There was always a certain level of silence when Professor Roy walked the halls.

Of course, the rowdiness never dimmed completely. This was an all-boy’s school after all. But the hall seemed to just lower its noise a decibel or two when he was in sight. You couldn’t just not notice the man. It was impossible. The way he held himself, as if he were regal among them. A king, with power far beyond what they could ever hope to see.

But he was the Art Teacher. What could the Art Teacher do to you?

Something was funny about him, though. Something was funny about all of them. Zander had noticed it the minute they walked through those school doors, chatting happily as good friends might, but each slightly closer to one than to another. There were four of them. And there was something funny about each one.

He leaned against his locker, watching Professor Roy go by. Coal black eyes darted in his direction for only a moment, and he sent the man an undoubtedly innocent look. Roy walked on, and he was left to himself. It was fifth period. He usually cut around this time, and went to go hang under the bleachers. Sometimes, if he had something to say, Clark would find him out there. But that didn’t happen too often, which was only a slight disappointment.

Making his way to the end of the hall, he pushed open the old fire exit he’d fixed a long time ago. Nobody used this exit, not even during fire drills, because the stairs were old and rickety. Anybody not light enough was bound to bust right through those rusty steps. But Zander was light enough. And he didn’t care.

Under the bleachers. Nobody went there but Zander and Clark. It was a power position. See, the spot had been held by only the most prestigious of alumni, and they were it. Nobody questioned them, either. Who would need to? Everybody knew, but never said a word.

The Red.

Of course, they weren’t just anybody. The place was reserved for only the leader and second-in-command. That was Zander. Second-in-Command. Right-Hand to Clark, who was just the whole school’s king. And under the bleachers, that was their court. Nobody dared cross that threshold, unless they had a damn good reason.

Leaning against one of the polls supporting the bleachers above him, He ran a hand through his hair, red and wispy, just touching his shoulders. God, he hated this school. Couldn’t wait to get out. He wouldn’t have to wait long, either. It was his senior year, and damn close to summer, Thank God. Well, it was only March. But that was still close, and he could wait.

Damn hot for March… He thought to himself, making himself comfortable against the sun-warmed poll. Shielding his eyes with his hand, he looked up at the names that had fascinated him since the day he was elected. First names. Always in couples.

John and Adam.

Brian and Victor.

Lucas and Keith.

There were dozens of them. All in couples, scrawled with a bright-colored sharpie or etched into the metal fiercely with pen. Former Leaders and their Seconds. It had been a tradition from day one. The first day they were elected, they would go out there alone together, and write their name there. With marker, pen, whatever stood up to time and the weather.

He reached up, outlining the spidery scrawled K. The kings before them. Sometimes, it felt strange to be around them. Like he was in church, only far more sacred.

Keith… Kind of reminded him of Mr. Nole’s handwriting, too. He was another new one. Taught Phys-Ed, but also monitored detentions. Beautiful Man, but as said before, there was something funny about them all. Especially him.

Tall, thin but strong build. Blonde hair that went down his back when he pulled it out of its usual floppy ponytail. Strange, exotic amethyst eyes. He used to go there, too, when he was in highschool. But it couldn’t be the same Keith. Who’d want to come back to this dump after being free for college?

He’d never had the man for anything, but this quarter, the health teacher was on maternity leave, and Nole was expected to take the class. His health class was seventh period. He’d wait and see.

He heard footsteps and turned to spot Clark heading his way. He immediately straightened. He and Clark had an… interesting relationship. They weren’t exactly fond of each other. They’d vied for the leader position the year before, and wound up being elected together. And while they could not protest the decision, they did all they could to change it. Nothing worked. The Red was convinced they made a good team, and though they hated to admit it, they did.

The relationship was a tense one, filled with sarcastic remarks and unwanted closeness. They could deal with it, they knew. Until the end of the year, they’d suck it up and deal.

The other boy was coming closer, no semblance of a smile on his face. Too bad. He was a knockout, if he smiled, Zander might actually let some of their bad feelings go. Blond curly hair, cropped to the tips of his ears, light blue eyes, peach-pale skin. If only the guy wasn’t such a bastard.

“What do you need, Malone?” Zander asked, his eyes shifting lazily to his reluctant partner’s face.

“Harris doesn’t know when to fucking quit.” A smile played at the corner of his lips. No, not a smile, a grin. “He’s got another fuckin’ mixer next week, and he’s been talkin’ up the girl-factor all day.”

Zander sighed. Professor Harris was the history teacher. And he had to agree with the leader on this one; the bastard really didn’t know when to give up. He’d set up five mixers in the past three months. Always trying to sell the chick-factor. The asshole just didn’t get St. Peter’s. Nor its purpose.

“Christ, is the man that stupid?” Zander shook his head.

“Now, now. Let’s not insult the teaching staff.” Clark shook his head as well, leaning against the pole across from him. “Even if the event coordinator happens to be an idiot.”

