"This has to be some kind of sick prank. THIS. IS. IMPOSSIBLE!"

The sound of scurrying, scraping, and slamming boots bellowed across the pavement just outside the newly moved-in mansion estate. A mail courier quickly re-entered his parked vehicle and sped away in a flash. He had just delivered an acceptance letter, which normally should spark joy in a young academic. This letter, however, was a bit of a different scenario, especially for this precious young lady.

Veruca screamed in frustration and stormed out of her new bedroom, fuming. Passing a vast, never-ending hallway of ivory pillars, sprinting down a multi-tiered staircase covered in lush, crimson fabric, and immediately slamming open the doors into the wing of the mansion dedicated to her parents, Veruca looked for any signs of life to quickly stomp out. Her personal servants and maids hid behind furniture and art fixtures, attempting to hide from her wrath, as they often did. For her, this was the worst day of her life (so far); for them, it was Tuesday.

Veruca had just moved away from her childhood home and left all of her friends and peers (that she constantly undermined) behind her. She did not take well to change, as was to be expected of someone of her demeanor. Trying to teach her proper manners and etiquette was like an earnest attempt at keeping gelatin nailed to a wall. Veruca was told by her parents that she had to move schools in order to continue her education, which she claimed was completely unnecessary. Her free time was taken up by streaming video games for her adoring fan base; she simply had no time for math, reading, or socializing with lesser beings than herself and her glorious ego.

In her tightly fisted hand, she gripped an envelope, recently torn open at the muted pink peach-branded wax seal. Inside was an acceptance letter to an incredibly exclusive boarding school with a treasured and storied history of academia and excellence. Veruca knew better than anyone what this really meant for her.

"I told them no, but do they listen? NO." Veruca exclaimed, clearly exasperated by the entire ordeal. Her pointe shoes slapped angrily on the cold flooring, like unbaked biscuits, as she searched the premises for her parents. "Rivington Prep was MY SCHOOL. That's where I was SUPPOSED to go. Cheeky!? ME!? Hardly." scoffed Veruca. Her private ballet lesson was so rudely interrupted by that courier, and she was unable to take her fury out on anyone worthwhile. A volcano eruption underneath the foundation of the mansion couldn't shake her demeanor at this point. She wanted answers, and she wanted them this instant.

Her mother's spa was locked, which was strange for a cloudy afternoon in the winter. The doors to her father's study were wide open, but not a soul was in sight; there was no movement or breathing outside of a barely burning flame in the fireplace. Veruca stomped her way inside and dropped her fists to her sides in rage. "WHERE ARE THEY!?" she hollered and reverberated sound through the distant, empty halls of her home. A glimmer of gold on her father's desk reflected off some sunlight and caught Veruca's eye, like an animal to prey. She tossed her acceptance letter onto a nearby footrest and raced over to inspect this peculiar parchment.

It was a note written on shiny stationery she had never seen before. It appeared to have been written in a hurry based on the lack of proper penmanship, which Veruca noted to herself with a scoff.

It read:

Dearest Veruca,

You may not understand why you received the acceptance letter you did today, but your mother and I think it's in your best interest to attend such an illustrious and prolific academy as this. Cheeky is incredibly regimented and provides powerful tools for success to each and every student. Your full-time enrollment there begins soon, and we are so incredibly proud of the proper young lady that you have turned into over the last few years.

That being said, we will be out of the country indefinitely and spending the tuition money we would have used at Rivington Prep to help fund an indefinite cruise. We invested heavily last year in a new cryptocurrency $CheekyCoin (unrelated to your new school, purely irony), and we're able to afford to live away from you in a lavish lifestyle while you live at the academy so as not to interfere with your studies. No conflict of interest here! Go and make us proud. We wish you were here! $CheekyCoin to the moon!

All the best,

Daddykins

Veruca's parents were secretly horrified of the daughter they had raised because of her incredibly poor attitude, venomous bite of words, and subsequent tantrums when she didn't get her way. She ALWAYS got her way. She was an only child and heiress to a massive fortune in her family name; a royal without a true title, aside from her self-imposed title of Queen. Now, in her late teens, she was an absolute terror, just taller, louder, and never acting her age. Her father and mother, out of pure desperation, decided Cheeky Preparatory Academy, a school that was infamous for its use of corporal punishment, was the best option, against her wishes, and refused to be within 5000 miles of the aftermath of that decision when the news hit.

In a hurricane of kicks, screams, tears, and swipes, her letter from her father was torn up and tossed onto the remnants of the fire. The written words ignited instantly before disappearing without a trace. Veruca triumphantly wiped her tears and turned away from the burning message of false hope and insincerity. "I won't stand for this. Not one bit!" exclaimed Veruca. "I'll GO. I'll be an absolute ANGEL, just like I always am, and show those COWARDS Mommy and Daddy that I am a well-adjusted young lady and not some helpless infant. I'll be home before they return and rule this house, this town, AND Cheeky with an iron fist. NO ONE MAKES A MOCKERY OF VERUCA MORBUCKS."

A loud cracking sound erupted over her tantrum, like a whip, and sparks of flame, the smallest embers, shot out of the fireplace and landed squarely against Veruca's exposed thighs. A ballet uniform was hardly meant to protect from anything harsh, let alone a swift, miniscule ball of flame. Veruca yelped and cried out in panic, embarrassingly hobbling around trying to cushion and cradle the heat and burns on her backside with her hands before stumbling over the cushioned footstool she had tossed the acceptance letter onto. In an incredibly unladylike and unstable fashion, while wailing to the heavens, Veruca stood up, en pointe, snatched the acceptance letter, and stomped back to her bedroom to start gathering her belongings for what will surely be an illuminating educational experience.