tired limbs.

Two enormous brick buildings towered over her. Three rows of windows lined the school's front of the biggest building. Dallas caught a glimpse of someone peering out at her from the second floor, face shrouded by dark curtains, but it vanished before she could decide whether it was really there or just a figment of her imagination.

Creamy white trim decorated the roof and divided each story from the next. A triangular overhang cast a dark shadow over the stairs leading up to the wooden double doors.

"Come on," her father said gruffly. He popped the trunk and began removing Dallas' things from within it.

The girl mocked him, but obeyed for once, throwing the black strap of her Jansport bag over her shoulder. "Don't you have to like, register for this? I don't think they accept walk-in psychopaths."

"You've been on the waiting list for a while," came her dad's answer, "a spot opened up two weeks ago and we accepted this morning. And it's not a school for psychopaths."

"Sure sounds like it." Dallas rolled her eyes and grabbed the handle of her suitcase while her dad carried her duffle. The little plastic wheels clunked over the rocky path, bouncing over every bump.

The reality of the situation had finally begun to sink in to Dallas as her parents escorted her across the parking lot. She was going to live here. Alone. For who knows how long. Her stomach twisted at the thought, but she threw a steely expression over her face.

Just as they reached the cement steps, the door opened as if sensing their arrival. A wavy haired boy, escorted by two others, stepped outside. The boy, roughly her age by Dallas' estimate, gave her a once over, scrutinizing Dallas with dark brown eyes widened in surprise. Whether he was surprised to see her in general or surprised by her fabulous fashion sense was left up to interpretation. If you asked Dallas, however, it was the latter.

"Excuse us," said a voice from behind the black haired boy. The man who it belonged to stepped out, guiding the boy out of the way with a gentle hand on his back. His thin lips were drawn in an even thinner line to match the worry lines creasing his forehead. Dallas' eyes fell to his waist where a gun holster and badge were hooked to his black leather belt. The owner of the police cruiser outside. A cop. It was safe to say, Dallas didn't like cops.

The third member of their party brought up the rear. She too had a silver brooch pinned to her waist with the letters CCPD printed on it. The woman looked younger than her partner, but held an air of authority that dubbed her the leader in the partnership. Her dark hair was slicked back and her eyebrows were shaped with edges sharp enough to kill a man. Dallas wouldn't be surprised if she had done it before. Kill a man, not necessarily with her eyebrows.

Dallas' mother recovered from the strangers' sudden presence first and quickly muttered her apologies even though she hadn't done anything to warrant the remorse.

Dallas' gray eyes followed the boy with the cops as they escorted him to a police car. From the three seconds she'd known him, the boy didn't strike her as someone who'd do anything illegal. Something about his eyes gave that much away. Sure, his muscles were the size of her thighs, but there was something about the way he held himself, as if being pulled towards the ground by a weight strapped to his chest, caught Dallas' interest. Curiosity begging to be fed.

He carried no luggage, which was a good sign. That meant he'd be returning after whatever the cops wanted with him, giving her an opportunity to figure out why they'd taken him in the first place. Maybe-

"Dallas," her father hissed through gritted teeth, tapping his foot impatiently. "There's no time for this, go inside."

And the internal monologue was shattered. She scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize we were in a rush. Anxious to get rid of me?"

"I have a meeting in an hour. I want to get somewhere with better service, so no, I don't need you dawdling."

He was right. The school was at the top of a hill, not an exceptionally steep one, but tall enough that spotty cell service came as no surprise. Giving her dad one last dirty look, Dallas shoved through the door.

The room, if it could be called that, was made entirely from wood; wood floor, wood bench, wood walls, wood ceiling beams, wood doors--everything made of the same monotonous finish except for the window looking in to a small, box-shaped office. Two figures spoke together in hushed tones from inside.

Dallas' father dropped her duffle bag on the bench with a thud. The figures turned at the noise; a man and woman, both with graying hair and roughly in their late forties by Dallas' estimate. The man hurried to the door and incline his head to the little family.

"You must be the Bairds," he said with a grimace that Dallas assumed was meant to be a smile. "I'm Victor and this is my wife, Rowena. Welcome to Crestview."

The woman, namely Rowena Graves, stepped out beside her husband and clasped her hands around Dallas'. "You must be Dallas. We're so pleased to have you with us."

Dallas squirmed out of the woman's bony grip. "Yeah..."

Her mother gave Dallas a pointed look, silently begging her to behave. Fat chance of that. When Dallas gave no hint of respect, Mrs. Baird jumped in. "Thank you for accepting her at such short notice. We can't be more grateful."

"Speak for yourself. I'll have no part in that 'we,' thank you very much," Dallas said, shifting her weight to one leg.

"Dallas," her father hissed. He ran his tongue over his teeth as if biting back a thousand words. A grin crept over Dallas' mouth. She loved making him angry in public. He was too ego loving to truly fight back for fear of being looked down upon.

Mrs. Graves smiled. "Don't worry, that's exactly the thing we work to adjust. Would you like a tour of the facility?"

"That'd be lovely," Dallas' mother said quickly before her companions could embarrass her further.

Mr. Graves whispered something in his wife's ear, kissed her cheek, and vanished back inside the office.

"I'm afraid my husband won't be joining us, he's got other matters to attend to." She painted on a smile, thin and stretched as if a grimace distorted to become its more pleasant cousin. Mrs. Graves clapped her hands together. Dallas' mother jumped at the sound. "Where should we start?"

"The bed," Dallas replied quickly. It was the only logical response, but her parents and Graves forced a chuckle as if she'd just made a terrible dad joke. She wasn't kidding. Dallas snatched her duffle bag off of the bench, fist whitening around the handle of her suitcase. "Let me guess, it's upstairs?"

Graves nodded, smile faltering. "Yes, this way."

The woman led them through another set of double doors. Dallas was beginning to think that's all the building had inside it. Aside from the wide staircases on either side of her, the next room could hardly even be considered as a room. The hall contained nothing more than a series of doors marking the path to yet another door, though this one had a bright green exit sign above it. Dallas made a mental note of that.

"These are the staff quarters. If you ever need something though, our teachers are usually in their offices. I'll show you where those are when we tour the school building. The boarding is split into halls. The people in your hall are the ones you'll go to activities with," Rowena explained as she tromped up the stairs. The Bairds followed and nodded politely. Well, not Dallas. Her parents did, however.

"Your schedule is posted on the door and I'll get you a map soon, but this-" Graves said as they reached the top of the stairs and entered yet another hallway- "is your room."