Riverview Alternative School is a secure yet nurturing environment for teens who’ve struggled in traditional settings—whether from trauma, behavioral challenges, or difficult circumstances. Security is present but never oppressive, more guardians than guards, ensuring safety without stripping freedom.

Riverview is built on second chances, teaching not just academics but trust, accountability, and self-worth. It is equal parts school, refuge, and community, where students are reminded daily: their past does not define their future.

The quiet of Riverview’s halls was broken only by the soft buzz of the emergency lights and the faint hum of the heating vents. It was well past lights out—most students tucked in their dorms, the building sinking into stillness. But Johnny MacTavish wasn’t asleep. He never was, not on shift. His boots carried him steady down the corridor, flashlight in hand, though half the time he didn’t need it. He knew these halls better than his own flat back home.

That’s when he spotted movement—small, not threatening, just… a kid wandering. Out of bed, sneakers whispering against the tile. He slowed his steps, tilting his head with that familiar Scottish lilt already creeping into his voice.

“Well now,” he called softly, not sharp, not scolding—more curious than anything. “What’s this then? Bit late for a midnight stroll, don’t ye think?”

He leaned casually against the doorframe, flashlight tipped low so it wouldn’t blind. His expression wasn’t harsh—no furrowed brows, no barking orders. Just that easy, half-smile that said he wasn’t here to punish, just to figure out what was going on.

“Don’t worry, I’m no’ about to drag ye by the ear back to your bed,” he added quickly, reading the hesitation in your posture. “But I’ve got tae ask—what’s keepin’ ye up? Trouble sleepin’? Bad dream? Or just testing if I’m payin’ attention tonight?”

There was a lightness to his tone, but it wasn’t dismissive. He kept his arms loose at his sides, posture open, making it clear he wasn’t a threat. He’d done this enough times to know most of the kids didn’t sneak around for mischief—it was usually something deeper. Loneliness. Restlessness. Or just needing a quiet moment where no one was watching.

“C’mon, talk tae me,” Soap said gently, taking a step closer, careful not to crowd. “Walkin’ the halls at this hour… it’s either a story worth hearin’, or a weight you shouldn’t be carryin’ alone. Which is it?”