Spencer had spent most of last night listening to Jon ramble on about some new student. Now, it wasn't often that Spencer told Jon to shut the hell up, but when the other boy had come back to their room the night before, skipping and grinning, Spencer had already been in a horrible mood. He'd learned in Social Studies that they would be starting a project soon that required you to write an argumentative essay. They hadn't been given the subject yet, all Spencer was sure of was his hatred for essays. This morning, as he swung his legs to the side and sat up in bed, Spencer glanced over at Jon's sleeping form and rolled his eyes. No wonder the guy was sleeping right through the alarm; he'd spent most of the night on his laptop, researching the name Ryan Andrew Hastings for some information. It wouldn't have been completely an exaggeration to call Jon a stalker.

Sighing heavily, Spencer stood from the bed and stretched, his immaculate flannel pajamas now rumpled from sleep. He trudged to the washroom, mumbling at Jon to wake up, wake up, wake up. Once he was dressed and ready to leave, he waited by the door for Jon to pull on his socks and sleepily slip on his shoes. They made their way down to the cafeteria for breakfast consisting of bread, fruit, eggs and various breakfast meats. When they had finished the quick breakfast, both boys parted ways; Spencer to his Social Studies class and Jon to Phys. Ed.

The teacher for the Social Studies class was an old, bitter woman. She adored giving the toughest subjects for all her essays, and always succeeded in dividing her class on the right or wrongs of certain things. Spencer always thought that she did this out of pure pleasure of seeing people fight and not because she wanted them to learn something. He had no doubt that it would be the same thing today. He took his usual seat near the back and placed all his books on the small, wooden desk before waiting impatiently for the class to start. He only looked up when almost everyone in the class stopped talking. The teacher had come in, only about four minutes before the bell, as always, and they knew they weren't permitted to talk. Spencer sighed and stopped himself from rolling his eyes as he waited for class to start.

Ryan was more or less lost. The teacher the night before had talked about the Walker kid walking him to classes so he would get there with no trouble, but Ryan had found breakfast on his own and had then waited for the kid to come find him. Which, obviously, hadn't happened yet. In the end he'd decided that he should start looking himself, and that was why he was now walking down an unfamiliar hallway, hoping to just stumble across the right class room or something. Social studies in room 208 or something. He'd deducted that it had to be on the second floor, but that was how far he'd gotten, and now he was looking at the door leading into room 227, having absolutely no clue of where he ought to go. For a moment he considered barging into one of the other classrooms in the hopes that some teacher would be nice enough to guide him along the way, but if he were to judge by Brown, he had a feeling the teachers wouldn't really like that.

The bell rang and he cringed slightly. He hated being late for anything. It was probably just something that had been drilled into him at the academy, but that didn't change the fact that he was feeling very uncomfortable at the moment, even to the point where he felt a slight chill run down his back. And he really sort of hated that. He was supposed to be on top of things, in control of all of this, and yet he couldn't even make it to his very first class on time. And to top it off, that made him feel uneasy. He'd have to spend some time alone in his room later trying to get the fact that he wasn't some scared student but an agent with a mission through his own mind.

He was at room 215 now, so he was pretty sure he had to have taken a right turn somewhere. At least he was closer now. Even though the extra attention he'd be drawing to himself was quite unnecessary, and definitely unwanted. Oh, well, he should be able to deal with that. 210, definitely the right direction. And there was 208. He sighed in relief, reaching up to tighten his tie a little and make sure his uniform was in perfect order, and opened the door, biting his lip slightly as he tried to walk in quietly.

'Quietly' didn't seem to have much of an effect since the teacher, an elderly, strict-looking woman, looked straight at him the moment he shut the door behind him. Her eyes were narrowed and irritated behind thick glasses. "And who do I have the pleasure of seeing in my classroom at..." She looked pointedly at her watch before meeting his gaze again, lips pursed. "Eight thirty-four?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Ryan mumbled. "I got lost. The kid who-"

"I didn't ask for the story of your life," the woman snapped, glaring even harder. "I asked for a name to write down on this detention slip."

He gulped slightly, looking down on his sneakers momentarily before moving his gaze back up. "Ryan Hastings, ma'am," he answered, having to force himself to keep from shuffling his feet nervously. Great, first day and he already had a detention. At least he didn't have orders not to get one. And damn, yet another reason to dislike the Walker kid.

The teacher quickly scribbled a note and placed it on her desk with a slap of her hand. "Well, don't just stand there. One thing is that you're late and haven't brought your books, an entirely different one is to disrupt the lesson for the entire class. Sit!"

Ryan nodded, turning around to overlook the classroom. There weren't many free seats, so he simply hurried down and all but flung himself into the first one, hoping to lose the spotlight as soon as possible.

