I have a half day tomorrow at school, so I could possibly update. But I also have 3 other stories to update, and I always update the story with the most feedback. So, if you want another chapter, REVIEW! Tell me what you thought about this chapter!

DAY THREE

I woke up the next morning with a huge zit on my face. Oh, joy. Thank goodness I belonged behind a camera, and was never photographed. I wasn't the one to wear makeup, but I forced myself to put on some cover up. I walked downstairs, and surprisingly, my mother was awake. Usually, she didn't wake up until afternoon. Dad was gone at work.

"Do you have gymnastics today?" my mother asked, as she ate her bagel and read a romantic novel. Oh mother, the hopeless romantic.

"I quit gymnastics last year," I pointed out, refusing to feel hurt that she didn't remember.

"Shame, you were good at it," she replied, licking cream cheese off of her polished fingernails. "What sport are you doing now?"

"I gave up sports; I'm doing yearbook and piano now. I'm saving up money for a guitar, too," I answered, waiting for my toast to pop up.

"Why?" Mother asked in her careless tone. She didn't really care. She just loved having pointless conversations.

I didn't answer her. I didn't feel like going into how I got seriously injured last year and had never been the same at sports. It was like tearing a piece of me out, but I had to be happy with what I could still do. You know, like walk. I ate my toast, and then walked to school.

Iggy was in math class before everyone else. He was even there before me. I sat down next to him.

"Hey, how are you?" I asked casually.

Iggy smirked, "This might be my last day here. I have an evil plan for the principle."

"Don't do anything evil," I pleaded, "Mr. Right is really cool. He doesn't deserve to die so young." Alright, young wasn't the right word. Mr. Right was probably in his mid fifties, and one of the kindest guys at school. Of course, this is coming from a girl who had never been yelled at by him. I had never been in trouble with him before.

"I thought maybe you could help me. I can't make my trap close without it taking his whole ankle off," I couldn't tell if Iggy was joking or not. "No one would know that you helped me. Think of it as a science experiment."

I wasn't convinced.

"Come to my house after school, help my brother and I, and I will make you some gourmet food," Iggy offered.

"You…cook?" I asked, trying not to be rude, "You are blind."

"Blind people are all great cooks," Iggy said with a smirk, "I'm better than my sister."

"Do your parents not cook?" I asked.

Math class started, and we barely had a chance to talk until after school. Iggy never mentioned asking my parents, which surprised me. Most of the time, my friends were like, "Don't you need to call your mom and make sure?" blah, blah, blah.

They wouldn't notice I was gone.

"How far of walk is it to your house?" I asked, as we walked over to the middle school. They looked at each other and shrugged. Okay, so I guess usually they get picked up from school. We waited outside of the middle school, and then two blonde haired children walked out. They both had blue eyes and curly blonde hair. Again, neither of them looked like Iggy, Max or Fang. Although, these two children looked like sister and brother, so maybe they were blood related. Then out came another girl, with dark skin, and she was definitely not related to any of them.

Maybe they all just lived with foster parents. That made sense.

"Hey, bro, Elyse is going to help us with our prank on Principle Right tomorrow," Iggy said. He leaned over and whispered into his ear, "Is she pretty?"

"The prettiest," the little boy replied with a big smile on his face. "I'm Gazzy. That's short for Gasman."

Drugs. Their parents were officially on drugs when they named them.

"I'm Angel," the youngest girl piped up. She looked sweet and innocent. Of course, those children were always the more evil.

The black girl said, "Nudge."

Yep, drugs.

I smiled politely at them, unsure of what it would be like to have so many unrelated people in the same house.

"We are going to walk home today," Max said in an odd tone. The younger kids ran off, but Gazzy stayed behind to talk to me.

"Are you good with bombs?" he asked me, looking me over again. I felt like he was calculating if I was trustworthy or not. This kid looked really wise for his age.

"I'm just okay with science," I said.

"You aren't taking any science classes at school," Iggy noted, a hint of curiosity in my voice. Like, he thought I was lying about being okay at science. Wow, these people acted like I was always lying.

"I already took all the science I can for high school," I shrugged. It wasn't a big deal.

Gazzy nodded, and finally we reached their house. It was a simple two story house that was painted white. I walked in and immediately I could feel that something was wrong.

First of all, the place was a mess. It was like only kids lived here, and no adults to watch after them. The TV was blaring, and the dog was on the couch. The dog looked at me with intelligent eyes.

Creepy.

Then I noticed there were a few bird feathers on the ground. I reached down and picked up a white feather. It was soft, fluffy and really beautiful.

"Um, we had a pillow fight," Angel lied sweetly. Believe me, we cleaned up, and we missed a few feathers, that's all, a voice said in my head.

Creepy.

"Where are your parents?" I asked.

"Trip," Max said, matter-of-factly. "I'll cook tonight." There were instantly disagreements, and everyone claimed that Iggy would be cooking.

"Come on, let's show Elyse our lair," Gazzy said, and hopped up the stairs. He had boundless energy, and Iggy followed, not missing a step. He seemed to move freely around this house, unlike the school. He knew where everything was.

They threw open a door, and I entered a bedroom. Blankets, pillows and chairs were set up everywhere. I was going into a pillow fort, like the one my friends would build when I was 8. There were a million paper signs written in crayon that stated, "ENTER IF YOU DARE" "EXPLOSION ALERT" and several others. Is this what Iggy did when he got home?

I wasn't surprised.

I followed them into the 'lair' and what covered the ground shocked me. There was some dynamite. There were some grenades. There were several explosive ingredients.

"Where. Did. You. Get. Those?" I asked, shocked. I wasn't scared, but I was concerned. Gazzy couldn't have been any older than 8, and he should not have been exposed to all of these dangerous things. "Your parents…can't…" I didn't know what to say.

"Okay, so we have already tried," Iggy ignored me and rambled off several ingredients, "and now we have ran out of things to use…Any ideas?"

"Is it legal for you guys to have this?" I asked.

Gazzy quickly stood up and left the room. He muttered something about talking to Max.

"Where is your bathroom?" I quickly asked.

"Five steps out the door, 10 steps to the left, before the stairs, but after the closet door," Iggy said. So, that's how he remembered things. That's how he didn't run into everything. I quickly went out the door, but I didn't head for the bathroom. I slipped downstairs, where I heard Max's voice.

"Are you saying that you didn't clean up your room before she came over?" Max asked, her voice was angry and harsh. "That is so careless, Gazzy. Of course anyone with parents is going to question why you have millions of explosions. She's probably suspicious. I can't trust her…"

I frowned, trying to figure out what they were talking about. Then I heard a whimpering, and saw their dog looking at me. The dog ran out of view, and I heard Max saying, "Crap!" Okay, she didn't say that. She said something a bit more PG-13. I heard her lightly walking towards me, so I hurried back up the stairs and locked myself in the bathroom.

I heard Max open the door to Iggy's room. They had a low conversation that I couldn't hear. I flushed the toilet and walked out. All of the kids were in Iggy's room now.

"Family meeting?" I asked them, with a slight smile.

"I think you should go home," Max said, glaring at Iggy, "our mom just called, and gave us a list of chores." It was a dead lie, but I decided not to argue.

I left, knowing I had something really good to write for my story. There was definitely something wrong with them. There was something very, very strange about them. As a curious journalist, I was going to find out. No matter what.

I just had to get close to them.