Dallas walked into the room and had to fight against her better judgment not to turn around and walk right back out. There was no way anyone actually expected her to stay here.

The room itself wasn't so bad; a twin-sized bed, a desk, and a wardrobe for each of the girls. The roommate is what Dallas was worried about. She hadn't even met the other girl, but it felt as if she'd known her all her life.

The right side of the room looked like it'd never been touched before, let alone lived in, but the left side was an explosion of personality.

Above the bed, the wall was covered in vinyl records, organized by color, to the point where it could be wallpaper. The bed itself was a mountain of colorful pillows piled on top of a fuzzy comforter that looked as if it were made from the fur of a baby blue yeti. Two windows sat in between the beds and twin desks pressed against the back wall, draped in a sheer fabric with white star cutouts plastered to the gauzy material.

"Let's see," Mrs. Graves mumbled. She glanced at the baby pink smart watch on her wrist. "Your hall should be at extracurriculars right now, but I presume your roommate will be back in time for free time so you can meet her."

The woman shut the door behind Dallas and her parents, pointing to a paper taped to the back of it. "Here's your daily schedule. I meant to have one printed out for you upon arrival, but never got the chance. We switch off classes on an A/B schedule. On Maroon days you'll have History and Art on Gold days, etcetera, etcetera."

Dallas blocked her out as she babbled on about extracurricular activities being required and whatnot to study the schedule.

"Therapy session?" Dallas blurted, interrupting what was probably a very important discussion about punctuality.

Mrs. Graves startled, pursing her lips in disapproval, and hummed her assent. "In fact, I'll show you there next if you'd like. Parent-child sessions will be held every week on Wednesdays."

Dallas' father turned to her mother and muttered, "Parent-child therapy?"

"Jare, I told you about this," she replied in hushed tones.

"Do we both need to be there for that?" He asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Dallas' face grew hot with shame.

Her mother recoiled. "Yes, of course we both have to-"

"I've got to work, Amanda!"

"Jared-"

"I thought we were both going back to Sacramento," he continued.

"Jared!"

"Isn't that the whole point of a boarding school?"

Dallas' mother tried to smile away her grimace, but failed miserably. "Jared."

"I don't have time for therapy!"

"Jared! Not. Now!" Amanda Baird exclaimed, blushing furiously. "Be polite."

Dallas was ready to sink into the floor. Her mother didn't raise her voice often, but when she did... Dallas wasn't surprised that it was to save face. Crossing her arms over her chest, Dallas smiled up at Mrs. Graves and said brightly, "You know what? Let's go to therapy! We obviously need it."

Mrs. Graves grimaced and looked from Dallas to her parents and back to Dallas. "Uh, yes, alright." She cleared her throat and opened the door, refusing to meet any of the Bairds' eyes. "We have a few exceptional therapists at our facility. Our head of counseling is a firm believer that mental health is different for everyone. We make sure to have a variety so everyone has someone they click with."

Dallas followed her out, but she wasn't listening. Instead, she walked in between her parents, eyes fixed forward, and hissed, "If you want to get rid of me, you've succeeded. Now all you have to do is go. So leave."

"Dally," her mother said. She put a hand on Dallas' shoulder, but the girl brushed it off as she stomped down the stairs. "That's not what we're doing, you know that."

"It's exactly what you're doing, don't try to feed me that bull-"

"Uh, uh, uh!" Mrs. Graves cut in. "We have a no swearing policy."

Dallas threw her hands into the air. "You have got to be kidding me! What are you gonna do? They're just words!"

"Failure to adhere to the rule results in loss of privileges and punishment." Graves' smile was finally looking genuine. Dallas wanted to slap it right off her Botox-ed face.

Fortunately for Mrs. Graves, the party had just reached the office of Dallas' new therapist. Brightly colored pom-pom garland was draped over the door frame and a gold plaque read "Ms. Doux" in carefully engraved Inria Serif letters.

"Shall I leave you three alone?" Mrs. Graves asked politely.

"Good move," Dallas said in mock cheeriness. "Glad to see you can take a hint. I was beginning to wonder."

The lady blinked as if she didn't know what to do with herself and then hurried back down the hall to her office. Dallas lifted a finger as a salutation. Her mother tutted her disapproval.

"Your turn," Dallas muttered.

Her father sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose once again as if Dallas were a permanent headache that he just couldn't shake. "You should count yourself lucky, young lady. You could be in juvie right now and you would've if I hadn't stepped it. Frank Shumway is pressing charges."

"Good thing I'll never see that old man's hairless-cat face again. Come to think of it, I was hoping to make yours disappear as well. Anyway I could make that happen?"

"Is it really so hard," he shouted, "to show even an ounce of respect?"

"It is actually, thanks for asking!" Dallas retorted, raising her voice to match her father's. "Will you just leave me alone?"

Mr. Baird's face burned fiery red, but not from shame. He grabbed his wife by the wrist and began marching down the hallway, stirring up a breeze that made the motivational quote posters that were vomited all over the walls dance in his wake. "C'mon Amanda. We haven't got time for this."

"Good! Riddance!" Dallas shouted after them, cupping her hands around her mouth. Her mother turned back with sorrow in her eyes, but was forced away before she could speak.

