A/N: And we're back! Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, and faved/alerted (is that even a word?) my story! I'm soo happy!!! :D To thank you, and to apologize for making you wait so long for an update, I give you two new chappies! ^^ The fifth chapter is in the process of being written and will be posted as soon as it's written and beta'd, even without the encouragement of reviews, but reviews make me very happy and joyful inside and would probably make that process go faster.

Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note or any references I made in this story to names of copyrighted products/persons.


Dinner tonight was spaghetti. There were also meatballs and two different sauces, parmesan cheese, salad and three salad dressings, and a bowl of miscellaneous fruit on a side table. Surprising variety for an 'orphanage.' Mello sat down at one of the tables farthest away from the kitchen.

The other children were noisy going into the kitchen, but when they came out and caught sight of me and Mello across the room, they fell silent. Soon the whole room was really awkwardly silent, all staring at us.

"Uh… Mello?" I whispered. "Why are they all… staring?" He looked up from sulking over his pasta bowl and gave me a shrug. "Why are you sulking? …you don't normally eat in here, do you?" That caught his attention.

"How the he-ck did you figure that out?" He caught himself before he swore again. Seeing as there were a few three or four-year-old kids in the room, that was probably smart.

"Just observant. Are they going to stare at us all dinner?" Mello growled at me, then nodded and shrugged again.

"Probably. You got a problem with that?"

I paused. Did I have a problem with that? "No… maybe." Okay, it was kind of creeping me out. I recognized some of the faces from this afternoon. That would be a good thing to ask Mello. "Hey, you know all the kids here, right?"

Mello looked at me like I was an idiot. "Yeah… why?" Good, just checking.

"Sweet. Who was the girl asking about sketches earlier? With the blond pigtails and—"

"Linda," he interrupted.

"Okay, and the girl who asked about Tom & Jerry?"

"Tani."

I thought back to who else was there. "How about the boy who asked about my hobbies?" Mello didn't look like he understood who I was talking about, so I elaborated. "He had brown eyes and dark brown hair, wore dark-framed glasses, wearing bleached jeans and a black Green Day tee shirt. Looked to be about 10 or so, and—"

"How did you remember all of that?" Mello looked shaken.

I shrugged. "Good memory." The other kids had started whispering to each other around their tables. Was it that big of a deal? "So what's his name?"

It took Mello a while to answer. "…uh, Danny." I nodded. Mello tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to the table to the far right. There were five kids sitting there, all staring at me like I was some kind of freak show. He pointed to each of them and said their name. "Honda, Jill, Linda, Sammy, Marcus…" he paused, moving on to the next table. "Christa, Jay…" I quickly matched name to face and stored them away in my mental contact book. I also noticed quite a few traits: Linda was the artist (she had even brought her sketchbook to dinner), and Marcus had a habit of drumming the fingers of his right hand on his knee when it wasn't being used.

When Mello finished, he stared at me for a bit, scrunching up his eyebrows. "What?" Was there something wrong with me? Is it a crime to have a good memory?

He was hesitant in asking me, but finally said, "Did you remember all that?"

Slightly annoyed, I turned around and pointed to each kid in order, firing off their names. "Honda, Jill, Linda, Sammy…" All of their eyes widened when I said their name, which was slightly amusing. At the end, I felt fairly smug, and added, "oh, and Marcus? Do you realize that you drum your right fingers on your knee when not moving?" Apparently he didn't, because he jolted and stopped immediately.

I heard one kid from another table say "woah…" and I quickly finished my meal. Being the center of attention is unnerving. Mello got the hint and stood up, leading me back through the exit of the kitchen to drop off our plates.

Outside the dining hall, he turned to go down a hallway Rodger hadn't shown me. I ran after him and yelled "wait a sec!" He paused, but didn't look back. "Where is the white kid I saw earlier?"

Mello visibly stiffened. "Don't talk about him to me. Ever." He started walking again, faster. This time I followed silently, looking at the rooms we past by. There was an infirmary, a bathroom, two unused bedrooms (strange to find here, seeing as all the adults were supposed to sleep upstairs), and at the very end, Rodger's office. Once I was there, Mello nodded to the door of the office and went back. Well, Rodger wouldn't hurt me, so there's nothing to be scared of, right? I opened the door and let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

Rodger was sitting behind his desk, writing. He looked up when I came in and waved me forward to sit in a chair off to the side. "Matt," he addressed me when he finished his work, "you are here to finish the technical business required for your stay. You need to complete standardized survey to determine what classes you will go to, you need to order a computer," at this I perked up. My own computer! I had already determined that, if possible, I wanted my computer to be orange. Just because. "…and you need to see the nurse, Ms. Hopkins, to complete your medical check-up." Ugh! I hate check-ups. "First, please pick out a computer."

He ushered me over to his side of the desk, and let me choose either a brand computer or customized. Customizing my own computer? Sweet. Let's see… motherboards. There were at least 10 different motherboards to choose from, but what was I really going to be using the computer for? Games, definitely, and internet. And maybe designing or something. So… I selected an Intel motherboard and hit 'next.' CPU was next- guess I was going for another Intel. I didn't need too much multitasking availability, so I got a Duo core. Next. One Power Supply, Video Card, Sound Card, this, that, etc. later, I had (finally) sent in my computer order form. They ask so many questions! I was surprised how much I knew about the equipment.

Rodger also seemed impressed. "Not many children customize their computer. You're the first in the last couple years." He coughed, turning back to the papers on his desk. "Well, here is your survey, please answer as truthfully as possible. You can take it with you to the infirmary. Oh, and please give Ms. Hopkins these forms." I nodded, taking whatever papers he gave me, and turned to leave, but he stopped me. "Matt… take care of Mello." Nothing else. Was Rodger worried about him?