Spencer chuckled quietly, as did most of the boys in the class, and guessed that this was the kid Jon had been talking about. He settled right down when the teacher turned her attention back to the class. She didn't waste any time in informing them of the project once again and forming the groups. When she had gone through most of the students, she turned to Spencer. "And, from what I remember, since Mr. Smith cannot seem to agree with anyone in this class, we'll try giving him a new partner. Ryan Hastings, you are now paired up with Spencer Smith. Spencer, I expect you to make an effort, instead of arguing with your classmates about everything." Without waiting for a reply from either boy, she turned away from them and started writing on the chalkboard. "This," she started, once she'd written on the board, "is your subject."

'Slaves And Our Economy: Are their salaries making a difference?'

Spencer held back a groan and let his head fall onto the desk, just as the teacher told everyone to pair up. He kept his face on the hard, cool, surface of the desk and didn't look up. He sure as hell was not going to be the one to move.

Ryan, honestly, felt disgusted just by the subject in itself. He couldn't understand how anyone could see other people as possessions, something to own and now something to hate because it messed with the economy. This, he reminded himself, was a huge part of the reason why he was so adamant on fighting for his own country, because it was the opposite, because it regarded people as people.

After a few moments and another stern look from the teacher, he started looking around the classroom before letting his eyes settle on the boy he supposed was Spencer Smith. The only one not in a group yet anyway. The boy was nearly lying across his table, and Ryan wasn't sure whether he was asleep or just trying to disappear. Frankly he didn't care much. Essays were something he could deal with, even if the subject was horrible. After all the only things he'd written in years were letters, emails, reports and files. He had non-fiction down quite well.

He remembered group work in high school, though, and had to hold back a groan. He'd never been good at it, mostly because the others either hated him, didn't take the assignment seriously, or both, and as a result he much preferred doing this kind of work on his own. He wasn't exactly being given a choice, though, so he finally picked up his chair and moved it over to the boy's desk. "Hey," he muttered, refraining from biting his lip yet again.

Spencer took a deep breath before lifting his head and sending a weak smile Ryan's way. "Hey," he said, cocking his head to the side and studying the boy in front of him. He remained silent for a few seconds, until the teacher cleared her throat loudly and Spencer opened his binder and found a blank sheet of lined paper. "All right, I think you should know that I hate essays and I'm really not good at them. On the other hand, I know almost everything there is to know about this country, its laws, and the way things work. So, the way I see it, this will be split into equal parts. I mean, I will help with the writing and all, but I think it would be better if you worked on the structure, our ideas and our arguments. Is that okay?" He mumbled every word, pencil in hand as he wrote down the subject and his name neatly in the corner of the page, waiting for Ryan to answer.

Ryan nodded slowly, eyes fixed on the paper. That sounded good enough for him. He wouldn't have to do research, and he would simply be able to write someone else's opinions down as though they were his own, or even write it neutral. Reports had made him used to never writing what he really meant. "It sounds good," he stated. "I mean, I don't really know a lot about this country yet, or how it works." He shrugged slightly. "I guess all I really know is what I've heard, so you're probably more qualified for the actual facts than I am. But I can write it, yeah. I've never had a problem with non-fiction. Besides, the structure is often better if it's not just split up to be worked on and written down apart." He sucked in a breath, finally looking up to meet the piercing blue eyes he was faced with. "On a completely different note, what's your next class?"

Spencer wrote a few more things down ('reminder: ask brendon about his father's workers,' 'look up what their minimum wage is,' 'only rich people have slaves.... lots of rich people') before answering. "I have... English Lit. Which means you'll be spending more time with Jon, and yes he told me all about you-- and your schedule, because he's rather good at stalking--, which I'm sure you love," Spencer smirked at this. No doubt Jon had annoyed this poor guy to no end last night. "And... well, Brendon's obviously going to be there, but I wouldn't really hold my breath for him to talk to you." Shrugging, he went back to writing more things that weren't really very important. He wrote down a few books he knew of that held the historic aspect of slaves and some on the economy, as well. He was really just trying to make it seem as though he was working.

Ryan nodded, peering down at the list with his brow furrowed in thought. "Well," he said. "I was mostly just asking because Jon was supposed to have helped me find my class and he didn't, which is why I now have a detention. So if we had the same class, which we seem to, I was just wondering if I could tag along with you and avoid getting lost again. Putting my faith in Walker doesn't seem that appealing." He let the corner of his lips quirk up a bit in a sort of half-smile, still following the pen's journey over the paper. This kid might actually not be so bad.

Spencer hummed in thought and then nodded slowly. "They only asked Jon to do such an important job because his parents have donated a lot of money to this school. Keeps him from getting into trouble, you see, and the teachers thought that maybe if Jon was... the go-to guy, then his father would be pleased." He paused, tapping his pen on the desk a few times. "Not that anybody actually knows who Jon's father is..." trailing off, Spencer went back to jotting down random words. It helped his thinking process, which made him disregard the fact that it looked like nonsense. Writing down one last thing, he closed his binder and looked at Ryan, seizing him up. "You can stick with me, I don't mind. You can even have lunch with me, which is after third period, by the way, but don't expect anyone but Jon to pretend to like you." It was as if he hadn't even realized that what he'd said could be taken the wrong way. He looked back down at his binder and shrugged. "We can continue working tonight."