He rolled his eyes. “So, what’s there to talk about?” He leaned his head back against the pole, feeling the warm metal against his scalp. Clark never talked to him unless he had to. Zander liked it that way.

Clark looked up at him, hitting him with the coldest stare he’d ever seen. Ice blue. Ice, and that was the only way you could describe them. Like hell frozen over. Unbelievable, even to him, that anybody could look so good with those eyes. They killed him in his dreams. Over and over.

He didn’t like Clark. In fact, it was the opposite. He had a friendly hatred for the man, and he was pretty sure the feeling was mutual. They only put up with each other as long as they had to. That was it.

“I think we should do something with it.”

Zander turned to face him. “Like what, dumbass? What can we do that won’t get us a suspension at very least?” He sighed. “You know they take those things seriously.”

“All the more reason to fuck with it.” Those eyes had him pinned. Like icicles. He knew they could fuck with it somehow, and he wasn’t going to let it go. There goes the rest of my year…

But, all of a sudden, he got it. The feeling that he always got when they were planning something big. Sort of like excitement was swelling in his chest, getting ready to choke him to death. He whipped around to stare at Clark, and knew with absolute certainty that the other boy felt it too.

He looked up at the former seconds and silently prayed for their blessing.

This one would rock them all.

---

“Alright. I want you to pass your papers to the front, and no grumbling.” Groans filled the classroom, all except one student. Noah passed his paper confidently to be collected, a little smile on his lips. He’d enjoyed writing this paper, it had been interesting. Mr. Oak always gave out the best assignments.

Leaning back against his chair, he looked around the classroom to watch their faces. Sometimes, he could tell how they would do by the look on their face. His eyes fell on several individuals, who most obviously would not do well.

Among them, a boy sat glaring at the desk in front of him. Dark, frizzy hair pulled back at the moment, and cocoa skin that looked like melted milk chocolate in the sun. River Durkin. There were many things he could say about River Durkin. Most of them being things he’d heard.

River Durkin. The school’s resident troublemaking sophomore. Shorter than most, but he made up for it with brains. He was more scientific than literary, however, and the word was that he was failing English. Interesting, considering his father was a rather famous novelist. Noah read the books, they were pretty good. Decent crime thrillers, mostly.

He’d faced some problems earlier in the year. It had been all over the school that he’d pulled a knife on some bigoted boys who had something against his parents and their relationship. Noah could only guess. The boy fascinated him, however, and it was all he could do not to keep staring. But he knew he had to turn away. The boy was about to look up, after all.

“Class, this next assignment was an idea I had as soon as I came here.” Mr. Oak stated as he turned to the chalkboard. He was a handsome man, but not overly so. If you saw him in a crowd, you wouldn’t be able to pick him out. Much like Noah, with his mousey brown hair, and deep brown eyes. He was passed over quickly most of the time.

“I used to go here, after all.” He said. The class nodded in acknowledgement. “And while I was here, there was a certain… phenomenon.”

The class became quiet. Noah looked up at the teacher with interest. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw River look up too. Everyone knew what he was talking about.

“The Claw… You’ve all heard of him, correct?”

Most of the class nodded. Those who didn’t were busy whispering harshly to one another.

“Well, I’ll give you some examples and tell you your assignment tomorrow. The bell’s about to ring anyway, and I need to see River and Noah outside. C’mon, boys.”

Noah stood and sent a glance River’s way. He looked back, but the look was not friendly. They walked through the door together, River almost pushing him into the doorframe. He took the time to stare at the back of his head intently, wondering how the other boy ever got to be so bitter, before following him out into the hallway.

Mr. Oak was sitting on the nearby stairs, waiting for them.

“Yeah?” River asked lazily, giving the teacher a look of distaste.

“You’re not doing well, River.” The man sighed as he said it, and River looked up staring.

“Noah, however, is doing extremely well.”

Noah kept his eyes fixed on the teacher, but he could feel the other boy’s eyes turn in his direction.

“I think it would be best if Mr. Warner tutored you for now.”

They both blinked, and looked at each other. He could see the look of disbelieving anger in those dark eyes, and he knew it wasn’t just because the teacher was suggesting help. He was suggesting help that involved Noah Warner. And Noah Warner was a nothing of a boy, with more tormentors than friends. He was not the type River hung out with. River hung out with the bad boys. He went to parties every Friday night, got wasted, and didn’t wake up until noon the next day.

Noah wasn’t like that.

“Meet me at the Bio Lab after school.” He heard the boy mutter, before the bell rang. He tried to watch him go, but the hall was soon filled with tired boys, trying to make it through the day. He looked up, trying to get a hold of Mr. Oak and explain the flaws in his idea, but the man was already out of sight.

---

(A/N)

Yes, it’s really me. I want to thank all who reviewed Falter, even those whose reviews were less than kind. I’d even like to thank whoever hacked into my name, deleted the old sequel, and made me pissed enough to leave FP for awhile. And I’m being totally serious, too. ((sweatdrop))