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Advance Placement
Suns are yellow. Mountains green? Or brown? The boy skipped this part. Now, using a black pen, he made squiggles in his sky, to make it look like birds. Mail came back to his mountains, chewing on the brown color pencil. He took a peek at Merry's landscape next to him, and decided to use green, since she'd used brown. He airbrushed the last part of his picture, and once finished he held it up to his face, satisfied. Mail knew he was no genius when it came to the arts, so he made no efforts to excel when his reading teacher ordered them to draw and color a scenario of their latest book. He hastily scribbled his name across the top of the paper and proceeded to hand it to Ms. Hardy.
"Matt, take that paper over there." The young teacher motioned to a set of papers in the corner of her desk.
The red head eyed her, then the papers, but eventually grabbed them and headed back to his desk. Museum of Natural Science was titled the paper with bold letters. He read the subtitles and mentally smirked; they were having a road trip. His eyes scanned through the first page, and he quickly read the details. 5th, 6th, 7th, and 8th graders are invited to attend the Museum of Natural Science on Friday, October 12th, from 9:00 AM to 5:00 PM. He skipped through the rest of the page; he then flipped to the second page and saw the paperwork he had to fill out. A nasty scowl settled on his face once he realized he needed Mrs. Qazi's signature to attend—he was positive the old woman would feel anything but compelled to sign the permission slip, for Mail's conduct has not exactly been "acceptable" lately.
Mail Jeevas looked over at Merry, who was busily coloring silly details to her drawing, as if a stupid picture actually mattered in a high level reading class. He rolled his eyes at her feminine behavior and slammed the road trip papers on top of her picture. She delivered him an exasperated glare and angrily whispered, "What is it?"
"Look!" The older boy pointed at his papers.
The black haired girl raised an eyebrow in confusion, but finally decided to read what was so important to him. "A road trip to a museum? Why would I want to go to a museum?"
He had to retrain the urge to slap his own forehead. "Don't you get it? You'll soon—" but he was interrupted by the bell. They packed their things, and he had to pause to let Merry take her unfinished picture to Ms. Hardy.
She came back to him and huffed "You were saying?"
Mail sighed, and led the way out of the classroom. "Don't you see, Merry? You live in an orphanage now. You gotta take whatever opportunities they give you to go out every once in a while. This is one of those opportunities." She watched him, annoyed, and it wasn't long before they ran into Mello. "Sup," was Mail's usual greeting. He handed the older boy the papers with delight.
"A road trip?" Mello worded with half a smirk. If he were one of those robots with a clear head they could have certainly seen the gears spinning on the inside of his head. Mail knew that Mello was an ambitious and shrewd boy with many plans in mind, but he wasn't the least bit offended for him and Merry to be considered entourages, for he knew that Mello preferred him. The blond boy's brows furrowed, "It's in a week, why should we worry about it now?" Mello always had interesting changes of mind.
"But we are going, right?" Mail just wanted to make sure; he honestly couldn't stand the idea of not getting out of Wammy's House every once in a while.
"Yea, yea," responded Mello and waved him off. His current plan of exchanging Near's transcript still fresh in his mind. "Now, Matt, do you know everything you have to do?" The three kids stopped walking at the door of Mello's Anatomy class.
The red head pretended to ignore the question. He knew the layout of Roger's office like the palm of his hand; he's been reprimanded there enough times for him to understand what the inside of the office looked like. There was no need for Mello to be asking such a thing.
Mello quickly realized the same, as well. "Merry is coming with you." He casually instructed.
"Huh?" The shorter girl was snapped away from her reverie at the mention of her name.
"You're joking me, right?" Mail asked bewildered, but he reluctantly accepted the reality, which was that he had to learn to cooperate with her, now that she was part of their "group." "Fine, but if she messes things up it'll be the last time she works with us." Mail didn't hesitate to threaten; he knew Mello wouldn't complain, for he wanted this plan to succeed more than he wanted her connections with a candy company.
