Rob looked at the Math quiz from the day before that the teacher had just handed him on his desk. All around him, there were various whispered shouts or moans, probably depending on the grade.
He looked at his paper again, sighing in relief. On the top center of the page, marked in red, was a large ninety-five. He scanned the paper and saw that only one of his answers was incorrect.
Rob smiled a little bit. It was nice to be doing well in school again.
The teacher handed out the rest of the papers, and went back to the rest of the room. He was certainly not Mr. Kinsen, the Math teacher that he had in Brooklyn that made random remarks with Math wording scattered in them, but he was nice, and seemed to care about the class. Also, he had noticed that no one that he knew from the center was among the students, including his roommate.
The teacher then began to review some concepts from the quiz they had just taken. As he wrote some problems on the board after the explanations, he would ask for volunteers to help solve the problems he wrote on the board. Questions about medians, graphs and other concepts were answered from haphazardly to quickly and with confidence.
Finally, there came a problem about fractions and the order of operations. Rob had not found that unit difficult; in fact, it seemed fairly simple, for the most part.
He looked at the equation on the board. So far, no one had volunteered to help with it. Rob debated; should he really stand out as his alias? He had avoided doing that sort of thing in all of his classes so far.
Maybe no one would really find him out with just this, though. How could they? It was just a simple Math question, and Richie Branson could be just as good as Rob Baker had been in Math. Rob hesitantly raised his hand.
The teacher smiled, seeming relieved. "Yes, Richie," he said. "Could you solve this equation for us?"
Rob nodded, and went to the board. His hand shaking just a little bit from the attention, he picked up the piece of chalk other students had used to fill out the Math problem, coming out with an even three.
He then put down the chalk back on the board. To his relief, the teacher was smiling.
"That's correct," he stated cheerfully.
Rob went back to his seat, relieved. He did not volunteer for any more questions for the rest of class, but he was certain that he could answer them.
After bell rang, the teacher beckoned him to his desk. Rob winced, and gathered his school things before heading over to him. The teacher looked up from straightening some papers for the next class.
Looking up, he smiled. "You seem to be doing well in this class, Richie," he said. "I hope that you keep up the excellent work."
Rob nodded, relieved. "Thank you, sir," he responded.
He then went out of the classroom, thankful that the pleasant teacher had not asked him about how well he had done in the last school he had been in.
He then winced a bit. Of course, the teachers would know about him being a foster kid, and that they had utterly no records from any school for him. Maybe the teachers had all been in some meeting to not question any foster student about their past, since the center was so close.
Rob was quite glad for that. It just meant that none of the students here knew about him, and maybe even supposed him to be from a loving family; one where they all actually cared about him . . . How many students there took that for granted? He sure hoped that his friends back in Brooklyn did not.
He then scoffed. Of course they did not. Right? He had seen simple gestures such as Lenni hugging her father after he came in the door; Alex being relaxed while chatting to his father about the bodega . . .
Of course, none of the team (except maybe Ghostwriter) knew anything that was even close to the actual truth. He supposed that he did want to return back to Brooklyn . . . just not his house. There was no "home" anymore- just a building that housed two people that were definitely no longer his parents he had known.
"Hey, come back here!"
"Oh, come on. I'm starving!"
"-that monster movie is absolutely disgusting-"
"-Friday, night, right? Your sister is crazy-"
"-magician with all those fire knives was awesome-"
Rob rolled his eyes at the relentless chatter among him in the hallway. Like in Hurston, lunch was a considered completely different period, and so the students would not go by class. That meant that the hallways were completely crowded after class- and even more loud.
He sighed as he slunk by some students that were laughing about something. Unfortunately, unlike Hurston, at this school students were strictly prohibited from being the computer lab during school hours unless they were with a class (or had a teacher's note). How he wanted to write on a computer again . . .
He peered at the students near him, then semi-interested with a sudden thought. Alex had stated his odd theory of a ghost town just a few days ago. Of course, he would not touch the other students just as much as he wanted any of them to touch him, but he could just look for any oddities.
