It was amazing. Oliver had stragetically sat against a tree between the House's back windows and the rear gate so he could be left to drown himself in ficticous words. He stared at the last page with a distant gaze, slowly craning his head up to the sky. The boy rested a hand on the book's cover, understanding why people condemned free expression. One would never get enough, and he certainly was craving more.

"I do not believe it," he murmured to the clouds. "She was only thirteen." Oliver realized he was smiling for too long when his cheeks began to hurt. He heaved himself to his feet, and the blood flowed back in his legs. "I need to find more books. No," the teen gasped, "I have to!"

After stepping into the stuffy dwelling, Oliver set off to Miss Warden's desk. Surprisingly, the old woman was not there, so he put the book on top of the morning's newspaper before heading back outside.

~.~

~BOING~

~.~

"Books? Golly gee, I have books! Take a look around, little guy, you might just find something you aren't looking for!"

A few blocks from the House, Oliver took a step away from the bookstore's counter. Not only did the overly enthusiastic man startle him, the curled clump of hair sticking over his head that moved like it was its own entity did, too. "Ah, thanks, Mister..."

"Wolfgang!" The man sang from between the book shelves lined throughout the cramped shop.

"Ha-ha," Oliver said very dryly, and tore his eyes from the bright orange hair on the book keeper's head, obviously dyed. Too bad he forgot to color his eyebrows as well. The teen weaved through the shelves which were stuffed with nonfiction works. Dog Care. How to Maintain Your Weight, for Stupid People. The Noble History of the Sock.

Oliver grumbled to himself, "To think I walked all the way here...Wait, did that book really say that in the title?"

Wolfgang popped out from the end of the aisle. "You have been whispering to yourself for ten minutes now! Is there a specific work you are looking for?"

"Yes, actually, I am. Do you carry any fiction literature?"

The man pushed up the glasses slipping down his nose, and appeared to become afraid. His voice dropped to a whisper, "We do. Come, come." He swished a hand, leading Oliver to a curtained doorway in the back of the store. He pushed the dark drapes out of the way, ushering him to a cramped storage room. Two metal shelves held large boxes labeled in a foreign language, but nothing more. Wolfgang scanned each cardboard package, and pointed to one up top. "Right there is what you are looking for...all your fictitious needs."

Oliver noted, "That is rather high up." He looked to the book keeper, but he had already ducked out of the storage room, probably to scowl at himself in a hand held mirror like he was doing when the boy entered his shop. He tipped his head back to the large and possibly heavy box, gulping at the thought of it crashing onto his face.

He stood on his toes, but could not grab the box, so he latched on the layer of withered tape dangling from it, and yanked it right off the shelf. Oliver stumbled backward to catch it, shocked to find it much lighter than he thought. The books inside did not appear to be books at all. Some covers were hand drawn, ranging from strange scribbles to masterpieces, while others had theirs missing. What made them superior to works of non-fiction, however, was that they contained beautiful drawings to emphasize the plot, instead of boring graphs and illustrated instructions.

Some of the novels had people or backgrounds on the front. Oliver stopped digging, and his entire visage ignited to a furious flush at the sight of an admittedly well drawn couple doing something more friendlier than hugging. He turned the book over, so he could not see the cover as he further excavated the selection. There were stories offering space exploration and fighting aliens, while others were simple slice of life.

Oliver paged upon a collection of illustrations he never saw before of plants, symbols, and strange animals. He recognized a few chimera, including the cat-monkey which he gave his apple. He gasped with sudden realization, "These are magic symbols! This is a book of spells! Oh, I am so trying this!"

Suppressing an embarrassing squeal of delight, Oliver flipped the notebook closed, and pressed it against his chest as he rummaged through the rest of the pitiful collection. His gaze landed on the book he was gawking at earlier, and with a quick hand, as if he were stealing gold, he shoved it behind the magic book. The teen left the box on the ground, rushing to the counter.

Wolfgang was leaning back on a stool, nodding approvingly at his freshly clipped nails. "Did you find something of interest?"

Oliver set the mystical notebook on the counter, and nonchalantly hid the other one behind his back. "I did."

The man snatched the book, and flipped through the pages. He recoiled, hissing, and the thin atlas tumbled onto the checkout counter. Wolfgang brought a finger to his mouth, swishing his other hand at the boy. "Just take that cursed thing away. Nobody ever bothers with them, anyway."

Wolfgang spun on his chair, and hopped off, running into the nearest bookcase. He spat in a different tongue, to scorn the shelf, before disappearing in the direction of the bathroom. Oliver shrugged, taking the pamphlet that was now his, and eagerly fled the cramped shop with his stolen books. He would have peeked at the pages while walking, not wanting to wait, but the walkways were busy. He had to slip the precious works under his vest to protect the delicate drawings from the eyes and arms of careless passersby.

Oliver almost sprinted to the House, but running was dreadful, so he opted for a near jog, that still wound up hurting his legs by the time he turned to the correct street. He slowed, stopping before the fence encasing the property began. Several black cruisers were stationed outside the front gate, the lights on top of them loudly whooping as the cars' engines were cut. The teen pressed to the fence, peeking at the police officers climbing out of their vehicles.

