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I push open the door with my foot, peering inside cautiously.

This common room is unsurprisingly as small as it is filthy. An old couch sits on one side, facing a TV with what looked like broken video game consoles. There's also a grey plastic table, which honestly looks like it's about to collapse any minute. A couple boys from the Gears wing stand around it, shouting and ... eating?

"Yo!" One of them notices me and calls over. "You want some s'mores?"

I blink, taking a step into the room. "Uh, what?"

"Yeah! Grab a chair!" He shouts. With a flick of his hand, one of the plastic chairs stacked in the corner of the room flies from the pile and onto the floor.

"Uh yeaaaaaah, I really wouldn't sit on those." Another one of them says, adjusting his glasses. " They're so nasty. You're probably gonna get cancer if you touch those."

"C'mon, Gale!" A third, taller boy exclaims. "Don't get distracted! My marshmallow is half melted!"

Glasses -- no, Gale -- sighs. He places his palms face up on the table for the other excited boys to see, and, after a moment's hesitation, blue flames burst from his fingertips. Not enough to burn the place down, but enough to, well, toast marshmallows.

"Dude. I've been doing this for like, twenty minutes." Gale complains. "When the hell are you gonna be done with s'mores?"

"Eh, maybe for another... hour?" the taller boy says with a gentle laugh. "I mean, you did lose that bet to Kepler, so you get to be our personal stove for a week."

"Alan's right." The telekinetic boy agrees with a serious nod. He glances over at me again. "So, did you want food? We're just chilling before everything gets hectic next week. Plus, torturing Gale's pretty fun."