After about a minute of absolutely nothing, Rob frowned at his stupidity. The students were just that- solid people like he was. Why in the world had he thought that they might be all ghosts? The people at the center certainly were not, just like the people in the rest of Connecticut. How could they even interact with him- or touch (or even shove) him otherwise? No one on the team could even physically feel Ghostwriter's words, much less the ghost himself.
Rob then frowned. He actually did have some money with him, as he was hoping to be able to call (or at least leave a message) to his brother to his school, using either a relay service or someone at the front desk telling him what Jason signed. Who knew if there was some random pay phone in the school, but there had been in some others he had been to. Hopefully the angered kid would not find the small mass of quarters in his pocket he had purposely put there in the morning before the first class.
Huffing a bit, he started toward the cafeteria, a school library book in hand. He caught a glance of Ryan Akino and his friend Kevin talking to each other by yet another set of lockers. He winced, hoping that the duo would not notice him.
Suddenly, someone utterly banged into him into him, shoving him hard against the wall. Rob winced at the contact, but hoped that no one would do any more harm.
He looked up, flinching at a furious face that he somewhat recognized as another kid from the center. Vaguely, he remembered the kid shouting at someone at the center that morning.
"What did you do with my money?" the red-haired boy demanded.
Rob was immediately baffled, but did not want to anger the person any further. "Sorry, you've got the wrong person-" he started.
He stopped abruptly as the book was torn from his hand. "Did you stash it in here?" the boy demanded, shaking it before dumping it on the floor.
Rob winced at the furious face of the other foster boy. "I told you; I didn't do anything-"
He then cut off, almost petrified, as an angered fist actually rose near his head-
Rob lay on his bed, his head throbbing. The pain was not the only thing bothering him, though. For the past week, both of his "parents" had repeatedly him that his brother, his only brother was better than he was just two weeks ago. He was the idiot of the family, and not worth it to be seen by his brother. Stupidly, he had somewhat believed them. He had even refused to write much on the letters he angrily sent him.
How dumb was that?
He knew that his brother's old letters were nearby, in several folders in his closet. Unfortunately, his "father" would find out if he even moved from the bed that night. That had occurred before, with disastrous results, and Rob definitely did not want a repeat. He was not even wearing his Ghostwriter pen, as was habit for night. Plus, he did not even have any paper nearby, and there was the "slight" issue of him barely being able to see in the dim room.
Instead, he just lay there, futilely attempting to hold back some tears. He then winced at a loud, familiar loud pounding on his bedroom door. Sitting up, Rob wondered what he had missed now- was it some dusty spot that his "mother" had discovered? Someone at school had called about his poor grades again?
Rob's breath hitched as the door opened, bracing himself for more pain-
His eyes shot open to see some kid with black hair staring at him. After a few confused seconds, Rob dimly recognized the annoying Ryan person that he thought had finally stopped bothering him. That was not so much worrying as the other person that was about to hit him, though.
"Are you okay?" Ryan asked, his face concerned. "I saw the other guy hit you."
Rob frowned, sitting up. His head hurt, and the clamor of noise in the hallway- not to mention the staring eyes of the crowd that had gathered around them- did not help.
Ryan then bent down to maybe help him stand up. Rob inwardly winced and pulled away from his outstretched hand.
"I'm fine!" he shot back, though he really not was quite sure.
Apparently the angry foster kid had actually hit him. Maybe he was even looking for him and would come back again . . .
Rob angrily stood up, going past the Ryan's confused face, and through the crowd. The foster kid that had hit him was not there, but he might be close by. No way he wanted to be around him at least the rest of the day. There might be more pain, and more fists he was not strong enough to avoid again, proving that he was just as stupid, just as weak as his "father" had stated that he was for the past while.
He picked up speed around the corner, only thinking of escape. Thankfully, there was an exit door, and Rob shot out the door into the semi-cold air.
He pelted from the school building, only thinking of running. Finally, who knew how many minutes later, he was in front of some small grey building. Rob glanced at the lettering above the single door, seeing that it was a video rental store.
He then blinked, looking around him at the unfamiliar view. Rob knew that was certainly away from the school, but as to where he was . . .
Who knew.
