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CNN

BREAKING NEWS: King of Genovia Announces Retirement

Wed, 1:37 PM, December 21st, Hayley Stenburgh

CNN -- Here’s some drama to kick off the new year. For the first time in fourteen years, The United Republic of Genovia, one of the world's wealthiest and most isolated monarchies in Europe, has just announced this past Sunday that a new king will be chosen to rule over the country within the following year. King William von Rufus De la Iglesias the Third, the last remaining member of the Novak family, concurred these claims in a speech last week stating that he will be retiring early from his position, something that hasn’t been done since the country's founding.

After the infamous slaughtering in Peru that took the lives of Genovia’s beloved previous Queen, Sarah Novak, along with her brother Declan and many other members of the royal family, King Rufus assumed the throne in his niece's place and has been ruling for nearly fifteen years---that is, until recently. Because of his retirement and because he is the last true member of the original bloodline, the Genovian parliament has been forced to consider loosely connected family members to ascend to the throne in his place.

Already tension is brewing in the royal court between possible inheritors of the crown. The Baron deWinter, despite being first in line should the King ever step down, unfortunately has received a rather poor reception from the people after last year’s comments towards the working class and refugee programs. On the other hand, the Duchess Tarquin, while only coming third in line to the crown, has been praised continuously these past few years for her thoughts on education and her actions towards immigration reform. Despite both the Duchess Tarquin and the Baron deWinter being strong contenders, His Majesty has not made clear who will ascend to the throne in his place; in fact, he refuses to answer any questions on the topic and will soon be leaving for America in the wake of this political turmoil, possibly to avoid any and all inquiries on the fate of the monarchy.

With rumors of a possible illegitimate heir circulating the internet as of late, His Majesty’s sudden departure comes off as nothing but suspicious. However, until such an announcement is made, the people are left in obscurity for the remaining months leading up to the next coronation.

+986,987 likes

twentyoneproblems posted this

@twentyoneproblems: o h my god?? WHY is he retiring he’s barely been in office for fourteen years that is NOT long enough

#genovia #new king #???? #im not ready #2016 just got worse +330 likes

beanman replied: he’s like fifty million years old and he only got the crown bc he was LITERALLY the only royal left maybe the pressure got to be too much for him

TinySmol replied: tbh idk if i’d be able to run a country after my entire family’s been slaughtered and yet this man does it for fourteen years i think we should give him some more credit +3 likes

yaegermanjensen replied: I’m gonna miss him so much omg ;( I’m not ready to let him leave me and my mom are actually crying rn +22 likes

@mierda: Lo voy a extrañar muchísimo ;; + 6 likes

@iluvJasperdeWinter: everyone needs to get over it lmao like he already made the speech so chill tf out. now that rufus is out of the picture we can finally get the deWinters in office and the country will FINALLY get turned around

#Jasper deWinter #deWinter family #make genovia great again #elitist party +47 likes

thefaultwithourgovernment replied: blocked

yaegermanjensen replied: blocked

celia_cutie replied: blocked

twentyoneproblems to @iluvJasperdeWinter: please do not start any #discourse on my page thnx

@iluvJasperdeWinter: you can block me but you can’t block out the truth

celia_cutie replied: b l o c k e d +7 likes

It all started on a Monday, as most tragedies do.

He knew it was a bad idea, he knew that he would get in trouble for it, but Callum Hunt wasn’t the type of kid who normally stressed about meaningless things like “rules” and how he should abide by them. If he wanted to do something, he did it--and in this case, pranking the superintendent’s daughter and sending her home with a ruined locker and a fair amount of emotional scarring was definitely worth the three weeks of detention he was facing.

Unfortunately the principal didn’t seem to think the same way he did, going by her expression. But what did she know? As far as Call’s concerned, this prank wasn’t even that bad . At least no one ended up in the hospital this time.

(“You should really apologize to Kylie Myles for what you did,” said Ms. Milagros. “She was crying.”

"She cried?,” he asked eagerly. “Did anyone get it on video? Can you send it to me?”)

You know, he thought he’d really gotten off the hook with this one when Milagros only sentenced him to 3 Saturday detentions and a call home to his father, but he honestly should’ve known better.

His dad didn’t drop the bomb on him until later.

“I called your Great Uncle Rufus,” Alastair told him over the dinner table that night. And Call, well, he’s never exactly gone pale from fear before (he’s Hispanic, there’s no way he’s turning white at any rate) but he definitely felt the blood drain from his face in a way that was sure to be noticeable.

