A/N: Okay, I'm not going to lie. Although there are some juicy tidbits in here, this is mostly a filler chapter. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't read it! You should. Definitely. And enjoy it, too :)

After a thoroughly unsatisfactory fencing practice–I felt like a young boy again, though instead of Volger's hard glare I faced Deryn's, and for entirely different reasons–I find myself on the way to Auto Mechanics I. The shop is right next to the office where I got my schedule a few hours ago, so I have no trouble finding it.

I take hold of the door handle, feeling flakes of rust come off in my palm, and pull the door open. Inside is a large auto shop, as I suspected, and about fifteen desks crowded into a section of the room with a chalkboard hung on the wall. Two cars and a lawnmower wait to be worked on, hoods popped to reveal the mechanical guts inside. I smile at the idea of being able to get my hands on metal again.

Back at home, it was my only release from the constant obligations of being a prince. I would tinker with old, out-dated models endlessly, feeling the grease under my fingernails and breathing in the stench of metal. Any time I wasn't at a dinner or in fencing practice, I could be found out in the shop. My stomach aches and my eyes burn remembering it.

A few more boys pile in through the door and drop their things on a desk. They toss their jackets off and roll up their sleeves, turning their gazes to the grizzly man sitting at a computer in his office. After a moments the bell rings and he stands up, revealing jeans instead of khakis, and a bulky sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up past his elbows. It seems that this is one professor who doesn't have to follow the dress code.

Soon enough, I've taken and passed an exam on the proper rules and procedures of the shop and have dived into one of the projects. When the bell rings, I sigh and gather my books, thinking that I would rather spend my whole day doing this than my other classes.

After surviving Algebra II, my stomach rumbling the whole time, I make my way to the cafeteria. Luckily I don't have to stand in the line that circles most of the room because Volger insisted I pack my own meals. I told him the chance that someone would take the care to poison my meal specifically–or, worse, the entire schools'–was extremely thin. He made me take my own anyway.

Any chance at all is too much of a chance, after all.

So I clutch the thermal lunch bag in my right hand, scanning the tables for a friendly place to sit. In all, I count about ten girls in the whole cafeteria, Deryn among them. She's standing near the front of the line, faded blue lunch tray held lazily in one hand. With the other, she brushes a stray piece of blonde hair away from her face.

It takes more effort than I care to admit to tear my eyes away.

I came here to survive a war, not meet a girl.

Sighing, I find an empty table and sit, opening the velcro seal on my lunch bag. Inside, I find a Lunchables and a bottle of water. It's hard to poison prepackaged goods, especially since it's been with me all day. And I am excited for the Lunchable, because I've never had one.

"Whoa, Newb, this is our table," says a voice behind me. I immediately sit up straighter, spine prickling with indignation.

"I didn't realize," is my reply, not turning around to face whoever is behind me. A tray plops down next to me on one side, and seconds later on the other.

"Lay off the kid, Robert," the boy on my right side chides. "If he's new, then he couldn't have known whose table it was."

The first boy scowls and opens his mouth to speak when the other holds up his hand.

"Logic."

I bite back a laugh.

"I'm Eugene, but please just call me Newkirk," the nicer of the two continues with a devious grin. I recognize him just as he does me. "Hey! I knocked you over outside Rigby's!"

I blink a few times, letting my shoulders drop. It's impossible to avoid these people. "Yes."

"I hope I didn't scuff you up too bad," Newkirk says. I gesture to my elbow, showing a thumbnail-sized scab.

"Aside from a bruised elbow, I'm no worse for wear, thank you," I reply with a small smile.

"Again with the thanks! I'm telling you, Fitzroy, I was running back in to work, and this kid came out of nowhere and I just plowed him over. And then–get this–he thanked me."

I smile slightly. "It was for helping me to my feet."

"Yeah, but I would have been cursing like a sailor. And probably punched the other guy, too. So that's the difference between you and me," Newkirk laughs.

There are more differences than you could ever know, I think wryly.

Newkirk goes on to say something more, but he talks so fast it's hard for me to understand him, thick British accent aside. So I just nod hesitantly.

The two boys shovel a few bites of food in their mouths, and I break the cardboard seal on my Lunchable and tear away the plastic. Inside are a few crackers and an equal number of ham and cheese slices.

I frown. This is hardly one of the banquets I used to enjoy in Austria, but I suppose I expected that. Although, the school lunches do look more appetizing. And warm.

Suddenly, Newkirk's arm shoots in the air. "Sharp!" he calls. "Over here!"