He drew a sharp, frightened inhale, gripping his books tighter. The boy turned on his heel, opting for the rear gate instead. He made it to the side of the House, and peered pass the wood panels to the see the double doors bust open. Somebody was struggling, based on incoherent yelling and the way a pair of police officers lingered by the entrance, staring at something Oliver could not yet see. He shrunk back when the House's main door creaked open, and Miss Warden emerged to meet the cops.

She stopped halfway across the lawn, looking stiff backed as she did the first time the teen saw her. A tall, gangly boy slipped pass the police, stone faced as she was. The only difference was that his eyes, the pinnacle of expression, were hidden behind shades greatly contrasting the ragged clothes clinging to his broad body. Oliver wondered if he was the problem child, but the other boy had stationed himself beside Miss Warden quietly and oddly gracefully. His rugged outlook and overgrown ponytail were only that, an outlook.

The blond's shoulders heaved, as if he sighed heavily, but the sounds were drowned out by the growls and obscene language a snappy voice tossed around as if he did not know any other, more appropriate words. Oliver cupped a hand over his mouth. Two more officers came last, both roughly towing another teen by his arms.

"Fuck!" The boy roared, wreathing relentlessly, as if he had a chance to overpower his captors. "Quit manhandlin' me!"

The officers simultaneously unhooked their grip, only to shove him. The teen stumbled forward, arms flailing, almost into Miss Warden. She took a single step back, and the other boy grabbed him, breaking his stumble. The rowdy one whipped around, and yelled, "Fuck the police! Fuck all y'all!"

His companion hissed something, but the grip on his arms did not deter the boy's vulgar mouth. The police officers pointed and laughed. One even said, "Have fun with that. It sounds pretty tiring."

The brunet let out a furious snarl, and threw his hand up, middle finger extended from his fist. Oliver did not see the gesture before, but he had ideas what it meant. Miss Warden latched onto the fluffy collar of the teen's jacket, and yanked him back with surprising force. Even the blond boy stared after her in shock. She did not look back as she zipped toward the House. With a rough smack to the obnoxious one's back, both boys begrudgingly followed her. The officers lingered, staring at the building, and grumbled to themselves. The holsters attached to their hips did not look promising, so Oliver slipped away, using the back door to avoid confrontation.

He pulled his books from his vest, gazing fondly at the cover of the magic book while keeping the other one well hidden beneath it. He almost walked into the wall on the other side of Miss Warden's desk. She was in the middle of interrogating information from the newcomers, such as their names, but the loud boy kept talking over the other one, claiming he was a long lost son of a hotdog god. Oliver shook his head with his amused smile, and fled up the stairs.

The world lost him to his books, eagerly devoured until the sun fell. He slid out of his warm bed, and groped the wall for the light switch when it became too difficult to read through the darkness. The light flickered, and popped, no longer working. "What! No, I was at the part where they were just about to kiss!"

With a fearsome growl, Oliver threw open his bedroom door, and marched down the steps. Miss Warden was still in her seat, chewing a dinner roll. She arched her thin brows as he stood in front of her desk. "What is it, Oliver? Are you sick? Your cheeks are all pink."

"My bedroom light went out."

The elder sharply sighed, rising from her seat, and her supper.

"W-wait, you do not have to worry about it now," Oliver claimed, catching the delicious smells of her food. "I am going to eat. I will fetch a light bulb when I get back."

"Be careful," Miss Warden said, taking her seat again. "You might ask me for headache pills, too."

Oliver tossed a confused glance over his shoulder. Brushing it off, he pushed open one of the dining hall's doors, only getting more antsy at the collective scent of dinner. The boy hurried to the buffet line, grabbing more than his usual, and almost spilled his plate all over his table when he sat down too quickly. His hands trembled excitedly, for food, and for his books. The novel was engaging, but the atlas of otherworldly creatures and plants made his thoughts wander. Some of the spells inside stemmed from symbols drawn on the ground with ink, chalk, or if he was feeling bold, blood. Summoning, teleportation, healing; all them sounded promising. He found out that he could even draw energy from other living things to aid his magic endeavors! He was dying to try them. However, he had to make sure he would not die trying them.

The boy stopped munching on his blue beans as the table shook when another tray plopped onto its surface. His eyebrows furrowed, and he slowly looked from his food to the invader. The other teen flopped onto the bench across from Oliver, staring back with intense scarlet eyes. This was the same boy that emerged with the police officers, kicking and screaming violently. He could mean a lot of trouble!

Yet Oliver blurted, "What are you doing?"

"I'm here to eat." The other boy did just that, grabbing his plate, and tipping it to his face, using his fork to shovel it all in his mouth. Oliver could only stare in shock at the disturbance. His company lowered his platter with a contented sigh, it almost as clean as it would be if freshly washed. "Man, I haven't had a meal like that in weeks!"

"Erm, okay?" Oliver did not know what to say. He glanced around the dining hall, but none of the girls were around this late, so he could not make a lighthearted excuse to get away from the strange boy when he had a near full plate. "Why did you sit here, of all places?" There were so many other, unoccupied seats.

