By second period, Cole had Math, and he would have been just as overwhelmed by the search for the classroom had he not overheard students talking about the upcoming lesson on his way out.

He quickly sanitized his hands with the small bottle he always carried before rushing to pack his bag and follow them.

He snatched his headphones from the desk and... was halted by a single, "Mr. Brookstone, wait a moment." He watched, chagrined, as the students disappeared around the corner.

The sharp scent of the disinfectant calmed him slightly, and he told himself he'd find the room eventually. Besides, not every teacher could be as cynical as Mrs. Ragid.

That said, Math wasn't Cole's best subject, and he'd managed to develop a bit of a feud with his old teacher at boarding school rather quickly.

​He turned around, hands and headphones stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie.

​"Mrs. Ragid?" He tried for his friendliest grin, which he knew looked like a shark that had scented blood in the water.

​As a child, his mother had always teased him that his fake, put-on smile didn't fool anyone, and then she'd tickle him to bring out a real one. She was the only one who never forced Cole to wear a mask.

Of course, she expected politeness from her boy, but her philosophy was that politeness should be mutual-and Mrs. Ragid hadn't exactly given him a warm welcome to her class.

Cole's expression dropped back into its usual, level-headed mask that no one knew how to read. His deep, dark eyes fixed on his teacher, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw three students packing their things with exaggerated slowness. Lloyd and his two friends.

​Were they eavesdropping?

​"Mr. Brookstone, there are rules in my classroom. Tardiness is not tolerated. Nor is the possession of electronic devices. If you are not interested in my lessons and would prefer to spend your time elsewhere, I am sure-"

​"With all due respect, Mrs. Ragid..."
Cole thought it was a good thing his father wasn't here; he always scolded Cole for his quick, insolent mouth.

"Scolded" was putting it lightly.

"This place is a labyrinth, and I've had little time to familiarize myself with these walls, as this is my first day."

​"At the end of the last school year, before the summer break, there was a tour for all incoming students for the fall."

​I didn't know I'd end up here back then, Cole thought. And on that day, I was probably at my mother's funeral.
​He gritted his teeth. The shark-grin returned.

​He watched Mrs. Ragid's bony hands remove her glasses - of course she had one of those stupid chains to hang them around her neck.

​"I'm afraid at that time, my future at this school was not yet certain," Cole said, his voice dripping with forced formality.

A suppressed giggle behind him made him whip around, and he saw that black-haired girl sparkling at him with amusement.

Cole had to restrain himself from giving her the finger, girl or not. S

She didn't seem like a typical "girly-girl" anyway, with her oversized clothes and studded backpack.

​She could take it.

​But he kept his hands cramped inside his hoodie pockets. In that moment, the three of them passed him and headed out the door; the freckled boy was hovering around the girl as if she was the center of his universe. She probably really was.

​"Furthermore, my headphones were not on my ears; I simply forgot to take them off, which-" Cole added, seeing her stern look, "-will never happen again, Mrs. Ragid. English was my best subject at my old school, and I am sure we will be able to set aside our initial differences soon," he promised, already wondering which of his three soaps he'd use tonight to wash out his mouth.

​But it worked. Cole always knew he was charming. Shark-smile or not, when he really wanted to, he could wrap anyone around his finger.

He was well-built - muscles from long evenings in the boarding school's gym tightened under his skin; though they were hidden by the baggy black hoodie, one could sense they were there.

​His black hair, his black eyes. It didn't matter that Mrs. Ragid was forty years older than him. She studied him, and then something escaped her lips that almost resembled a brief smile.

​"I certainly hope so, Mr. Brookstone. Now off with you, or you'll miss your next period."

​"Wouldn't want to be late!" Cole called after her, earning another "almost-smile."

​Then he stood in the hallway... utterly lost... - If it hadn't been for Lloyd, who was saying goodbye to his friends at the end of the hall, as they wished him fun in... Math.

​Cole grinned and tensed at the same time.

Sure, they had been eavesdropping, but that was the second time today Cole had "stalked" the Garmadon boy.

He promised himself it would be the last time and followed Lloyd at a measured, inconspicuous distance to arrive in the classroom exactly as the next period began.

​The teacher wasn't even there yet.

​Cole's eyes drifted inconspicuously back to Lloyd, who took a seat in the back row again.

Must be rough, Cole suddenly thought. He was surely doing it to make himself as invisible as possible.

​That's when a boy joined him, his hair so blonde it appeared white.

Cole pricked up his ears to hear Lloyd apologizing to him.

​"I know you like sitting at the front, but-"

​"It is okay, Lloyd. I can follow the lesson very well from back here," the other replied. He was so monotonic he sounded like a robot, but the smile on his face made Lloyd breathe a sigh of relief and pull his friend into a hug.