His father continued calmly, “He’s apparently on his way to New York.” A pause. “He should be here by tomorrow.”

Call couldn’t help it. He spat out his coffee. Then immediately started coughing and hacking up a lung, while Alastair mildly held his newspaper out of reach of the mess dribbling across the table.

Havoc let out a small woof of concern, but Call was too busy dying to really comfort his wolf/husky puppy. “Uncle Rufus is coming here? Tomorrow?! Why??”

He barely looked up from his plate. “To see you.” And with that ominous note, got up to go wash the dishes. Call stared after him in abject horror.

When he told Tamara the next day during detention she didn’t exactly have the reaction he was expecting. All she said was, “Isn’t that the same uncle who pays for your tuition here?”

“Yes,” he said impatiently. She was totally missing the big picture here. “And the same uncle who’s paid for all of my surgeries, and the same uncle who gave me Havoc, and the same uncle who I haven’t spoken to in over five years, Tamara!”

When she continued to braid her hair in silence, Call draped himself over her desk. “Do you know why that is, Tamara? It’s because he’s evil , Tamara!”

“Oh no,” she said flatly. “And why is that?”

He glanced carefully around the room to make sure no one was listening.

“Because he's part of the mafia,” he whispered with certainty.

“What? ”

“It's true! There's so many clues. He's super rich but he hasn't worked a day in his life, he says he has a job in politics, but he’s never told me exactly what kind of job.” He threw his hands up in the air. “He has a private jet , Tamara!”

He dragged his hands through wild black hair, down his face, and then slapped the table with both palms. “He's probably here to try to initiate me into his gang and do underground drug runs or whatever to carry on the family name. Tamara, I cannot go to that meeting.”

“I think you’re just being dramatic,” she replied. “Besides, my parents own a private jet and they’re not evil.”

But that was different, because the Drs. Rajavi were actually world-renowned psychoanalysts so it made sense that they had a bunch of money. Nearly everyone at Magisterium High came from rich families, considering it was a private school smack dab in the middle of Manhattan, but Call wasn’t necessarily a “rich kid”, nor was he accessible to the mysterious inheritance his Great Uncle Rufus used to pay for his school costs. Call and Alastair just kind of did their own thing and got money from time to time like some weird form of child support. Besides that, he knew basically nothing about his uncle.

Which brought up the question: why exactly was his uncle coming to see him? His dad said it was because he kept getting sent to the principal’s office, but he knew that wasn’t true because when he got expelled from his last school his Uncle just sent him money to pay for tuition elsewhere. There had to be a reason why he suddenly wanted to be in his life again.

“This is what you get for putting a dead frog in Kylie Myle’s locker,” Tamara shrugged, and Call made an offended noise.

“I did it because she was making fun of you! Don’t I get any thanks for my sacrifices?”

“I can take care of myself. You, obviously, cannot.” Once she was satisfied with her hair, she turned to face him. With the combination of pigtails, a pinafore dress, and copious amounts of eyeliner she looked like some kind of demonic school girl.

“Anyway, enough about your weird uncle. Are you taking anyone to the dance?”

Call immediately sat up. He almost wanted to laugh, but Tamara was giving him a totally serious look and he realized that she was, in fact, not joking. “The winter formal? You act like I’m actually going.”

“That’s because you are going,” she told him. “Tamara Tells It Like It Is is doing a news story and discussion on the effects of social gatherings on the teenage psyche.” She gave him a Look. “And we need our camera man.”

He groaned. He was glad that Tamara’s public access TV show was gaining more traction, but he really really did not want to go to the dance. And if he did end up going, which he really did not want to, he would have to take someone with him. Because what kind of poor sap shows up to a school dance alone? Not Call.

So he put on his best fake smile and fluttered his eyelashes at his best friend. “Of course. Miss Rajavi, would you do me the honor--”

“No,” she said. Call deflated. “I already have a date.”

“What! No way.” She smiled secretly to herself and he gasped. “Who asked you?”

“All in due time, young grasshopper,” she said, patting his hair. “What we need to focus on is getting you a date. Now, I’ve compiled a list--”

“Miss Rajavi! Mister Hunt!,” a voice barked from the front of the room, and both students jerked in surprise. “If I catch you talking one more time I’m giving you another detention.”

They turned away from each other, pretending to work, but obviously started whispering again once the teacher’s back was turned.

