Ky spent the entire first day saying "I told you so" because of the principal. We had an ongoing bet, and I owed her ten dollars due to being lied to. The principal stopped trying to be all comfortable with me after the first month of me avoiding his touches like the plague. I have been redubbed assistant, after he realized I'd never go back to calling him what I used to.

Of course, just before Thanksgiving break I was ordered via text from the pricipal's phone to go grab a basketball from the gym and bring it to him in his office. It was a trap, and I stumbled away as the gym doors were slammed shut and a hockey stick was shoved in the door after it was locked. Running towards the girl's locker room, I found that closed and locked. Hopping onto the bleachers to avoid being grabbed, I ended up slamming into the storage room after finding out every other door was locked, and grabbed the plastic hockey puck and a metal tennis racket, those being my only options. Throwing a basketball into the chest of Nick, I managed to get into the open. In the middle of the gym, I was surrounded on all sides by the seven douchebags that for some reason held beef with me.

"Dudes, seriously? I'm not top of my grades, the principal barely even calls me away anymore, and I look like I'm being beaten on a regular basis- I'm not hot, smart, or in any position of power, so what the fuck do you guys want?" I complained, looking around.

Liz looks almost caught off guard by that, before realizing that it was true. While I still skipped class heavily, you'd be hardpressed to see me anywhere near the principal, and I looked like an apple dropped ten thousand times with how many bruises I had. The other six didn't seem to really care.

"So? This is personal now, bitch," Luther, Nick's older brother, snapped. I forgot the other dude's name, but he was staying silent, and wasn't trying to sneak up and grab me, so I didn't put as much focus on him as I did the others.

"Why? I just defended myself from you and ran away like, three times. Or, no, this is the third. Seriously, I'll happily let this go, just release me and we can all forget this," I begged. While I had stepped up my exercising, and M_OfYourMom and I were online besties who've gotten news articles written about our fast reaction speeds, I had taken five falls down a set of stairs I usually never used after a three-mile run, and wasn't really in the mood for defending against knives and fists and penetration.

"... Suck my dick, and I'll think of it," Nick jeered.

"Mine too," Sebastian put in.

"Eat me out as well," Liz sneered.

Literally everyone besides Jacob, who claimed to have a girlfriend, demanded me to suck them off or eat them out, and I sighed as I got ready for a fight. Going after the biggest threat, Jacob goes down with a swing to the temple from my hockey stick. Everyone goes down pretty easy, actually, and I'm left standing, gasping and panting in a ring of KO-ed people. Dropping the items, I stumble to the entrance and manage to get the door open as I hear Jacob start to wake up. I'm in the office before I realize it, and I stare at Candy for a very long moment. It had been about a month since I'd last interacted with her.

"Don't worry, dear, I'll tell the janitor you said sorry," Candy said after a moment.

Confused, I looked down, and saw that I was in fact bleeding. Oh, "Don't tell the principal," Is all I said as I left the office, went to my locker and got the shit I needed out of it before stumbling into the nurse's office. She wasn't in. She rarely was, only in on two days of the five we had at school.

Closing the door after turning on the lights, I stare at the windowed door for a moment with a sigh before shaking my head and ripping my overshirt and shirt off. I saw a large and deep gash on my way-too-visible abs, and noticed that there was another, deeper gash on my right upper arm, almost making its way to my shoulder from the elbow. I didn't even realize they'd pulled out knives, I was just focused on smacking them in the heads hard enough to knock them out but not hard enough to kill them or do permanent brain damage.

I start on my stomach, grimacing at the proof that I needed to eat and drink more, and manage to sew it way better than my last wound had been. I supposed the tapestry I worked on helped with my sewing skills, with its millions of threads. It would be done soon, I knew, and I was proud. I had started it when I was seven, a few days before I turned eight, and here it would be finished a near six years later. It was just too bad it was of the principal, my previous epithet of him sewn in too. I'd probably post my work online, both the photo of him and the tapestry, and sell it off or something. Or I'd burn it. Yeah, I'd probably burn it. Maybe make a big deal of burning it too. Use it to fuel the fire that would be burning something of his. Bastard deserved it after betraying me like that.