"What plan," Merry whined, but the ringing of the bell cut her off. The older boys ignored her and all three parted ways, off to their next class.
For Mail the days seemed to rush by, mostly because he felt worried (and very nervous) of what he had to do in Mello's plan. Named Operation: Near by Mail—not intentionally, of course, for him it was more of a joke, but unfortunately Mello took it seriously—and it simply consisted of stealing Near's official transcript from Roger's office. A stupid idea, in Mail's opinion, since once Roger realizes that the albino boy's transcript is missing he can just print another one out. Mail had a feeling Mello just wanted to compare scores and see how he stood in the race to becoming L's successor.
With a sign Mail grabbed a disposable food tray and eyed the food in front of him. Mr. Parker, the orphanage's chef assistant, took a scoop of the mashed potatoes, a scoop of gravy and ground beef, and with a quick smile rushed him to move out of the food line. He stood by Mello, waiting for Merry to get her meal, and briefly contemplated how unattractive lunch looked. "We should tell Merry to introduce Dulces Benet to the lunch menu," Mail heard Mello murmur beside him; he just rolled his eyes in response.
"Ugh, I hate British food, it gives me a stomach ache," Merry commented on their way to a table, trying her hardest to speak over the loud noise in the dining hall.
"This isn't British food," Mail corrected her. They have always had a wide variety of foods, yet she dared to complain and call it "British food." "Where's Near?" He quickly realized the albino boy wasn't present in the room, and decided it would be a good time to discuss their plans.
"Who knows."
"Can you tell me about this plan, then?" Merry beat him to it.
Mello smirked. He forked his ground beef before replying, "You and Matt will sneak in to Roger's office—you know… go to that back room—and grab Near's official transcript from one of the cabinets. You should also grab any other information you can get out of him." It looked as if it was casual chatter to the blond boy, for he didn't seem nervous or scared at all.
"What's a transcript?" Merry asked, and Mail had to suppress his urge to be a smartass.
"It's a paper with someone's grades and whatnot," Mello quickly explained, saving the black haired girl from Mail's possible verbal assault.
She just huffed and remained quiet while the older boys discussed the plans. "Roger can just print another one out," was Mail's usual argument, but Mello countered "You do know Near's number one, right?" Apparently this was a good enough point. Merry figured it had to do with ego issues. "What does it matter if he's number one?" The ten year old asked innocently. She liked Near; he never made fun of her.
"You wouldn't understand. You're not here because you're smart, you're here because you're rich," Mail answered sourly, but he was speaking the truth.
"He doesn't mean that you are not smart, he's just saying that that's not the reason why you're here," Mello apologized smoothly; it wouldn't do any good to become enemies at this point. He stomped Mail's foot under the table, making him jump slightly from his seat.
Merry pouted and focused on her food, trying to ignore their bickering.
Mello and Mail soon solidified their plans; it was to happen tomorrow. Mello was in charge of distracting Roger. He was supposed to make the old man leave his office—which he seldom did—so that Mail and Merry could sneak inside. Mail, then, had to go to the back room in Roger's office to fetch the papers, while Merry waited by the hallway to see if anyone was coming. It seemed rather dumb going over what they had planned, for it was simple enough. An easy smash and grab, there was no need to complicate things any further.
Lunchtime passed quickly, and the three children went off to their own business.
Throughout his next class Mail tried to imagine every possible situation. He thought of all the bad things that could happen. He even thought about the many ways Merry could mess up; although this entertained him. Mail relaxed, after a while. He amused himself by trying to imagine how Mello came up with this plan, and he concluded it must have been out of sheer boredom. The red head shifted in his seat and tried to zone out Mr. Simmons, who was busily writing about Napoleon's campaign on the black board. French history didn't seem like a priority at the moment. And then, suddenly, Mail got a brilliant idea; what if he tweaked Mello's plans, just a little bit?
The eleven year old shot his hand up in the air, hoping that Mr. Simmons noticed him soon. And as if on cue the stocky man turned around and asked a simple "Yes?"
