Two for Two

1/?

Mello is having one of his tantrums again.

This time, it has something to do with L having been here and not letting on. He's punching the table when he talks like some kind of big-shot, and Roger isn't doing shit about it. Ever since that one time he got to meet The Father of Us All, he thinks it's everyone's job to let him know when L comes and goes.

If L wanted to see him, he'd see him. Guys like that don't let anything get in their way.

I think L messed his head up, but I know better than to say anything. It's easier to just nod and listen when M goes on one of his monologues about how he beat Near that one time, because L doesn't just talk to people like that. Especially not for hours. Because Mello is better somehow; L's probably planning on pushing him into first-place even though Near keeps kicking his ass on every exam.

Whatever. I don't worry about stuff like that.

Roger finally has enough of Mello's shit and raises his voice, and all I can hear from the other side of the door is a crash and another bang, and Mello's screeching like a girl—fuck you, fuck you, fuck you—and I'm frozen. I think he might actually be choking the old guy, but I know for a fact that there aren't any cameras in the hall. No one can prove that I was here. I'm thumbing the cigarette in my pocket that I lifted from Mrs. Aller's desk and waiting for it to get worse.

I feel bad just standing here. I mean, Roger isn't exactly a nice guy, but nobody deserves to get choked out by Mello. Option two is to go in there and do something about it, but that would mess with the balance I have between being within punching distance of Wammy's most volatile psycho and my own safety. Think I'll pass.

I knew that M was gonna snap one day; I just didn't think it would end in a murder charge. Not the first break, anyway.

Now it's quiet and that's setting off all kinds of alarms. If Roger isn't around, they'll hand his position off to god-knows-who and maybe I won't be able to sneak out on the roof to smoke anymore. Maybe they'll put us all on lockdown, because a bunch of pissed-off genius kids is something no one wants to deal with. Especially Roger right now, I'm guessing.

Okay. Okay. I pound on the door because what else am I supposed to do?

"M!" And here I am putting my ass on the line for an old guy who nicks my smokes whenever I'm lucky enough to grab a whole pack off of the chubby kid. Maybe he'll stop now. "M, come on!"

That's all they're getting. Sorry, Roger. I back up, ready for the door to open and my night to get really bad. Like not being able to move my neck tomorrow bad.

But when it opens, Mello doesn't even look at me, and Roger's face is all red like that time me and M played the slap game in the east wing bathroom. I'm surprised I didn't lose a few teeth that day. The room is trashed with papers all over the floor and two lamps knocked over on their sides. One is downright smashed and the pieces make me wonder what'll happen if M decides to take this shit out on me.

"Mello!" Roger's yelling after M—coughing and rubbing at his throat— after he makes a point of slamming into my shoulder on his way to stalk down the hall. It knocks me back hard enough that I have to grab onto the doorframe to keep from eating floor, and all I can think is that for a guy in charge of some of England's smartest, Roger isn't too bright. The kid just choked you. Let him go cool off.

Guess I'm not much smarter, because I'm leaving the wreckage behind and picking up my pace to keep up with M. He's all black clothes and a bright head, and his hair makes him look like one of those Vogue models when it sways back and forth like that. It's kind of funny. Can't laugh, though. I'm just glad that I'm looking at the back of his head instead of the bottom of his foot.