The skunky but delicious smoke fills this little corner of campus, exiting my lungs only once it's done its job. I feel the calming weight fall over my anxious brain almost immediately and glance down at the tiny joint in my hands, surprised by its secret potency. 

"Miss Xanderson!"

I grab one more big hit before stomping the lovely little thing beneath the heel of my combat boot and turning to face our principal, inwardly rolling my eyes at his disappointed expression and outwardly raising a single eyebrow while exhaling in his general direction.

"Miss Xanderson was my mother, before she remarried. You may call me Philena. Or Phil as some of the highly esteemed sportsball fuckers prefer." 

He frowns upon hearing me swear though he no longer looks surprised like he used to. I suppose catching me smoking once a month for the last few years will do that to a person. What I don't expect to see is the new kid standing behind him, shaking his head with that same disgusted look to him. I can't help it - I smirk.

"What the fuck is your problem, Newbie? Never seen a pothead before? Newsflash - everybody gets high. The question is whether it's off of plants gifted by nature or pills supplied by their gullible GPs. I, myself…" a shrug, "I don't discriminate. Whatever will get me through the day. Though I do prefer the natural stuff."

My gaze flicks back to Monsieur Principal and I fake shock, covering my mouth with my hand and raising my brows, "I mean, I'm so sorry, sir, I'll never do such a disgusting thing like smoking pot again. I don't know what came over me."

My eyes, seemingly of their own accord, nearly roll out of my head. 

"Anyway, what'll it be this time? Suspension for three days again? In-school suspension for a week? Expulsion? Gonna call my parents? Hah."

But he just shakes his head again. 

"None of that has stopped you so far. Nah, Miss Xanderson, you'll be doing thirty days at an after-school drug program. Maybe that'll show you that not everybody has the same bad habits as you. Oh and Adam here will be with you, reporting to me on how it's going… As well as whether you're showing for the program or not."

He slides away as quickly as he appeared, before I can even mention that I need permission for after-school activities - the thought of which has me smirking again. Needing consent from my parents for a drug program but not for all the drugs I do is the ultimate ironic statement. One that he likely wouldn’t believe. Inwardly, I worry about my mother’s husband’s response, but outwardly I chuckle, sauntering over to the newbie and settling an arm over his shoulders.

“Well, isn’t this a wonderful welcome to Hell High? I hope you’re ready for a fucking devilish ride as we explore a new pigeonhole in this decidedly desolate dominion. Get ready to learn why I said everybody gets high.”