“How did you even end up in here, anyway?,” Call asked curiously. It wasn’t like Tamara to get detentions. Or, to be exact, it wasn’t like her to get caught .

She rolled her eyes. “Someone tipped off the principal about the student walk-out on Friday and Milagros gave me two days for “attempting to disrupt class”.”

The door to the LRC opened and a blond head poked his way in. None of the other students paid any mind, except for Call, who’s eyes narrowed in suspicion as the boy approached the teacher’s desk and handed him a red folder.

“I bet you it was Stewart,” Call said darkly, inclining his head to the boy chatting amicably with the teacher. “He’s a snitch.”

“What? Aaron’s nice,” Tamara defended. She smiled and waved at the soccer player, and he waved back.

“Yeah, I know,” he agreed. “He’s super nice and tall and blond and plays soccer and never gets in trouble. People like that make me sick. ”

Aaron’s green eyes slid over from Tamara to meet Call’s glare, and his cheeks turned red. Yeah, he should feel embarrassed for telling on Call’s best friend. Call hoped he tripped on a banana peel or something. Tamara needs the justice she deserves.

“You are honestly ridiculous,” Tamara murmured under her breath. Then popped her gum.

January, Detention

 TAMARA’S ULTIMATE LIST OF POSSIBLE WINTER FORMAL DATES (with commentary by callum hunt)

• Gwenda (I would consider it, if she didn’t already hate my guts)

• Kylie Myles (YEAH ok) Why not? It could happen (yeah sure, “hey Kylie sorry I put a dead frog in your locker, will you go to the dance with me??” not happening, chica)

• Aaron Stewart (Tamara you’re not even trying)

• Alex Strike (??? Isn’t he dating your sister??)

• Kimiya Rajavi (I’d rather stuff rusty scissors in my ears, no offense) None taken

• Havoc (YES)

• Rafe (talks too much)

• Kai (talks too little)

• That One Creepy Girl Who Draws Pentacles In the Bathroom Stalls (...maybe)

• The Garbage Can in the Cafeteria (no, really, thank you. My self esteem is just ascending)

This is rigged. You didn’t even put enough people on here.

You literally don’t know anyone else.

Celia???

She’s not allowed. Besides, you don’t even know her last name.

What do you mean she’s not allowed? And yes I do, it’s...Johnson.

No, Call.

Smith? It has to be Smith.

Just stop.

Call caught a taxi after he was let out of detention and fiddled with the buttons on his blazer the entire way there. A few minutes later the taxi driver pulled up to the extravagance that was the Plaza Hotel.

Call hadn’t been here since his uncle’s last visit. Rufus always stayed here when he came to New York (he absolutely refused to stay anywhere else) which was as annoying as it was inconvenient.

At least he had the good sense to keep his uniform on. Last time he’d been there they refused to let him in because the owner of the hotel didn’t like baggy pants, and he’d had to call up to Uncle Rufus’ room to tell him he couldn’t come and see him. Of course, Uncle Rufus just asked to put the concierge on the phone, and seconds later they were apologizing like crazy and treating Call like a celebrity, which gave him a pretty good insight on how influential his uncle really was.

“Are you gonna sit there all day or what?,” barked the cab driver, making him jump. After handing him the money and mumbling an apology, Call exited the taxi and let out a long gust of air, trying not to feel too intimidated. Then he walked inside.

There were a lot more people on the inside compared to the outside. And it was more extravagant too; the entire room (if you could call it that) was swathed in gold from floor to ceiling, with intricate little diamond chandeliers dangling down like icicles across the main lobby. Call walked up to the front desk and tried not to marvel at his reflection in the polished tile underneath his beat up converse.

Once there he was greeted by a man with graying brown hair and watery blue eyes. Call blinked up at him. He looked important.

“Hi,” he said. “Are you the owner of the hotel?”

The man smiled kindly, but shook his head. “I’m not. My name is Joseph. I’m your Uncle’s...new assistant.” The smile turned wan. “Your Uncle Rufus is waiting for you in the restaurant. Please, come this way.”

He held his arm out like he expected Call to take it, which only made him mad. Just because Call was crippled, people tried to go out of their way to help him all the time. Most people would think of it as a nice gesture, but to Call it almost seemed condescending.

He decided right then and there that he didn’t like Joseph.

Joseph led him to and through the restaurant past tables full of Korean tourists who snapped pictures every five seconds, another few tables of German tourists who were talking very loudly, and finally to the very back corner of the room where a tall, dark-skinned man was sitting, face hidden behind a newspaper. Joseph cleared his throat.

