Peter had searched through Adrian's luggage, and had been more than a little surprised at what he had found. It was luggage unlike any he had ever seen..
"Do you paint often, Adrian?" he asked, removing a tube of paint from Adrian's bag and studying it. There was a multitude of the tubes. Either this kid loves to paint or he had an innovative way of stashing drugs, concealed in the tubes.
"Yes," Adrian responded. "I live and breathe art. There's a whole stack of my art supplies in there, not just acrylic and oil paint tubes."
Peter fished through the objects in the bag and removed a few sketching pencils, as well as pieces of graphite and charcoal.
"Did you bring any of your work?" asked Peter curiously.
"Of course, there'd be no way I'd leave them at my uncle's."
"And why is that?" Peter asked.
"I'll probably never return there again. That's pretty much why I'm here- because I was too much of a burden on my uncle."
Peter registered what the boy had said, and Adrian continued.
"My mother looked after me since I was a child. We moved around a lot. I've never known my father, and I don't care to. My mother committed suicide a few months back, decided life was too hard. And it was. We weren't doing so well, but.. I was content. The guardian who was to look after me in my mother's will was my uncle Malcolm. He couldn't stand me more than two months. Now I'm here. That's my story."
"Your uncle," Peter began, "said you were oblivious to authority and skipped some school."
"I learned living with my mom that you have to do what sparks your passion. From her death I learned not to waste time doing things I didn't want to do. That includes school."
"And how is that?" Peter asked curiously.
"Because when she committed suicide," Adrian said slowly, "I know all the dreams she left behind. I'm not going to do that."
Peter glanced curiously at this clear-minded teen. "Alright," he said. "I'm going to put you in the Cliffhanger's group. I'm going to have one of the cliffhangers, help you get settled in. Now you're scheduled for your physical.."
"For what?"
"It's standard procedure, to see if you have any drugs in your system, things like that." Peter paused. "You do know that I can't let you keep your art stuff in the dorm, right?"
"What, you think I'll try to get high off of the paint?"
"No so much as you, but the other Cliffhangers as well. You can, however, store them in the art room."
"Art room?" Adrian asked skeptically.
"It's better than having them removed from you isn't it?"
"What about my sketchbook and sketching pencils? I can keep them with me, right?"
"Absolutely," assured Peter.
"Alright, great, thanks man."
"Any time," responded Peter. "I'll be heading off now, it's time for your physical."
"Alright," Sophie began as the Cliffhangers had gathered around in a circle. "Is everyone here?"
"Everyone except Erika," Juliette observed.
"Where is she?" questioned Sophie.
Scott replied, "probably still with Peter," he said. "Getting the lecture."
"Why?" Juliette asked.
"Basically, she doesn't like rules," replied Kat. "You know that. Speaking of which, Scott, shouldn't you be there also, 'getting the lecture'? It's not like you're much better at following the rules."
Shelby turned to Scott, who shrugged. "I'm probably gonna get it later," he reasoned.
"That girl's messed up, man," put in Auggie.
"In case you've forgotten Auggie," said Daisy, "we're all 'messed up', or else we wouldn't be at a lock-down facility for societal rejects."
"Well, group," interrupted Sophie, "we have a new member in our little clan. This is Adrian," she introduced.
A chorus of greetings welcomed the raven haired boy.
"Hey watcha got there, meat?" Auggie asked, pointing to a notebook Adrian carried tightly.
"It's my sketchbook," he replied.
"You draw a lot?" asked Juliette.
"Yeah, all the time," Adrian responded.
"Cool, me too," put in Auggie. "What kinda stuff do ya draw?"
"Everything."
"Guys," interrupted Sophie, "want to introduce yourselves? Starting with Auggie."
"K, I'm Augusto Ciceros, here because of bein' in a gang and all."
"Scott?"
"Scott Barringer," he began. "Here for using drugs, and just stuff."
"Alright, Daisy?"
"My name's Daisy Lipenowski, and I'm here because I conked my father on the head with a golf club."
Adrian stared at Daisy curiously. "Why?" he asked outright.
"Oh, he wasn't much of a father, I'm a child of alcoholic parents. Whacking him over the head with the seven iron was just to vent the anger I had built up for him," she replied.
"And what about you?" Adrian said, turning to Scott. "Why'd you use?"
"Why do you want to know?" Scott asked.
"I don't understand why you'd want to spend your life getting wasted."
"Just, issues with my parents, and my step-mom," he replied.
"And you?" Adrian asked Auggie.
"Grew up in a bad neighbourhood. Pressure from my brother."
Peter appeared and interrupted the sharing of pasts, the telling of secrets. "Scott? My office, now," he commanded.
Scott rose and departed from the group, Shelby glancing wistfully at his exit. "Dammit Scott," she thought. "You just love getting yourself into trouble."