Damsel[ed]: No Rescue Required

Chapter 5: Saved by the Belle

I don't know how I feel about the Academy.

If classes were any harder it would be shut down for child abuse, but every once and a while Hev, Gats, and I sneak in late, donuts and caramel lattes in hand. The teachers don't care. Kids go absent for weeks at a time, and adults don't even ask a single "Hey, where's Johnny?"

 It's great.

Then again, the staff hates me (or at least, I think they do. You never quite can tell with grown-ups). They cringe whenever I pass by, glaring furiously at my hair. Yeppers, you read that right, my hair.

They say I caused anarchy at the Academy because of my ponytail. Which, frankly, is stupid.

You see, once upon a time, Dr. Bardsley decreed that it was against code for guys to have hair below their ears. When I explained this to Juniper, she turned forty-nine shades of red and nearly cracked the buttons of her flip-phone as she dialed the headmaster.

"Since when do you have the right to dictate these matters? It isn't obscene or distracting, it's hair! What are you trying to do? Create masses of sheep? Students have the right to decide what's best for them—" and so on and so on. Still, Dr. Bardsley wouldn't cave. I begged Storm to let me to cut it, but he agreed with Juniper.

"But they'll expel me!" I tried.

"And lose our funding, I doubt it." 

And so came the Hair Revolution.

(Here. I'll give you a minute to face-palm before continuing.)

Soon all the "cool" guys grew out their hair and ones who couldn't at least wore caps. Other "revolutions" spurred to life, including the uniform "revolution" where girls wore pants (Whoa. Mind blown, right?) and guys cut the sleeves off their blazers. Some even refused to wear shirts. I'm glad to say I wasn't a part of this, though Gats tried to drag me onto the bandwagon more than once.

Bardsley finally surrendered, parents oddly supportive of their children's endeavors. He revoked the hair-length thing and allowed girls their pants. As for the no shirts and cut blazers, that didn't fly, but we didn't have to button our collars all the way up, so there was that.

Long hair is still "in" so—minus my height—I blend with the scenery. With the hair thing and preppy uniforms, the Academy leaps straight from the pages of a manga.

(I don't know what's up with the uniforms. All I can say is whoever designed them must've read a little too much ChickLit.)

School ticks by slower than the Star Wars prequels. I'm seven minutes late for first period, earning me a glare from Ms. Klein, or 'Miss Klingon', as Heaven calls her, and a shipload of confusion. Trig. Gotta love it.

I let myself blink off for a few seconds. My hands twitch and I can't help thinking the villain could be anyone. She could be in this room, just waiting to strangle me.

I'm so tired even paranoia won't snap me to my senses. My functions slow. Pencil scribbling and Klein's murky voice gargle in my ears, and soon I'm out so fast I might as well have been punched in the jaw. 

My joints freeze, and I can't move. I squint, but all I see is black. From the darkness comes a male scream.

Rain swirls over my head. Droplets morph into white feathers. They burn as they brush against my skin.

I fall into a sea of purple flames. My limbs work again, and I shout for help, flailing as I tumble into the nothingness.

"Welcome to the villain club." My back slams into bars, the purple morphing to black. It pulls me under and the darkness fills my lungs like ink. I cry for help, but no one seems to hear me. I'm drowning now, the world spinning like a dime.