“Your M- I mean, Mister Rufus,” he stumbled, but Call didn’t catch it. He was too busy staring at the man’s bald spot. “Your nephew has arrived.”

Uncle Rufus looked up. He didn’t smile, but he didn’t frown either. His expression stayed perfectly neutral, even as he examined Call up and down with a lazer-like focus.

“Thank you, Joseph,” he said in that deep, rumbling voice of his, and the man stepped off back from whence he came. Rufus nodded at him. “Hello, Callum.”

“Hi, Uncle Rufus,” he fidgeted with his sleeve. God, he hated this part.

Rufus gestured for him to sit. “You've gotten...somewhat taller,” he said, and Call scowled at the sly jab as he sat down. “And you're looking more and more like your father every day.”

He said that like he wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing.

“Thanks,” Call said, just to be annoying. “Your bald spot is looking shinier than ever.”

No reaction. Call mentally kicked himself. He needed to try harder.

They fell into a bout of silence. While Call floundered to think of something else to talk about, Rufus just stared at him cozily across the table. This was bad. If he didn’t say something soon he was going to get nervous and blurt out something stupid.

“Um,” he started. “Nice...hotel, right?” Too late.

Rufus gave a barely there smile and hummed. “The restaurant is beautiful, no?”

“I guess,” Call said, avoiding eye-contact. “But maybe you should’ve picked somewhere less..,” he made a vague gesture. “Froo-froo?”

Rufus raised an eyebrow. “What would be more to your tastes then?”

Call wasn’t sure if he was patronizing him or genuinely asking. To be safe, he said, “I dunno, I guess McDonald’s would be too chill for this sort of meeting. Do you like Apple-Bee’s?”

Rufus folded his newspaper up and handed it to a passing server. “No,” he said. “I like Pierre Gagnaire .”

“Never heard of that,” Call replied. He looked at the table and then frowned when he only saw napkins. “Where’s the menu?”

“I already ordered our food. I didn’t want to make you wait long. When was the last time you ate?”

Call thought about it. “I had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch.”

He frowned at that, looking troubled. “You had a what?”

“And some fries,” he added hastily. “And a cupcake.” Although it was originally Tamara’s, not his.

Rufus shook his head and muttered. “I pay twenty thousand dollars a year for that school and they give you peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? Unbelievable.”

“It’s not that bad,” Call interjected. “I mean, yeah, sometimes it’s frozen and you nearly break your teeth trying to bite through an ice-block of jelly, but it tastes good and it’s somewhat nutritious, so.”

He was interrupted as the waiter came around and placed their meals on the table. The man was extremely nervous and when he tipped the pitcher of water he almost spilled their drinks. The poor dude looked like he was on the verge of tears as he profusely apologized, but Rufus just waved him off.

Call was suspicious. That was typical Mafioso behavior if he ever saw one (he hadn’t).

The plate set in front of Call was steaming hot and looked like some sort of fancily arranged meat. He wrinkled his nose and Rufus noticed. He asked him what was wrong with the food.

“I’m vegetarian,” he told him truthfully. “Y’know. Herbivore. Eat plants, not living creatures.”

“Since when? You used to eat meat all the time when you were younger.” For some reason he seemed deeply offended by this. Like Call being vegetarian was an insult of the highest degree.

“Key word being younger . I’m fourteen now. A lot can change in a few years.” They’d been here for about twenty minutes now. Call was getting impatient. His leg kept jiggling under the table and bumping the drinks and he knew his Uncle was getting annoyed, but he couldn’t stop. He blurted, “Um, why am I here exactly?”

Rufus gave him a long look. So long in fact that it was making him nervous just from how silent and judgmental he was being.

“This was a test,” Rufus said after a moment. “And I’m sorry to say this, but you failed.”

Call’s heart nearly stopped, but he tried to play it off with a shrug. “Darn, that’s too bad. Will you at least curve the grade?”

“This is serious, Callum,” he said. Oh boy, here we go . “I was hoping that now you’ve started high school you would have matured a bit, but I see my expectations were...naught.”

Call bristled, but tried not to show it. “Sorry to disappoint you,” he said through gritted teeth.

His uncle watched him carefully for a moment. Call wasn’t nervous anymore, just angry. He hated how his uncle always saw the worst in him. It’s been like this ever since he was born. Ever since he came out of that hospital room with a shattered leg and all of Rufus’ shattered dreams of him being the perfect little rich boy he’d hoped for. It was like no matter what he did, he couldn’t please him.