"Okay, thanks," Ryan replied, making a mental note to get someone to check out the Walkers. It was useful to know as much about these people as possible. And he'd keep telling himself it wasn't because he'd always found information to be the best weapon if he had to. He was an adult, a grown man, he should be above petty things such as being annoyed with a stupid teenage boy. "And tonight sounds good," he added. "Not as though I actually have anything to do after detention. Where do I go for that anyway?"

Spencer shrugged on shoulder uselessly. "I've never had detention... Jon has, though. You could ask him at lunch." He chuckled quietly, but quickly shut up lest the teacher hear him. "So," he continued in a whisper, "what do you do for fun, Ryan Hastings?" he faked a thick British accent and looked at Ryan pointedly, pushing some of his brown hair away from his face. It was one thing that separated Brendon, Jon and Spencer from many boys at the school; they'd let their hair grow as long as it was allowed. Most of the boys had their hair cut short, but the trio had decided long ago that short hair did not do them well. He guessed it was the same reason for Ryan.

Ryan refrained from rolling his eyes. "I guess I will, then," he answered, letting the small smile grow a little. The question, though. It had been a long time since Ryan had done anything for fun. Ever since high school it had been all about education and, later, work. He'd unwind on the shooting range or doing research and really, he guessed he hadn't had much of a life. Perhaps workaholic was a little too close to the truth. "I hang out with my friends," he answered. He did do that, sometimes. Mostly in the apartment with Tobias who lived there too anyway, but still... "I don't really do sports. It seems no matter what I do, I can't build muscle. Reading, listening to music, watching movies, shopping." He shrugged slightly, well aware that he'd passed the threshold into the world of lies once again. "You know, the usual. What about you?"

Spencer seemed to think about Ryan's answer before giving his own, speaking slowly as if Ryan were stupid. "I read," he started, blinking owlishly and sighing. "I read and I learn everything I can about my country. My father insists on it; he's councilor to the King, you see, and he expects me to do the same for Brendon... But I suppose it's not all work. I hang out with Jon, mostly. I'm a lot like him, apart from the fact that he never changes. I know when it's time to work and I know when it's time to play," he shrugged again and frowned slightly. "We hang out with Brendon, too, but that boy is so frustrating sometimes..." he trailed off, shaking his head. "I don't do much, to be completely honest." Spencer was pleasantly surprised that the teacher hadn't caught on that they weren't working yet. Maybe it was the fact that they weren't laughing or loudly telling jokes. But Spencer was always completely serious when he was in class. Jon often told him that he was completely two-faced, but Spencer always shrugged him off. Looking back at Ryan, he wondered if he'd said too much about Brendon. He didn't want to attract any questions.

Ryan had to stop himself from actually admitting that with him it was all work and no play. He really wasn't cut out for being undercover, for playing a role. Especially around people like Spencer who just gave this vibe that you could tell him everything without having to worry. This, though, was a lie, and Ryan knew that. If he told anyone here at all, he'd be as good as dead. "My father constantly makes me read up on business," he said instead. "I love that I finally got out of taking it as a subject. But I know how those expectations feel. I'm supposed to take over the family company whether I like it or not. And I honestly don't. It's not as though there's really any choice, though." Then he let out a slight chuckle. "Well, I think I'd be frustrating too if I was born into that situation. The expectations everyone has just because I'm the heir of a company are bad enough. I don't even want to imagine how it would feel with a country." He pulled at one finger slightly, letting out a tiny sigh of relief when it popped. Bad, nervous habit of his. He couldn't help how good it felt, though. "Is there actually anything at all to do around here?"

Spencer chuckled softly, only for about a second before his face went back to impassive. He listened to Ryan as the boy spoke, nodding at times. At the question, Spencer nodded briefly. "Well... there's a girl's school nearby and we're allowed visiting on the weekends. Actually, we're not allowed, but people do it anyway. If you're into that. And we can go into town on the weekends, as well, or visit our parents if they live close enough. Apart from that, we have a few annual dances and random sports activities. But that's about it..." he snorted, just now realizing how truly boring the school actually was. "Oh," he said, suddenly remembering something, "some of the guys also like throwing parties on weekends, because they live quite close. So, if you like parties and ever get invited, you can't miss out on those." Personally, Spencer had only been to one of those parties and that was because Jon had dragged him along. All they ever did was drink and do stupid things. They weren't really Spencer's type, but they might have been Ryan's.

