"Catra you can't keep doing this," my principal told me for what seemed like the millionth time.

"'Kay," I responded dismissively, looking around the room. Something seemed different from the last time I was here. The stuffy furniture was all the same and the motivational quotes. The fidget toys, throw pillows and self-help books but- "Hey where are all your photos of the Mrs?" I asked "Oh, did she finally find out you were cheating on her with your assistant?"

"Catra."

"Quite cliche honestly."

"Catra!"

"Quite messy too innit."

"Catra!"

"If you would've asked me I would've told you it wasn't a bright idea."

"Catra!"

"But no, no one ever listens to Catra even though Catra has literally never been wrong before. You know at some point a girl really has to stop and ask herself-"

"Catra!" The slammed palm against the table made me squeal and shoot up out of my chair.

"Jesus! What!"

"I'm being serious," he told me.

"I know that's what makes it so cute," I laughed.

I knew I was being rude but I couldn't help it. The round faced, pudgy white man with his scruffy beard and receding hairline didn't cut much of an intimidating figure.

"Catra you're facing expulsion, maybe even a fine." He pressed.

I snorted, "No I'm not."

"You're not," he parroted.

"Nope."

"How do you figure that?" He asked sarcastically, leaning back in his chair.

"Mr. Howard, I was in here just last week. Do you remember why? I do. It's because I won you that." I pointed to a gleaming golden trophy in the center of his coffee table.

"It was for winning the National spelling bee. The week before that I won the track and field competition, before that it was soccer. You've been a principal for, what 30 years now and most of the things in this office I won you. Robotics, science, art, music, sports. I'm pretty much the sole reason for funding in all of them. I win poetry competitions and basketball games. I raise your test averages by 10%. I put us in the news. I'm your star student. You'd expel me for a little paint on the side of the building. I don't think so."

Mr. Howard looked a little put out at that, opening his mouth and then shutting it before exhaling heavily over and over and over again until he sighed tiredly and ran his hand down his face.

"Catra you are a very gifted young lady in all aspects."

"Yes, I am."

"You are highly intelligent,"

"That is true."

"A natural athlete."

"I don't disagree."

"You are such a gift to our school that you don't pay a single cent to go to a school most people pay hundreds of thousands of pounds to attend."

"I mean, some people got it, some people don't."

"However," he interrupted, his voice sharp. "Vandalism is highly inappropriate no matter what your other contributions to this school are. You writing 'school's out' on the side of our arts building is inexcusable"

"I mean, I'm not a monster. I gave you the whole summer to clean it up."

He sighed, "Catra I get it, I really do, you're the youngest person here. You're 10 years old and in the 8th grade. It's gotta be rough. But you can't act out like this.

I wrapped my arms around myself. "I'm 11 as of today actually, so . . ."

"Oh, of course," Mr. Howard sputtered.

"No it's-it's fine, everyone else forgot too" I waved him off, "Who needs birthdays anyway, just excuses to eat cake and get in large congregations of people. They're, like, the most likely place other than public transportation to catch an illness so it's fine. Better off without it in the first place."

"I . . . " he trailed off sadly.

"I don't need your pity Mr. Howard." I told him sharply.

He let out another one of those long, tired sighs, "Well I'm sure your guardians have something planned for you."

I snorted, "I doubt it," I muttered underneath my breath.

"They'll be coming to pick you up early." He informed me, picking up a pen and beginning to file paperwork.

My hands suddenly curled up in my lap and I gasped sharply, "What."

As if on cue the door creaked open slowly and I could feel my breathing quicken. I didn't dare look back, couldn't stomach the look that would be one my adoptive mother's face.

I didn't need to in order to know what she would do to me when we got back to the house.

"What has she done this time," Ms. Weaver's voice said smoothly as the clack, clack, clack of her heels got closer and closer to my cushioned chair until I could feel her nails digging into my shoulder. I bit my tongue to keep from wincing.

'This time' she said as if I was just this unstoppable force of destruction that she couldn't handle. A tornado wreaking havoc throughout Ms. Weaver's life although I wouldn't be surprised if that's exactly what Ms. Weaver saw me as. I wouldn't be surprised if she somehow found a way to make a tornado my fault.

I had never done anything wrong, ever. I was a model student, a star athlete and good housemate. But it seemed like even the beat of my heart made Ms. Weaver's skin crawl.

"Catra has spray painted 'school's out' on the side of our arts building. A rather unique way of celebrating the last day of the school year." Mr. Howard remarked, showing Ms. Weaver the pictures.

Ms. Weaver dug her fingernails even deeper into my shoulder and I pressed my lips together as I felt them break skin.

