Picket swears he doesn’t mean to be late. He really doesn’t. He promised Heather he’d do better, but…….

                    He hadn’t followed through. Instead, he’d been gone when she’d woken up. In his defense, he hates lying awake, staring at the ceiling. He can’t stand it. So, at four in the morning, he’d climbed carefully out of bed, disabled the security system, and snuck out.

                    He wasn’t doing anything bad! Really! He just wandered around the woods for a few hours, trying to keep his mind off the fact that this was the first day of school. And by the time he’d made it back to the house, Heather had been gone, and so had the bus. So he’d grabbed his backpack and his bike and had arrived half-way through first period-American History.

                    Which Picket already knew was going to be mind-numbingly boring, so he’s not that upset about it.

                    “Tell me, Picket, why you think it is okay to simply skip class whenever you don’t feel like joining us?” The teacher, Edward, sighs. He’s only in his mid-twenties, and Picket often thinks that he relates more with the students than the other teachers. He calls most of the kids by their first names-something the other adults don’t usually do.

                    Picket doesn’t reply, staring at the ground and scraping his sneaker against the ugly linoleum floor.

                    “I’ll pretend it didn’t happen since it’s the first day, but don’t be late again. Go sit down.” Edward turns back to the board-he’s talking about Spain and England racing to colonize the Americas-and Picket slowly and begrudgingly makes his way across the room to his front-row seat. Edward thinks he’ll learn better if he’s up front where he can make sure he’s paying attention.

                    But Picket’s so bad at history that it makes little difference.

                    Edward tries, he really does, but it’s not his teaching that’s the problem. Besides, it’s weird that he’s teaching his younger cousin, but with the amount of first, second, and third cousins Picket has running around this town it’s not honestly that surprising. Edward’s mother and Picket’s father are siblings.

                    Picket slides into his seat, which sits in front of Jo. Jo’s pretty much the only friend that Picket has at school, and that’s mostly because everyone’s so wary of him it’s not even funny. Jo’s been in and out of foster homes since he was seven, after his Dad passed away from cancer. He’s been with his current foster family for a couple of years.

                    He’s almost as bad at history as Picket is. Almost.

                    At least he wasn’t late, Picket thinks sourly, glowering up at the board. Granted, this’ll probably be the only class Jo’ll ever make it on time for, and that’s only because his foster mom is the one making sure he gets to class on time. Jo’s sense of time is…….unique, to say the least.

                    By the time Edward winds up, Picket’s nearly asleep again. The bell’s ring startles him fully awake, and Edward calls him to stay back.

                    “Alright, Pick, what’s it this time?” He sighs.

                    “Nothing, I just didn’t get back home in time to catch the bus.” Picket replies, defensive immediately.

                    Edward gives him a look, sitting down at his desk. “Listen, you and I both know you hate my class.”

                    Picket shifts uneasily.  

                    “And I’m not saying that you need to like history, though it’d be nice if you did, but you do unfortunately need it to graduate. And if you’re planning on going military than you should probably know some American History.”

                    “Yeah yeah…….” Picket nods, relenting.

                    “Good. That’s why I called in a favor.”

                    “Oh no.” Picket grumbles. “That sounds bad.”

                    “Hey, I’m your teacher right now, Pick, c’mon.” Edward replies, but he’s smiling. “And you better be glad he was willing, what with everything he’s got on his plate.”

                    “What’d you do?”

                    “I got you help with history, that’s what, and managed to force Smalls to socialize.”

                    “Who?” Picket asks, Please tell me that’s not his name.

                    “He’s a cousin on my father’s side. Very smart, and his family recently moved here. He’s a grade above you.”

                    “Wait……..wait……” Picket connects the dots. “He’s that senator’s kid?”

                    “Yes. Rather notorious for it, in fact. The Jovesons move around a lot, but I think they’re here to stay this time. Regardless, he should be able to help you, if you let him.”

                    “He’s not a ****, is he?” Picket asks, thinking of Kylen, who, though maybe ‘****’ is a strong word, certainly isn’t a pleasure to deal with.

                    Edward sighs. “No, Smalls isn’t a ****. Blunt, not a ****.” Edward gestures to the door. “You need to go before my next class makes it in here. I’ll meet you in the library after school, okay?”

                    Picket sighs. “Yeah.” He moves for the door.

                    “Oh, and Pick?” Edward stops him, hand on the cold doorknob. “Keep an eye on your sister, okay? She’s too thin.”

                    Picket nods, and then disappears out into the flood of people in the halls.

.

oOo

.

                    Emma is mildly terrified of walking into the lunchroom. Despite being the well-agreed ‘social butterfly’ in her family, something about cafeterias makes her skin itch. Maybe it’s just because she hates cliques, and just wishes that everyone could get along all the time. She mentions this to Smalls, who goes on a bored rant about how no one, throughout the entirety of human history, has ever gotten along. It’s rather annoying.