Rob wanted to sit down on some unobtrusive bench somewhere to not just stand around in the small crowd of people, who "might" see that he should still be in school. He stood there, blinking in the slight wind, then meandered a couple of blocks, with no luck. Unfortunately, the crowd only had thickened some, and there was a police car a few feet from him. Hurrying back around another building, Rob quickly walked away from the police vehicle, desperately hoping that the officer had not seen him. He was definitely still lost, though, with no one that looked like they might want to give a random kid directions- not that he knew where he wanted to go currently, anyway.
Rob walked randomly on the small sidewalks, among the thinning crowd. Anyone there could tattle on him, or somehow be people that knew of the raging foster student and could lead him up to him . . .
He blinked, futilely attempting to stop a few tears from dripping onto his face.
Jason. He definitely wanted Jason. His brother could help, and not only possibly with somehow figuring out some place where he could stay until when the buses came back. Actually, just being with his brother would definitely help currently . . .
Rob then squinted at a familiar sign on a pole at the end of the street. He ran straight toward it, hardly able to believe his luck. The sign with the phone receiver was there, and nearby, somewhere nearby, there was a telephone booth. He pelted across down the cement line, not even apologizing to some random pedestrian he nearly knocked over in his haste.
There. The small glass booth was there, and as someone else was in it and was actually using the phone, it apparently worked.
Rob stopped a couple of feet near the booth, quite impatient. Unless there was some random limit to how many people could use the phone for the day- or if the person was actually going to use the phone for hour; which he doubted (or hoped, anyway)- he certainly could wait until the person was finished.
He knew his Jason's schedule well enough that he would also be in the lunch period currently. Now if he could actually get lucky enough that Jason was actually in his school's cafeteria for his lunch period and not somewhere else in the school.
Checking his watch, he saw that twelve minutes remained in the period. Of course, he would be late to his next class even if he managed to find his way back to the school, but being able to talk with Jason would be way better. His older brother would even know it was him with the right clues, without him using his name at all.
Rob hurried to the booth and closed the door. He sure hoped that Jason was still in the cafeteria. Maybe even his accident prone "Padawan", as he liked to call him, had managed to spill something again. Even that seemed quite a good thing at the moment if it meant that Jason was available for the call.
He got out some quarters, nearly dropping them in his haste, and dropped them into the coin box. Of course, dialing his brother's school was long distance, and so cost more money than just the single quarter for local calls. He decided to call his brother's school directly.
Rob dialed the familiar number, waiting for the phone to ring in the receiver. The sound did not come. Instead, he listened at a monotonic operator telling him that the number he had dialed was not connected.
Confused, he hung up the phone. Maybe he had actually gotten the wrong number somehow. Surrendering more quarters (at least he had brought a bunch with him), he dialed again, carefully looking at the numbered buttons, including for the area code. He still got the same message from the operator.
Rob stared at the receiver a bit, confused, before hanging up. Was it the particular phone that was the problem? Maybe it was only for local calls, for whatever reason. He went out of the booth, hunting for a sign about that, and then inside it, but nothing was there except an odd sticker about a book store that some random person had to have stuck there.
He then frowned. Unlike Jason, he did not carry around a notepad with him, since he could hear people just fine. He was quite certain he had gotten the number correctly, though . . . right? Rob then spotted a small notepad near the phone book (maybe some person had thought it handy for the booth) and uncapped his pen from the cord around his neck.
Ghostwriter, could you send me Jason's school's phone number, including the area code? he asked.
The ghost circled his answer, and less than a minute later, zoomed back to him from somewhere in his house with the numbers. Rob frowned again, as they were the definitely same ones that he had used. So he certainly had not forgotten the number, which was a relief.
He tried calling for the third time, with again, no success. Rob scowled at the receiver. What was the problem? Was there really some weird limit to local calls?
Quickly, he found some random number for a store nearby him. A person in a hurried tone answered, and Rob quickly said that he had gotten the wrong number.
Rob raised an eyebrow. So the phone definitely worked, but not for long distance calls, maybe. Or, maybe he was doing something wrong?
Rob then thumbed through the phone book and picked some number for a store that happened to also have a building in Massachusetts. He called that one, and confirmed that it was not in Connecticut, and that he certainly did not want purple moose butter (or whatever they had said- he was not quite sure at that point with the sudden static).
