THE ARTIC PENTAGON

A Story by Mad Minion

An attempt at a story. Not actually completed just the first part.

THE ARTIC PENTAGON

"Love is the ability to put someone before yourself

while not being deprived of you freedom to be selfish

-Love is a compromise"

REESE'S POV

'I am graceful, I am poised, I am... a SQUID!'- Okay, not the best choice of verb but what's more morbid is someone had actually let me partner up for dance class. Now, whose marvelous idea was this?

God knows how many rich-pompous male species toes I've dismembered within 30 minutes of waltzing- which in truth I resemble more of a dehydrated walrus trying to find water than an elegant ballroom dancer. A record breaking number, I assure you.

Why the school even has a dance class to begin with is beyond me. Well, what would I expect coming into an elite school full of students with super rich influential family backgrounds? Rich enough to turn a blind eye that if I were to set their limo on fire, they would casually shrug it off as if someone told them it was going to be raining and respond with 'it was an old model anyway'. And influential enough that the president himself would drop an emergency state affair to attend their child's birthday party if the man had to.

Seriously, this classmate of mine, Philip Arvinson- the third- so he says, received an island named after him as a 16th birthday gift. Now, where was my island when I turned 16? Has the world got no justice?!

To sum it up, Eastern Rosenberg Academy- a proud Victorian school for the elite and geniuses, standing over 15 feet tall and big enough to accommodate thirty helicopters and is currently housing approximately three hundred students. My first impression of this school was no other than 'oh s**t'.

KAT'S POV

Britney Spears had once said that there are only two types of people in this world; ones that entertain, and ones that observe. I fully disagree. There's a whole other group of people that belongs to neither of these category, people who lack survival instincts; the Harrington twins.

"Would you please enlighten me again Ms Kathleen Stuart, into how you got into this predicament as to result in a physical assault against Mr Harrington". The tone in which she spoke gave out the clear authorities of her position, the headmistress.

Crossing both my arm and leg, I sighed heavily. "Which Harrington?" Whether it was the question or the casual attitude that made the beautiful woman in front of me raised a delicate brow, I wouldn't know.

"As unfortunate as it is, there's two of them. Two too many if you ask me. Which of them are you referring to?" I nudged my head to the corner of the room where two pairs of red heads were seated, albeit one with an icepack on his well deserved swollen head. "Well unless you were referring to both of them, in which case yo-"

"-The one you punched in the face Kathleen". The headmistress interrupted all the while moving around her desk, opting to sit on it while facing me. I cleared my throat.

"It was hardly a punch madam, it was more of an experiment if I might say. An experiment to find out how much blood dear Rodney could spill if my fist were to collide with his jaw at the speed of 250 meter per second squared." I could tell she was on the brink of losing it as she massaged her temples all the while taking deep breaths.

She turned to Rodney and Raphael. "Exactly what did you tell her?", her hands still firmly locked on her forehead.

"He mocked me as if I were some kind of animal he found on the street of some neighborhood's yard!"

"If I may". It was Rodney that spoke but it was Raphael that stood and continued on. "I believe my brother's exact words were; oh my fair pussycat, don't you just get an awfully lot cuter as the days go by. Then I remembered you came like a Saharan blizzard, I could of sworn someone killed your pet fish to warrant such hostility. You took him by his tie. Dragged him outside. Beat him to a pulp. End of story." His British accent dripped heavily in every word he spoke.

The sound of the headmistress' nails tapping against her oak desk resounded through the empty space. "The way I see this, both you-" she turned towards me "and Mr Harrington at fault".

"No matter what the circumstances are, a student, a lady at that should never raise their hands against another student." I could feel the smug stare of my perpetrator across the room. 'No, I would not raise my hands again, next time I'll use my foot.' I bit my lower lip, the rational part of my brain prevented me from voicing out my thoughts.

"And Mr Harrington, I can't say I approve of your choice of subject to test your flirting skills with."

The knocking of the door snapped the headmistress' attention from her chastise. Sparing me one last lingering look before she beckoned the intruder or in this case my savior inside.

Brown almond hair peeked from the small gap of the slit door only to reveal a petite girl which I recognize as one of the scholarship student from Class-C. Can't say I know much about her other than the fact that she's poor and has two left feet.

The older woman spoke. "Reese Witherspoon, correct?" The girl managed a nod.

"Please take a sit."

Settling herself into a comfortable position in a vacant seat next to mine, she gave me a shy crooked smile, a poor attempt at making amends she found out when I rewarded her with an arrogant huff.

Mine and Harrington's earlier quarrel seems to have been left forgotten as the school's dominion continued to address her newest guest.

"You Ms Witherspoon are a fascinating case. While you seem to be excelling in your academics with flying colours, your curricular reports are somewhat forbidding."

"Mr Helmish had described your dancing as 'out of this world', 'I have never seen the likes of it' and 'in all my years of teaching I've never encountered such hapless feet'.

"Is that a good thing?" The brunette spoke for the first time. I stifled laughter but failed miserably as a chortling sound escaped my throat. This girl seems to have a knack for adapting a sense of humor in inapt moments.

For the nth time today, the headmistress gave of another heavy sigh. "No Reese, it is not a good thing. In other words, you couldn't dance to save your life."

The headmistress had long abandoned her tact of sugar coating words and now opted for the straightforward approach. Can't blame her though, talking to us is no better than asking a wall to move three spaces backwards.

"Well, now what?". 'Good question'.

"Now you'll be joining Ms Stuart and Mr Harrington in detention".