Classroom X

day seven: frenzy

Dawn was only breaking, the sky a dark grey like the face of the moon. Birds stayed silent, still in their nests, but there were a few crickets screeching away in the undergrowth even at such a sleeping hour. The forest cast its shadows on Siward and Rooney, both of whom were idling beneath a large oak tree; or Siward was idling, while Rooney looked like she wanted to dissect him.

"What's the deal with you?" Rooney demanded snappishly, her nerves coiling from annoyance because even though she had been the one to kick Siward awake and drag him out to the forest, even though she had made it unambiguously clear that what she wanted from him was a proper, solemn conversation and not his usual attitude, Siward acted like she was just a pesky insect that had started buzzing at him when he was having a nice morning stroll.

"What deal?" asked Siward innocently, poking at a knob on a tree experimently. Then he went ahead and squatted down, picking up a stick as he did. "Look, there's an ant," he said, tapping the stick against the ground, supposedly attempting to squash it from above.

Rooney stomped her foot, trying to draw his attention back to her.

Siward dropped the stick and sat down among the roots heavily. He looked up at Rooney through eyes hooded by sleep, lounging against the gnarly trunk. His usual levity had dulled a little when he asked, "what is it really?"

"What was your purpose, making us play that game of truth or dare? You said it might reveal the Angel of Death, but it didn't! Were you really just having fun?"

"Maybe. If we're going to die anyway, why not have some fun first?"

Rooney felt a sudden urge to turn Siward upside down and knock the water out of his brain. If Naftali hadn't asked him if he really were the one who requested the game Rooney knew Siward would be denying any involvement in the matter right now just so he could give her a hard time. She didn't know how someone could be like him; so flippant, so facetious. It would take no effort on her part to imagine him playing jazz at a family funeral to liven up the mood or throw fish on dry mud so he could watch them do wiggly leaps during their death-throes. But he somehow also made it hard for people to blame him. He'd say the dead person loved jazz, or that he actually threw the fish back into the water before they died. Rooney didn't know what to make of a person like him.

"How could you be so unbothered by what you did. Because of your game Cassidy had to die!"

Lips curling with dark humour, Siward asked Rooney, "was it my game that killed her, or was it your question?"

Stumped, Rooney stared at him. Siward held her gaze unflinching, and she understood why she was feeling so mad at Siward. Siward had pointed it out the reason for her: it was her fault that Cassidy died, partly at least.

"And it's Nike's fault Ken died," added Siward, voice low and easy. He picked at a few dewy grass near his knees and tore down the middle of their leaf blades.

"How did you know?" faltered Rooney. Nike had told no one that other than the three of them that she was the one who came up with the lie detector idea. How would Siward know it was her?

"You mean about the lie detector?" Siward chuckled. "Didn't I once say that there is nothing I do not know."

Rooney rolled her eyes at the bluff. "What are you? God? There's no way you'd know everything. Unless..." Rooney's eyes widened. "Unless you are the Angel of Death and maybe mind reading is one of your abilities, about which even the soldiers do not know about."

Siward scoffed. He got back to his feet, tossing aside the leaves he'd shredded to a kibble. "If you have nothing else to tell me, I'm leaving." He caught Rooney's look. Her face was gloomy, eyes a tad forlorn. Siward sighed. "Stop thinking about Cassidy. It won't do you any good. What you did wasn't intentional murder. It was an accident. Maybe. Maybe you had some idea about what you were doing. Maybe not. Or were you trying to have fun too? You know, everyone would have asked everyone else if they were the Angel of Death if you hadn't asked that first question. If you hadn't let them know things could be way more interesting. But most of them were wusses anyway, too shy to play it serious. Whatever. I'd ask you to forget Cassidy, but you probably won't. But let bygones be bygones. It must be that—"