Smiling Oak's Academy for the Insane.

"We can't take care of you anymore." my mom said to me with woe in her eyes, as they lead me to a padded ambulance-like truck outside of the hospital. Or at least I could've sworn it was padded. Really, did they expect me to hurt myself in a moving vehicle now? Did they really think I was that mental?
"We love you, Lydi, but you keep attempting...and I don't know what to do with you..."

"I don't know, let me stay at my dad's and kick everyone out of there?" I thought. "Maybe you can go live with your fuck buddy and leave the house to me?"

"You'll understand when you have a kid." was the last thing she said to me before they took me off.

They drove me to a building in the midst of nowhere, to a building across the road from a woods. The building was paved with dark coloured bricks, more of a reddish-black tone, with small windows all around the front, but none towards the northern or southern ends.
The walkways were cracked and uneven, but no grass or weeds grew between the cracks, unlike at my mom or dad's houses. The boulevard was obviously fake, and the trees planted were just recently planted circa two years prior. This place was too different, but at the same time, I wanted it to be different.

"Welcome to Philip Pine's Insane Asylum for Young Women. I'm Debby."

The woman said at the desk said with a heavy Midwestern accent. She looked a mere twenty six, with short blonde hair and a long white jacket, buttoned down with a tight red-and-pink cocktail dress underneath. Her eyes were almost periwinkle, had long red nails, a creamy pale complexion and she was wearing bright red lipstick, like a tease. Honestly. Who are you trying to impress wearing whore makeup to an insane asylum? Wouldn't it scare some people? Doesn't red make people freak out? Or maybe it was orange? Was it orange? Anyway, it wasn't flattering. And she had a nose like Ashlee Simpson's first nose. You could get stabbed in the eye with that thing. And her hair looked stressed, as though she had just won a couple battles. Maybe she got attacked by some crazy because of that horrid lip chap.
"You were submitted here by your...mother?"

I nodded plainly.

"Because you attempted suicide..." her eyes widened, "sixteen times?"

"One for each year." I kidded, smirking daringly.

She was not entertained. "Let me show you around."

"Whatever you say, skank." I thought.

We toured the building. The place looked hopeful, with the many (high) windows magnifying the sunlight, although the sun wasn't even out that day. The panes were made of a bright coloured wood. You know, the kind that smells like peanuts that covers the gym floors at school. The place was practically covered in it.

Debby pointed out tedious-ass rooms; the janitor's closet, the regular closet, the guest restrooms and so on.
She showed me down the corridor of the rooms, and my room. There was one bed on each side of the room, and two nightstands between the two. The one closest to the door had pictures and letters, as if it were a dorm. Other than that, the room was pretty plain so we couldn't try anything wrong.

"...And this is the activity room."

Now you could tell it was an asylum.
Women ran around like it was a play ground. Some painted, some watched TV, some sat peacefully. That was about seventy-five percent of the population there.
The other twenty-five percent was chaos. Women shouting, screaming and crying; And a group of young, sinister-looking girls traveling in a pack led by an averagely pretty looking girl with medium-length black hair and circles around her eyes. They were traveling around the room, whispering to women in their ears. Then the women would shout or get mad.
I sat at the empty table covered in crayons. As soon as I did, the women started whispering each other. I picked up a red crayon and started drawing stars.
As I was lost in it, pondering about what'd be going on at school, someone sat in the chair next to mine.
With a cold breath, she said, "You're new here."

"Yeah, as of today." I looked up.

There sat the leader of the pack. She nodded at my last statement. "How old are you, you say?" she asked, as if I were reminding her.

"Sixteen years young."

"Oh, pardon me. My name's Innocence. You are?" her voice was cold. It felt like shaking someone's freezing hand whilst they're smiling. Or being forced into necrophilia, and the corpse is the one enjoying it.
Speaking of shaking hands, she put hers out to shake.

"Lydia." I shook her hand. And it was exactly the same feeling as her voice; cold.

She seemed odd enough. She seemed paranormal or undead, from another dimension. In fact, when I told her my name, she seemed to mouth it as I said it. "Lydia M. Sanchez." Her whole face looked dead, as if she couldn't smile, and had never done so before. But her eyes were huge and animated like a doll's. "Fascinating." She lifted her eyebrows without moving her sagging eyelids. "What did you do to be put in the coo-coo barrel?"

"Nothing. I tried to commit suicide and my mom brought me here."

She smirked, moving only her lips. "Ohh."

"What did you do?"

"Something." She got up and left, walking toward her crew, who was standing about five feet away.

All the women in the room stared at me, until I looked around. Then they started whispering to each other frantically.

"This is going to be just like high school, minus the boys." I thought to myself.

Was I ever wrong.