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CHAPTER 1: First Day
Stern green eyes stare at me, “You could have said ‘goodbye’ to your sister.” She says to me.
If you hadn’t already heard, Poppy Myers, who used to be Poppy Parker before my genius/not-so-genius of a Father put a ring on it. Poppy Parker was known as today’s Einstein, this generation, whatever generation Einstein was in, the dude had the brains, no clue who had the brawn though. Mom’s got both. Oh, I forgot to mention, Poppy Myers is my Mother...today’s Einstein, in case you didn’t catch that.
I blink, “I did, though. Mentally, she got a really big ‘Goodbye’ from me, Mom. I’m talking balloons, confetti, like pop-up cards with Uncle Ivan’s music playing in one of those mechanical cards. Oh, dude, I got Beyoncé playing, who run the world, GIRLS! Yeah, you miss it, Mom, right there before she took Dad’s second-best car, she got the massive Myers adios amiga. Dad danced...partially because he was drunk, otherwise we all know...he has no moves. Uncle Carter told us all about it.” I say to her, holding my PSP.
Dad stares at me, “Don’t bring me into your strange, conjured thoughts, Mathias Myers. Queen City Principal called, want to guess what she decided was the first topic to discuss?” He asks me, arm sliding around my stern Mother...Einstein. I seriously wonder what that will make my father. Interesting.
I look at him, “Her excessive need for attention. That woman calls me down every week for an autograph, Dad. See, I would not trust what she says, whatsoever.”
Mom stares at me sternly.
“You changed the cafeteria’s sugar and salt bags. So, everyone who ordered a hot beverage had that nice surprise, you almost got all the staff members fired. You stuck photos of all the football players at some party all over the gym hall for their coach to find, and every teacher you have seemed to have trouble opening their desktops since you put all their lock screens as the Parker software screens. So, you, for one, made it obvious it was you because doing that requires accessing your Mom’s algorithms...oh, and you set a bunch of pigs in the girls' locker rooms last Friday after all sports tournaments. Two girls fainted, one got an allergic reaction, and you’re now wanted with the press at Teen’s Digest for tips on School Prank-Making.” Dad begins listing.
I stare at him, “Can I get a new car?”
“You got expelled, Mathias,” Mom says, slowly.
I tilt my head, “Expelled, suspended. All the same, it’s just semantics. So, I’m back next week, right?” I shrug, turning back to the game box that is no longer in my hands because Stevens pockets it and rests his hands at his front.
I copy him and stand beside him, looking down, “You know, is this stance just to protect the jewels?” I ask him, grinning.
He hands me a folder, “Funny. Here’s some reading material you’ll need, bags are already packed.” He says, stepping to Mom, embracing her with a ‘good morning’ and sighing in defeat when he hears that he just missed the send off we gave to my over-exaggerated la-la-loopsy doll of a sister, Melanie Myers. The golden girl after Mom. Melanie was a modelled idol when she was a senior at the school I apparently just got expelled from.
I stare at the folder dumbly, “I don’t read. Can you summarise?” I ask Stevens, holding the folder out.
Mom gives me a long look, “Mathias. Read it.” She points at the folder while Grandpa Stevens, according to my twin siblings, Melanie and dainty douchebag Marvin, the prick of the century, likes to refer to Stevens as Grandpa.
I like to refer him to as Stevie, Steve...or Jarvis. Because he’s Jarvis, you know, like in Iron Man. Mom’s Iron Man, Dad’s the hot ginger assistant, Pepper Potts, Dion and Jenkins...the navy guy, Rhodes and Happy. Jenkins is definitely Happy, has the stamina and everything down to point.
I open the folder and my eyes bug out larger than China’s perimeter, and that is really saying something here, “Switzerland. Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me? This is insane. This is worse than Leia and Luke. This is worse finding out they were siblings...spoiler alert, btw. Mom, this is so unnecessary, I’m a good boy, I know I am.” I pout, holding the effortless folder. Freaking Dion put ‘Adios’ stickers right next to my name and the timetable of this...school.
