A Raven And Her Wolves

(Raven's POV)

Walk away.

Move your feet, exit this piece of shit cafeteria, and go get high. Chill out.

Yeah, that's what I'll do.

I keep walking, and I'm almost free and clear, almost through the door and away from the trouble I surely don't need but can't seem to escape.

But of course, nothing in my life is simple and just before my left foot joins my right, the final step through the open door, the bitch decides she's not done and runs her mouth. Again.

"Maybe if she wasn't such a slut her whore mom wouldn't have kicked her out for sleeping with her new man."

The laughter echoes, growing louder until it wraps around my throat like my mother's hands when in a fit, choking me until I lose focus.

I stop where I stand.

My eyes haze, rage winning over the calm bravado I attempted to force myself into.

"Trailer trash, bitch."

More laughs.

And there it is, the push.

Why do they always push?

Before anyone can stop me, not that there's anyone who would give a shit to, I snatch the closest tray off the nearest table and in one swift move, one hard, full swing, smash it across the side of her face.

The cheap red plastic breaks against her head and screams ring around me.

Blood pours from the big mouthed bitch's forehead and she shrieks, her horrified gaze flying to mine. I wait until our stares connect, then quickly kick her chair sideways. Panic grows in her eyes as she crashes to the floor.

There's no time to escape, not that I have anywhere to go.

People scream, but no one dares to step closer to me. The lunch lady calls for help and everyone rushes to the asshole on the floors side because she's 'the victim.' Sure, I got physical first, but she started it. What did she expect?

If you can't take it, don't dish it.

And, yeah, the spat wasn't a lie, my mother is a whore. The dirtiest of dirty. Straight trailer trash at its finest, I'll admit it all day.

But she doesn't get to say it.

And I sure as shit couldn't let her get away with disrespecting me the way she did, publicly.

Not sure how she managed it, but my mother, the failure she is, taught me one thing - to keep my pride above all else.

Apparently, that's all a girl like me can control.

So disrespect me not.

"My office! Now!" Principal Folk screeches. He doesn't call me by name, doesn't look my way, but why would he? Here I stand, caught red-handed - literally still holding half of the tray in my hand - as always.

He probably knew it was me the second someone called for help, before even walking in here.

I toss the tray to the floor and head straight to my home away from home - the cheap wooden chair with a ripped-up burgundy center that sits directly across from the principal's desk.

Monday was, as he warned, my "last strike," but yesterday I got caught smoking behind the gym, and I'm still here. Today's Thursday.

Wonder if he's in another forgiving mood?

I'm guessing not when forty-five minutes later he charges in and slams himself into the seat, glaring at me through his little nerd glasses.

His anger probably has something to do with the loud mouth girl – who very well may still be bleeding all over the stark white cafeteria floor – being his niece.

My fucking bad.

His eyes narrow as he judges me and my too-tight top and ripped-up jeans.

So I smirk, taunt him a bit.

Because there's nothing this guy could say or do that could possibly be as fucked as every other day in my reality.

I grab the edge of the chair and lean forward. "Give it to me, Mr. Folk."

His eyes widen a fraction of an inch and as if he can't help himself, quickly cut to my top.

Men, they have no self-control.

Well look at that, another thing learned from my mother.

"Clearly you don't want to be here, Ms. Carver. Every time I issue a warning you come back twice as hard."

When a slow grin stretches across my face, he clears his throat and looks away.

"This is your third high school in eighteen months and honestly, you're lucky you lasted here so long."

"Am I... Mr. Folk?" I drop back against the seat. "You sure you're not-"

"Stop." He glares before sighing. "This is serious. You've got the entire school's attention now. I can't make this go away."

I roll my eyes. "Just get on with it already. Where to next?"

He eyes me a moment before folding his hands and leaning forward against the desk. "I made a call."

My eyes slice to his.

"Your social worker-"

"I don't have a social worker."

"Apparently you do. She contacted me a few months back and-"

"Months?"

"Raven, listen-"

Right then, the secretary ushers in some dark-haired lady wearing slacks and a button-down. She reaches over the desk to shake the principal's hand.

"Mr. Folk, I'm Maria Vega."

"Ms. Vega, I appreciate you coming so quickly." He turns to me as does she.