Fact was that Ryan had always felt a little awkward around girls. Either they didn't give him the time of the day or he was too busy for them. He tended to clam up and go weird around them for some reason, save the ones at work. But then again, he hardly saw those few as girls. So, in a way, he guessed, it sort of helped his case of believability that he was supposed to be more than just a little gay. "Girls," he muttered, biting his lip slowly. "Not really. I hope that doesn't offend you or anything, but you know. I guess the town and parties might be nice enough, but my parents are all the way back in England, so I guess I'll mostly just be spending weekends and breaks here. Unless they close for breaks. I don't know." He took a deep breath, ending his ramblings. Since when was he a rambler anyway? Since he was afraid of being punched for pretending to be something he had never even thought of being, perhaps. And perhaps it had been a bad card to play. In an hour it might be all over the catholic school, and he wasn't sure how he was supposed to accomplish anything at all if he went and became the school outcast already.

This confession caused Spencer to laugh outright and loudly. He clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound and sputtered for a few moments before regaining his composure and shaking his head. "Wow, I've never heard anyone admit it like that, you know. Usually it's more along the lines of they get caught with some other guy in an empty classroom." He grinned over at Ryan and shook his head. "And I don't mind in the least. We're pretty sure Jon's at least partly gay... if that makes any sense. And Brendon... well, Brendon's obviously asexual."

He looked away for a few moments before turning back to Ryan. "The school is always open. Not many stay over the holidays, though..."

"I just don't see any reason to hide it," Ryan said, building more on top of the little story that was forming about Hastings's sexuality. "That would equal being ashamed of it, which I'm not." He smiled slightly. "And at least it's good to know I'm not entirely alone." Brendon, though, asexual? Ryan was pretty sure he could tell this guy a thing or two. But he was also pretty sure that it wouldn't be in his favour to do so.

Spencer chuckled. "Glad you think like that. Many people would just push away their true self just to fit in... But anyway, English Lit. soon. Best start putting away your shit." Spencer gave him one last smile before gathering all his binders and books into his arms and waiting patiently for the bell.

Ryan shrugged and stood back up, grabbing the back of his chair to push it back to his original desk. "I don't really have any yet. Haven't gotten my books yet," he stated, sticking his hands into the pockets of the comfortably loose, black uniform slacks, smiling slightly as he waited for Spencer to finish getting ready, and secretly hoping that the English lit. teacher wouldn't be as bad.

Spencer nodded knowingly and jumped up from his desk as soon as the bell rang. He walked quickly out of the class to the sound of the teacher reminding them to work on the essay and that it was to be given in, in exactly two weeks. He looked back to make sure Ryan was following him and smiled sheepishly. "The English teacher is actually pretty cool... he also teaches creative writing and Brendon is absolutely smitten, really. When Brendon actually likes someone, you know that they're good." Spencer informed as they made their way to a class only a few doors down. He led the way inside, taking his usual seat right beside where Brendon would be sitting. He looked around and pointed to the desk right in front of his, "you can sit there. No one important has claimed it.."

The older of the two cocked an eyebrow slightly but decided not to comment. Instead he sat down at the appointed desk and turned the chair around to resume facing Spencer. If the teacher was good, then this was definitely a class he wasn't opposed to being stuck in. He'd taken a couple of literature courses while in law school, and he'd definitely liked it. It was interesting and had had nothing to do with his education. Perhaps, he mused, taking lit as a class was the only thing he'd done for fun in years. "What have you been working with lately?" he asked. Finally an honest question, one he wanted to ask, not just something he felt Ryan Hastings would say.

Spencer smiled and waved at Jon as he walked through the door and to his own designated seat behind Brendon's still empty desk. He then turned back to Ryan, a smile still on his lips. "We've been doing Shakespeare. Which, I find, is extremely overused in any high school. I mean, I guess Shakespeare is great and all, but his are plays... they're not meant to simply be read," he shrugged, "but I can't really do anything about it." He turned to Jon slightly, who was leaning forward and listening to their conversation.

"Remember me?" Jon asked, looking at Ryan and waggling his eyebrows. He ignored Spencer's frown and waited for Ryan to answer. Several students were now randomly entering the classroom and taking their seats, talking amongst each other. The only people missing, it seemed, were Brendon and the teacher.

"I know what you mean," Ryan told Spencer, deciding to put off talking to Jon for as long as he could politely do so. "Watching his plays are amazing, though. My mother used to take me in to see the Royal Shakespeare performances; it was pretty brilliant. But on the other hand, the stories are good in themselves, and reading them gives you more time to take in deeper meanings and references and metaphors, everything. Ideally, you'd read the play until you feel like you have everything under your skin, and then watch it." He smiled slightly. "And to top it off, reading and managing to understand Shakespeare helps you grasp a lot more of older poetry than you'd otherwise have been able to." Finally he turned to Jon, making sure a frown was visible on his face. "I seem to remember you standing me up."

Jon chuckled and smiled widely, like a child proud of doing something for the first time. "And it helped you get to know your way around better, didn't it? See? Everything I do has its purpose." Jon said wisely, nodding to himself. His eyes flicked to the door and he saw Brendon hurry in just seconds before the bell rang, Mr. O'Connor on his heels.

