A voice from behind calls out to her.

"Maddie, Maddie..."

It is getting closer. But all Maddie sees is red.

"Maddie, Maddie!"

Maddie snaps back into reality. She is in art class, and her hands are covered in red paint.

"Oh.." she mumbles in annoyance.

This time, her PTSD is triggered by red paint. Which really pisses her off since the art teacher is a sensitive creature. Rats, Maddie thinks, now I have to suck up to the art teacher to make sure she doesn’t send me to the counselor. Her face scrunches up slowly as she turns toward Ms. Turner.

Ms. Turner smiles sheepishly, fitting for who she is. Her short curly hair resembles sheep wool, and her pale complexion resembles the skin of one.  

“Maddie, you don’t look so good,” Ms. Turner says worriedly. Maddie doesn’t say anything, simply showing her hands covered in red paint.

“You're right, I’m not fine. MY hands are covered in red paint. You won’t mind if I go to-”

“The counselor?”

"No...to the bathroom.”

“I think it’s best that you go to both.”

Maddie is convinced: the art teacher is putting her through hell, in five different ways.

1. Ms. Turner is making her feel miserable because she really thinks she’s helping her. When in reality she's not.

2. She had to look at her sheepish face when having this conversation.

3. Red paint (no further explanation)

4. The counselor is an egotistical douchebag.

5. Her mom is going to kill her back at home.

Maddie gets up from her seat, angry and tired of all these situations happening to her. She grabs her bookbag and leaves a red handprint on its straps. Another reason for my mom to kill me, thinks Maddie. She rolls her eyes when the teacher shares a small smile when leaving the classroom.

She sits across from Ms. or Mr. Sammy. Honestly, Maddie could never tell if the counselor was human or not, so she never bothered to be formal with them, always calling them by their first name.​

“I heard from Ms. Turner that you had some trouble in art class."

“That’s right, Sammy, I got paint all over myself. Ms. Turner simply took my reaction to my mistake out of context. I was simply bothered by that-"

"The past came back to haunt you."

Maddie glares at counselor Sammy. What's with grown adults interrupting me today?! Maddie thinks.

“Look, Maddie, you’re being sent here more and more recently, and honestly...it's concerning. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to call your parents.”

“No!” Maddie shouts out, reaching for the phone. “Sorry, I didn’t-” Maddie shakes her head. Don't apologize for someone's ignorance. Maddie looks at Sammy, “Anything but that, Sammy.”

“You'll thank me later,” Sammy says softly to Maddie, taking the phone from her grasp. “What’s your parents’ phone number?”

Maddie reluctantly recites it. Within the following twenty minutes, Sammy interrogates Maddie about her personal trauma, but gets nowhere due to her consistent denial of it.

After a while, Sammy sighs and reluctantly lets Maddie go back to class. Gosh, I hate the school system, Maddie thinks. She goes on with school, hating every bit of it.