He did not reply until his milk carton was drained. He slammed that on the table as if he completed a drinking contest, and loudly smacked his lips. "All these other fellas are sittin' wit' their pals, an' you were by yourself. I was by myself, so...yeah."

"Oh," Oliver exclaimed in feign sincerity, "how thoughtful of you."

The other teen wiggled in his seat, giggling deeply, touched. "Haw, haw, well, I do try."

"You made the entrance for yourself earlier."

"You saw that?" The oddball widened his eyes. "Ah, well, I have you know I don't like cops. I hate 'em. They're suppose to protect people an' the law, but they just do whatever they want because they got guns an' a badge. They're all corrupt."

"All right," Oliver weakly replied. He could be in a criminal's presence! This other teen was repeatedly kicked out of his other homes, too.

"Don't look like that. I got nothin' against you."

"I would hope not."

The other teen had the audacity to crack a grin, and proclaim, "My name's Allen!"

Oliver looked up from his plate in surprise. "H-hello."

"Well? What's yours?"

"Oh. Oliver."

A furious nod. "All right!" Allen fell silent, thoughtful, but the action seemed to stress him out. "You go by Ollie?"

"Pardon?"

"Is yo' nickname Ollie?"

"I do not have a nickname. Everyone has simply referred to me as Oliver."

"Not everyone!" Allen claimed, still smiling stupidly.

"Well, yes, of course." Oliver wondered for a brief moment if the boy across from him had gotten a hold of Miss Warden's medicine cabinet. His behavior was so different, being around other teenagers rather than police officers. "You are finished with your food," he pointed out. "Do you have bags to unpack?"

Allen did not seem to understand the hint. "Nah, I came here wit' just the clothes on my back!"

"Is there anything else for you to do?"

"Come on, I'm just bein' friendly."

Oliver gritted his teeth, mashing the vegetables that were in his mouth. He gulped to shoot back, "That is hard to come by around here."

Another bout of strangled laughter. "Yeah, I guess, wit' all these crazy Italians. Man, o' all places..." This American thought Italians were crazy- what a joke! Also, that meant there were two of them running around at that moment. Perhaps Oliver should take up Miss Warden's offer of those headache pills in advance.

While he was there, Oliver decided to ask, "Who was that other boy that came with you?"

Sounding so proud, Allen claimed, "That's my bro!"

"Your bro?"

"Yeah, my bro, Matt."

"Right." As soon as the last morsel was off his plate, Oliver shot from his seat, bustling over to the trash bin. He did not glance back to see the look on the other boy's face. Miss Warden had a light bulb sitting on her desk, waiting for him. "Ah, thank you."

"Anything else?"

Oliver gave her a tight lipped smile. "None of the sort...wait a tic, there is something. Do you have any chalk?"

"Chalk?" Miss Warden suddenly snapped. "No, I do not have any chalk, and you better not either."

The teen's face fell, giving his head a little shake. "Chalk is-"

"Messy, and powdery. One stick can be used to vandalize an entire wall. I will not allow it on this property." The elder cracked open her book, finalizing the conversation.

Oliver sheepishly took the bulb, and scurried up the steps. He considered sneaking it in, giggling at the possible crime. Somebody leaped from the corner where the halls met, and he gasped, almost dropping the light bulb. "What are you laughing at?!"

He slapped a palm to his chest, giving Luciano a well deserved glare. "I am laughing at stupid you look with that face."

Luciano stopped baring his teeth, and propped against the wall with his arms crossed.

"How long have you been waiting for someone to pass by?"

The other boy dropped his gaze to his holey sneakers rubbing against the floorboards. "Not that long. I already got Kuro, but he just stared at me."

Oliver tried not to laugh, failing miserably, based on the scowl on Luciano's face. "Since you have nothing better to do, will you do me a favor?"

Even with the nasty look, Luciano could not help the curiosity flashing in his eyes. "Depends what it is."

"I need chalk, but I do not want Miss Warden to find out any of us brought some through those gates. Would you happen to be able to get several sticks into my room without anyone else knowing?"

"You want...chalk? Seriously? I thought you were going to ask me for a shiv, or something useful-"

"This is useful," Oliver insisted when it seemed that Luciano would turn away. "I will not be wasting your time, unless you refuse and go back to...hiding around corners."

Luciano fixed his mouth in an angry pout. "What do you plan on giving me?"

Oliver pointed to the ground. "New shoes, perhaps?"

The other teen's eyes widened, now interested. "New shoes for several flimsy pieces of chalk?"

"If they are the good kind, yes. Preferably a whole box, if you may."

"Chalk must be that important to you then."

"The sound of your soles flopping all over the place is sickening, as well."

Luciano crinkled his nose, trying not to smile. "Of course. I'll get you your chalks. I will be looking forward to my new footwear." He did not hesitate to slip by Oliver, and head for the stairs.

"Take it, and give it right back at them," Oliver mused to himself. "How did you like that one?"


Author's Note- How am I doing so far?

Wolfgang- 2p!Austria. Two bros; Allen- 2p!America. Matt-2p!Canada. Creative names FTW.