Spencer leaned forward a bit, his voice hushed, "if you like plays a lot, you'll get along great with Brendon," he said, making sure not to say Brendon's name too loudly. "He sees one at least once a month."

Brendon took his seat, falling heavily onto the chair. His face was slightly flushed and it was obvious he'd been running. Mr. O'Connor only smiled softly at him and shook his head. Turning to his friends, Brendon opened his eyes wide as if to say, "oh, my god!" and then rolled them. "That stupid teacher we have for Diplomacy stopped me in the hallway and talked to me for about eight years. I hate that--"

"Brendon, class has started. No talking. Let's all take out our books, instead. And..." the teacher turned to Ryan, smiling, "you must be Mr. Hastings. I'll get you a book. Spencer, which act were we at?"

"Act three, scene one, sir." Spencer replied, taking out his book and opening it just as the teacher handed Ryan another copy. By his side, Brendon sighed and seemed to relax quite a bit. Everything about books made Brendon relax and he was always more at ease when they were reading or discussing certain themes. Spencer smiled discreetly and waited for the lesson to start.

Ryan leaned back in the chair that he'd now turned around to face the front of the class. He was leafing through his copy, trying to find the right page while also keeping some of his attention up front, on the teacher. The first one so far that hadn't looked pissed and/or menacing. He guessed it would fit if English lit. were to become his favorite class again. It had been both in high school and college. Finally he found the right place, smiling slightly. It had been ages since he'd last read that play, but hopefully he remembered enough to be able to keep up. Shakespeare was good enough, but Ryan actually, personally, preferred Marlowe out of the writers of that time. Then again, he'd always had a thing for ancient Greek and Roman literature, and Marlowe referenced that far more than Shakespeare.

"Since it's been weekend," the teacher started, over-looking the class, "I guess it would be good for all of us if someone were to refresh our memories." There was a strange twinkle in his eyes as he let his gaze sweep over the students. "Any volunteers?"

Brendon's hand shot up, his book left discarded on the desk. He didn't really mean to seem so eager, but he just knew this book backwards and forwards. When the teacher nodded at him, he smiled slightly before talking, unable to keep some animation from his voice. "Scene one in the second act exists mostly for comic relief... Elbow 'misplaces' his words and they have trouble interrogating him. We also meet Pompey and Froth, who work for Mistress Overdone... Escalus tells them that prostitution is illegal and should be punished. He also tells them not to go to the brothel again. At the end of the act, he mourns Claudio's fate, but also says that there is no remedy for it. Not much happens in the next scenes, except that Isabella talks to Angelo and Lucio, asking them if her brother really must die. They argue a bit before Isabella tells Angelo that she'll bribe him by praying for him... Angelo then tells her to return tomorrow and she agrees. There's also a soliloquy, during which Angelo discovers that he desires Isabella sexually. He wonders why.

"We then see the Duke, who is dressed as a friar, and he visits the prison where Juliet and Claudio are kept. Juliet tells him that she repents her sins, and when asked if she loves the man who impregnated her, she replies that she loves him as much as she loves herself. The Duke promises to help absolve her, but also tells her that she has sinned more than her lover. He then tells her that he is going to visit Claudio, who is meant to die tomorrow, and she expresses sorrow. In the last scene, we find Isabella together with Angelo again. This time, he propositions her; asking if she would have sexual intercourse with a man to save her brother. Isabella is angry with this, convinced to be chaste, and does not want to save her brother through further sin. She is given a sort of power over her brother's death, but justifies that his death is better than her own sinful act." Brendon finished, feeling thoroughly pleased with himself but not showing it.

"Good, Brendon," Mr. O'Connor commented, sending a small smile that way. "And what can we conclude from Isabella's decision?" he asked on, cocking an eyebrow. "And I want to see more than one or two hands in the air. We discussed this last week, and you're too young to have gone senile." Even with a few hands, Brendon's included, already in the air, the teacher seemed to hesitate to pick someone, probably trying to lure some of the quieter students out of hiding.

Ryan bit his lip slightly, the summary drawing more of the distant memories of the play back to him. In the end he decided he may as well participate. It wasn't a part of his assignment to pass senior year of high school again, but he didn't think it would help his case if he came across as quiet and stupid either, so he finally, slowly and meekly, put up his hand.

The teacher looked slightly surprised at it, but focused his attention on Ryan. "Mr. Hastings?" he questioned, an interested tone to his voice. "You've already been over this material?" At Ryan's nod, he continued, "Please do tell, then."

"Although she says she's doing it out of religious and moral concerns, she must have some thought for herself as well. She does not want to have sexual relations with Angelo, and she knows that she should not have to do that. However, her brother's life is at stake. Perhaps she is right to protect herself and her principles, especially considering that she believes in an afterlife. But perhaps she is too cold and selfish," Ryan stated with a slight shrug. "She's essentially condemning her own brother to death, really. I guess in a way it speaks of the conflict of belief. Life versus afterlife. You know."