​Nerds, Cole thought. The next thought hit him like a sting.

​I wonder when I will find friends here?

​He took a seat in the third row, and the lesson began.

----

"Welcome to the new school year, my almost-seniors!", Mr. Graham said, giving his students a wide grin.

History was the only subject the five friends shared this semester.

Zane sat at the end of the row, with Nya, Jay, Lloyd, and Kai beside him.

He had never had friends before.

It felt remarkably good-the first full school year with them by his side.

And next year, they would already be graduating.

​Zane could hardly wait; he had already pre-learned this year's material over the summer and planned to spend this weekend studying for his final exams.

Provided no villain intervened with plans to destroy the city, of course.

It was still strange becoming the Master of Ice, but he was good at it and he loved it. It made his fathe - his creator - proud, and Zane loved making his father proud.

Of course, Julien constantly insisted that Zane wasn't a "replacement" for his lost child, but rather a second chance for him to be a father.

Zane didn't hold it against him and still strove to fill his father with pride.

Sometimes, it was enough just to cook dinner for them in the evening and pretend not to notice Julien standing in the doorway, eyes sparkling as he smiled affectionately at him.

​History was Zane's "boring" subject, if he was allowed to say so.

He had the entire history of Ninjago stored in his memory - even the parts not accessible to the general public, like the near-destruction when Garmadon turned evil.

If people knew that story, they might have more sympathy for Lloyd.

Instead, they despised him as if he were the one who wanted to destroy Ninjago.

Quite the contrary. But the public wasn't ready for that conversation yet.

The origin of the first elemental masters. For them, they have simply always been here, just like Garmadon.

Always fighting, back and forth.

But there was a time, before it had a name.

But Kai already told you the story, right?

Zane grinned thinking of his hotheaded friend. He loved being the center of attention but when things get rough you can always rely on him.

​
​The lesson flew by. Zane still enjoyed listening to Mr. Graham's voice and the excitement he still brought to the subject, even after over 20 years of teaching.

When it was time for lunch, the Master of Ice packed his things and waited for his friends to clear the row so he could step out.

On their way out, they thanked Mr. Graham for the informative lesson and wished him a successful school year as well.

Everyone here loved Mr. Graham.

​Just before Zane followed them out, he heard Mr. Graham speak to a student.

It was the new boy Zane had already noticed in math class.

Curiously, Zane paused.

​"Cole, would you mind wiping the board?", Mr. Graham asked kindly, before leaning over and immersing himself in a stack of papers spread across his desk.

​The new boy - Cole - was the last one in the room.

Zane watched as he slipped a small bottle of hand sanitizer into his bag before mechanically also packing his pencil case and notebook into his backpack.

Out of the corner of his eye, Cole stared at the chalk-covered board as if it were about to jump out at him.

Zane couldn't blame him; the board was full, and cleaning it would be quite a lot of work.

Mr. Graham was one of the few teachers who still wrote notes on the chalkboard instead of just projecting PowerPoints for the students to copy.

Zane, a complex technological marvel himself, loved Mr. Graham for that.

Zane loved the smell of paper, ink, printed books, and chalk.

​Cole looked less motivated. He stood up, leaned his backpack against the wall next to the board, and approached the sponge sitting on the nearby sink as if he were walking to his execution.

Reluctantly, Cole picked it up, dampened it with some running water, and began wiping the board. His face was pale, and when some liquid from the soaked sponge dripped onto his hoodie, Cole sucked in a sharp breath.

​"Zane?" a voice interrupted his observation. The Ice Master turned and stepped out into the hallway to join his friends.

​"What's taking you so long, dreamyhead ?", Jay teased, nudging Zane.

"Kai and Lloyd already went ahead to secure us a spot in the cafeteria."

​"And Nya?" Zane asked, unable to spot the fearless Master of Water.

​"Restroom. You coming or what?", Jay asked again.

​At that moment, Cole burst out of the classroom, deathly pale and trembling.

He looked around briefly, then bolted for the door right next to the one Nya was exiting.

He ran into the boys' restroom almost frantically, nearly slamming the door in Nya's face.

​With her typical composure, she simply said, "Someone's in a hurry."

Then: "Come on, guys. I'm sure Kai forgot to get me a chicken sandwich again."
She linked arms with Jay, who immediately blushed.

They were a couple, and then again they weren't. It was strange, but both were obviously head-over-heels in love.

​As she moved to link arms with Zane on the other side, he stepped back slightly.

​"I am going to freshen up for a moment as well", he said.

​Zane ate, drank, and "went about his business" just like humans did, and the Ninja had long since given up asking him how.

He wanted to spare them the details.

