The Fire Starter

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My feet hurt. Who told me to wear six inch stilettos and drink until everything around me was spinning? No one. But it was fun anyway. The added height made me a six-footer for the night. I laughed at all the boys who were suddenly shorter than me and flirted with those who were taller.

As I downed the glass of champagne that had found its way into my hand, I giggled, watching everyone dancing. I didn't think I'd enjoy this party, considering that I was just dragged by my parents in here for some sort of family appearance. But that didn't stop me from having fun. Besides, they're too busy talking with their business partners anyway, and they can't keep an eye on me all the time.

I had managed to get rid of my chaperone, a guy about twice my age whom they had insisted I bring as my date. I didn't really like him and he smelled like gasoline. The guys who were throwing me flirtatious looks over by the paintings were much, much better. I winked at them, and one was heading towards my direction immediately, unable to resist a pretty face in a little black dress.

I pretended like I didn't care, but he was just so gorgeous that I wanted to take him home with me. The giggles came again, and was starting to realize I was as drunk as I could ever be. There's something in my throat that wants to come out. It didn't taste good. I realized I'm dizzy. Just as the guy reaches the table I was standing ubeside of, I held onto his arm.

"Hi," he said with a flash of perfectly white teeth.

I managed to say hello before I let all the alcohol I had drank out of my stomach and straight onto his expensive looking suit.

I groaned at the memory. It was all I could remember. What had happened anyway? Did the guy slap me? There was something painful on my arm and my cheek. One quick look in the mirror by my bed confirmed that I had been slapped and probably manhandled. But I highly doubt it was that guy's doing.

Everyone at that party knew who I was. I was Kayleigh Woodcomb. The name would surely have everyone cringing. Woodcomb. Nobody wanted to mess with anyone with that name. And my parents were there too. Surely that guy would be smart enough not to do something harsh to me while in the presence of my parents.

Which made me rethink where the bruises on my arms had come from. It was not the guy who had done this to me. It must have been my mother. She must have seen me throwing up in the middle of the room and dragged me out of there before I could disgrace the ever important Woodcomb name further. I ran my hand through my hair and sure enough, locks of it fell out from where she probably had pulled them.

I hate them. I hate this life. I hate everything. I hate being a Woodcomb. The first thing I plan to do when I leave this house is change my name. I don't care if I have to marry a beggar to do it. That's the plan.

Standing up was painful and everything was still spinning, but I had to leave. I knew what was coming when they got home from work again. Another round of scolding, of telling me how my reputation affects them, how my actions are always wrong, how I'm the worst daughter they could ever have hoped for. Too bad I'm the only one you've got, huh? I opened my laptop and got to work. I caouldn't leave this place without a plan.

Renting a place would be like telling them I've just gone on a picnic and asking them to take me home at five o'clock. I needed something more permanent, something they couldn't easily find. Something like a secluded school, maybe.

I'm not a genius with computers, so when I typed 'secluded boarding schools' on my search engine, I was lucky to have found some prospects. In the haze that was my mind, something stood out.

The website looked okay, but the pictures screamed boring. It was not the kind of school you would willingly go to. It was the kind that your parents shipped you to in the hopes that you would learn some manners. It was the no-phones-allowed-and-strict-schedule kind of school. Just the place I needed to get away from my parents.

I jotted the name down on a piece of blank paper on my desk and began packing my things. Hurry up, Kayleigh. You need to be gone before the vultures get back.

It was hard finding the path, which was off the highway, and the driver was already irritated with me. I insisted this was the right way, since it was what the discreet email had told me. Now that I could see how old and ludicrously plain looking the castle in the distance was, I knew I was right.

I have to admit, I paid the taxi driver half-heartedly. Here you go, because despite your constant complaints, you still got me here. I added a generous tip though, since I knew he deserved it. He went through all the effort anyway, and I wouldn't be able to get here if not for him.

Now that the pleasantries are over, I contemplated on how I would manage to get all of my luggage inside the castle without breaking my arms. I had taken as much of my things as I could, and they were all crammed into three huge carry-all bags deposited by the taxi driver beside me. With a tip of his makeshift beret, he murmured his goodbyes and rode his battered vehicle, making his way out of this path, eager to see the road again.

There was a tall, gray gate before me, and it was the only thing stopping me from getting inside the castle--that and the heavy luggage, of course. Let's not forget the luggage.

Damn, who would position a buzzer this high? I asked myself as I strained to reach the white toggle button, my wedges sinking into the soft earth underneath the grassy area under my feet. If I couldn't get my hands on that buzzer, I wouldn't be able to inform anyone inside that I was here, stranded.

Maybe I should just leave my luggage and get inside first, and then ask for some help. Good idea, except that still presented the dilemma of asking someone to open the gate. Thus, I returned to the issue of the buzzer gingerly. But just as I was about to press it, the gate opened, much to my relief.

Thank God, I muttered under my breath. As the gate opened, the wooden-looking old-fashioned door at the castle 50 meters in the distance opened and a tall, lean boy appeared to be running towards the gate. That must be my cue.

I lifted one of the heavy bags and cursed at its weight. How I had ever loaded it alone in the taxi, I couldn't remember, but that's what happens when you're angry. You are able to do things you can't normally do. For me, that's carrying three heavy, oversized travel bags without wincing at their weight. Trust me, if you had parents as irritatingly obnoxious as mine, you would do miracles just to get out of their grasp.

And that's exactly what I had done. They had planned for me to go to Harvard, but I never agreed to it. Not that it mattered anyway. While you are in the Woodcomb manor, their words were orders. Everyone had to obey, including their one and only daughter--me--whom they never listened to. What I wanted to do with my life, they had no idea. They never cared, never even pretended to care.

So I packed my bags after finding a school that they would disapprove of. And I found this, Draker Institute. It was something better in the sense that it was a school in a hard to find location, one where they wouldn't be caught dead in. Of course they could still send their men in to get me, but I'll worry about that later. Hopefully, by the time they realize I have gone, I will have made enough friends to hide me from them. That's about a month or so, give or take a few weeks, since they were always away and barely paid me any attention.

Let's not even talk about the friends I had left back home. They were not the friends you'd miss. Sure, I loved them once, but that's all behind me now. Now that I realize how shallow they are, how they love to play games at the expense of others, how they broke the law and pinned others to take the blame, those were all things I would rather not remember. Did one particular friend of mine steal my boyfriend? No, but she did sleep with him countless times while I was unaware. He chose me in the end, but the damage had been done. I can never trust any of them. They were never my real friends anyway.