Finished with the stomach wound, blood soaking the top and sides of my pants and shirt so far gone that I just used it to help clean up the blood that my arm was still leaking. I bit my lip as I stared at the wound, which certainly needed to be sewn, in contemplation. Did I ask for help or did I risk fucking something up by sewing with my nondominante hand?

The decision was made for me when the principal burst in, probably having followed the blood, or maybe having found the seven assholes beaten and bruised in the gym. Either was possible, really. He took in the neatly sewed stomach wound, and how my left hand was holding the thread close to my other wound, and stormed over, ripping the needle from my hand and gently trying to sew my wound closed.

"Fuck off, I can do it," I refute, standing up and moving away from him. Who gave him permission to be so close to me? Fucking traitor, I don't want to be in the same fucking building as him, let alone the same damn room. Not to mention how much I despised being within arm's length of him, which oddly enough reminded me of sixth grade, go figure, "Give me my needle and wire and go back to fucking every legal chick in the building, why don't you?"

The principal stood quickly, glaring at me, "I haven't fucked any "legal chick" in this school. Ever. Now sit down and let me sew you up or I'm calling the bloody police."

"Tch, I don't believe your lies anymore, principal. Give me my fucking needle and get lost," I demanded with a snarl, before stalking forward to take the fucking needle myself. My mind logically picked apart my emotions as I did so, and I tried ignoring the voice telling me I was only acting angry because I was hurt beyond belief.

"I don't bloody care what you believe! If you don't sit the bloody fuck down and let me sew your bleeding wound I'm calling an ambulance," The Maste- The principal snapped. Shocked at my thought's own betrayal, calling him his ex-nickname, I don't jump back in time to escape the principal's grabbing claws and am forced to sit too fucking close to the traitor of my kind. My teeth clench and I audibly grit them, left hand clenching and unclenching until he's finished, and I jolt away from him, grabbing my shirts and putting them both on as I vanish.

Going to class, I ignore the stares as I sit down in my seat. Seeing as my entire front was covering in copious amounts of still-wet blood with the cut in the shirt showing a relatively clean sewed wound and my right arm much the same, I didn't really have much of a choice to remain unnoticed.

"What happened?" The teacher asked, voice sounding surprised and worried.

"I told you. The principal asked me to grab something for him. Can we continue with class, now?" At her stare, I forcefully added an, "I'm fine."

"Is someone else... Not fine?" The teacher asked, and I glanced down at the blood.

"Huh? No, it's mine. Seven jackasses and a knife tend to get the better of me quite a bit."

The class continued, and I doodled in my notebook, ignoring the red streaks and reddish brown marks as my sleeve brushes against it. The doodles were being made in black sharpie, so it was fine. When the cops came I told them to fuck off, and refused to have my wounds looked at. Not even Ky could force the issue, and I was soon told that if I didn't comply I'd be forced. Seeing the seven be cuffed and shoved into a police car, I wonder what the hell was going on. I was brought to the principal, who sighed heavily when he saw my arms forced behind my back and the cop dragging me along with a grip on my upper left arm.

"She tried running?" The principal asked, sounding like he felt regret.

He didn't, I knew. He only cared for himself, and couldn't feel any emotions. He was like the Joker, he could have fun but he had no actual feelings besides psychotic and psychopathic ones. The fucking traitor. He had no right to pretend to feel regret. He didn't seem affected by my glare, just observing me as if I was a particularly growly chihuaua that he didn't really care about. No, of course he wouldn't be affected. I'm just a kid, a veritable animal in the eyes of adults. Nothing about how I was actually nearing my fifties in mental age. Nooo, because we all were savage animals, right? We didn't fucking matter, did we?

"Yes. I need to get her checked out by the ambulance, then I can return to get the rest of your statement, is that okay?"

"No," I snapped, "Release me, fiend. I've done nothing. I'm legally allowed to refuse treatment, and everything else was self defense. Not to mention I'm fine!"

"Ms. Lynn, if you'd calm down," the principal said, rolling his eyes when I turned my glare back to him, "Just because you're mad at me doesn't mean you should take it out on others."

"Maybe you shouldn't have fucking pissed me off, you bastardous traitor," I snarled, jerking forward to try and kick him only for the cop to keep me from removing the asshole's ability to have kids. The principal sighed sadly, ignoring my glare as he acted like he gave a fuck.