"Hey there." She gives a fake hello, her roaming eyes and tight-lipped smile more curious than anything. "Do you mind if we talk for a bit?"

I don't bother speaking. No matter what I do or don't say here, she's already got me figured out as far as she's concerned.

"Mr. Folk and I have been in contact over the last semester. He's briefed me on your home situation and past issues, and at this time, we think it's best you be removed from your mother's care."

A laugh bubbles out of me before I can stop it. 'My mother's care' she says. Please.

The woman stares at me for a moment before sighing. She's quick to lose the sweet, caring woman act. "Look, I get it. You don't care what I have to say, fine. But we are removing you from the home. I'll take you to grab your things and then it's a day's trip to your new housing. It's a bit different, you being as old as you are, but we have a safe place for you."

"Yeah? They make cookies and tuck you in at bedtime? Or is that job left to the man there who creeps into the little girls' rooms at night?"

The woman's eyes narrow and Mr. Folk sighs. "Is there something you need to tell me, Ms. Carver?"

"Nothing you'd care about."

Her eyes jump to the small, fading cut below my left eye. "Try me."

"Pass." I hop to my feet, stepping close to her. "I'll be waiting out front."

"You'll wait right here if you want to avoid that girl's parents who are standing a few feet outside this door."

"You're mistaking me for someone who gives a shit." With that, I shove past the woman and walk toward the front of the student office, toward the loving mother and father of the little bitch who ran her mouth. I look from the girl to her parents, finding all their glares on me, their body language showing exactly what they think of me.

Dirty.

Used.

Worthless.

And they're not wrong.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," I mumble to myself as I scan the yard.

Ms. Vega shifts toward me. "You'll get used to it."

"What the fuck is this place?"

"This is the Bray house."

"Looks like Michael Myer's house."

She laughs lightly, then looks again, a frown taking over her face. "Well shit, it does. I never noticed before."

The porch is dipping at the center, likely from wood rot, the white paint chipping like large splinters. It's a perfect square, two small windows on each side of the door mirroring the two on the upper story, a creepy, awning beneath them.

"It seems small, but it widens toward the back."

Small is a trailer with only enough space for a personal size fridge, one-sided sink, and two outlets for hot plates or a toaster oven.

"Anyway, this is a home for kids getting ready to age out, and a few younger ones who had issues with standard style parenting. It's for the kids who are more ... challenging."

"So there's a bunch of punks living here?"

"No." She shakes her head. "There's a bunch of punks at the high school. This place is cake compared."

"Sounds fantastic," I deadpan.

With a resigned sigh, Ms. Vega says, "Let's go."

She drags the duffle bag she loaned me behind her as she walks up, and I force my feet to follow.

When we showed up at my trailer the day before yesterday, my mother laughed and welcomed us inside. She sat there smoking a joint – of my weed – in front of the social worker and offered to help me pack. I thought for sure she'd flip, try to beat my ass or let her flavor of the week do it, as she always has when I'd get suspended or kicked out of places. She knew if social services stepped in it meant no more welfare for her, and no more welfare meant no more "free" cocaine – she'd have to put in extra time on her back without it. And that was a problem because the prime prostitute from Gateway Trailer park has expensive taste in powder.

I knew it wasn't because the worker was there, she didn't give a shit about that. Shit, she talked with the lady like she'd known her all her life – shitty and hateful with a nasty smile on her face. The worst that would happen if she was reported would be a few days in jail, and that meant nothing to her, they already knew her well. According to my mom, it's almost easier to score a sack in county than it is out here – and there, her trades are welcomed. She doesn't discriminate against gender. A women's money is worth just the same, she'd say.

No, I knew by her nonchalant attitude she'd gotten herself a new supplier, be it a new dealer willing to take a trick for a trade or client who stuck, who knows.

Who fucking cares.

"You must be Ms. Vega?" I follow the voice to find an older woman with deep wrinkles and dark frizzy hair. Her tone isn't exactly welcoming toward Ms. Vega, more quizzical if anything.

"Yes, ma'am." Ms. Vega hesitates for a second before stepping forward to shake the woman's hand. "Ms. Maybell, this is Raven Carver, seventeen, out of Stockton California."