Huffing, he then asked Ghostwriter for Jamal's number, and he dialed that one. It was the same response as when he had attempted to call Jason's school.
He hung up the phone yet again and frowned at it, wondering how it was so picky. No phone could be, right? He had just wanted to call his brother . . .
Alex's theory about the ghost town then came back to him. Was that where he had ended up? Then again, even a ghost town phone should be able to call other places- or at least, he assumed that it would be like that.
Rob then frowned as he looked out the window to see a hassled-looking mother glaring at him, holding onto a screaming child. He quickly ripped several sheets from the pad, then vacated the booth. The mother and her child quickly went inside.
Rob went to the back of a store near him- he still did not know where a bench was- and uncapped his pen again.
Are there any ghosts nearby? he asked, writing against the firm wall of the store.
Ghostwriter quickly zoomed near him again. Apparently the rest of the team was still not writing to their ghostly friend currently, and so he was free to write to him. Ghostwriter sped away from him, going through the glass wall of the phone booth. Soon, Rob saw the familiar colored symbol- orange this time- come back from behind the booth. Maybe the ghost had gone around the block in his search.
Ghostwriter then hovered by his question, as if debating how to answer.
Finally, several words came together, both from the paper and also from other places around him.
No, I don't think so. I can't sense anyone or anything around you that might be a ghost.
Rob frowned again, a bit puzzled. He then wrote a response.
If I'm not in a ghost town, then where would I be? he asked.
Ghostwriter circled his answer, seeming to ponder a bit before replying.
I don't know.
Rob gazed out the window from the back of a police car. Of course, the school somehow discovered that he was missing, and had actually sent a police officer after him, of all people. He had no clue if it was common regulation, but maybe currently being a foster kid had something to do with it.
At least he was not handcuffed. Rob absentmindedly stared at the scenery outside until it turned into the school parking lot. He looked down briefly, a bit embarrassed, but also hoping that the foster kid from earlier would still not be looking for him. Hopefully the boy had not figured out about the mass of quarters in his pocket, nor somehow discover the few that were still there. Plus, there was also his library book that he had left in the hallway. He hoped that someone had not stolen it.
And the larger problem (even though he had quite liked the book) was that the foster kid, of course, lived in the same place that he did . . .
The car stopped, and the officer turned around to him. "All right, kid, out of the car," he ordered in a somewhat monotone voice.
Rob nodded and opened the car door. The police officer was already standing by his own door and was waiting for him. Rob quickly followed the officer through the parking lot, and then the few steps to the front doors. At least the officer did not seem too mean-hearted- or angry, at that. Maybe getting him back to school was quite dull compared to what he was used to doing.
All too soon, he was in a small room adjoining to another room by the main office, with the vice-principal looking sternly at him. Rob stopped himself from fidgeting in his own hard chair. The black-haired woman then finally spoke.
"So, I heard from another student that someone hit you?" she asked, her features actually slightly lessening.
Rob frowned, confused. Why was the vice-principal more interested in that than the fact that he had actually left the school? Then again, she would most likely reprimand him afterword.
"Yes, ma'am," he answered, forcing himself to keep his voice steady.
"Any knowledge of who did it?"
Rob shook his head. He knew the foster kid by sight, but not their name. Maybe the student that had chanced to report the attacker had not wanted to give too much information as to not get attacked their self at some point.
"Are you all right? Did the attack injure you at all?"
He then was just confused. Of course he was not hurt too badly if he had just run out of the school. He could truthfully shake his head, though. The spot where he had apparently been hit no longer hurt, though he wondered if there would be a bruise later on.
The woman then also frowned a bit. "I understand that you are currently housed in a foster home?" she inquired.
Rob nodded, also wondering of the significance of the question. His school records would already show that. Of course, the center would be notified of his exploit. Maybe he would even get up to several dozen or even one hundred demerits as punishment.
The vice-principal then had him be checked by the nurse, who did indeed find a bruise, but not a large one. The former then looked at him again after the nurse closed the door of the small room, her face now a bit more stern.
