When I come home from school, I can tell that Raven is already there. His school bag is on the floor by the entrance and his shoes are lying next to the shoe rack. Apart from that, music is blaring from the upstairs. My annoyance rising, I glance in the kitchen. The sink is full of dirty dishes from the last night and today. He's been living with us for three days already, and he hasn’t washed them once, despite picking it as his chore. Either Catherine will have to do it again, or I will, to save her the trouble.

No freaking way.

I go up the stairs. His door is closed, but he's not allowed to lock it, so I push it and stride in, and then freeze, the volume of music so powerful it almost pushes me back.

Raven is sitting by his desk—his profile to me, his feet on the table, his books and papers in disarray, his clothes on the bed. He has begun plastering posters of what appears to be his favorite band, "Fake Drug", around the place two days ago. Now, the transformation of the room seems complete. It's barely possible to see the cream-colored walls underneath all the centerfolds with images of four guys sporting guitars, greasy hair and amounts of eyeliner that could rival Raven's.

"What the hell?" I stride to the mini system and press the 'off' button. The roar of the guitars cuts off sharply, leaving me in silence disturbed only by the ringing in my ears.

"You could have just lowered the volume," Raven says without turning. A pencil in his fingers goes up and down to the rhythm of the song that has just been playing, as if he can still hear it in his head.

"You could go deaf from such volume, you know?" I say.

"Not from 'Fake Drugs'." He throws a sideways glance at me. "I love them. Don’t you love them?"

"Never heard of them."

He looks away again. "They're an alternative band. Not for… everyone."

"Whatever," I say. "Go wash the dishes."

"Later," he says. "I'm busy."

"With what?"

He gestures at the books and the papers. "Homework?"

"Dishes are your chore. I won't let you skip it."

He gives me that sideways glance again. "I'll do it later."

"When?"

He shrugs. "Eventually?"

I shake my head. "Now. And don’t turn your music that loud. You don’t live here alone."

"Is this a new rule?"

"Yes."

"You're making them up as you go."

"Get up, or I will tell Catherine about you midnight trip."

The corners of his lips curve into a smile. "It's been three days, sweetheart. If you tell her now, you will have to explain why you didn’t tell her right away." He finally turns to me. "You'll have to explain why you kept secrets from your mommy."

I take a step forward, intending to drag him off his chair and make him go downstairs, but then a new detail catches my attention. Under his left eye, there's what looks like a scratch and the beginning of a bruise.

"What's that?" I say, pointing.

His smile falters, and he looks away again. "Got in a bit of a fight at school."

My eyebrows go up. He's not the kind of a guy I'd imagine getting in a fight. Not the strong, muscular type. Only shows how little I know about him.

"Fight? Over what?"

He shrugs. "There's that boy in my class, Alvin. A bit too aggressive for someone named like a chipmunk, I daresay. Has a big mouth, too."

"What did he say to you?"

"Called me a faggot." He looks at me over his shoulder. "I prefer the term 'gay'."

"So, you hit him?"

"Yeah." He smiles dreamily. "It was a good punch. He went straight down. This," he points at his face, "is his friends' doing."

"Did he complain about you?"

"I doubt that." He shrugs. "He was still lying flat when I left for home, his friends trying to revive him. I assume they have succeeded, since there's no police car in our driveway to arrest me for murder. Also, I doubt he was willing to go to the headmaster and admit that the gay kid has knocked him out."

I stare at him. "He'll try to get even with you."

"I'll just knock him out again." He stares at me, unblinking. "How hard could that be?"

I rub my face, not sure what to say. Then, another though distracts me.

"When did all that happened?"

"After the second lesson."

"Do you mean you just went home in the middle of the day?"

"After the fight," he says, pointing his finger at me, "I was in a—what they call it? An emotional turmoil. I wanted to put ice on my bruise and just relax for a while with some quality reading." He reaches out and pushes a few magazines on the desk towards me.

I look at the covers, and the next moment, my face is so hot like it's about to explode. There're pictures of men, half naked, their hands on each other, their positions unmistakable. I look up at Raven only to find him laughing breathlessly at my expression.

"Oh, boy," he says. "I've never seen a man go so red so fast. Pop—like a lightbulb! Have you never seen gay porn before?"

"What is wrong with you?" I grab a handful of my hair, my mind boggling with everything that must be said and fixed here. "You can’t have such magazines in the house! What if Catherine found them?"

"Would she go as red as you did?" His eyes sparkle with curiosity. "Is it a family trait?"

I point at the magazines. "Get rid of them!"

"Oh, wow." He blinks at me. "I get the no sex rule, but banning porn? Such a boring household. What do you people jerk off to?"

"You're…" I pause, searching for words. "You can’t…act like this. You can't fight at school, you can’t just skip lessons when you feel like it, you can’t behave like a pig in the house that did you a favor by taking you in! Gosh, I can understand why nobody else wanted you!"

"Some people wanted me very much, actually," he murmurs, looking completely unperturbed by my outburst. "In ways you might find uncomfortable."

Before I can answer, the door slams downstairs, and Catherine's voice calls out:

"Boys, are you home?"

"Yes, ma'am," Raven shouts back.

"Come here, we must talk."

"Oh well." Raven grins at me. "She sounds pissed. I might have murdered the chipmunk, after all."