Mom raises an eyebrow, “Really? What about when Iron Man died in the Marvel series?” She says, and shatters me altogether.
I drop to my knees, “You can’t do this to me! It’ll ruin my life. I’ll have to live on the streets and find a dog named Burt and we’d both have to live in a box that says we were the third, most unimportant son of the Parker-Myers family, but I wasn’t good enough to be a Parker or a Myers, so I got Burt here to help me not die alone...BOARDING SCHOOL! WHY?!!!!” I cry out.
Dad looks at me, “I’m glad we didn’t enroll him in theatre, because that didn’t even earn a clap, kid.” He says to me.
I point at him, “Your Nutella’s paying the price for that comment.” I whisper-yell, a mockingly narrow down the eyes enters the atmosphere while Dad looks like a deer caught in headlights when he slowly looks to Mom, who’s too busy looking at something Jamison, Mom’s still-not-retired assistant-manager-girlfriend stealer (according to Dad) weasel (according to Jarvis), said.
Wow, that was a lot to get out.
Dad stares me down after looking away from Mom slowly, sighing in relief, “Run, boy. Run.”
I gather the file, “I get that Maserati then.”
“Now, you so do not.” He says to me.
“Dad, you sound like Ross on Friends. I thought you were Monica?” I ask him.
He straightens, “No, I’m Chandler. Your Mother is Monica.” He retorts.
A sharp clearing of the throat echoes, “Which implies what, Maximus? That I over-organise, that I must cook all the time, that I stabilise you, Chandler?” Mom asks, slowly. I watch, then I high-tail out of their faster than if my arse was on fire and Dad...he was hot on my heels, but the slow poke couldn’t keep up and managed to hide in the first level lounge by the large television while I groaned my way upstairs to my own floor. This mansion was my life, Mom wanted me to leave it.
When I step in, Laura, my maid, is happily shoving my clothes into the third Gucci suitcase, my jaw drops at her smirk, “Finally, no more cleaning your stinky sheets, no more of cleaning your clothes and how they all make me wonder if you’re made out of rat poop and cat hair balls. No more pranks, no more draining the life out of me, sucker, you’re going to boarding school. See, this is karma. This is stone-cold, freshly done, marinated karma. Fucking finally. Freedom, bitches. Freedom—boss, what are you doing here?” She looks scared.
She should be.
I changed the staff’s sugar and salt mix too.
I stare at her, “I do not smell like rat poop and cat hair balls.” I argue, those were the worst two.
She pales phenomenally, “I-I-I didn’t mean any of that, sir. I dry-cleaned your shirts.” She stammers her words, nothing could compensate for those words.
I jump on the bed in front of her, “Can you rub my feet before I go?” I ask her.
Dion steps in and stares at me in mortification, I give him a look, “They’re sore from all the running around I had to do with my uptight sister.” I complain.
He shoves a pillow in my face, “Laura, are the bags done, sweetheart?” He asks her, stepping in next to her and sliding his arms around her, grinning wide as he nuzzles her nose while I gag and sit up from my mattress in disgust.
“Get a freaking room.” I grumble.
“We have one, you brat.” Dion murmurs, before lowering a kiss to my maid.
I felt bile rising in my throat, “I’m the boss, you’re both slacking on the job.” I tease, grabbing the first bag and gulping at the heaviness, did this damn woman pack everything of mine?
“Bags are all done, my love.” Laura whispers up to Dion, before they both groan in a kiss that was so not meant for my eyes.
I drag my bags out like a robber or perhaps Santa Claus with little children on Christmas Eve. I squeak with a leap of absolute shock when I catch Mom standing there with her hands on her hips, sharp blonde curls in perfected positions down her back, a business suit and the questionable eyebrow, intimidating thing she does.
“Jesus, Mom. You scared the life out of me.” I groan out, dropping the first bag.
