[INDENT][COLOR=SLATEGRAY][CENTER][sup][sup][h1][center][img] https://media.architecturaldigest.com/photos/672d4a5b823a46b3d7f713e1/16:9/w_2560%2Cc_limit/GettyImages-1867432941.jpg[/img][/center][b][center][color=black] S T . D Y M P H N A ‘ S H O M E[/color] [color=lightgray]S T . D Y M P H N A ‘ S H O M E[/color][/center] [/b][/h1][/sup][/sup] [sup][sup][h1][b][center][color=black] F O R W A Y W A R D Y O U T H S[/color] [color=lightgray]F O R W A Y W A R D Y O U T H S[/color][/center] [/b][/h1][/sup][/sup] [color=silver][sup][i]Joanie[/i][/sup][/color][/CENTER][/color][/INDENT] The kitchen was already a storm by the time Joanie found herself in the middle of it. She wasn’t sure when she had started helping. One moment she had been standing in the doorway, blinking against the light, and the next she was spreading jam on toast while two kids argued over who got the last clean bowl. Out of all the mistakes of the last day, going out on a school night seemed to be rising up there. Her head felt thick. Every sound seemed to come from far away and she kept losing track of what she was doing. “Joanie,” Mrs Qadir said gently beside her, taking the jug from her hands. “Sweetheart, that cup is full.” Looking down, she saw that she had been pouring juice into a cup and had continued to do so until it had begun to overflow onto the counter. “[color=plum]Oh.[/color]” Joanie blinked at it. “[color=plum]Right. Sorry.[/color]” Mrs Qadir gave her a searching look but didn’t press as Joanie moved to clean up her mess. This morning she looked exactly as she always did; her dark hair was pulled back into a loose twist that had already begun to slip, a few silver strands escaping around her temples. She wore one of her many soft, long cardigans over a simple blouse. Today it was a nice sage green, one of Joanie’s favourites. Concern marked her face, although that wasn’t exactly new. These days there was a lot for her to be worried about. She gave Joanie some space as she turned to help a younger boy zip his coat, then moved on to stop Maxie from sticking his glowing fingers into the toaster as he sought after a stuck piece of toast. “Are you alright?” She asked when she finally returned to her side. Joanie forced a small smile. “[color=plum]Just tired. Couldn’t sleep.[/color]” It wasn’t a lie. Just missing the major context as to why. She raised an eyebrow, as if fully aware there was more to it yet didn’t dig deeper. “And Mina and Trey?” she asked. “[color=plum]Yeah…[/color]” Joanie said quickly, trying to think of some kind of excuse. “[color=plum]They were wanting a lie in so I told them I’d cover breakfast.[/color]” Mrs Qadir nodded, though her eyes lingered on Joanie a moment longer than usual. “I’ll let them rest then. But I will check on them later.” That last bit was definitely a warning. She tried to look as innocent as possible as she moved some dirty plates over to the sink. She paused slightly as a figure marched through the doorway and crossed her path. It took her a minute to realise it was Franklin, his head covered by his hood. He moved past the two without a word, eyes fixed straight ahead. Gone was the usual beaming greeting he usual gave. When he reached the fridge, he opened it with a sharp tug, grabbed the first yoghurt he saw, before letting it slam behind him. He turned, glanced his bulbous eyes up her, before he lowered his head and moved out of the room and back into the hallway. Joanie felt the guilt hit her immediately, settling in her stomach. She watched the empty doorway he had vanished through, remembering the way he had looked at her last night when he’d caught them on the fire escape and the way his face had fallen when she told him he couldn’t come. Clearly that was still on his mind too. “Did something happen between you two?” Qadir asked, following her gaze. Joanie stared at the counter, her throat tightening. “[color=plum]I… might have snapped at him last night. Twice.[/color]” She managed, giving her a frown. “[color=plum]He was just trying to talk and I wasn’t… I wasn’t in a good place.[/color]” Qadir nodded slowly, her voice gentle.“That boy looks up to you, darling. He’ll come around. Just give him some time.” Joanie nodded, though the guilt pressed heavier on her chest. She wished she could fix it right then. But she could barely keep herself upright, let alone mend someone else’s feelings. She pushed on, moving towards where the last of the kids were gathering by the front door ready to leave for the day. Joanie helped them with coats and backpacks, nudging them outside with reminders to stay together and behave. Oceanside Middle School wasn’t too far a walk, but caution was always important. When the door finally closed behind them, the house fell into a calmer quiet. Qadir checked her clipboard, flipping through the morning notes. “Before you go upstairs, could you take out the trash? The bags are by the back door.” “[color=plum]Sure,[/color]” Joanie said. “Oh, and Joanie,” she said, her tone shifting. “Have you seen Row this morning? He didn’t come back last night.” Joanie froze as the words. Rowan Kessler was one of their newer residents. He was only fourteen and often kept to himself. His powers had manifested as patches of stone that grew along his arms and ribs, pale grey against his dark skin. They had to be chiselled back when they grew too thick. He always tried to hide them under long sleeves, even on days when it was too hot to do so. He was a good kid; he never argued when it came for his turn to do the dishes or any of his other chores about the house. She’d only heard snippets about his life before St Dymphna’s. None of it sounded pleasant. It wouldn’t have been the first time a kid had run away from the home. It happened all the time. That Lance kid, for example, was always disappearing for weeks at a time. He’d probably rock up at one point. “[color=plum]No,[/color]” Joanie said softly. “[color=plum]I haven’t seen him.[/color]” Mrs Qadir’s expression tightened. “If you hear anything, let me know.” Minutes later she was stepping out the backdoor, several trashbags dangling from her hands. The morning air was cool, sharp enough to wake her slightly. She walked down the steps into the alley, the rubbish bags swinging at her sides. The dumpster lid creaked loudly as she lifted it and tossed the bags in. She let the lid fall shut and leaned against the cold metal, closing her eyes. Her chest still felt tight. Footsteps sounded behind her. She opened her eyes. Caleb stood at the mouth of the alley, hood up, hands in his pockets, and his eyes fixed on her with a tension she had rarely seen before. “Joanie,” he said quietly. “We need to talk.”