"So, as you did break a rule by leaving during school hours, you will receive a warning this time," she informed him. "However, if you do so again, you will receive a detention period."
Rob nodded, hoping that no one would actually hit him again. Just being shoved around sometimes in the center was bad enough, and he definitely did not need some sort of vengeful enemy that hounded him through the school hallways. Perhaps at school he could even stay away from his locker for a while until about ten minutes after lunch had started for a while.
He definitely could not count on the foster kid from earlier not remembering him at the school and definitely not the center, though. Maybe he could mostly just stay in his room for a while, and hope that the boy did not find him somewhere else. Also, there was the problem of them both riding on the same bus . . .
The vice-principal then told him to wait in the room. Rob was a bit relieved, as he had definitely been expecting a huge punishment from the school alone, as well as a bunch of questioning of why he had left school in the first place. There was still the foster home, though. He hoped that the questioner would be Mr. Willowby, if someone did that.
Rob then heard the voice of the vice-principal, as well as another grown-up, and looked toward the door, seeing it was slightly open. Apparently the vice-principal had managed to not completely close it.
". . . a recent foster care addition, correct?" said an unknown male speaker.
The vice-principal answered. "Yes, that is right. And one that has a case of physical injuries from an unknown source."
"How severe?"
"Why should that matter? Any sort of abuse can do long-lasting damage, mental included."
The male speaker sighed a bit before replying. "Yes, I know that. I was just merely wondering- Oh, never mind. Such answers are always private, anyway. So of course, this could be a definite factor in the student's . . . escape, I should say, from the school?"
"I would assume so. Even if he was not hit in the attack, strong mental reactions could still have occurred."
"Are you sure the injuries came from abuse in the first place?"
"As I said before, the source is unknown, but it is likely cause."
The two people continued to speak, but in a quieter tone. Rob frowned as he somewhat stared at the tiled floor. How was it that the vice-principal of his new school, of all people, had figured out his problem, and so quickly at that, while the rest of the Ghostwriter team- not to mention, perhaps the foster home itself, ghost-like or not- was floundering for answers?
It was quite a relief that the people he had heard did not seem too interested in finding out the actual "source", as it was termed, at least for right now. He was still the very random Richie Branson, and not even the higher up people in the school seemed to know anything else.
He sat there for a while, listening to the two people talk unintelligibly as well as a few loud voices from elsewhere. Rob was wondering how long he would be in the room (and away from the angry foster kid) when the vice-principal came into the room again. If she felt any sympathy for him at all, her stern face did not show it.
"You are to go on to your class, now," the woman stated in a neutral tone. "It is just a few minutes into the last period. And," –she raised her eyebrows- "if you dawdle getting there, you will receive another warning. You will be handed a late pass to your class, not an extra late one."
Rob nodded, slightly hoping that the punishment for that would be detention, so as to at least not ride the bus home from school. The foster kid would most likely be on it- right?
However, he was not in the habit of (deliberately) disobeying orders from grown-ups at school, so he nodded and, as directed, went to the front desk where the woman quickly handed him his pass. Rob then hurried to Home Ec. Even being near the annoying ever-cheerful Ryan would be much better than thinking about another attack. At least he had never had to work with him.
Unfortunately, he not only ended up in a group with Ryan and his pestering friend (though Ryan had been much more so), as Dustin had not volunteered to join anyone else, Mr. Lia put him in his group, also. Rob stared warily at the tan-haired boy as Ryan chatted to Kevin about the current assignment (a "hard" dessert, marble brownies. Who knew what the teacher- or whoever had created the curriculum in the first place- thought about things that were actually more complicated).
"It's so cool that the flavors get mixed together," Ryan was saying to his friend. "So, I don't know, twirly?"
Kevin raised an eyebrow. "Twirly?" he asked, frowning a bit. "That the best you can come up with? How about tasty? I like that."
Ryan chuckled a bit. "Yeah, that too." He then turned to Rob and Dustin, the latter who was actually staring at a different part of the room. "So, anyway, Richie and Dustin, any takers for helping getting the ingredient things?"
Rob just stayed silent. He assumed that Dustin had also heard, but was just ignoring Ryan. Ryan then just shrugged, then spoke again.