When the woman turns my way, the roughness framing her eyes smooths.

"You had a small journey, huh, Raven?" the woman asks.

"It's Rae."

The woman smiles and if I didn't know any better, I'd say it looked genuine. And hell, maybe it is, another bastard's kid means more green in her pocket.

I'm aware I could be judging unfairly, but ... are there still people who choose to house fucked up rejects for fun?

"Rae." She smiles a little. "You'll be in room seven. There are two bunks per room, but the last two who were in there were sisters, so both left together last week. You'll have it to yourself for a bit, but that don't mean funny business will be any easier for you. Not sure if you were told, but this is a girls only home, the boys are there." She points across the lot to another white house about two court spaces away. "There's no drugs, no sex, no stealing, and absolutely no fighting amongst the other girls. Other than those few things, it's a nice deal here. Hurry on, put your things away and we'll get you to the high school. They're expecting you."

With a sigh, I make my way to the door, pausing when she calls out again.

"Oh, and Rae?"

I glance over my shoulder with an eyebrow raised.

"Behind the house is off-limits. You can go as far as the swing set there but beyond that, the dirt road? It's not for walking down. This whole front part, though, is yours to roam."

"Sure," I respond and face forward, taking in the mental institution style housing. Plain white walls with random couches against them make up the room, a single TV hanging high in one corner and bolted into the wall – preventing it from being easily stolen, I'm guessing. A card game left mid-play lays on the coffee table and an ashtray sits beside it.

"What the hell is this place?" I mumble to myself, jumping slightly when an unexpected voice answers.

"It's four walls to stuff the runaways and problem children 'til nobody is forced to pretend to care anymore." When I lock eyes with the girl, she decides that means I want the full breakdown and keeps talking. "All the kids here are shipped to the local high school as part of some poor kid program. It's quite a place. Nothing but a bunch of ritzy privileged assholes with the exception of us few fuck-ups, and a handful of others from the low-income housing track down the road. But it's not divided like you'd think, more one big system. You either tuck your tail and go about your day without being seen or heard, they allow that, or you're in the middle of it all and your every move is measured. Step outside the unit and you're treated like the trash they already see."

"Sounds like a nightmare."

She pops a shoulder. "It can be. Ran by some real gems."

"Ran by?"

"You think they'd let us all walk on their marble floors without having a leg up on us?" She shakes her head. "They're smarter than that. They offer us something we don't have back home, we stay in line. Tit for tat all the way."

"And people buy into that shit?"

This time her eyes skim my unhealthily thin frame from head to toe. "You'll understand soon enough." And then she's gone.

"Ookay." I frown, and turn to my things, making quick work of tossing my clothes into the dresser labeled with my name and walk back out front.

I toss my social worker – who popped out of fucking nowhere - her bag and she frowns.

"I told you to keep this."

"I don't want your pity shit."

"I have no pity."

"Then I don't want your shit."

"Get in the car, Raven," she tells me with an exasperated sigh.

Maybell walks toward me with a smile. "Ms. Vega was nice enough to send over everything I needed yesterday, so I was able to pre-register you. Go straight to the office when you get there, it's the first door on the left when you walk in. They'll give you your schedule."

With a nod, I walk away, but Maybell calls out again before I step into the car.

"There'll be a group of kids walking this way after school. A good lot are headed here if you'd like to join 'em. It's a little over a mile down the road, city bus works just fine too if you can pay for it. Stops right here." She points to the stop sitting at the edge of the sidewalk just in front of what she pointed out as the boys' home.

I don't respond and slam the door behind me.

Ms. Vega gets behind the wheel with a huff. "Look, Raven-"

"It's Rae."

"You need to make this work. I've talked to a few girls here. Maybell lets them do what they want if they follow the rules. At least here, you can still pretty much do as you please, be your bitchy little self and get away with it." She half laughs as she says it and my eyes cut her way. "You might think I'm just the lady to deposit you, but I'd like to think it will be better for you here. I don't expect you to be happy, but maybe you can move past the anger your mom left you in."

"What, do you double as a shrink or something?"

She grins and pulls away from the curb, driving the several blocks down to the high school. "No, but someone helped me once, and I'd like to help you the same."