“Mathias, I love you. So much, but this troublemaker, bad boy act won’t work at this boarding school in Switzerland. I’ve looked into every detail of this school, baby. Their expectations are much higher than any other private school I’ve ever come across. You need to stay focused, you’re incredibly smart when you put your mind to it and you’re a fast learner. This will be really good for you.” She says, as if trying to justify her actions while I just grab my bag.
“You’re sending your last kid to boarding school. One’s in Washington, the other wants to go to some creepy academy in the middle of nowhere, all from that of their own decision...but I, the last born of the Parker-Myers heritage...have no choice but to go to a fadeaway boarding school in a place used as a reference to be of neutral ground, stuck in the middle, doesn’t take sides. You’re sending me there to basically learn how to meditate.” I say, before receiving a whack on the upside of my head.
I frown at who did it, and rear back at the scariest face alive, “Aunt Diana...what the bloody hell are you doing here?” I breathe out in shock.
Uncle Trevor raises an eyebrow down to me, while Uncle Andrew holds Aunt Rosa-belle close. Uncle Carter gives me a look of disappointment, “Those pranks at that school...immaturely done. None of them were subtle, kid.” He says to me.
Dad furrows his eyebrows, stepping in behind Uncle Carter, “You told him what?” Dad screeches like a banshee.
Uncle Ivan ruffles my hair as he embraces Mom gently, “You saw Melanie off?” He whispers down to her.
Mom smiles sadly, “She’s all grown up...I hate it.” She says, sniffling. Uncle Ivan rubs Mom’s shoulder.
Mom looks up at him, “How is Scarlet?” She asks, fondly.
Scarlet Nelson, soon-to-be Scarlet Torres according to Uncle Ivan’s fidgeting under Mom’s tender gaze. Scarlet Nelson is the hidden girlfriend Mom’s actually known about since Melanie and Marvin’s twelfth birthday’s when Uncle Ivan got a concussion due to the twins meddling with more police German Shepard dogs, he met a fine lady, or should I say Doctor...who checked him over. Turns out...they got to talking and now...he blushes at her name. And funnily enough, it was Uncle Carter who introduced them, requesting her as Uncle Ivan’s doctor because she’s good with little children, a.k.a Uncle Ivan. Uncle Carter though...that dude, I don’t think will ever settle down. Like...ever.
“She’s...still busy with the doctorate nightshifts, but I—soon, I’m going to ask her to marry me.” Uncle Ivan whispers shyly.
Mom grins at him, pleased, “Where’s the ring?” She wonders.
Uncle Ivan pauses, “Fuck, the ring.” He says, as if in memory of the fact that—right, to ask someone for their hand in marriage...you need a fucking ring. Unbelievable, I know. Flowers ain’t enough and neither is saying ‘Marry me, love. I’m a famous singer with a gorgeous personality, take me, woman’.
He’s soooo romantic.
This is sarcasm. If you didn’t get that...then find an emoji of me bawling my eyes out right now, I failed as a human being.
Dad raises an eyebrow at my door when we hear giggles on the other side.
I point to it, “Dion and Laura fraternising in my bedroom. I think we should start the firing list, Dad. Dion’ gotten sloppy.” I sing out. Whilst whispering to one of the passing maids to sanitise my room from top to bottom when she has the time. She gives me a roll of the eyes.
I scoff with flailing arms, “Why do all our maids hate me?”
“Because, you create the stinkiest laundry,” Aunt Diana retorts behind me, arm curling through Uncle Trevor’s, “—are we going to lunch? We finally have the day off from the girls.” Aunt Diana says, practically jumping up and down.
I turn to Uncle Trevor, “How many spoons of sugar?” I wonder.
He snorts, “Eighteen.”
Aunt Diana smacks the upside of his head at the joke we shared and one I snigger at while Uncle Andrew gives me a long look, “Boarding school, Mathias. That’s going to hit hard.” He says to me.
