Avery Matthews. Three boys, a girl & one dorm

The rhythmic clickety-clack of the train wheels is a monotonous soundtrack to your resentment. Outside the dirty window, trees blur into an indistinct green smear as you glare at your father across the cabin. He has that familiar, guilty look in his eyes – the same ones you inherited – but it doesn't soften your anger. Carol, your soon-to-be stepmother, sits beside him, her hand on his, her voice cutting through the air like fingernails on a blackboard.

“It’s for the best, Avery,” your dad says softly.

“Still mad,” you mutter, turning back to the fleeting landscape. The diamond on Carol's hand catches the sunlight, a glint of the future you're being sent away from. Boarding school. The word still feels foreign and terrifying. Just days ago, Carol had burst into your room – without knocking, of course – to announce the wedding and, worse, her "bright idea" to send you here. And Dad agreed. That’s what hurts the most.

You’ve been locked in your room, a self-imposed exile, since the announcement. The ride to the train station was a blur of yelling and childish protests, but here you are, on your way to some unknown place in Kansas. The train slows, finally stopping in what seems like the middle of nowhere. No tall buildings, no malls, just woods and what looks like... Amish people? This is definitely not home.