"Don't waste your time, focus on the little ones that don't understand the lives they're living." I turn to look out the windshield. "I'm already ruined."

"Hey!" she snaps and I turn to glare at her. "You're not ruined. Believe it or not, it only takes one person to make you see that. Give it time, you'll heal."

"Not interested. All I want is a life away from anyone who has ever heard my name, fucked my mom, or read my file." With that, I exit the car and I stare at my new reality – a giant brick building with a cement sign dead in the center.

With a shake of my head, I make my way up the steps, stopping when Ms. Vega shouts from behind me.

"This place isn't like most high schools, Raven. Things are a bit different here then they are where you come from."

Tension lines my stomach. "What are you trying to say?"

She eyes me a moment. "Girls like you aren't exactly welcomed at a place like this, so ... keep your head down and look the other way."

A chuckle bubbles out of me. "Have you met me?"

"I'm serious," she stresses, unease lining her forehead.

"So am I."

"Do you want me to come in with you?"

"Goodbye, Ms. Vega."

With her eyes on the building behind me, she nods, gets back in her car and drives away.

I pause where I stand for a moment.

I could just take off now, but it'll do no good. I can't get a job on my own unless I follow in my mother's footsteps and at least staying here helps pass the time. Eighteen isn't too far off.

"Fuck it," I mumble and go to push through the door, but it bursts open before I can, and three guys strut out ... three girls following close behind.

The guys don't see me as I shifted to the side to avoid being hit by the metal door, but when the girls shuffle out, one of them makes it a point to bump me and she really shouldn't have done that.

I guess right off the bat is the best time to show her I'm not the one.

After she shoulder checks me, I spin and dart forward, grabbing a good full grip of hair in my hand. I go to pull her back, but the moment I do, a large hand wraps around my wrist.

"Now now," a deep, teasing voice warns and my glare snaps over my shoulder to find a brown-haired guy who's about to catch an elbow to the jaw. "No need to act out. We make time for all those ready and willing."

"Get your hand off me unless you're ready and willing to get kicked in the dick."

"Ooh, sounds like a good time." He steps closer. "Now, let go, and show me what else that grip could do."

I tighten my fist and the girl cries out more.

The guy's smirk deepens, and before I can maneuver away, his hand is gripping my ass. "You wanna come? I can pull your hair too..." he whispers.

My body grows stiff against his and he barks out a mocking laugh as he lazily steps back.

My hand falls from the girl's hair and she grunts before storming back into the school. Probably to fix herself up, superficial as shit.

"Not as hard as you want to be, are you the new girl?" the guy speaks, a hard edge to his tone as he falls in line with his boys, forming a tight arrow.

But he's not the one in the center.

I offer a shitty smile when really I want to ram a pipe down his throat. "Guess not."

"Don't worry, baby, you're forgiven. I've got it on good word she's got no gag reflex."

I nod lightly. "So she was perfect for you then?"

The guy tips his chin at my snide tone, but his friends make no move.

They're wearing sunglasses, so when I do glance from one to the next – purposefully avoiding looking them over any further – I can't read the look in their eyes, something I've taught myself to do when it comes to the male species.

I stand there until one of them, the tallest of the three, turns and heads for the parking lot, noting the asshole who put his hands on me is the one to get behind the wheel of a big ass, black, chromed-out SUV, not unlike the other flashy cars in the parking lot but by far the most alluring. There's something to be said about a sleek SUV with blackout windows. It demands your attention – likely why this dumbass drives it.

In my neighborhood, though, such a ride tells you where to score or which way to run in – always the opposite direction is the answer. Unless you're my mother, of course. To her and her friends it's looking a lion in the eyes hoping it takes the bait – the fancier the ride, the bigger the payout.

I shake off the thought but catalog the vehicle in my mind.

Lifting my backpack over one shoulder, I prepare to step through the door for the first time, glancing up at the cement sign above before I do.

Welcome to Brayshaw High.

The school officials didn't allow me into my normal classes today, making me sit through some mandatory behavior and 'how to avoid confrontation' videos instead. They even arranged for a cafeteria plate to be brought in – guess they read my file, too. I did, however, manage to sneak off for a couple minutes, pretending to be using the bathroom when really I had to make a point.