It was somewhat of a relief for Billy to be sent to Hillworth. He didn't know how long he could have stood being home with that money-mongering whore of a mother of his and a house that looked like it belonged on an episode of Hoarders. And just where was father? Locking himself up in his office and letting everything turn to crap. Billy should have expected it. He was always the one to keep the house clean and make sure things were in order. There wasn't much he ever could do about his parents, except try to keep them away from any acquaintances - he refused to call them friends - that he made, and make it appear as if he lived some sort of charmed life.

Billy had set himself up on a pedestal to distance himself form the pitiful home life his parents provided, and everyone back at Meadowview had bought the aristocratic mask. Billy wondered if all that would really matter here. Could he be himself, or had he been this way so long that it was him?

Billy had arrived on foot with his meager belongings. One good thing about having a uniform meant that he didn't have to worry much with other clothes. His mind had been more on his art supplies, which constituted a good 60% of his luggage contents. Even now the rosey-eyed boy was surveying just where he might be able to set up his work station. He was sure that no where inside would anyone like to hear the roaring of a small generator, after all.

Every so often he'd lock eyes with someone. Billy would either stare them down aggressively or pass over them as if they were nothing. Inside, however, he began to wonder about who, if anyone, was to be his room mate. He could get lucky after all and have a room all to himself, but deep down there was a part of him that wanted someone to talk to. It was lonely at the top. Not that he would ever admit it.