Mr. O'Connor chuckled slightly. "That's quite interesting," he stated. "I haven't heard that interpretation in a long time; very British. I think here we'd merely say that a wrong can't right a wrong, at least not without producing a new one."

Ryan flushed slightly, not really sure why. He'd always prided himself in being able to catch the points and see the meanings, but if everything, down to literature interpretations, were different here, then he really had no idea how to hold his own. But oh well. It wasn't as though he had any desire to understand this strange country, where sex was seen as wrong and something too... he didn't even know how to describe it, too something to be worth saving someone's life, where that view was okay. In the end that didn't matter, though. Change wasn't what he'd come to start.

"Anyhow, this was last class' discussion," the teacher stated. "Now, I'd like you all to gather in groups of four to read the third act together and discuss it within your group." He gave a last nod before everyone was left to scurry into groups. Some of three, some of five, left to even things out. Brendon, Spencer and Jon immediately turned to each other and grinned. They moved their desks closer together and Brendon had picked up his book, ready to read, when Spencer turned to Ryan and beckoned him with his hand.

"Well?" he asked, eyebrows raised slightly, and his blue eyes opened wide, "Aren't you coming?"

Ryan refrained from biting his lip, allowing a small smile to pass over his lips. He had been feeling a little awkward for a moment, the familiar feeling of being left out that he remembered so well from when he first went to high school present again. "Thanks," he mumbled, gripping his desk and pulling it over close to those of the others'. And this was definitely something he wasn't used to. The feeling of being included in a group of teenagers. Not that he really was, but still, it gave the semblance of it. He quickly pushed those thoughts away, though. He wasn't here to make friends. He had a very specific job to do, and he'd be damned if he were to mess it up just because he'd been a loser when he was originally in school. He looked down at the table, bangs falling in his eyes, and he had to refrain from pushing them back, still not used to hair in his face, as he fiddled with the pages of the book.

"All right, well, I'm assuming Brendon wants to read..." Spencer trailed off when Jon chuckled loudly and sputtered words that sounded like 'suck up'. Brendon glared at Jon and smacked him lightly over the head with his book before holding it in front of his face, taking a deep breath, and reading.

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As the small group left for lunch, Jon attached himself to Spencer's hip and they walked closer together than seemed comfortable. Brendon walked beside Spencer, a few feet away, with his head held high and his eyes making contact with anyone who dared. He only glanced down once, making sure that Ryan was with them, because Spencer seemed to like the boy. He sniffed and went back to surveying the hallway almost immediately. When they made their way to the cafeteria, Brendon smiled slightly to see the buffet set up. Beside Spencer, Jon made a sound that should be saved for the confines of a bedroom and ran towards the buffet tables, quickly grabbing a plate and looking over what they had to eat. Spencer and Brendon followed suit.

Ryan stood quietly for a moment, looking around the huge cafeteria. With most everyone gathered there, the school seemed even huger, and he gulped uncomfortably at the thought that every last one of them would hate him without hesitation if they knew why he was there. The intimidated feeling returned unbidden, and he shivered slightly, suddenly feeling cold despite the several layers of uniform clothing. Finally, though, he took a deep breath, stubbornly reminding himself that they were only children, there was no way for them to know. Just children, not a threat. Straightening himself up a little, reaching his full albeit not too impressive height, he finally grabbed a plate as well and made his way to the line of people waiting to get to the food.

Brendon busied himself with scooping up insane amounts of greek salad and some cold pasta salad. When he reached the end of the line, he eyed Jon's plate with disgust, full of cold cuts and bread. When Spencer joined them, Brendon started to walk towards their usual table, only to be stopped by Spencer's hand on his sleeve.

"Wait for Ryan," Spencer said, sounding like a parent trying to get his child to behave. Brendon rolled his eyes before setting his features in a mask of indifference and waiting, his foot tapping impatiently even if it only took a few minutes for Ryan to pass through the line. When they were all together, Brendon led the way to their table, somewhere near the middle of the cafeteria. It was small and round, just enough place for four people, and no one else ever dared to touch it, even if they hated Brendon's guts. As soon as Brendon sat down, he clasped his hands together and muttered a silent prayer- one his father had taught him years ago. It wasn't that he particularly cared for prayer, it was more a habit than anything else. And he had to set an example. When he was finished, he poked at his salad with his fork and ate the big mouthful.

The prayer was yet another reminder of how different this culture was to the one Ryan knew. And at the same time a part of him was secretly amused that the boy who'd complained about religion so many times in writing would be the one to uphold it. He knew, of course, that Brendon, as Prince, had to uphold some pretences, an elaborate façade, but in a way it was still funny. And for some reason the fact that he'd read so many of the boy's secrets, enough to have at least an idea of what lay beneath, it gave him a slight feeling of security. He wasn't even sure why, but he wasn't going to bother trying to understand it. Psychology was never his strong subject. Ryan bit his lip slightly, picking up his fork and stabbing at his salad for a moment, timid again. No matter what he knew about Brendon that perhaps even Spencer and Walker didn't, he was still the stranger, the new one; the intruder in their safe, little group. It was not only safer but also much more polite to let them strike up their own conversations and only speak when he felt it was actually wanted.

