Chapter Text
Piper notices Conrad Harrington because he’s sharp-edged. Mean, honestly. The kind of boy who looks like he’s already decided you’re beneath him. When she first arrives at INSANE, she knows him as a problem before she knows him as anything else. Conrad makes fun of Piper for being from the country. He calls her dumb. He thinks she doesn't notice things. Well, he's not as smart as he thinks he is, if this is Conrad's version of subtle.
The cafeteria is loud in a controlled, echoing way - metal chairs, plastic trays, handlers pretending not to watch. Usually, the kids sit at one table, or split into two sometimes. When tensions are high, they spread out more. Almost her whole first week, Piper sat at a table with only Bella for company, hyper-aware of everyone and everything, her appetite gone from nerves.
Conrad sits two tables over. He looks normal. Relaxed, even. He eats exactly when other people are looking at him. Takes small, deliberate bites. Chews like he’s concentrating on something else entirely. Then stops. Doesn’t push the tray away. Doesn’t finish. Just leaves it there like an abandoned thought. Piper keeps watching despite herself. He stands only after the handler’s attention shifts. Carries his tray to the trash. Dumps the food out without ceremony. Like it never mattered. Her stomach turns.
Later, she blurts it out to Kimber, who already seems to know everything. “Does he always… do that?”
Kimber snorts. “Oh, yeah. That’s his thing.”
“What thing?”
Kimber shrugs. “Pretending he eats.”
Piper laughs reflexively - then realizes Kimber isn’t joking. “That ain’t-” Piper starts. Then stops. “That’s not normal.”
Kimber gives her a look. “Welcome to I.N.S.A.N.E.”
Piper looks back at Conrad, who’s already seated again, talking quietly to Smitty like nothing strange just happened. She doesn’t like him, but something cold settles in her chest anyway.
Everyone says Jasper is particularly anxious when new people show up. He does weird things, because he doesn't know what to do with himself.
Jasper has been mindlessly taking Conrad's lead all morning, through lunch. It's not really intentional, he's just mirroring him without thinking - taking a few bites when Conrad eats, stopping and staring off into space when Conrad stops. Piper notices. So does Conrad. He freezes mid-bite.
With a voice sharp enough to cut glass - “No.” Everyone looks at him. Jasper flinches. Conrad softens his voice slightly, but he forces the words out like they hurt. “You eat your food,” he says. “All of it. That’s not for you.”
Jasper nods, confused, and does.
Piper asks Kimber about it later. “That was… intense, right?"
Kimber grimaces. “Yeah. He gets weird about, like, food stuff.”
“Weird how?”
Kimber hesitates. “Like he knows something we don’t. And doesn’t want anyone else learning it.”
That night, Piper can’t sleep.
Piper's new enough that Conrad hasn’t fully accounted for her yet. Her patterns are inconsistent. Her attention is untrained—too honest, too direct. At dinner, he clocks her eyes on his tray. Not constant. Intermittent. Which means she’s comparing moments. Comparison is how patterns emerge.
He eats more than usual to compensate. Stops abruptly when she looks away. Starts again when she looks back. It feels ridiculous. Sloppy.
Piper frowns. “Do you-” she starts.
Conrad cuts in immediately. “I’m fine.”
The phrase drops like a physical barrier. Piper pauses. Studies him. Then nods, slow. “Okay.” She goes back to her food.
Conrad exhales, sharp. But the relief doesn’t come. Because she didn’t argue. She accepted a boundary. Which means she noticed it existed.
Weeks later. Piper and Conrad still don’t like each other. They argue constantly. Piper thinks he’s cruel. Conrad thinks she’s reckless.
So when Piper finally snaps during an argument - “Why don’t you even eat like a normal person?” The silence is catastrophic. Conrad goes very still. People in earshot freeze. Piper knows she’s crossed something, even if she doesn’t really understand what.
Conrad’s expression doesn’t change. His voice stays even. “Define normal.”
Piper opens her mouth. Closes it. “I just mean-” she starts, then stops, heat flooding her face. “You barely touch your food.”
“That’s incorrect,” Conrad says. “I eat every day.” The phrasing is precise. Defensive. Practiced.
Smitty mutters, “Jesus.”
Piper swallows. “That’s not what I meant.”
Conrad tilts his head. Studies her. Then, quietly, “Then be more specific.”
She can’t. She backs off.
Later, Kimber says, gently, “You weren’t wrong.”
Piper shakes her head. “No, I think I was.”
From then on, Piper watches him differently. Still annoyed. Still bristling. Still convinced he’s a nightmare.
But also - Whatever Conrad Harrington is doing with food, it isn’t about food. And that scares her more than if it were.