Rufus said, “I suppose I’ll cut to the chase.” He sighed and set his own cup down, clasping his hands and fixing Call with a serious look. “Callum,” he said. “I am getting very old.”

“Yes.” Call agreed.

“Very soon I won’t be around to properly carry out my duties,” he continued carefully. “And...I think it’s time that you learn about your family history. Namely your mother’s.”

A hush seemed to fall over the room. Even the German tourists quieted some, like they knew the duo in the back of the restaurant were about to have a moment.

“My...mother.” The word felt foreign in Call’s mouth. When was the last time he even thought about her, his late mother? Alastair never mentioned her, neither did Rufus, and they were the only two family members left who knew her...or what happened to her.

“Fourteen years ago,” Rufus began. “My country, Genovia, was involved in a bitter war that took the lives of many people. The country was split in half on two opposing sides. Fear and murder rampaged across the land and few were spared from the cold clutches of death. A good number of those involved, unfortunately, were the royal family.

“We had a queen before then, a mighty ruler, but she perished along with her brother and cousins to the overlord known as Constantine.” Call felt a chill run up his spine at the name. “But for fourteen years my country has been without a proper ruler, and without the hopes of the people keeping the spirit alive, I’m afraid Genovia will begin to die.”

There was a pause. Call blinked. “Oh...I’m sorry for your loss?”

“That queen’s name was Sarah Novak von Rufus de la Iglesias,” Rufus said quietly. “Your mother.”

Call blinked again. “Oh.” Then he blinked two, three times more. “ Oh .”

Rufus waited calmly, letting the information sink in. But Call still wasn’t getting it. “Alright. So my mom was a queen,” he said a little distantly. He shrugged, but his heart wasn’t really in it. “Cool, I guess.”

He messed with the edge of the tablecloth, but Rufus still didn’t say anything, just stared at him. Call asked, “What?”

He sighed again (he was doing that a lot). “Don’t you understand what this means?”

“Uh, no?”

“It means,” he stressed. “That as of today, you aren’t Callum Hunt anymore.”

“I...” Call didn’t know how to respond to that. “ Okay . Then who am I?”

And then Rufus gave him this sad sort of look. He said, “You are Callum Hunt von Rufus de la Iglesias Novak, crown Prince of Genovia.”

A beat.

Huh.

Well.

That was...unexpected.

“A...prince,” he said slowly. “Me.”

And then he laughed.

It wasn’t a good laugh, not like a “wow you’re so funny” laugh or even a mildly alarmed chuckle-this was a laugh of pure panic. And when Call started panic-laughing, he couldn’t stop, because if he did stop then he would delve straight into anxiety attack territory, which he did not want to do at a fancy restaurant in front of a legion of German tourists.

“You,” he said between bouts of hysterical giggles, “are insane. I can’t be a prince .”

The man raised an eyebrow. “And why not?”

“B-Because!,” Call spluttered and gestured vaguely at himself. “I’m not ‘prince’ material. Look at me, I’m short and weird and I have a limp and bad hair, I’m terrible at sports and no one likes me. I can’t...”

He trailed off at the sympathetic look his uncle was giving him.

“I don’t know where these self confidence issues came from, but you shouldn’t think so badly of yourself,” said Rufus gently, making Call huff sarcastically. He plowed on, “You’re a smart young man and being athletic won’t dictate whether or not you’ll make a good ruler. And there’s nothing wrong with your hair.”

“That’s not...” He shifted uncomfortably in the fancy seat, suddenly extremely uncomfortable having this conversation in such a high class place. “Look. You can’t just tell me something like this and expect me to take it in stride. I need...time to process.”

“Most kids your age would be ecstatic to learn they were of royal descent!” Yeah, most kids. In case you didn’t know, Uncle Rufus, I am not most kids.

“And look at the bright side,” He pulled out a pamphlet from one of his giant coat pockets and slid it across the table to Call, who picked it up with shaking hands. It was a brochure, from what he could tell. A large marble white castle against a blue sky with the words “Visit Today!” scrawled in fancy script across the top.

“You’ll be able to have anything you’ve ever wanted, and more. Doesn’t that sound great?” He tried for a smile, but Call was staring blankly at the table. He wasn’t laughing anymore. “And of course you’ll also love Genovia. The castle grounds this time of year are very beautiful. We have stables and fountains and beautiful gardens. You’ll love living there, I promise.”