"Is that so," Ms. Weaver said coolly.

"I'm afraid that Catra is suspended for the rest of the school year." Mr. Howard told us with a twinkle in his eye.

"That's very generous of you." Ms. Weaver remarked, sounding surprised.

"Well she's our prodigy," Mr. Howard replied.

"What do you have to say for yourself," Ms. Weaver said sharply.

"I'm sorry for the trouble I caused," I said softly, a dig into my flesh made me rush out "And I'm very grateful for your leniency and the opportunity to continue my education at this great institution."

"Of course Catra," Mr. Howard told her warmly.

"Get your stuff Catra and let's go." Ms. Weaver said, spinning on her heels and walking out of the office.

I grabbed my backpack and scrambled after her.

"Oh and Catra," Mr. Howard said. "Happy Birthday."

"Thank you. That means a l-"

"Now Catra," came the sharp voice from down the hall and I ran out without another word.

The lack of yelling in the car was scarier than if Ms. Weaver had yelled her voice hoarse.

It meant that Ms. Weaver knew she didn't need to yell.

It meant that she knew that what she had planned was going to say it all for her.

It meant I was in for a world of pain once we got back to the house.

All I had to distract from the vivid images my mind was conjuring up was the ominous clacking of Ms. Weaver's acrylic nails and the static from the radio that she loved listening to.

For over an hour it was all I had to cling onto that and my constant mantra of:

Don't cry

Don't cry

Don't cry

Don't cry

Don't cry

Over and over again until it was all I could think. The only thing taking up space in my head.

When the car came to a stop my heart stopped with it.

Ms. Weaver opened the door gracefully and slid out. Walking over to the door without a word. I didn't want to get out of the car, I wanted to steal it and drive away to Mexico and never come back. But I had nowhere to go. There was no one in the whole world who wanted me.

I got out of the car and my knees almost buckled from how hard they were shaking and it took most of my energy to walk and not cry at the same time. But I'm strong and I did it.

Ms. Weaver unlocked the door with the loudest click I'd ever heard in my life and it still couldn't drown out the sound of my heart beating in my ears.

I let out a shaky breath and let my eyes flit around the house.

It never felt lived in. For as long as I could remember there was always this suffocating feeling of 'THIS IS A RICH PERSON'S HOUSE DO NOT TOUCH.'

Ms. Weaver enforced that rule with an iron fist. The white walls and furniture with the black accents always said. 'TOO CLEAN FOR YOU TOO SLEEK FOR YOU'

Ms. Weaver always made sure I knew that. Just like she made sure I knew that it was alright for her to do whatever she wanted in this house and to all of the occupants of it. Like me.

She sat down on the sofa gracefully and crossed her legs.

"Vandalism Catra," she said in a cold voice. "Why?"

I let out a shaky breath.

Why? She wanted me to explain why and I could barely explain how. All I had done was walk past the arts building and thought 'This could use some sprucing up' and all of a sudden there was color all over the building and I was in the principal's office and I had no idea what was going on and it wasn't my fault.

"Oh, let me guess, it was an accident right, you don't know how it happened. Just like the broken vase and the missing T.V. and the fire that killed your parents. Miraculous."

Don't cry

Don't cry

Don't cry

Don't cry

She wants to see you cry, don't give her the satisfaction.

"No? What was it then."

I didn't answer and she sniffed at me.

"Catra, I'm the one person in the entire world who cares about you and you don't even have the decency to answer my questions when you've committed a crime."

She stood up suddenly and I flinched back. She walked towards me and stroked my hair before grabbing it and yanking it back.

Don't cry

Don't cry

Don't cry

Don't cry

"I'm only going to ask you one more time Catra, why?"

Then the doorbell rang and I could've cried from relief.

She scowled at it before throwing me to the ground by my hair.

"Well, go and get it then," I scrambled to the door eager to get away from her.

I threw the door open and was surprised to see a tall, white man in green velvet robes standing there with a letter in hand and a wide smile.

He opened his mouth but I stopped him, "We're atheist, sorry."

"What? Oh." the man gave a loud laugh before taking a step into the house, "No that's not it at all, I'm Neville Longbottom from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"Um, never heard of it." I told him.

"It's a boarding school where you'll learn all manner of interesting things."

But my mind had come to full halt. A boarding school.

10 months of the year away from Ms. Weaver.

10 months of the year away from the pain and the noise and the labor and the crying.

10 months away from this suffocating house and the constant feeling of not belonging.

This boarding school would be my out.

"A boarding school? What's it gotta do with me?"