Blowing out a hot breath, Dallas turned to go. Where she would go was an entirely unaddressed idea, but before she had the chance to think about it, Ms. Doux's door swung open.

A boy with a gorgeous jawline and sandy blond hair emerged. His dark brown eyes trailed over her figure unabashedly and he grinned at her. "You must be new," he said astutely. His voice carried a thick accent, low and honeyed. "I'm Lorenz."

He held out a hand to Dallas, but she promptly ignored it."And I-" she bumped his shoulder as she shoved past him into the room- "am not interested."

Lorenz laughed richly and caught her by the wrist before she could get too far. His breath was hot on her cheek as he smirked and said, "If you need someone to show you around-"

"I'll ask my roommate," Dallas finished quickly, pulling her arm out of his grip. "You sound like you don't know much more about this place than I do."

"Feisty, eh? I can work with that," he said. "Don't try to pretend you don't like it. You American girls fawn over any European man you see. Factor in my good looks and you don't even have a chance, darling."

Dallas hummed and dryly agreed, "You're right. I don't have a chance. You're way out of my league."

He chuckled again and spun his finger in a lock of Dallas' auburn hair. "You're pretty for a ginger. Shorten it a bit and you could get yourself into my league."

"Not sure I want that," Dallas muttered. The boy was pretty, there was no denying that fact, but she was not here to get attached. She was here to get out and never be seen again. And that's just what she would do, but first she had to get through therapy.

A quick glance around the room was all it took for Dallas to deduce that she was not going to enjoy these sessions. Not that she'd gone into them thinking she would.

The office, like seemingly all of the dormitory building, was made up of the same chestnut wood. A thin woolen rug covered the floor panels, dyed a sage green to match the upholstery of an armchair where a long, blonde haired woman sat cross legged.

Upon Dallas' arrival, the woman smiled and said, "Hi, you must be Dallas."

Her voice was soft and welcoming. Dallas didn't trust it. Casting the woman a sideways look, Dallas plopped down on the tufted gray sofa, propping her legs up on the arm rest, and muttered, "Let's make this easier on us both. I'll take a nap and you can go do whatever you shrinks do."

"Long trip?" She asked, unbothered by Dallas' clear disrespect.

Dallas closed her eyes and grunted assent.

Ms. Doux nodded kindly. "Change this significant can be hard. Would you like to talk about it?"

"No."

"Okay. Just know if you need a friend, I'm here for you," she assured Dallas.

Dallas sat up, nostrils flaring. "I'm not talking to some middle aged woman about my feelings! Try to fix me all you want, but there's nothing wrong with me! I don't have some disease and I won't crawl into the little box of socially acceptable! Don't waste your breath!"

Ms. Doux hummed, plump lips pursing, and jotted something down on her clipboard. She made no indication of being offended, only concerned.

"What?" Dallas hissed.

The therapist looked up and raised her curved eyebrows innocently.

"What are you writing?" Dallas asked again through gritted teeth.

She smiled her infuriating smile. "It's my job to make note of your emotions. Have you ever been diagnosed by a psychiatrist before?"

"No and I don't want to," Dallas said quickly, turning away from Ms. Doux and closing her eyes again.

Her pen scratched over the paper.

"I didn't even say anything, what are you writing?" Dallas muttered. She crossed her arms, feeling exposed.

Rather than answering the question, Ms. Doux turned it on Dallas instead. "You're uncomfortable being analyzed?"

Dallas didn't answer which was answer enough.

"Alright, I'll put this away." Ms. Doux set the clipboard down on the side table and leaned in, crossing her arms on her lap. "Tell me about yourself."

Dallas stayed silent.

"Is there anything you're looking forward to at Crestview?" She tried again.

"Leaving," Dallas said dryly.

Ms. Doux nodded. "Anywhere in particular that you'd like to go?"

When Dallas didn't give her the satisfaction of responding again, Ms. Doux continued, "I've always wanted to visit Tennessee. Maybe visit the Opry and the music Hall of Fame. What's your favorite music genre?"

"Personally, I think Reggae and Pop are the best," she said after a long pause.

"You're delusional," Dallas muttered.

That made Ms. Doux smile widely. "You disagree?"

"Anyone who listens to anything other than rock is delusional."

"Then I guess I'm missing out. I better start listening to some rock. Where do I start?"

Dallas cracked one eye open. "AC/DC, Fleetwood Mac, Foo-Fighters, and Bon Jovie." After a short pause, she added, "And Queen and Journey. Oh, and definitely Guns & Roses! Metallica is pretty good too- why are you smiling like that?"

"Sorry, I was just thinking of one of my other patients, Venus. I think the two of you would get along well," Ms. Doux said.

Dallas didn't know what to make of that. "Why do you say that?"

"She's a big fan of a lot of those artists. I recognize them from her shirts. Have you heard of Pink Floyd or Led Zeppelin?" The words sounded strange coming from her tongue, but as familiar as the back of her hand to Dallas.

"I- are you messing with me?"

Ms. Doux smiled. "I'll tell you what. You find her at dinner tonight and let me know how it goes tomorrow."

Dallas studied her carefully. "And if I do?"

She glanced at her watch. "I'll let you out early. Just this once."

Dallas inclined her head and drew her lips down in deliberating frown. "Deal."