***Warning: This chapter includes references to racism***

No one was going to investigate the death of a bunch of rats. Caleb knew that. Sure, there would be confusion as to how that many rats set up shop in the shed so fast, but it was nothing anyone was going to label impossible. As for the mutilation of the dead rats...well, that could be attributed to the surviving ones.

Living rats were, of course, not what had gotten to the dead ones. But Caleb wondered if that was something the normal community wanted—or even needed—to know.

Caleb had returned to Briargate by himself. Rain still hadn't come—Caleb wondered vaguely if it ever would—but the gloomy day did not really inspire a want to be outside for much longer. The other kids had gone home, an eerie unsettlement hanging over their heads. Part of Caleb wished he had another place to go; Briargate seemed too close to the cemetery, and, though he wouldn't have told anyone, he half-expected to see a whole swarm of rats congregated on the grounds of the school when he returned. A silly fancy, but one that stuck in his mind nonetheless.

Caleb spent the afternoon in the library. He hadn't any homework, and there wasn't much to do in the school. Some other kids from the second year class were throwing a flying disc around outside, but Caleb had seen Quintus, Dean, and Vince lurking around by the kitchen door and the empty chicken coop and he didn't much want to see what trouble they would end up causing. Caleb didn't mind being alone; in fact, sometimes, secretly, he thought it was safer. That was one thing he learned rather quickly as one of the few black kids at the school: sometimes it's better to blend into the background.

There was no place better to blend into the background than in the library. The fiction shelves were the best stocked and the best tended to, and that's where Caleb headed. There were a few other students milling about, mostly older kids, and they paid Caleb no mind. There were probably more somewhere deeper in the stacks, working on homework and searching for books, but it was nearly silent. Odd, even for the library.

When he first heard them, he'd settled in at one of the tables in between the shelves with a book he'd chosen mostly at random (he did that sometimes; surefire way to ensure variety). He nearly groaned out loud when the first sounds of their voices met his ears, so loud in such a quiet space. He was morbidly unsurprised; he'd been doing his best to keep a wide berth of Quintus Zima and his gang, but that had been getting a lot harder recently. Apparently they'd lost interest in whatever they'd been doing outside.

Caleb winced when he heard Charlie Mouser's voice. That, as well, was unsurprising; Charlie practically lived in the library. A small part of Caleb's mind wondered if that was the only reason Quintus, Dean, and Vince had made their way into library at all; it certainly wasn't a place they could be found often.

For a few painful moments, Caleb was at war with himself. One part of him—perhaps the more rational part—wanted to let it go. The last time he'd interceded on something Quintus and his friends had been doing, he'd ended up with a thirteen-way fistfight in the snow. But he felt bad for Charlie; he was one of the kids who just sort of screamed 'beat me up!' to the people tuned to the right frequency. He was rather small, and had those damned giant glasses that amplified his eyes to huge blue saucers, and it was no secret that he was a bit of a loner. Even Caleb, who was one of his roommates, didn't see him that often. Caleb felt bad that life had dealt him sort of a lousy hand, but it was even more than that, Caleb supposed. Caleb understood Charlie. He knew what it was like to be a target of Quintus and his friends. As the only black boy in the second year class, that was sort of a no-brainer.

And, truth be told, that fight in January could have gotten a whole lot worse if Officer Dent hadn't shown up when he had. And that was thanks to Charlie Mouser.

Heaving a great sigh, Caleb got to his feet and traipsed to where the voices were coming from. Even without the audio cues, he would have known where to go. Charlie always sat in the same place every day. When he came around the appropriate shelf, he was a bit surprised to see that Quintus was not there. Caleb could've sworn he'd heard the boy's voice, but then it was possible that he'd just assumed he would be there. Only Dean, Vince, and Charlie were there. Dean saw Caleb immediately, almost as if he'd been expecting him.

"Oh, look, it's your knight in shining armor!" Dean jeered, overly loud. His expression unsettled Caleb. It was threatening, but there was something else there, something darker, something Caleb couldn't name. He'd never seen Dean look like that before.

"Get tired of terrorizing the kids outside?" Caleb asked calmly, folding his arms and looking Dean in the eye. Vince and Charlie were little more than footnotes to the scene; Charlie watched them impassively, and Vince looked almost...uncertain. Like maybe he was waiting for Shannon, Jared, Dexter, Ollie, Ginger, and Allison to show up.