"Can I go pee?" Was Mail's rushed response. Several classmates laughed, tch, he hadn't expected this.
"You mean can I go to the restroom?" Mr. Simmons corrected him with flaring nostrils.
Mail sighed, "Can I go to the restroom?"
"I'm afraid you cannot, Mr. Jeevas. You should have gone during lunch hours. Your loss." The man turned around smugly and returned to the black board.
The boy glared at his back, but waited a moment before shooting his arm up in the air again. Mr. Simmons noticed, and addressed him "Yes, Mr. Jeevas?"
"May I go to the restroom?" He tried to sound calmer now. Maybe his teacher would have a change of heart.
"No."
Again, Mail waited for a few minutes, then raised his hand for the third time. Mr. Simmons turned around again—sensing the boy's arm—and glared at him. "May I go to the restroom? It's an emergency." The red head didn't sound convincing at all. He could hear a few girls giggling to his left.
The historian took a deep breath, nodded his head, and gave him a curt "You may go."
Mail Jeevas jumped from his seat and didn't hesitate to walk out of the room. A victorious smirk found his lips as he left the class. He wasn't planning on going to the bathroom, of course. Instead, he headed towards Roger's office. Once he reached the outside of the office he lingered in front of the door and paced back and forth as he tried to figure out an excuse for entering the office. He glared at the doorknob and finally decided to walk in.
Roger was standing in front of his bookshelf; Mail figured he was in the process of finding a book. The boy coughed, in an attempt to grab Roger's attention. "Mai—Matt," Roger quickly corrected himself with a cough, "What brings you here?"
"Uhh… I think I need classes a little more challenging," Mail improvised. He felt ridiculous, for his classes were challenging enough already, in fact, he was falling behind in his Calculus class.
"Oh…" Roger was speechless for a while. But he quickly recovered and walked to his desk. "Well then let's have a look at the other alternatives," he motioned the red haired boy to come closer and turned his monitor towards him, so that he would be able to see as well.
Again, Mail smirked in victory. This was exactly what he wanted; to have a look at Roger's computer and identify which software he used to manage grades and classes.
"We offer an advanced European History class, or maybe you want a more challenging writing class?" Roger suggested with a patience that was foreign to him.
"Can I see which classes you have available?" The red head asked as he inched closer to the computer. Although his eyes weren't focused on the class names, they were, instead, fixed on the software's name and different functions.
Roger eyed him with suspicion but complied with Mail's demand, after all this was a natural enough request from the boy that stood in third place to becoming L's successor. They looked at the availability of several classes, but there really wasn't a lot to choose from—mostly because Mail already had classes of the highest levels. Before anymore could be done—and once Mail memorized and felt familiar with the software used—the orphan pretended to change his mind. "Um, maybe I'll just stick to what I have for now," he pretended to be disappointed and hoped Roger would buy the act.
Roger seemed troubled, and his suspicion returned. "Are you sure, child? I mean, better classes do look good on anyone."
The red head shook his head and stepped away. "Besides I think Mello would get angry if I switch out of his classes," he waved goodbye and hoped the old man wouldn't remember that Mail and Mello only shared one class. The boy didn't dare to give Roger another look and swiftly walked out of the office and onto the hallway. Mail soon decided not to tell Mello of the change of plans, for he would probably make a big deal about it and delay it; which was what Mail was trying to avoid. He didn't even think about what Merry would think; she wasn't allowed to complain.
The eleven year old turned a corner and with an exasperated sigh entered his Military History class. Maybe thinking about tomorrow would distract him from Mr. Simmons' ranting. He rolled his eyes at the glaring he received from the teacher for being out for so long. But when he reached his desk a devilish smirk settled on his lips. Perhaps he could get revenge on the teacher. Perhaps… it wasn't a bad idea after all.
Death Note, and it's characters, do not belong to me. This was made for leisure and nonprofit purposes only.
