the hidden menace [Ranboo Boarding School AU]

chapter 6

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Ranboo got by.

It wasn't really that hard, as long as he didn't let himself want anything.

As long as he didn't linger in the bathroom or halls, as long as he sat down properly when he entered at classroom, as long as he didn't try to eat at the wrong table, nobody bothered him except for beanie boy.
And beanie boy's torture was bearable, even at the worst.

The problem was, Ranboo couldn't always stop himself from wanting more.

He wanted home and he wanted his family and he wanted to see the note.

Those were impossible dreams, little fantasies that he played with in his mind in the middle of the night when he couldn't sleep.

The glow of those fantasies always made reality seem even bleaker the next morning.

But everything else he wanted seemed impossible, too.

He wanted to be able to climb into bed each night without even looking at beanie boy—without saying "I am the dumbest lecker alive," a hundred times, without doing a single push-up, pull-up, sit-up, or toe touch.

Once during a nightly session, he dared to mumble, "Leave me alone," to beanie boy.

But when Ranboo looked down, beanie boy was laughing hysterically.

"Did you—did you say what I thought—you said?" he sputtered between laughs. " 'Leave me alone' Oh, that's a good one, you stupid fonrol. You going to make me? Go ahead. Make me."

Beanie boy had his fist up, a taunting grin smeared across his face. Behind him, their other roommates gathered, eager for a fight. Eager, it seemed, to help beanie boy pound every shred of courage out of Ranboo.

At least beanie boy only tortured Ranboo only once a day. Three times a day, in the cavernous dining hall, Ranboo longed for food that tasted good.

Mouthing bitter greens and mealy bread, he dreamed of Mother's stews, her biscuits, her apple pies. He could remember the exact sound of her voice asking him, "Do you want to lick the bowl?" whenever she made a cake. And then the taste of the sweet batter.

He tried to forget about that, but he couldn't. He knew that if he sat down at L'manburg dinning hall and someone put a whole cake made by his mother, they'd taste every bit as bitter as the greens. He wouldn't be able to eat a bite.

And mother's biscuits, flown in fresh—if that were possible—would crumble in his mouth just like the mealy bread. Nothing could taste good when you ate alone in the midst of hundreds of boys who didn't even know your name. Who didn't care.

For Ranboo wanted a friend at L'manburg, too. Sometimes he forced himself to stop daydreaming and start paying attention to the other boys.
He wasn't brave enough to speak to any of them, but he thought if he listened, then someday...

He couldn't tell the boys apart. He wasn't blind—he could tell that some of them had different colored-hair, even slightly different colored skin. Some were taller, some were shorter; some were fatter, some were thinner. Some of them were older then him, a few years younger.

But Ranboo could never fix any of them in his mind. Even the beanie boy was unrecognizable outside of their room.

Once he came up to Ranboo and said, "Ah, my servant! Just when I need a pen. Give me yours, kid." And Ranboo stared, open mouthed, for so long that beanie boy eased the pen out of Ranboo's hand and headed off muttering, "Fine time to turn statue on me."

Another time, during breakfast, he overheard boys joking at a nearby table.

"Oh, come on, Quackity," one boy said to another.

Ranboo stared. Quackity, he repeated to himself, mesmerizing the boys features. That boy's name is Quackity. Now I know who he is. It gave him a warm glow all morning, to think that he'd be able to recognize somebody now.

At lunch he watched Quackity slip into his seat. Ranboo practically smiled. Then Quackity knocked over his water glass, dousing the boy beside him.

"Alex, you lecker!" the other boy exclaimed.

Alex? But—

At dinner, the boy Ranboo would have sworn was Quackity looked up when someone called out, "Aye! Big Q!"

"Not now," Quackity/Alex/Big Q said irritably. Or was he simply Big Q, and Quackity and Alex were totally different boy?

Ranboo gave up trying to keep track of anybody's names. He thought be noticed other boys responding to multiple names, too, but he could never be sure.

Why was he so easily confused?

It was like the halls at school, which always seemed to double back on themselves. From one day to the next, Ranboo could rarely find his way to the same classroom twice.

So it didn't matter that h read never sure which class was supposed to be sitting in—he'd never be able to get to the right place, anyhow.

The teachers didn't seem to notice Ranboo, or anyone else's They'd occasionally point at a boy and declare, "Two demerits," but they almost never called anyone by name.

Ranboo wondered about sneaking up to his room during class time, and reading the note from Dream, since nobody cared where he was, anyway. But the hall monitors guarded the stairs, too. They guarded everything.

So, Ranboo reflected gloomily, the note that could save him was doomed to turn to lint in his pocket. And Ranboo was doomed to endlessly wander the halls of L'manburg, unnoticed, unknowing, unknown.

In bed at night, Ranboo took to having imaginary conversation with his family.

I'm sorry, Dream. You risked your life to get me here, and I wasn't worth it....
I'm sorry, Mother. You wanted me to stay but I said I had to go. I should have never left you. I wish—

But Ranboo wished for so much, he couldn't go on. He was so busy longing for big, impossible changes, he never gave a thought to wanting anything smaller or more practical. Like an open door.

But that was what he got.