Ms. Hopkins, huh… I shivered before entering. I could smell the cloying scent of disinfectant from the door. Wonderful.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I sat in my room reading. Though I couldn't really concentrate. Dammit, Matt, why'd you have to bring up him? I cringed. Just thinking about him ticked me off. Fucking albino… pushing that aside, what was it about that Matt kid that caught my attention? Sure, he was new, but there were new kids every year. He had a good memory- well, everyone was interested in that, but that's not a reason for him to be different from the other kids. They had talents too, otherwise they wouldn't be here. He… wasn't scared. He wasn't afraid of talking to me. And maybe it was because I hadn't talked to another kid my age for years that he interested me. Maybe he's the first one who tried to be my friend. Friend? Are we friends? …I'd ask Matt later.

Dammit, work! I'd been neglecting it for the entire afternoon. I looked back at the blank page I had designated earlier for my 'Famous Ancient Literature – Greece and Rome' paper, which I had been annotating and re-reading the Iliad for, which had all the research collected for, which just needed to be typed up… I wasn't in the mood for homework. I took a chocolate bar out from my top desk drawer and sat down at the computer. This was going to be another all-nighter.

I blamed Matt.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ms. Hopkins wasn't immediately visible when I stepped into the infirmary. I stood at the door, shuffling my feet until a lady with hazel eyes and light brown curls pulled into a short ponytail tripped her way out of the back room. Clumsy, are we?

It took her less than two seconds to notice and identify me. "Oh! Matt, right? Please wait for just a minute…" She had a surprisingly steady and calm voice to go with her clumsy feet. Perceptive, but not with a lot of coordination. When she turned her attention back to me, I held out the sheets Rodger had given me. "Oh, are these from Rodger? Thank you, Matt. Now let's see…" She wrote fast! She filled in one of the forms in less than two minutes, leaving a few slots blank, and asked me if I had had any new injuries or illnesses since my last doctor's appointment. My last doctor's appointment was… um… how long ago? I hadn't gotten hurt as far as I knew, so I shook my head 'no.'

She did a normal sort of check-up, with the heart beat thing (oh yeah! A stethoscope!), and the blood pressure thing that always made my arm feel like it was going to fall off, and the lights in my ear (it always felt tingly and I tried scooting away but she stopped me before I fell off the check-up table) and mouth and nose (that also felt weird, and I almost sneezed on her). When she was finally done she told me I could do my survey in my room, and I nodded and got out of there as fast as physically possible without running. Any place was more comfortable than that room.

'What are your hobbies?' the survey asked me on the first page. "I… like… com-pu-ter-s." Maybe that was a little vague. "And… pr-o-gram-m-ing." There. Oh yeah! "And games." Good. That was enough for that. There wasn't much else I did, anyways. Next question was… "What do I know about the history of politics? What the hell? I don't know anything about it!" And I wrote just that. Skipping the 'hell' part, Rodger might not like that.

'Please put a check next to the languages you speak fluently. Please circle the languages you can hold some conversation in. Please put an X next to the languages you know some words of.' Getting specific there, huh? Well… I spoke English fluently. Check. Um… I used to speak some French with mom… I think I can hold conversation in that. Somewhat. And who knows how to speak Igbo? Where is that spoken, anyways? There were around 1000 languages listed, and then a few spaces for 'other' languages, too. What, did one of these 5-year-olds travel the world or something? Next page.

After the 50-somethingth page of the stupid survey, I finally ran it down to Rodger. Apparently he had to stay up all night to get me into classes by tomorrow, and I sincerely hoped I didn't have to learn all 1000 languages on that sheet.

When I came back up I stopped in front of Mello's door. A light was shining through the crack beneath the door. Was he still awake…? I put my ear to the door and heard a crackle, snap, typing, and flipping pages that confirmed my theory. Doing homework, huh… Rodger did tell me he was a workaholic. I smiled before remembering that that probably wasn't a good idea. Ow. I slipped into my room and was asleep before my head hit the pillow. Hey, a lot went on that day, can you blame me? No? That's what I thought.

Knock knock. "Matt? It's morning, wake up please."

"Ungh… 5 more minutes…" I grumbled into my pillow. I was not a morning person.

"Matt, you need to wake up now." Jeez, mom, would it kill you to… mom? That was a man's voice. Why was there a man in our house?

There was a scuffle outside the door, and a "no Rodger, just, here let me," and then my door flew open and the same voice yelled "Wake up, ya idiot! New day, and you're not at home anymore, if that's what you were thinking. What, do I look like a mom to you?" I sleepily nodded that yes, in fact, the boy did look something like my mom, albeit shorter and with blue eyes instead of green. In my half-asleep state, I didn't think of the dangers of this reply.

The eyes flared. "What?!?" he screeched. "You did not just fucking say that!" He ripped the covers off and I tumbled onto the floor. Cold! Ok, I was awake. But that boy—Mello, my memory supplied for me—wasn't done with me. "Who…" he scathed, stepping towards me, "the hell…" he started beating me over the head with his fists, "looks like…" his hair was flailing everywhere, whipping me in the face, "your mom!" He hit me one last time, hard, and sat back, breathing heavily and glaring daggers at me. Rodger was gaping like a fish out of water.

I tested my jaw. It felt much better than yesterday, so I grinned at the poor old man. "Sorry, I'm a sound sleeper."

Mello was already up and in the hall. "Get over it, shitface." I grinned wider. "C'mon, new guy, do you want breakfast or not?" And with that, before Rodger could reply to his vulgar comment, he raced down the hall and out of sight.