Call felt sick at the implication. “Hold on,” he said, voice shaking. “Are you-I can’t just move . I have friends here! And what about my dad? And Havoc?”

Rufus’ sorry excuse for a smile twitched. “You’ll be able to visit during the summer, not a big deal. And your father thinks it’s a great idea-”

Call was horrified. He knew his father had to be getting irritated with him (especially as of late with the whole expulsion and detentions thing) but would he really go as far as to sending him off to a different country? Well , he thought frantically in his mind, It seems so; you’re holding the evidence right here in your hands!

“-and I’m sure we can work out something to let your friends visit you,” Rufus was saying, but Call put a hand up to silence him.

“You know, you really have some nerve ,” he began, and his uncle’s smile fell away completely. "I can’t believe you thought you could just turn up out of nowhere and just-just expect me to pack up everything and leave. You haven’t even been in my life at all and now you just drop this bomb on me and decide to act like family when you want something from me?”

His voice was getting increasingly angrier and louder, he could tell, because the German tourists were starting to look over at their table and whisper.

Rufus, on the other hand, looked pained, which was the most emotion Call had ever seen from him in all of his life. A small dark side of his mind hissed, Good .

“Now Callum-” he started, reaching across the table to grab his hand, but Call jerked away as if he’d been burned.

“No. No, I don’t want to listen to you.” He shook in his seat. “You can take your money and all your fancy crap and go back to Genovia by yourself because I’m not going to play dress up for you.”

He could almost imagine Tamara cheering from the sidelines.

“Callum, listen to me,” he pleaded. “This is just as hard for me as it is for you. You have to understand my side of the situation-” Oh, so now he was trying to play the victim card? Seriously?

“Okay,” Call said, standing up. “That’s it. I’m going home.”

Rufus rose from his seat as well and frowned. “You can’t just run from your problems, Callum. And I know where you live. You won’t be going anywhere I won’t find you.”

“Then I’ll go somewhere else,” he said with conviction. And before anyone could stop him, Call turned around and sprinted out of the restaurant as fast as his leg would let him.

“Callum Hunt! ,” Rufus barked, but Call was already running across the restaurant, through the open doors and out into the lobby, nearly bowling over Mr. Joseph when he tried to stop him, then through the rotating glass doors and down the streets of New York.

He didn’t know where he was going. He just ran.

Chapter Text

TamTams: rehearsals at 7 don’t forget

[received 6:37 pm]

TamTams: r u still with ur uncle

[received 6:45 pm]

TamTams: ur coming right

[received 7:05 pm]

TamTams: ....Call.

[received 7:25 pm]

TamTams: ???

[received 8:07 pm]

TamTams: ??????

[received 9:24 pm]

 Night was approaching New York City and Callum Hunt was running down the street like a madman.

People ducked out of his way. Some even yelled at him to watch where he was going (couldn’t he see they were walking here? ), but the majority of them ignored his erratic behavior, because if there’s one thing that’s true about New Yorkers, it's that they mind their damn business. Call couldn’t have been more thankful for this fact as he nearly crashed headfirst into a newspaper kiosk and the only person who had anything to say about it was a homeless man who yelled "THE END IS NEAR" and dove headfirst into a nearby alleyway.

He couldn’t keep running forever though. His leg was already starting to ache and he hadn’t even made it off of fifth avenue yet. He needed to find somewhere to recuperate and fast before he passed out on the sidewalk from pain.

Unfortunately there wasn’t really anywhere he could go. He couldn’t go home, knowing that his Uncle Rufus was waiting for him-and he didn’t really have any other place besides there.

Well, he could go to Tamara’s house. She lived in one of those giant brownstones across from Central Park that had those fancy guards in white gloves that only let you in if you looked rich enough to be there (speaking from experience), so maybe if he called her and explained the situation she’d let him live in her house for the rest of time? Maybe?

But the more he thought about it, the less plausible it became. Knowing Tamara, she’d totally freak out over him being a prince and would probably want to interview him for her TV show. And it’s impossible to deny Tamara of something she wants, so he’d do it and it would end up on the news and then everyone at school would find out and-oh no, what if everyone at school found out about this?

His reputation would be ruined (because you couldn’t very well be a self-entitled bad boy if you were a prince, now could you?) and everyone would make fun of him and laugh because these types of things just didn’t happen to kids like Call. Kids like Aaron Stewart and Kylie Myles, sure, but not Call. He was too ugly and weird and stupid to be a prince. It was so hilariously ironic. He could be a meme .