"You assholes don't know when to quit, do you?" Dean asked. "First Wilkins, now you? Christ."

There was a hard edge to Dean's voice that Caleb had never heard. The last thing Caleb wanted was a fight in the middle of the school library, but he had a bad feeling they were skidding straight towards one.

"Think you're the one who doesn't know when to quit, Dean," Caleb said. "The way you keep picking fights. It's getting embarrassing."

A wave of pure, unhinged rage passed through Dean's eyes. "Don't you talk to me like that, you son of a bitch. You filthy son of a bitch."

Dean had gotten dangerously close. Caleb was still taller, but he was sure that that just made Dean angrier. This whole situation felt off somehow, tilted to the side. Maybe it was because Quintus was missing. The whole balance seemed skewed. Caleb had been confronted by Dean and Vince many times in his two years with them, but it had never been like this. Quintus had always been there.

It never looked it was going to get so out of hand.

Even the time in January. This was different, Caleb could feel it.

"Walk away, Dean," Caleb said, as evenly as he could manage. He did not drop Dean's gaze. "You hear me?"

"You goddamn asshole, I swear to God, I'll kill you," Dean said, and ah. That was what was different this time.

Caleb could almost swear he heard an audible snap as Charlie's eyes snapped to Dean in well-concealed shock. He realized it too. Dean's voice had risen, and the anger was barely contained. He had never made that threat before. Even Vince, so reliable for a fight, seemed surprised; his mouth hung open wide, attracting flies.

"Dean—" Vince began.

"What's all the noise back here?"

Caleb was dimly aware that he and his friends were always getting saved at the last minute. He supposed that this time at least Dean and Vince had it coming; the library was no place to start a fight. Relief crept up Caleb's spine in tendrils as Miss Terwilliger appeared behind him.

"Oh, I should've known," she muttered lowly as she surveyed the scene. "You boys take whatever this is elsewhere. People are trying to get work done in here. And don't any of you be starting any trouble."
"Don't worry," Dean said through gritted teeth. "We're leaving."

Caleb raised his eyebrows but had the good sense not to say anything. Dean grabbed Vince's beefy arm, and Vince stalked after him obediently. Miss Terwilliger watched them go with a harsh eye, then turned her attention back to Charlie and Caleb. Her expression turned weary.

"Keep it down back here, boys," she said. She sighed and shook her head.

"Yes, ma'am," Charlie said solemnly. Miss Terilliger looked again in the direction that Dean and Vince had gone. One delicate eyebrow was arched and she looked like she was calculating a difficult equation. She lingered only a moment longer before shaking her head a second time and heading back towards the front of the library.

Charlie looked at Caleb, a sheepish smile on his face. Caleb suddenly felt a desire to laugh but he stamped it down. He pulled out a chair and sat down at the table next to Charlie, returning a smile that was probably more of a wince.

"He's never been like that before," Charlie said. Caleb knew he meant Dean. Caleb had been thinking the same thing.

"He'll get over it." Caleb didn't believe that for a second. Dean had been different today, perhaps different for a while. He'd never been so desperate for a fight; Vince had always been the more physical of the two. Something was changing.

"Yeah," Charlie said. Caleb got the feeling that Charlie didn't believe it any more than he did.

"Glad your glasses survived the encounter." Caleb nodded at Charlie, giving him a meaningful look.

Charlie snorted. "Me too."

Caleb smiled at him, a genuine one this time. "Hey, you know, I never thanked you for helping us out in January."

Charlie shrugged and turned his gaze to the ground. His glasses fell low on his nose. "No sweat. Didn't want you guys to get pulverized. Dean seemed pretty angry. Besides"—the tips of Charlie's ears went red—"I should thank you for stepping in when you did."

Caleb waved a dismissive hand. "No problem."

Caleb stuck out his hand towards Charlie. Charlie seemed surprised for half a second, but he regained his composure quickly and shook Caleb's hand.

There was an agitated nagging in the back of Caleb's head that was still fixated on Dean. Dean had been different that day; Caleb was right about that. And more had realized it was there than Caleb Vance or Charlie Mouser knew.