"Is that why you're mad at me, Minion? Because I betrayed you by preventing you from getting shot by the police?" He asked sardonically.

"Call me minion one more fucking time, bastard," I threatened, even as the officer dragged me out of the room, "You know damned well you betrayed us well before you tackled me in the bus depot."

After I was released from the hospital with a clean bill of health and new stitches that I'd remove two months too early, according to the doctors, I managed to keep from being tripped down the stairs more than once and went to sleep.

When I woke up, M_OfYourMom was on, and I complained to him about how shit police were and how the justice system was totally fucking corrupt in between fights. Eventually he accepted to play zombie on Black Ops, and we played to the max level every map I owned. He admitted to me that he hadn't had the best of days either, and we played Minecraft the rest of the night, working on the survival city he was making. It was going to be big enough to fill the entire map, one day. It didn't fill a fourth of it, yet, but terraforming and otherwise getting killed again and again by falling or creepers or, more accurately, skeletons that we couldn't hit because we were sixty blocks in the air and they spawned on a neighboring construct.

My professionalism slowly returned, and I ended up using it for everything. Ky slowly drifted away from me, and Andrea and Co, whilst used to my professionalism, still would drop me pretty much as soon as highschool started. I ended up only having M_OfYourMom as a close friend by the time winter break rolled around.

"Unless you can find a person to keep you over break, you can't stay," Elise declined.

I frowned, "I have work, and while I understand that you don't understand the importance of a two-week notice for going on unwarranted vacation, I can't just drop a twelve hour shift. They rely on me, there, especially since I'll be one of four there for Christmas."

"You can't stay."

"If I get the principal to agree, would you allow me to stay?" I asked patiently. They had gotten used to my light but flat tones and logical words, in my customer service voice, after a few weeks realizing that this was just what I was like, and that everything before was an act. Or, at least I hope they realized that.

"If you can get him to agree."

I called the principal. It was nine o'clock on a Friday, so I didn't really expect him to answer. We last spoke in mid-November, after all. It was nearing the end of December.

"Hello?" The principal asked.

"Say yes, even if you don't agree. I'll find something out," I ordered, before wandering up to Elise, "He said yes."

Elise, giving me a suspicious look, took the phone from me, which I could honestly give no fucks about if she took at night, and spoke, "You'll allow her to stay winter break? Are you sure? Okay... If you're okay with it. She didn't tell you? We're going to the Dells for winter break. Yes. She'll probably just go home with you on the last day before Christmas break, if that's okay? Okay."

When I got the phone back I simply said thank you before hanging up and walking off. Who the hell schedules a vacation to a waterpark during winter without telling someone who has a job about it and expecting them to go? Seriously, living at home certainly makes my customer service voice work out heavily. I'm sure at this rate it could be Black Friday in a Walmart with riots going on, half the shop on fire, and just having been told my wage was cut from survivable to minimum wage and keep my tone even and respectable. Though any Walmart worker who couldn't probably wouldn't've been working there too long. Walmart cashiers were some of the most respectable people around, not because of their morals but because of how much bullshit they can be put through without murdering everyone in sight.

I spent the next few days adding finishing touches to the tapestry, it being about the width of my forearm and the length of my entire arm. It wasn't too big. With the sun and golden letters, it made his hair look blond instead of the brown it was, and I didn't really care enough to fix it. It was modelled after a photo from three years ago, almost. As I continued threading the last twenty or so threads I thought to the first time we met.

-- --

Okay, me, just get through this shitty orientation and- "Hey, kid, go grab the papers I just printed off in the library."

I looked at the man in a suit, disgruntled. The fuck? "Sure, master," I griped as I stalked off. All I need to do is get through this shitty fucking day, then I can seek out the principal and beg on my knees to be able to test out of this godforsaken school. When I returned, he didn't even give me a second glance, and I glared at him, "You're welcome, master." Jesus fuck.

He glanced at me at the epithet with a grimace, "Don't call me that, kid."

That settled it. He hated the name? Brilliant, it was his new name, "Kindly go fuck yourself, Master. Don't tell me what the fuck to do and I won't call you out on it using passive-aggresive nicknames."

