Chapter One

Bad Poetry

Naruto was causing a scene—again. Sasuke placed his hands behind his head and leaned back, waiting for it to be over: the yelling, the laughing, the jokes. He figured if he didn't listen for the punch line, then he'd eliminate the risk of laughing at this kid begging for attention. Apparently, his whole poem he'd just read out loud to the class was one big punch line, because he swaggered back to his desk with undeserved smugness. Naruto only guaranteed himself a laugh from that dark-haired, quiet girl who always sat behind him. Sasuke breathed in deeply, willing his attention somewhere else, despite Sakura whispering to him, "Pathetic, right?" from the desk beside him.

All he would allow to fill his mind was the thought of his brother coming home in less than six months. They had a meeting with child protective services, for they were questioning if Itachi was fulfilling his guardian duties after missed appointments, unanswered phone calls, and unsigned paperwork. He kept his focus on his brother, not wanting to invite feelings of agony if he thought about all he had lost. It was better if he fixated on who he hadn't—at least not all the way.

"Naruto!" Iruka-Sensei yelled, jolting Sasuke from his thoughts. "How many times do we have to do this? Don't submit poetry with only toilet humor." His face was red, holding Naruto's sad excuse of a submission.

Naruto only laughed, barely able to contain himself, and was wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. Kiba threw a balled-up piece of paper at the back of Naruto's head. "Idiot," he said.

"Was that your poem, Kiba?" Iruka-Sensei asked. "If you think that'll get you out of reading it out loud, you're wrong."

"Trust me, it's better than Naruto's," Kiba said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Now was the time he could ignore them all again. Sasuke extended his elbow on the desk and then rested his chin in his palm. A bird pecked on the corner of the window that overlooked the parking lot. There was a familiar rhythm to it, the peck-pause-peck-peck, he knew he'd heard before. Then the image of the window in the police station came to mind, the one in the same room where they told his older brother, Itachi, that he was cleared of all suspicion and no longer a person of interest in the active case to find out how their parents had died. Murdered. Sasuke remembered to use the word "murdered."

"Because that's what happened," Sasuke said into his hand.

"What was that?" Sakura asked from the desk next to her.

He ignored her, annoyed that she'd been staring at him enough to overhear him say anything at all.

Peck-pause-peck-peck.

Sasuke was back in that room again, with the cracked ceiling, the chipped paint on the door, and the clean-but-outdated carpeted office. He'd never forget Itachi's smile when the detective said he was no longer a person of interest. Being in the military, Itachi rarely revealed emotion, having been lost in whatever mental hell he seemed to be living in. But that smile was closer to a smirk than one born from relief.

Luckily, Sasuke had already read his poem, one written with enough technical skill that the emotionality wouldn't be missed. Thinking of the others, he wondered if they hid behind their words too, if Choji's butterfly metaphor and Shikamaru's clevery titled "A Slacker's Burden" meant anything at all. Though Naruto's poem was a joke, he was still flushed while reading it, which did catch Sasuke's attention. If he wanted so much attention, then why the embarrassment? Sakura's had something to do with a raven or something—and played on her fear of snakes.

After Kiba was finished reading his poem called "Canine Instinct," which leaned too heavily on rhyme, class was over. When he stood up to go, ignoring Ino asking if he wanted a ride home, he noticed Naruto didn't budge. Naruto watched everyone shuffle out of the classroom, not once meeting anyone's gaze. Sasuke hung back, letting the rest of his classmates pass him, yet Sakura and a few others hovered just outside the door.

Naruto pulled out a notebook and pen, apparently forgetting he wasn't alone.

"What are you doing?" Sasuke asked, not able to withhold his curiosity.

Naruto hadn't realized he was there and looked surprised when he looked up. He ran his fingers through his blonde hair and scratched behind his neck. He looked nervous. "I'm rewriting the poem," he said.

"Why? The assignment's over." Sasuke sighed. "And I'm pretty sure you failed."

Naruto smiled, like Sasuke wasn't in on the joke this time. "That's not the point. This next one will be good—definitely better than yours."

Sasuke turned to leave, but over his shoulder, he said, "Nothing you do will ever be better than me, idiot."

After putting up with Sakura's "This new coffee place just opened up nearby" and Ino's "Are you sure you don't need a ride?" he pushed through the crowded hallway and exited the school through one of the side doors. It was one of the few exits unlocked during all hours, at least that he knew of, assuming it was broken and had gone unnoticed. Being his clever escape through most of high school, he was surprised when he smelled smoke this time.

"Sasuke?" Shikamaru said, then took a quick drag from his cigarette. "Don't tell anyone, okay?"

"Whatever," Sasuke said, passing him and leaving behind Shikamaru's secret.

The walk home was a short distance, but Sasuke usually took the long way, down side streets, through alleyways, and random rights and lefts. Usually his thoughts were peaceful, a solace before going home to an empty two-bedroom apartment. After his parents died, Itachi sold the property outside of town, downsized, and then Itachi left. The apartment felt big still, with only Sasuke to fill it most days. He wanted a studio when he was done with school, much less emptiness to hinder him.

On his walk home today, he kept thinking about Naruto's poem. He looked ridiculous, with his uniform tie loose, his white shirt creased, and his hair a mess and so long his bangs touched his eyelashes. Sitting there, writing a poem he didn't need to write for an assignment he'd already failed. Fools did foolish things, so thinking too much about it was probably a mistake. Still, he felt he'd been one-upped.