Boys of Brayshaw High (Brayshaw High 1)

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.