He saw his friends shrug their shoulders and head toward the cafeteria - Jay, as usual, immediately started telling Nya about a new video game high score in an attempt to impress her - and then Zane headed into the restrooms.

----

It was a good thing the restrooms were empty, Cole thought as he rushed toward one of the sinks, his backpack hitting the floor with a metallic clatter.

This thing had more small rips and holes than Cole could count or patch anyway.

​Almost manically, he pumped the lever of the soap dispenser. Once, twice, three times - faster and more frantic - but it was no use. The stupid thing was empty.

​He lunged for the next one. Three pumps.
No, four were better...

He applied soap five times, then used his elbow to turn the water on and to scalding hot before thrusting his hands underneath.

At least he could wash his hands.

​But he'd have to live with the spots on his hoodie for the rest of the day, though. They were dark against the fabric, slightly whitish at the edges - not too noticeable.

But Cole didn't care about their look.

He was certain he could make sure not to touch his hoodie again until he could throw it in the wash tonight. His father would forbid him from running a machine for just three spots on one hoodie.

Fortunately, Cole did the laundry.

And the rest of the chores.

​Cole's skin was red from the steaming hot water by now, and his hands were already dry and cracked from his hand sanitizer.

As the water seeped into the raw, slightly cracked spots on his hands, it burned. Cole loved that burn. It felt good. He could practically feel the water killing the bacteria, even if he knew that was irrational.

​Thinking of the chalkboard sponge made his knees go weak again. That thing must have been there for a hundred years, touched by thousands of dirty hands and then dragged across an even dirtier chalkboard.

It had been green and moldy-looking, with a corner torn off.

​Cole suppressed a gag and pulled his hands away from the steaming water for a second to grab two more pumps of soap.

The second his hands were back under the steaming stream and he began to scrub, the door opened.

​Fuck.

​Out of the corner of his eye, Cole saw the nerdy boy from his Math, Chemistry, and History classes walk in.

Thinking about the things he'd touched in Chemistry today, Cole wondered how he'd managed to delay washing his hands for this long anyway.

​Cole could only imagine how he must look. Pale face with frantic red blotches, standing at the sink in a panic, scrubbing his hands to death. He stifled a gasp when the student spoke to him.

​"Are you okay?"

​Cole only nodded, without stopping. He had to wash for at least another 30 seconds, otherwise it was all for nothing.

To hell with what the boy in the shirt and tie thought; after this incident, Cole was officially done with this school.

​"Wipe the board." What kind of teacher still wrote on chalkboards?

And couldn't he wipe it himself?

​"It appears the hot water is burning your skin. I would suggest using lukewarm to cold instead. The sanitization rate is just as high."

​Oh, Cole thought. Thanks for the tip, Sherlock.

Of course he knew that.
He'd need boiling water to achieve true cleanliness. But thank God he hadn't slipped quite that deep into this mess yet.

​"I... I don't know how to turn the water colder here," he lied.

At that moment, he finished counting his three minutes in his head and could finally stop damaging his skin barrier.

​Before he could pull his hands away and escape the awkward situation, however, his classmate placed a hand on the faucet.

The water turned cold without him even moving the lever.

​He must have used up all the warm water, Cole figured.

​It was a relief as it washed over Cole's hands.

Normally, he didn't allow himself to wash with cold water because, in his head, it wasn't nearly as effective.

But when he looked up and saw the other boy's ice-blue eyes in the mirror - beaming at him with a kind, knowing look - he knew the traces of the sponge were gone.

​He pulled his hands back. "Thanks," he muttered, looking around.

​Suddenly, the boy handed him two paper tissues.

Cole, hands dripping, stared at him, bewildered.

​The boy nodded toward the wall behind them. "I thought you might prefer towels over the hand dryer. Even if it is touch-free."

​Cole eyed the device on the wall - the kind you stick your hands into to be dried by a blast of warm air. Air that kicked up every bacterium and germ in the vicinity.

​Cole knew the boy had seen right through him, and a flush of warmth spread over him. Whether it was shame or relief, he didn't know. He took the paper tissues and rubbed his hands dry.

​It was a strange yet good feeling - that this stranger, in the restroom of a strange school, had finally seen Cole's problem. And hadn't judged him. On the contrary.

​He held the door open for Cole and watched as he threw the towels into a - thankfully open - trash can.

As the boy said goodbye and headed down the hall toward the stairs, Cole watched him go.

​He had seen Cole's problems, recognized them, and simply accepted them as if they were the most normal thing in the world.

​He had seen Cole.

​Buoyed by the thought, Cole made his way toward the cafeteria, wherever that was.

He completely forgot how odd it was that the boy hadn't done anything else in the restroom except watch and help him.

​Why had he even entered it in the first place?