I threw my duffle bag on the bed, letting it crease the stretched taut sheets. I smirked a little. My first destruction.

In reality I wanted to get out of this place faster than a fly would want to get untangled in a web. Dad had promised if I got strait marks for two months in military school that I would be back at Chilton. Recrowned and reigning my kingdom.

I could only guess what Duncan and Bowman were hooting about back home. I sucked my tounge. I could only guess that Rory was hooting back in her dorky town of "Stars Hollow".

Actually it wasn't really dorky. I had been jealous of the waves from across the street. People mowing their lawn...their own lawn. It wasn't gardener to gardener friendliness, it was two people who lived near each other lending each other salt.

Well, here I am.

Iwas in military school.

I flopped on the bed and picked up the items I'd been given.

I found it slightly amusing, as I flipped through the hefty guide book on the crate next to my bed stand. I knew that the guys laying in their bunks were boring holes, like five millimeters, into the back of my head. I pretended not to notice.

I almost wnated them all to jump me. It would almost give me an excuse to beat their brains in. I could take them out.Getting yelledat and jumping in the mud has nothing on the personal trainers and street fighting techniques I had picked up over the years.

"Uh-huh. Normally the new rich kids are writing to their 'special someones' about now." It was a leering, tempting, mocking voice. Like woolen thread being tighty stretched.

I didn't look up and ran my fingers throughmy touseled tawny hair. "The problem is..." I measured the end of a few strands carefully. "I don't have enough postage. I've only got ten stamps. And I've got twenty girls back home waiting for a letter."

The guy grunted. Articulate and expressive, interesting combination for a juvie.

"I'm Frank King, rich boy, you can call me King." His tone had changed. His leer-ance beforehand been an intimidation test.

I didn't take the friendship bait. This pattern is too familiar to me. I looked up at what Summer would have described as "hot-with-a-double-t". His hair was in a short flat top, his eyebrows were relaxed in a fake peace treaty.

Psh. Like I'm gonna call him KING.

"I'm Tristin Dugrey." I extended a hand.

As "King" reached for it, I smirked. "You can call me God."

King dropped his hand. "You're good." He looked over his shoulder, then leaned foward and lowered his voice
Not good enough, of course, just good enough to prove that you aren't cream." He glanced at the spectators behind him. "Come on boys, lets have some fun with the new boy."

I didn't even protest as he grabbed me by the collar of the shirt and wrenched me up towards him. "Ever played in the spit-shine room?"

"We had servants for that back home actually." I retorted.

They all grabbed me by something and began dragging me toward the door.

"Excuse me boys..." It was tart, sharp, cutting...and female.

A girl stood in the door, clad in the uniform. Her boyish muscular frame wasn't model material, but in a place only men roamed, it was very much alluring.

"Yes ma'am?" King straitened me and then let me fall at her spit-shine regulation books. I didn't take my eyes off them for a second, planning my next move.

"As much as you like toying with the newbies, let's rein it to the football field shall we?" She looked at me, her lips twisted to a satisfied smirk. "Look at him, he's so innocent."

"Innocent." I said carefully, standing and cocking my head to flip a lock of hair in place. "Isn't the word girls back home described me with."

Her gaze slowly followed my botton line. "I very much doubt that."

Hard-to-get is in my blood. I cocked my head. "Then again you're never gonna know." Then I brushed by her and out of the room

I sat on the edge of the shooting range with a piece of school stationary and a neatly sharpened pencil. It was so sharp because it was my way of stalling before putting the nub to the page.

I was writing to Rory.

I promised myself that I wouldn't be like those dopes, with crumpled papers littered around them as they chose the perfect words to gush their stupid feelings. So I went with the only mode I could around unspoiled beauty. Sarcastic.

Mary,

I figured you're simply wetting your pillow at night crying. (Unlike Paris it's not over that grade you got on the play.) Truthfully you don't have to write back. I wouldn't want ONE MORE letter with perfume and a picture of you in your must flattering pose. I assure you boatloads are coming in all ready.

I am writing to make sure you haven't killed yourself over the fact that you didn't get to kiss your romeo.

So here it is...x

Your Romeo, Tristin.

ps. Tell bagboy he doesn't have to worry about your strong feelings for me because now I'm far, far away.

I sealed the letter and put one of my precious stamps on it. He could only imagine the crimson blush spreading sweetly up her cheek. The thought made me smile.I chewed my bottom lip a little more and glanced at the camp that was to be my home for two months.

No one at Chilton expected me back, and I couldn't wait for their reaction when it happened. I just got to stay out of trouble for two measly months, then I'm back at Chilton. It'll be like nothing ever happened, I'll be in great shape and I can make up all sorts of things to tell the group..

...what am I kidding myself, TWO MONTHS?

I looked back down at the letter. At least I have some motivation.

I know it's been used a million/bazillion times. Tell me what you think. I want half the story to be in military school and half back at Chilton with some P.O.V. from Rory.

-Thought's Pen