One Friday, One March and One Melanie

Part Five

Friday woke up earlier than she usually did the next morning. 

This wasn't because she wanted to, or because she wanted to get an early start on mystery-solving. No, it was because she heard something.

Something obnoxiously loud.

"...EASY, I'M TELLING YOU! GET DOWN FROM..."

Several obnoxiously loud things.

"...THAT'LL TAKE HIM TOO LO..."

On the floor, March shifted. Melanie seemed undisturbed. Friday grabbed her hat and a dressing gown that was probably hers, seeing as it was screwed up on the floor, and made her way into the hallway to see what the cause of the yelling was. In the hallway, two girls Friday knew to be in her year, though she'd never spoken to them, were attempting to balance a hand-held mirror on a light fixture. They were also having a very loud conversation about whether or not this was an reasonable place to be putting said mirror. 

Friday would have thought that particular answer was obvious. 

"What are the two of you doing?"

The girls whirled around as if they'd been caught red-handed. Upon seeing it was Friday, they relaxed considerably and ignored her entirely, before racing off down the hall, giggling. 

"I want to tell him!"

"No, it's my turn, you got to ask when we hid--"

And they were off, around the corner. Friday, forgetting she wasn't even wearing shoes, followed the two of them out of the building and onto still-muddy lawns, into rain that wasn't exactly heavy but certainly wasn't light. 

If this wasn't her dressing gown, she'd now ruined it enough to be, so she kept following them. 

They eventually ended up at the end of a line of giggling girls that stretched right down the hallway in one of the science buildings. Friday, now a little drenched and more disgruntled-looking than usual, pressed herself against the wall and walked along the line. 

At the very top of it, Ian sat behind a table, smiling his third-most charming smile as he talked to three girls who could barely speak without bursting into nervous-sounding laughter. 

She'd categorised his smiles again. Darn, she'd thought she'd managed to stop that. She should not tell Melanie about this.

Behind Ian, a whiteboard with about two dozen tally marks had been propped up. What was he keeping score of? Why was he keeping score of it?

She'd heard something or other, recently, about not interrogating people when they weren't suspects. Well, it didn't matter. Ian was acting very suspicious. She got to ask whatever she wanted.