Okay, so, back on the topic, Tamara definitely could not find out about this. No one could. Call promised himself right then and there that he’d take this secret with him to the grave .

Somehow he ended up in front of a 7 Eleven (he didn’t even know there was a 7 Eleven on fifth avenue? what?) and decided that going inside would probably be a better bet than ultimately freezing to death outside on the street. He just hoped that he wouldn’t run into anyone from school in there. That would be a nightmare.

Thankfully the shop was empty save for him and the person working the register, so Call made a beeline for the back shelves where they kept the drinks and grabbed five cans of iced coffee, then made his way to the front where he proceeded to dump them all onto the counter.

It wasn’t until he looked up at the cashier that he realized his greatest nightmare had come to life. In the shape of wispy blond hair and surprised green eyes.

“Oh,” said Aaron Stewart.

"No!,” yelled Call.

Of all the people to run into tonight, Call probably least expected Aaron goody-two-shoes Stewart to be one of them. He was standing behind the register in the standard 7 eleven uniform, complete with a stupid name tag that said “hi, my name is Aaron!” in a horrific display of comic sans, and a dumb black button up top underneath. He was even wearing a visor. A visor.

Call wanted to die. He seriously wanted to die.

Aaron, for his merit, didn’t seem to understand that he was the source of Call’s misfortune. “No?,” he echoed in confusion, eyebrows furrowing cutely.

Call pointed at him. “No,” he said, grabbed as many coffee cans as he could, said, “No,” again, then slowly backed out of the store, still pointing both fingers at the extremely bewildered cashier, “No.”

“Uh, you have to pay for that,” he heard, but then the automatic doors drowned out the other boy’s voice, and Call found himself outside once again, this time feeling significantly more harassed and carrying significantly more stolen items than when he had first walked in.

Why did his life suck so much.

There wasn’t really anywhere else to go, so Call sat on the curb. He stretched out his leg and cracked open one of the coffee things and took a long swig, frowning a bit at the taste. Now alone with his thoughts, he attempted to make sense of this situation.

If there was one thing he didn’t understand about this whole mess (amongst other things) it was how his Uncle (and his father, let’s not forget he was also an accomplice in this) somehow managed to keep this a secret from him for this long. Like, he’s been to Genovia. You’d think he would’ve noticed that he was the prince. Or at least that his uncle was the king .

Although...it sort of explained a lot of things. Like how Rufus had to travel everywhere in a limousine, or how every time they went to see a Broadway show they had to bring like five security guards along with them, or how whenever he visited Genovia he had to attend those stupid dinner parties at his uncle’s super huge mansion and sit still and not play with his food and use the proper silverware.

(Looking back on it, he realized that the ‘super huge mansion’ might have been the actual Genovian palace, and that old British woman that would come over sometimes and play pinnacle with him might have been the actual queen of fucking England)

Like, he knew it wasn’t necessarily normal for the average American family to own a vineyard in France, a summer home in Peru, and three private beaches along the coast of Japan, but he just thought his uncle was really rich. Not royalty .

Ten minutes into his existential crisis, he heard the automatic doors open again and footsteps approaching from behind. He sighed.

“You forgot to pay for-”

He threw a handful of quarters blindly behind him. They made loud pinging noises as they landed subsequently on the sidewalk.

“...ow.”

“I paid, so go away now,” he grumbled, refusing to look behind him. Then added, “Please,” as an afterthought.

Instead of being a normal human being and leaving when you’re told to leave, Aaron decided to sit down next to him on the curb. Call sighed again.

“Why are you here,” he said flatly.

Aaron replied, “I work here?”, and Call had to summon every bit of willpower not to roll his eyes directly into his head. “I mean, sort of. My foster parents own the store. I just like to come in sometimes after school to help out. I don’t really get paid though-”

“Fascinating. But I was talking about why you’re out here. With me.”

“Oh.” Surprise was evident in his voice. “Well, you looked like you needed someone to talk to.”

Call scoffed. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure you’re fine? Or are you just saying that to make me go away?,” he asked, and just as Call opened his mouth to affirm that, yes, he was perfectly fine, the worst possible thing that could happen in this situation happened.

He started to cry.

And not just a few little crocodile tears either, he started full out sobbing right there in front of the 7 eleven. Like, ugly sobbing. Loudly. People were staring at him as they walked past.