"So, Ryan and I are working on a project together," Spencer started, looking directly at Brendon. "It's about, um, well... slaves." At this, Brendon looked up, one eyebrow cocked as he finished chewing and swallowed. "And," Spencer continued, shrugging, "you're the only person I know who... might know some things." He finished quietly, assessing Brendon's reaction and cringing slightly. Brendon mouth was a thin line and the muscles in his jaw flared as he clenched his teeth.

"They're workers," Brendon ground out, before dropping his gaze to his plate. He shifted uncomfortably before taking a deep breath and going back to eating as if nothing had been said. A few seconds later, he huffed and rolled his eyes. "Well, what do you want to know?" he snapped.

When Spencer made no move to answer and the silence was starting to become heavy, Ryan looked up from cutting his cold ham into pieces and flushed slightly when he realized the others were all looking at him. "Well," he muttered. "The subject is how the UN enforced law that the former slaves must receive payment for their work is affecting the country's economy." He bit his lip quickly, taking a sip of his juice. The others' eyes were still heavy on him. "I don't really know anything. I mean, I know some of the debate in the UN, but clearly not as much as someone who's actually from around here would."

"That's the most idiotic thing I have ever heard. My father has plenty of- workers. And he doesn't mind one bit that they have to be paid." Brendon kept a calm demeanour, reigning in his emotions successfully this time. He took another bite of salad and looked over at Spencer, who shrugged and picked at his food.

"I know, Brendon, but that terrible teacher gave us the subject; you know the one. She always wants to divide the class and make us argue. Just, we want some help, that's all. If you don't want to help, I'll just read books. It's no big deal." Spencer smiled warmly and stared at Brendon, waiting for Brendon to say something.

"I don't know what you want me to help with.. I mean. Okay, yeah, the workers live in the castle, which means they have their own Quarters. But the castle is huge. They get about eight dollars an hour. It's not much, but.. Their taxes are ridiculously high, though. As is the cost of their food and rent."

"So basically," Ryan started, finding himself incapable of holding back a comment. "Basically they're kept in poverty and forced to remain dependent on the higher classes." His stomach churned at the thought. And he felt a little helpless for a moment, to hear about something that was that horrible but was yet something he couldn't do anything about. Wasn't allowed to do anything about. The bureau could care less about the 'former' slaves as long as he managed to get under the crown prince's skin. Sometimes, he mused, a democracy could be just as unfair and ridiculous as a monarchy. "I guess that's not even the point, though," he quickly added, shrugging. "The assignment is about economy, not human rights." And he nearly flushed again, embarrassed to have gotten so caught up in it, so obviously bothered by the subject. He must look stupid to people who just took this situation for granted.

Brendon glared at him, his temper getting the best of him. "Look, just because our country does things quite differently from yours," he started, disgust dripping from his voice at the word, "does not mean that you are better than we are. Do you think we have any power over this?" he asked, one eyebrow raised and his eyes flashing menacingly. "Well, not yet, anyway," he then muttered after a few seconds in silence.

Spencer bit his lip and resisted the urge to pat Brendon's arm. He knew of Brendon's uneasiness towards how some of the lower class was treated, even if he rarely showed his concern, and he really hadn't meant to push the subject and make him mad. He still didn't understand why he cared so much how the slaves (workers, as Brendon liked to call them) lived, but he remembered Brendon being quite young when it had all started. He was so different from his father, but the rest of the country didn't seem to know. How could they when Brendon always kept to himself?

"I'm sorry," Ryan quickly gritted out, deciding it would be best to smooth the waters as quickly as possible. Arguing with and angering the Prince probably wasn't the way to go about anything at all. "I didn't mean to offend you. And as you yourself pointed out, I haven't really had time to get used to how things work here." He sucked in a deep breath, pushing the food around on the plate for a moment. "I don't think I'm any better than any of you, I'm just trying to understand." That was another half-lie, even if he hadn't had to depend on those so much for the last while; Ryan, like most of his countrymen, had always felt superior to their neighbors to the south. It wasn't something he was proud of, but it was hard to get around the way he was raised to see things, and all he'd ever been taught about in relation to Beauregia was unfair laws and inhumane treatment of colored people, unjust trials and executions for ridiculous reasons. He'd never been taught to see the citizens as actual people, as real human beings. He'd have to teach himself, he realized, or he'd come across as arrogant enough to ruin everything. "I'm guessing, though, that some of the people who have many former slaves must be losing money on it while some of the ones with just a few may actually make more because they don't have to pay as many taxes. And the state probably makes a bit more in tax income." It was impressive, really, how the state had managed to take a demand and turn it into something that helped its own economy flourish. He wasn't about to say that out loud, though.