I follow his line of sight and see Deryn standing in the middle of the cafeteria with a tray in her hands, looking lost. Her eyes light on Newkirk, and she weaves through the tables toward us. "Hey, guys," she says, setting her tray next to Newkirk's.

"And how are you enjoying your first day at Leviathan School for Boys?" Newkirk asks, then amends quickly, "Or Leviathan School of Indiscriminate Gender nowadays, I guess. Or something like that. What exactly is our official name now?"

"Leviathan Private School," Fitzroy offers, then goes back to mulling over his lunch quietly.

"Right, that."

"It's fine," Deryn says, and heaps some mashed potatoes onto her spoon.

"So how did you end up here, anyway? There are about a dozen private schools in London."

She hesitates just a little too long. "Scholarship. Leviathan ended up being the cheapest option."

"I'm on scholarship, too, though I'm sure I don't look it." Newkirk turns to me. "And how about you..." he stops. "Sorry, I don't know your name."

"Ryan," I tell him, though it feels foreign in my mouth.

"Ryan," the boy repeats. "Why'd you come to Leviathan, then?"

I stare at my cheese-and-ham cracker sandwich. To escape my war-torn country. For my own safety, so I wouldn't meet the same poisonous fate as my parents. "The fencing team. I heard it's great."

Deryn bites back a smile. I follow her lead and grin, and I can almost convince myself that it is sincere.

"So do you fence, then, Ryan?" Fitzroy asks, suddenly interested.

This time Deryn scoffs outright, but I choose to ignore her, spreading my hands in a gesture of defeat. "That would depend upon whom you ask," I say wryly.

Fitzroy raises an eyebrow. "What?"

"Uh..." I offer stupidly, at a loss for an explanation that won't reveal who I am.

"The official story is that he doesn't fence, but in truth he does. Since he was a wee boy, for that matter," announces Deryn, giving me a wicked grin. "And he likes to be called 'Alek'."

I'm about to respond when a boy walks up and puts his hand on Deryn's shoulder. "Hey, want to come sit at my table, Deryn?"

I try not to scowl at him. Strangely, the phrase "tall, dark, and handsome" comes to mind, which only makes me dislike him more. Right after I think it, I curse myself for being so shallow. As our gazes meet, I can't help but narrow my eyes. He follows the gesture, and it becomes glaringly apparent that the two of us will not be friends.

Deryn glances between the boy and the three of us, biting her lip. A moment later, she stands, slinging a backpack over her shoulder and picking up her tray. "Yeah. See you later, guys."

As she walks away, I feel strangely betrayed.

"Blisters," Newkirk curses. "They got to her before we could save her. We were too late." He sighs and stabs his mound of mashed potatoes with fervor.

Startled, I ask, "What?" which earns me a condescending look.

"You are familiar with the clichéd but accurate high school hierarchy system, right?"

It takes a moment for me to puzzle through the translation, but I nod slowly. I've never attended public school, but I have seen many movies involving high school students.

"You just met the 'king', though I die a little inside admitting. Matt Weldon. He's captain of the fencing team and a complete tosser," Newkirk informs me bitterly. From his tone of voice, I assume a "tosser" is a bad thing.

I frown. "Then what does that make you?"

"I like to think of myself as Peter Pan." He grins viciously, but after a moment it falters. "But to most... I don't know. A fruit seller or something. But I like that. Everyone else... they don't seem to realize that the power they get from being in the 'popular' group isn't real–and so is their happiness. So my job, see, is to save people from that.

"And he got to her before I could. I only hope she's smart enough to realize what kind of a person he really is." Newkirk flicks some food around on his tray, and Fitzroy looks around, sighing.

I still don't understand. "So... why don't you just tell her?"

He laughs. "If only it were that easy. I'd get my bum stabbed through with a foil, and she wouldn't believe me, besides. She'll either see for herself in time or become one of them. And until then, there's nothing we can do except be there."

Staring at my lunch, I can't help but compare Newkirk's analogy of high school to my own life. I'm a prince, and though I never held a claim to the throne I suppose I felt higher than those around me–but where am I now? Sitting in a cafeteria with the same people I used to look down on, eating crackers. There had been times I thought I was happy, but there was always a sense of fragility to it, as if it could be shattered at any moment.

And that moment came the night my parents were assassinated.

Though I'm not happy now by any means, I do feel different. In a way, I've experienced more in the last four days than in my entire life. And I have yet to decide if that is good or bad.

Looking at the boys on either side of me and at Deryn, who's just taken a seat next to Matt, I sigh. It's likely I'll be here more than long enough to figure that out.