Foreigner

Chapter 8

The usual buzzing around me has somewhat died down these past few days. The occasional lewd comment doesn't bother me anymore, and anything physical hasn't happened after the situation with Oliver. I guess people are finally letting me live my life, however lonely or uneventful.

I do still talk to Tommy and Max, but since they're seniors, the only time we can get together is at lunch - after lessons, I only leave my room for dinner, and I do that at the latest time possible when the cafeteria is empty.

Now, the thing with my roommate - it's weird. He still doesn't make an effort to talk to me - that much hasn't changed - but I have caught him staring more than a few times. It kind of looks like he wants to say something but can't.

And I'm sure as hell not starting up the conversation! I mean, he still glares at me like he wants to kill me, and I'm not suicidal.

It's my second Friday at Whittiker. I'm currently making my way to the psychologist's office before the lessons start. With a hood over my head and earphones on full blast, I embrace my anti-social behaviour and try to think of the next 'big thing' I could conduct on these assholes. Not that I'm complaining about the current situation - no one's bothering me to that extent - but it's addictive to mess with people's lives.

I knock on the door to the room I broke into last week and step inside. Dr. Matthews is sitting in her usual seat, a grim expression on her face.

She doesn't look thrilled to have heard about what his son did.

"Before we begin, I must apologize for saying you were the one who 'played the devil,'" she says, glancing at me as I take the seat opposite to her. "I have a habit of listening to my son and believing him."

I shake my head, a weird stab going through my gut. "I get it. Family before anyone else."

"No," she retorts, croaking a bit - this must be getting to her more than I thought. "It doesn't excuse my behaviour. I study people - I should've seen through him."

Suddenly, I realize that Dr. Matthews is an expert, and she can see through people. I have to be careful with her next time.

Oliver better step up his game and start acting like he's actually at fault.

* * *

"Stooooooop!" Tommy whines with an overly squeaky voice. He reaches for the plate of fires Max has taken from him, practically sitting on the guy. "Give it back!"

"No," Max says, raising the plate even higher. "This is your fifth plate this week. It's time for some salad-"

"NOOO!" the little boy screams, struggling to fight a person twice his size.

I sit opposite them, chewing a piece of cooked salmon and letting the chaos unfold in front of me. Max is enjoying this, without a doubt - he isn't smiling, but his eyes are glowing with mischief and pleasure. Tommy looks like he's about to lose it - he's mad, hungry, and going to cry any minute. He was having fun the first two minutes, though.

I swallow a laugh along with some salmon. I swear, they're both ten years old at heart.

...Okay, Max might be twelve.

"Give. It." The small guy isn't playing games anymore.

"N. O." But neither is his huge friend.

"How about you compromise and do half and half," I suggest, putting my fork down and reaching for the bottle of water on my tray.

"No!" they say in unison, Max a bit mad I interrupted their little mating ritual.

I figured out they had a thing when Tommy kissed his friend on the cheek last week. It wasn't a surprise, though - the chemistry between them has been undeniable since I walked in on them doing who-knows-what in the janitor's closet the first day. The thing that surprises me is that no one even gives them a side-eyed look whenever the situation gets a bit too handsy.