                    “What classes did you have this morning?” She asks.

                    “AP History and Literature.” Smalls replies, blinking as if Emma had just ripped him out of his thoughts. “It was introductory though, so it was dull.”

                    Emma hums, eyes staying trained on the lunchroom doors as they open and close. “Do we have to go in?” She finally asks.

                    Smalls eyes the door with probably more contempt that necessary-it is just a cafeteria-and says, “Technically, yes.”

                    “Please tell me you found a loophole in the rules.”

                    “Since when was that my job? Go speak to Asher.” Smalls retorts. “Let’s just eat quickly and then go the library.”

                    “I wish Evan was here……” Emma grumbles. Unfortunately, Evan had already managed to secure a lunch-period detention for arguing with his Civics teacher-in front of the whole class-about her political beliefs. Unsurprising, really.

                    She had blue hair, He’d texted, What was I supposed to do?

                    Regardless, Evan isn’t present and none of their other siblings have shown, evidentially either having found a loophole, gotten in trouble like Evan, or already inside.  

                    “You do know where the lunchroom is, right?”

                    Emma looks up to see Heather, who’s watching them with concern, The Giver tucked under one arm.

                    “Yes.” Emma replies.

                    Heather is quiet for a moment. Then she says, “Cliques are awful.”

                    And Emma wonders if she can read minds. “They are.” She agrees. “Is it bad here?”

                    “Only with some of the sports teams. Oh, and Kylen.”

                    “Of course.” Smalls mutters.

                    Heather shrugs. “It could be worse.” She glances towards the doors, the reluctance on her face obvious. “I’m waiting for my brother.” She confides. “He’s late a lot.”

                    “I figured.” Emma replies, smiling. She smiles almost too much, she knows, and her positivity is annoying at best. But someone needs to be cheerful, and it sure isn’t going to be her stick-in-the-mud older brother (Smalls, she’s talking about Smalls specifically. She has too many siblings……).

                    The conversation dies down. Why, oh why am I always surrounded by introverts? Emma wonders. Heather’s looking down the hall, where the stream of people has quieted some. Emma glances around, and then at her brother. Smalls is watching Heather.

                    Odd.

                    Emma gazes at Smalls, seconds ticking by, and Smalls eventually looks away from Heather. But there’s a……rare expression on his face, one of his soft half-smiles that only comes out when something makes him truly happy. Emma doesn’t see it often these days. In truth, she can’t remember ever seeing it often, not after Daggler got a hold of them.

                    She shudders. Now is not a time to think about Daggler, Emma. She chides herself. School, you’re at school. Everyone’s at school except for the eldest twins and Winslow and Whit. Mom’s at work and everything’s alright. Stop thinking about it.

                    Emma hates being left to her thoughts. She hates silence. She hates having to fill it, but what else can she do? It’s impossible to let sit. The thought alone terrifies her. Because quiet means something is wrong, and if something is wrong that means someone is hurt, and if someone is hurt that means they’ll leave again and she can’t stand that not after-

                    She takes a deep breath.

                    Everything’s alright. She repeats to herself. It’s fine. Stop thinking about it.

                    Luckily, she’s not given much time to disobey the commandment.

                    “Sorry I was late Heather I didn’t mean to be-” Heather’s brother appears, stumbling over an apology as Heather crosses her arms.

                    “You were late. To Edward’s class.”

                    “Yeah, thanks, I already got chewed out for that one.” The boy gripes.

                    “He did.” Another boy adds.

                    “Oh, sorry,” Heather turns back to Emma and Smalls. “This is my brother, Picket,” She gestures to the first boy, who bears dark brown hair and skin at least three shades darker than Emma’s. “And that’s Jo.” She points to the other boy, tall and stick-thin, who grins cheerfully.

                    Emma smiles back, but wonders, silently, exactly how much trouble the pair get up to.

                    “I’m Emma.” She says.

                    “Smalls.” Smalls replies.

                    “Not a nickname.” Emma adds.

                    The look her brother shoots her is not cordial, but it’s funny enough that the comment was worth it.

                    “You’re the one Edward roped into tutoring me in history?” Picket asks incredulously.

                    Smalls nods, face neutral. He’s too good at keeping his face neutral, Emma thinks. “I happen to be rather good at it.” Smalls says.

                    “By good, he means that he’s never gotten anything below an A+ in history in his life.” Emma says.

                    A second look.

                    Man, she is really stacking up the annoying-little-sister points today, isn’t she?

                    “I’m hungry, can we go eat?” Jo asks.

                    “You’re always hungry, Jo.” Picket replies, but they begin to move towards the doors.

                    “Exactly!”

                    Smalls follows behind the two boys, clearly not going to show reluctance to walk into a room in front of someone other than Emma.

                    Emma sighs. “Cliques.”

                    Heather nods, looking a bit tired as she smiles. “Cliques.”