I scoff and hold up my arms, hands in fists, “These hit harder, I’m a professional and Mom and Dad just want the house to themselves so they can do it in the lounge again. Fireplaces, huh? I’m glad my room doesn’t have any, that would be scarring.” I point out.
“MATHIAS!” Dad snaps.
“Mathias!” Mom growls.
I blink, “Are you two even denying it? Melanie was oblivious and Marvin was an idiot.”
Mom pinches the bridge of her nose, just as Jarvis steps in, “The car is ready to take Satan back to Hell’s gate.” He says, such a sense of humour this guy, really.
Mom sighs, “Stevens,” She murmurs, exhaustedly.
I point to him, “It’s Jarvis, Mom. Jarvis.” I point out.
Jarvis turns his devil eyes to me, “I am this close to exchanging your ticket to middle class over your family’s jet.” He says to me, making the gesture.
I tilt my head at him, “I’m really going to miss you, Jarvis.” I say, patting his shoulder.
He stares at me like I’m a bug he needs to squash, I roll my eyes, “You seriously need a sense of humour, big guy. Fighting with my Dad every day is what is giving you more grey hairs that he has, and he has a fair few. Anyway, I’m going to hell’s gate, send me postcards beloved friends of my Father’s and Mother’s, well—I’m off.” I yell, giving out the peace sign.
“You knew you were going to boarding school, didn’t you, son?” Dad says, dryly.
I grin, “Nothing gets pass me! Nothing—whoa, Jarvis, since when did you get fat?” I say in shock.
Before ducking at his surfacing punch to my head and leaping down the stairs with Jenkins stomping behind me, holding all my bags.
“I LOVE YOU ALL! BID YOU FAIR WELL! YOU WILL MISS ME WHEN I’M GONE! PEACE OUT!” I scream all of this out as I trudge straight for one of the latest BMW’s. Jenkins takes the front seat while I slide into the back and see more bags have been packed.
“Your Mom felt bad, she bought you a new phone, new laptop, and all the textbooks you could ever need. There’s a bag of treats in the back too, but if you start jumping around in your seat. The door between us is going up and specialised chloroformed gas will bid you Goodnight. Got it?”
“Got it, chief.” I salute him.
But then, the bastard closes the door, I merely roll down the windows in fear, before I hear him laughing on the other side, “YOU ARSEHOLE!” I yell out, banging against the door between us.
They say to watch the horizon when feeling nauseous on a moving boat. There was no horizon from where I could see in the car and the road ahead wasn’t so unstable, but dangerous waters shattered the self confidence I had before when I was in the safe confinement’s of my royal suite luxury bedroom, my jacuzzi, my open decking, my eggshell hammock, my personal office, my game room...I lost it all. To this Hogwarts look-a-like school of business and old buildings...and, “They have gargoyles on the roof. Are you freaking kidding me, Jenkins?” I ask my personal guard.
He groans next to me, “I’m not paid enough for this.”
I look at him, “I have a twenty, can you go get me sparkling water? I’m parched.” I say to him, holding it out.
He gives me a dry look, “You had three on the private jet, two pies, two cokes, and a bloody family share bag of M&Ms, the fact that you haven’t needed to pee yet, surprises even me. I cannot believe boss put me on this job. You lose one freaking bet, and it’s worse than being on toilet cleaning duty, or even babysitting, because babysitting, I can go back home for, but No—I have to join the bloody guard squad here because you managed to get expelled.” He complains.
I look at the castle, “I don’t understand why you’re complaining, I’m the one who has to live in a dorm in an academy that has gargoyles on the roof. Gargoyles, Jenkins. Are you not even seeing this or have you just gone completely blind?” I ask him.
He closes his eyes, “I don’t know which I would prefer right now. Probably both. Going blind and deaf, on account of you. Maybe if I claim a broken leg, I’d get at least a week off and just warn the guards here of you.” He says, grumbling as he hands me one of my bags.
“Good, there’s the Principal.” He says, I look up.
“Whoa, it’s 007. Daniel Craig, my man!”