"Okay, then," he went on determinedly, "Richie, how you get the flour, and Dustin, how about the chocolate powder while Kevin and I get some other things?"
Rob forced himself to not frown at the almost order, but just retrieved the small flour bin (helpfully labeled with an extra-large sticker that also had the amount when it was full, as well as the phrase "alien bananas are cool" on it, for whatever reason), and set it on the counter. Surprisingly, Dustin actually turned around and mutely got out the brown powder.
Soon, Ryan and Kevin soon had more things out, and the former reached into another cupboard to get a bowl. Rob half-interestedly scanned the items on the counter. Even without looking at the recipe list, Rob was wondering where the baking soda was, since there was vinegar on the counter among the other supplies. Ryan reached to get out a second bowl, when Kevin tapped him on the shoulder.
"You forgot something," he said, smiling a bit,
Ryan made a confused face, then went to the recipe list to check. He then laughed a bit. Surprisingly, he turned around to Rob's roommate.
"Hey, Dustin, could you get the baking soda real quick?" he asked. "I guess it must have jumped somewhere else for a bit and that's why I missed it."
The tan-haired boy then just simply did just that. Rob was staring in half-confusion as Ryan started to mix the dry ingredients together. How did Ryan do that? Surely if he tried the same thing, his sullen roommate would not even respond, besides possibly an angry glare. Maybe it had to do something about Ryan and Kevin definitely not being the foster home, and perhaps being in school together for a while.
He watched as Keven started to awkwardly stir the eggs with a wire whisk, barely managing to not inform his classmate about the easier whipping technique that he and his "mother" had used before. Rob then later declined mixing the layers together, and both Ryan and Kevin tried attempted that, with an almost odd-looking result of a mixture of spirals and surprisingly, almost squares.
Even Ryan was frowning a bit. "Well, I don't want to mess it up by trying to fix that too much," he stated, tapping his the end of his spatula on the side of the glass pan.
"Maybe a little bit more, at least on the weird rectangles parts?" Kevin suggested.
"Maybe."
Ryan then asked Dustin if he wanted to help. Rob's ever silent roommate did not even move this time, and the Japanese boy just shrugged and went to attempting to get the swirls better "tamed." He showed Rob the mixture after a couple of minutes (Dustin was just staring at the cupboards again, seemingly bored), which actually did look a bit less odd.
Kevin then frowned at the concoction. "I think we're missing something," he stated.
Ryan also frowned, went over to the recipe list again. He then pointed to something near the bottom of the single sheet of paper.
"Oh, here it says that there is optional frosting," he reported. "But I wonder how the teacher can keep up with the amount of frosting if it's only optional."
Kevin laughed. "Or how much people actually put on." He put his hands in the air, one slightly above the other. "Is it this much," –he then made hands be about a foot and a half apart- "or is it this much?"
Ryan chuckled a bit. "Well, I think I wouldn't like that much," he commented, "unless maybe it was ice cream."
He then peeked in the cupboard that had the flour other dry ingredients. "Huh, I don't see it in there," he muttered.
Kevin then looked in the cupboard where Rob had seen his friend take out the two bowls, while Ryan looked in the small fridge. "Not in here, either."
"Maybe someone really did use the frosting up," Ryan said, looking a bit put out, but not too much.
Kevin was looking more so as he opened various other cupboards in small kitchen area. "Nope," he said after pulling several items. The dark skinned boy then open the smallest cupboard nearby them. "Okay, just this one left- Hey, what is that?"
"Huh?"
Rob looked at the cupboard in time to see Kevin back up from the cupboard, his face set in a cringe. He briefly thought of substantiated ghosts when Ryan reached around the door, and with one eye closed, but with a determined look on his face, pull out what looked like a medium-sized green bowl- with a face, and overly large, dark red eyes painted on the front.
Frowning, Ryan gingerly placed the bowl onto the counter. "There doesn't seem to be any slime, I guess," he said, poking a finger just above the crimson eyes. "But, I don't think that would be really something that would be from the school."
Kevin nodded, coming closer to the bowl. "What's inside it?" he asked. "Monster blood?"
