Disclaimer! All fictional entities featured/ mentioned in this segment belong to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata. I just rented.
LICE
Wherever children congregate, all sorts of conditions are sure to follow. Even the cleanest and most sophisticated places, like Wammy's House, are not immune to the blood-sucking, scalp-irritating horror of head lice.
In only a matter of two days, half of the House had fallen victim to the plague. The washing machines were packed to the screws with infected sheets and shirts simmering in hot water, and the tranquil atmosphere of the yard erupted into a orchestra of fingers clawing against skin. And Roger, who was usually very fond of insects, was at the end of his rope, his own fingers throbbing with the countless baths he had had to administer.
Where had the lice come from?
"What makes you so sure I started it?" Mello demanded from the bathtub, while Roger continued to ask him to keep still as he lathered the medicated shampoo into his frazzled scalp.
Near sat on the floor by the tub, twirling a lock of his cotton-white hair around his finger. "Well, if I can recall, Mello, you've been scratching yourself a lot for the past three days," he said without batting a lash. "And you've looked pretty distressed…I mean, more than usual."
Mello jabbed a sudsy finger at the boy. "Who's to say that you didn't start it? I take better care of my hair than you do!"
"Hygiene alone does not prevent lice. For that matter, you're one of the worst cases. I still haven't caught them."
Mello snarled, wincing as a bit of soap trickled into his eye. "Of course, you haven't! All you do all day is sit in the corner with a stupid jigsaw puzzle!"
"The ad hominem argument works only for the ignorant, Mello. But if you insist that you didn't start the outbreak, than tell us: who did you catch it from?"
Roger didn't try to get in between the two, this time; there were still nits to comb out. Flicking out the comb, he groaned, "All right, Mello, hold still."
Mello may have been a tough guy, but even he couldn't help squirming against the sides of the tub as the comb scraped at his tender scalp, uprooting dead clumps of blonde hair, and not-quite-dead clumps.
…
Outside the bathroom door, Matt was propped up against the wall, waiting for his friend to finish undergoing the treatment. He whiled away the time by slamming the buttons of his handheld console, his eyes not once leaving the tiny neon screen.
"Making a big deal out of nothing, aren't they?" he murmured. "They're just bugs; zap 'em."
Bloop, bloop, zzzzz!
His left eye twitched.
Only for a moment, Matt's one hand break-danced across the console on its lonesome, while the other darted up to absently scratch the back of his bedraggled auburn head.
END