𝗣𝗶𝗻𝗲-𝗛𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁𝘀

ᴘɪɴᴇ-ʜᴇᴀʀᴛꜱ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ

-Gabriella, aged 7-

I sat with my hands tucked between my knees, and stared at the ugly carpet with a frown severe enough to make my forehead wrinkle. There were stupid children's books laid out on my desk before me, with irritating titles like 'my anger does not control me', 'the girl who couldn't make friends', and 'coping with my emotions responsibly'. I refused to even glance at them, and swore to myself that if anyone tried to force me to read them, I'd tear the paper clean in half.

The teachers all thought I was stupid. Socially deficient. Unpredictable. Violent. Crazy. 

"She's just not thriving in our school environment. We've tried everything Mrs Scott, really: speech therapy, behavior regulation, buddying her up with a calm child, sitting her on her own... But unfortunately she's now become a danger to herself. We think Gabriella would be best off in a special school." The stupid teacher Mrs Corkwood told my mother in her nerve-shreddingly sweet, somber tone. 

'Tried everything'. Yeah right. Sitting me in a corner on my own and making me eat lunch in the teacher's office wouldn't help any child, but especially not me. Because I was different to the other kids, and always would be. I just knew it to be true. The problem was that I didn't have the understanding nor the words to explain the feeling to anybody. 

"A special school?" My mother asked weakly. 

"Yes. There are many places out there that would be more then happy to accept Gabriella and help her to achieve her full potential. Her anger issues do create a few obstacles with mainstream primaries," I heard Mrs Corkwood sift through some papers on her desk as my mother breathed shakily. "But thankfully we've found somewhere we think would be perfect. It's called St Caspers, and they run right through ages 3 to 12. Every day they deal with countless children, just like Gabriella, and I daresay they have brilliant ratings. The way they teach their pupils is safe, and even more importantly, successful... But the best part of all is that they're charity funded, so her education would be absolutely free, once we refer her."

Screw that stupid special school. I didn't want to go to school at all. 

"Where is it? Is it nearby?" My mother asked. I was fuming. She sounded relieved that she had somewhere new to ship me away to. Was I really that terrible of a daughter? 

I kicked the metal table leg with my scuffed up school shoe, making both adults jump out of their skin and look over at me. Mrs Corkwood gave me an expression she hoped was sympathetic; my mother just looked frightened. The latter I was not a fan of, so I crossed my arms tightly and scooted my feet back to where they were before. My frown persisted. 

"It's two hours away from here, so she would most likely have to board there. Not to worry, though: because she's been classed by the NHS as a troubled child, bed and board would be covered by the government. You would even get to see her every weekend, if you wished."

Stupid stupid stupid school. Stupid Mrs Corkwood. Stupid mother. 

"She keeps doing that." My mother whispered under her breath as I began to growl. 

"Many children with special needs make noises like she does. No need to fret." Mrs Corkwood smiled. I had heard such phrases so often, but I was aware the labels were not for me. 'Special needs' just seemed to be a catchall term for when they weren't quite sure why you acted a certain way, or behaved a certain way. I thought it was all stupid. I hated that they alienated me and these 'special needs' children so much. 

"Right, yes. Sorry. I would have to consult with my husband, but I'm already sure that we would both... Love if you could make that referral." 

"Absolutely! We can get it started right away."