Ryan pulled out a small round container, then another larger one from underneath. He opened the first, smiling.
"Hey, what do you know," he said, turning around the container so Rob could see the words on the front. "Chocolate frosting!"
"In a monster bowl?"
Ryan shrugged. "Who knows," he replied. "But at least we found it already. And for this other container- oh, it's upside down- hmm, extra flour. Who knew."
Rob could barely see the printed words on the front of the container over more graffiti, but at least he supposed that it was legible so that one did not mistake it for baking soda or something else odd.
The flour was placed on the counter, as well as the container of frosting. Kevin opened the latter, and both Rob and not surprisingly, Dustin again, refused the invitation to help spread the brown mixture over the dough.
Rob looked at the creation coming together, suddenly attempting to not remember when he and Jason had created a cake with different chocolate frosting for a neighbor kid's birthday party on a military base somewhere. Jason had even made the chocolate covered spatula move- like a spaceship, he had signed, and Rob had tried to grab it, but his brother kept on smiling and pulling out of reach-
"Yah, watch it!" he heard Kevin say suddenly.
He was jerked back to the still unfamiliar room to see a container fall to the floor, flour spilling onto the tiles in a small poof of white dust with the container upside down.
Ryan frowned guiltily at the messy flooring. "Whoops," he said. "I guess I didn't put the lid back on all the way."
Keven shrugged. "Eh, it's just flour," he stated nonchalantly. "And it's not even with the other flour."
His friend nodded. "Yeah, back-up flour- I guess, monster flour, really. The worst part would be the mess, but that's not hard to clean up-"
"You could just put it back," spoke a lower-toned voice.
Rob swerved to his right to see Dustin, surprisingly with a small frown on his face instead of his neutral one that he had gotten used to. He wondered while his roommate was talking now, of all random times.
Kevin raised an eyebrow. "Flour that's been on the floor? No, thanks," he said. He then turned to Ryan, who had gotten the broom and was holding a small dustpan in the other hand. "Did any of the flour get into the frosting?" he asked.
Ryan turned to his left briefly. "Nah, it's good."
"Good. I wouldn't want flour-flavored frosting," Kevin commented.
Rob was then stunned as Dustin suddenly dashed over to Ryan as he was about to start sweeping the white powder into the dustpan, wrench the broom straight from his hand. He flinched, remembering the violent boy from just earlier that day. The officials in the foster home had said that his roommate was not known to be violent-
But was not known to be.
He did not know, as he had heard whispered various times about others in random fights in the home, if his roommate would actually hurt someone- over flour?- and he would be facing another furious face with something that was practically a weapon-
"Enough!"
Rob blinked, seeing the teacher, Mr. Lia, in between Dustin and Ryan. The former looked rather rattled, while the angered look on Dustin's face had faded to a mere smolder. The teacher looked to Dustin.
"Now, hand me the broom, there." Dustin did so, his features now merely a grimace. He turned to Ryan. "Now, presume sweeping the floor, and you, go sit down at your table for fifteen minutes. I will be watching you so that you don't get up."
His tone was not angered, but very firm at the same time. Rob was slightly surprised that the tan-haired boy actually followed the command, his face again slightly sullen. He turned to Ryan, also attempting to not notice that several groups around him had been silent and started talking all at once again.
"Yeesh, what was that about?" Ryan wondered as he quickly swept the flour into the small brown dust pan.
Keven frowned as his friend dumped the flour into the trash nearby the counter. "I dunno. That was just a bit weird. I would think that anyone would like brooms, but not flour that much."
"Monster flour," Ryan stated, laughing a little as he put the "monster" bowl back into to the cupboard. "Maybe it turns people into a bit of a monster for a bit. Too bad it wasn't something cooler, like King Kong."
"You're nuts," Keven retorted, but he was smiling some.
Rob winced a bit, though, glancing first at Dustin, who was seemingly bored now as he stared at the other groups, then at the bit of flour that Ryan had missed on the floor. For some reason, he doubted that his usually silent roommate would approve. Hopefully the boy would forget about the flour- and the whole incident in the first place- and that he would leave his sort of new roommate alone for at least the rest of the day.