The man gave me a half-amused, quarter-annoyed, and quarter-interested look, "I like you," He drawled, making it clear he did not, in fact, like me at all, "Maybe I need a permanent assistant throughout the year? I could use a pack mule."

"I believe the term is ass, Master," I sniped, smirking at the disgusted look that flashed across his face at the name I termed him with.

He observed me for a moment, looking almost incredulous, "Aren't kids typically snotty and naive? Why are you a smartass?"

"Aren't teachers typically broke and miserable? Why are you wearing a suit?"

The man rolled his eyes, "I'm your new principal, kid, now sod off."

I closed my eyes for a moment before taking a deep breath, "You're saying some dickwad wearing a suit is the principal of a middle school? Does that mean I need to treat you with respect and cater to your every whim so I can test out of this shithole?"

"Headmaster, I'd say. Principal sounds so... Weird. You Yanks are so bloody weird."

"You ain't the head of shit here, Master," My lips twitch upwards at his grimace, "Sooo whaddya say? You let me test out of this shithole and neither of us have to see or talk to each other again?"

The man which I've decided to just mentally dub "The Master", gave me a long, flat stare, "I don't think you'd be able to pass a basic maths test, let alone be able to test out of middle school."

"Ouch, that hurt, Master," I said, putting my hand to my chest, "Do tell me, how does it feel to have a double-digit IQ? I'd never know, seeing as I have a triple-digit one."

The Master rolled his eyes, "I could suspend you for talking to me that way, midget."

"I'm not done growing here, you are, Master. I'd say you're the midget," I commented, unable to let the slight to my miniscule height go, "Plus, you suspending me would help me. I'm sure there are much kinder slave-workers in the other schools. So go right ahead, asshole."

"I don't think I will. What could make a git like you suffer more than becoming my assistant knowing that I was the only thing keeping you from testing out of secondary?"

"A fucking tea-snorting asshole is imprisoning me in this shithole? Seriously?" I cry out to no one in particular, "Come on, man, I don't know why you want to suffer these snivelling brats, but you can't- you can't just refuse me!"

"Tea-snorting? I think I'll enjoy calling you away from class at my every bloody whim," He said, sounding annoyed.

"Bloody whim...? Oh god you're a dominatrix too?" I complained.

"A domi- what? No! It's a swear!"

"Bloody, like... that red stuff that's literally our liquid life... Is a swear to tea-snorting assholes?" I asked incredulously, "What, let me guess, saying someone has lungs is an insult too? Or claiming that they have skin?"

"Why the hell would having skin be an insult?"

"Why the fuck would being bloody be an insult? That makes no sense, how can you tell if someone has a bloody nose then? You'd just sound like you're amazed someone's not Voldemort!" I pointed out, gesturing to the nearest someone.

He gave me an unamused look, "It's in the tone and the context."

"Oh, right," I rolled my eyes, "Tone and context, because you idiots don't know any better words."

"You use fucking interchangibly with sex and everything else!"

"Everyfuckingone who knows English does you fucktard! The Aussies, the Brits, the fucking Canadians! Fucking is an adjective and a verb, which means it can go fucking everywhere in any stupid fucking sentence. Bloody is not a fucking verb, and it shouldn't be a swear, because everyone bleeds! What, is bleeding a swear there too?"

"As a matter of fact, it is!" He snapped.

Neither of us noticed that we were yelling at each other in the now totally silent cafeteria, every student, teacher, and adult alike watching as the principal of the school their kids are going to yelled at a kid in a very, very, very petty argument.

"Well that's fucking stupid!"

The Master and I noticed the silent stares at the same time.

"My assistant, everyone," The Master said, gesturing at me.

"I fucking hate you," I complained, "The Master, everyone," I gestured at him, glancing around to find a place to sit. Jesus I should've sat down before this, everywhere looked full.

"Go sit down now, kid," The Master said.

"Go fuck off now, Master," I replied absently as I found an empty spot. Wandering over, I plopped down and nodded to the fat black chick and her friends as I rest my head in my arms. Great. I was trapped in fucking middle school of all places. Literally a synonym to hell.

-- --