Soft music played quietly though the car, ignoring the pounding rain outside. I sat in the back, headphones in my ears blocking out all other sounds. My head leaned against the cool tinted glass window, my long red hair falling into my eyes. My dark grey eyes flicked up to my "parents" and narrowed. The woman in the passenger seat; my "mother" babbled on and on. She didn't even realize that I wasn't even listening. "Father looked through the rear-viewmirror and jerked the steering wheel to the right, pulling over to the side of the road. He turned around and in one swoop, yanked the headphones out of myears and slapped me on the cheek.

"Listen to your mother."

I glared at him, but mycheek burned, so I didn't put my headphones back in.

"Now, Liadandear,I know you are mad, but you will love St. Andrew's Academy for Young Men and Women. Your father and I did."

"I know you would, you blood-sucking leech." I retorted, it was the first thing I said all day.

My "mother" sighed and ignored what I said; before continuing on about St. Andrew's. I glowered at her, called her names not appropriate to repeat, and put my headphones back in; this time loud enough to block out noise. In front my "father" frowned at the windshield wipers and started driving down the road again. I leaned back and moved my lips silently along with the words. "Mother" turned back to her glossy magazine pages; and "father" glared at the rain on the windshield. We could allbe one of the stupid little dwarves from Snow White, Grumpy, Sneezy, and Dopey- except Sneezy was replaced with Sigh. Two guesses as to who's who. Through the dark rain, came two bright headlights heading straight toward us. "Father" swerved, trying to avoid the other car. Tires skidded against the wet pavement, sending us hurtling into the oncoming traffic. I looked up just in time to see the bright headlights before I fell into darkness; yes I know, how cliché, but that's really how it works.

A steady beeping pulled me out of a deep haze and into stark reality; which apparently is a white room that smells like ammonia. I blinked my eyes several times before anything but the overpowering white and ammonia came into focus. There was one of those really uncomfortable green plastic chairs in the corner, and on the bed side table was a big red button that said "Press For Assistance."I love buttons; I really do, so with a shaky bandaged hand, I pressed the big red button. In just a few minutes a nurse walked in wearing the usual colorful scrubs all nurses wear. She was round with dark brown hair that complimented her creamy caramel skin.

"Hello dear, finally awake are you? It's a good thing too. We were getting worried, especially since we just pulled you out of the ICU yesterday. What's your name?"

Man, I thought she'd never shut up. Maybe she was one of those people who just couldn't keep their mouths shut. I opened my mouth to answer her, but my throat burned so I closed it quickly. She noticed and sighed before fishing out a pen and notepad. I picked up the pen (the ink was red) and scribbled my name.

Liadan Avery

“Liadan, huh? Interesting name. So are you going to St. Andrew’s? It’s only thirty miles away and the only reason why we have kids come here. Are you hungry? I know I would be if I had been out for a week.”

She kept rambling on and for a second I thought she was never going to shut up. I thought I was doomed to spend the rest of the day listening to her ramble. My head pounded and I didn’t even have the foggiest idea where I was. Quickly I scribbled on the notepad again

Where am I? Where are my parents?

I gave it to her and she began to babble again. I wished I hadn’t but what’s done is done.

“You’re in North Hamptonshire Hospital, thirty miles south of St. Andrew’s. Your parents were really hurt in the accident and strangely sustained severe brain damage. They won’t be leaving the hospital anytime soon, neither will you-at least for a week or so.”

I nodded, the painkiller started to wear off. It hurt so bad I wanted to kill something. The woman wouldn’t stop talking and I don’t think she realized that I was in excruciating pain. What am I? Chopped liver? The dull throbbing in my arm started to grow; I groaned and let my head fall back onto the unbearably stiff white pillow. I started up at the white ceiling and let my arm and head throb. The nurse walked out of the room and a few minutes later, a different nurse came in with a needle and syringe. Briskly she stuck the needle into the IV and let the painkiller into my system. A slow subsiding relief flooded me and I felt the throbbing leave. With a sigh I rolled over- carefully to make sure I didn’t pull out the IV- and went back to sleep.

I spent several more days in the hospital doing check-ups and x-rays. I also learned that there were two kinds of nurses; the talkative kind and the silent ones. Eventually, I was-regretfully- sent to St. Andrew’s; it was only an hour drive, but I glared out the window the whole bloody way. My frown only grew when the rented car reached the tall wrought-iron gates, but I didn’t say anything because my throat still hurt. My right arm still throbbed dully and had been wrapped in a thick white bandage- the darn accident tore the muscle from shoulder to wrist. It was very unlikely that I would ever regain full use of my arm.

The car eventually stopped and the lawyer who was assigned to me stepped out of the passenger seat and opened my door. It’s not like I couldn’t open it myself. I sat there for a while before I eventually climbed out, glared at the stupid lawyer, and marched my sorry little butt up the large black and white marble steps. The huge carved oak doors opened for us and there was an old man who smiled at me before leading us to his office. It was a nice office, I guess, it was slightly dark due to the dark wood paneling and the fact that it had no windows. He motioned for us to have a seat while he pulled out some papers and a pen. He placed the packet of papers in front of the lawyer (I refused to call her by name) and motioned for her to fill them out.

“Tobias Andrew. 5th generation of Andrews to run this school. You must be Miss Avery.” I nodded and Mr. Andrews held out an old wrinkled hand for me to shake, but I just sat there. First of all, I didn’t want to shake his hand, and second, my arm hurt too much to try and move it.

“Mr. Andrews, Miss Avery injured her arm in her recent accident and has no use of it.”

“Ah. I hope you will enjoy your say here. Your parents did. Now let’s get you the uniforms and show you where your dorm wing is. Maybe the girls will be there.”

I followed Mr. Andrews down several labyrinth-like hallways and into a supply room where a lady sat idly on a stool. As we stepped in the room, she stood up quickly and began to pull out articles of clothing. A large pile grew on the stool the woman had previously occupied. By the time she as finished, shirts and jackets had fallen off the stool and formed small pools of fabric on the ground.