Brendon shrugged, obviously not wanting to talk about it. Whenever something went wrong with his country, or whenever someone didn't like the way things were run, Brendon always felt as though it was his fault. It wasn't, though, not yet. But Brendon always felt as though he took the brunt of it. He didn't like feeling guilty when he had no control over things, but he couldn't help his stomach feeling like it flipped inside of him. When he stayed silent, Spencer spoke up. "Thanks for trying, Bren. I'll just read up on it and everything will be fine." He said, trying to make Brendon feel better. Outwardly, Brendon looked absolutely fine, but Spencer knew better. He was about to say something else when Jon spoke up.

"So?" he asked, his cheery voice sounding fake, "what are we up to tonight?" he smiled at Brendon, trying to make the situation better. Jon was no consoling kind of guy. Rather, he tried to make things better by changing the subject all the time. It might have been annoying if his friends didn't know it was his way of trying to help.

Ryan kept looking at Brendon for a few moments, digesting the reaction. And he couldn't help but to feel slightly bad because he knew from the rants he'd read, knew from the expression on the boy's face that the Prince wasn't just a stone-cold person who didn't care. Judging by the exchanged messages, Brendon, if anything, cared too much. He shook it off, though. He didn't even know the kid, and he figured Brendon wouldn't want a virtual stranger looking at him for too long. No one had answered yet. "I have detention," he finally decided to state, at a loss for anything else. "Walker, do you think there's any way you could at least show up to help me find my way there since it's sort of your fault I have one in the first place?"

Jon chuckled and nodded, "it just so happens that I have a detention, too!" he waggled his eyebrows and then chuckled again in delight. Brendon made an odd noise and rolled his eyes.

"Again!?" he asked, incredulous. Spencer had a horrified expression and waited for Jon to explain. The boy shrugged at the questions and took a mouthful of ham, talking as he chewed.

"I just got into a fight in Phys. Ed. Nothing too bad. Just some guy, pissed me off." He didn't offer any more explanation before resuming his eating. Spencer and Brendon looked at each other, both wearing the same amused expression. It seemed that Jon fought with just about everyone. This wasn't anything knew. "Anyway, I'll go with you, Ryan. It'll be fun. Hopefully one of the more laid back teachers is watching over us. And it's only forty-five minutes long, so." He shrugged once again.

"I guess that's all right then," Ryan said. "Thanks." And he still wasn't really that fond of Jon Walker, but somehow the notion that he, at least, wasn't going to have to be alone with some teacher was soothing. The students he could write off as merely children who lacked the skill it took to figure him out. The teachers, though, people older than himself, they made him nervous. "After that I don't really know," he added. "Write my parents perhaps. Or my brother. Not sure at all."

Brendon nodded slowly, obviously thinking about something. "We could go into town afterward," he suggested, nodding. "We could leave around six, get there around seven and be back before ten for curfew? I'll just call someone to drive us. We haven't been into town in a long time, so it should be fun even if there's nothing to do." He smirked and looked up at Spencer and Jon expectantly.

"That sounds great," Spencer said, and Jon nodded in agreement. Both were happy that Brendon would finally be leaving the confines of the school- and not just to go home. Spencer looked over at Ryan, smiling at the boy. "You going to come?"

Ryan swallowed the bite of food in his mouth, looking up slowly. Spencer was the open and friendly one and Ryan found himself flashing the boy a small smile. Jon and Brendon, though. Ryan still disliked Jon and during the course of lunch he'd already managed to unintentionally hurt Brendon. Of course he should be jumping at the chance to get a step closer to doing his job, but he did know enough about people to realize that overwhelming new ones with your presence tends to push them away. He finally settled on shrugging, looking down at his own hands. "I wouldn't want to impose," he stated in a quiet voice.

Jon snorted. "Yeah, right. Brendon hasn't told you to fuck off and leave yet, so I'm pretty sure you're safe," he said, receiving a death glare from Brendon and a kick from Spencer under the table. He turned to both of them, eyebrows knit and a surprised expression on his face. "What?!" he asked, rather loudly. Spencer shook his head and rolled his eyes, laughing silently.

"You're more than welcome to come, Ryan. Brendon's invitation was extended to you, as well, even if he didn't show it," Spencer offered sweetly, Brendon's death glare now directed to him before the boy huffed and shook his head, looking down at his food as he pouted.

Ryan still felt somewhat doubtful. Brendon was the only one who mattered to his assignment, and if he didn't want Ryan there, he shouldn't go. Finally he sighed, keeping his eyes on the Prince and deciding that he didn't look too annoyed by the development. "Yeah, I guess I came here to see the country anyway, not just the school," he stated, smiling a little again. "Thanks."

Brendon's lips twitched and he forked in a mouthful of salad, chewing quickly so he didn't have to say anything. Spencer smiled widely. "Great!"