There should be an award for the amount of times a person can hit rock bottom in one night. Call would be a world champion.

Aaron seemed to have expected this and wordlessly handed Call a stack of napkins. Call didn’t even bother protesting. He blew his nose.

Surprisingly Aaron didn’t try to hug him or tell him everything would be okay (empty words. Nothing would ever be okay again), he just sat down a comfortable distance away on the curb and let Call cry it out. The only time he got up was when he went back to the store to flip the sign from “open” to “closed”.

“A-Are you allowed to do that?,” Call had asked between sobs.

“Probably not,” Aaron had said with a shrug, cracking open one of the coffee cans. “But I think this is a special case.”

When Call’s sobs finally calmed down enough to just hysteric sniffles with the occasional hiccup, the other boy held out an open bag of Cheetos to him as a peace offering.

“So...obviously something happened,” he said as Call took a handful and jammed like half the bag into his mouth. “You don’t have to tell me what if you don’t want to, but don’t try and tell me you’re fine when you’re clearly not fine.”

“It’s nothing,” Call said, rubbing violently at his nose. “It’s stupid.”

Aaron looked at him sympathetically. “It’s not stupid if it made you this upset. You can tell me.”

Why do you care? , Call wanted to shoot back, because, honestly, why would Aaron Stewart, captain of the soccer team, most popular kid in school, teen heartthrob of the ninth (and tenth) grade class, even waste his breath on someone like Call? Obviously he had some ulterior motives here. Maybe he was secretly recording this and would post it on Instagram as soon as Call left.

But instead of calling him out like he was supposed to, his traitorous mouth instead blurted out, “It’s just...something happened with my uncle.”

Aaron was clearly not expecting him to actually answer, so he appeared a bit taken aback for a moment before venturing, “Your uncle?” Then his eyes went wide. “Did he die? ”

I wish , he thought darkly, but then immediately felt bad about it. “No, he came to visit me. And...we had a fight.” Close enough. “Long story short, I found out he’s been lying to me my whole life and instead of apologizing , he tried to get me to do something to help him out, even though he’s barely been in my life, like, at all.” He gestured wildly, starting to get heated. “I mean, the nerve of him! He thinks that just because we’re family he can take whatever he wants from me like it’s nothing. Well, I’m tired of being nothing to him. If he wants my help he can go fuck off because he’s not finding any sympathy from me, that’s for sure. Fuck him.”

Aaron sat quietly through Call’s rant, eyes wide as he sipped steadily from his coffee can. When Call finished, he swallowed, closed the cap, and breathed out a long sigh that puffed out his cheeks.

“Honestly, I can’t relate at all to what you just said,” he began. “But your uncle sounds really shitty. Full offense.”

Woah, did Golden Boy just curse? Call eyed him in a new light. An approving one. He said, “He is shitty. He treats me like dirt every time he comes to visit. He just can’t accept the fact that I’m not going to be who he wants me to be. He can’t accept that fact that I’m a loser .” He kicked a pebble dejectedly into the road.

“I don’t think you’re a loser,” Aaron said. “I think you’re-pretty great.” He faltered and cleared his throat, cheeks pink for some reason.

Call huffed tiredly. “You don’t even know me.”

“Maybe not,” he said, stretching a little. His hair glowed silver under the streetlamp. “But I recognize a kindred spirit when I see one.”

And then he sighed and closed his eyes, raising his soda can into the air like he was offering it to the gods. “Life...is shit.”

Call let out a wet-sounding laugh. “I can toast to that.”

They clinked cans and took long swigs of their respective drinks. It was surprisingly...nice sitting out there with Aaron Stewart, listening to the honks and sirens of nighttime Manhattan. They shared the bag of Cheetos between them and people-watched for awhile. It was almost like a movie date. Only, Call’s pretty sure that Aaron brushing his fingers against his when they reached for the Cheetos at the same time was purely accidental. Pretty sure.

“You wanna hear my advice?,” Aaron asked suddenly.

He shrugged. “Go for it.”

“I think you should give him a chance.” Call scowled. He held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Listen, I’m not telling you to be the bigger person in this situation because, let’s face it, he’s the adult here and he should be taking responsibility for his own actions, but maybe if you do what he wants you to do, and do it well, maybe he’ll see you as more than just a failure.” He took a final sip of his coke. “And then when you have him completely won over, con the old coot for all he’s worth.”

A startled laugh broke out from Call so violently he had to support himself on the sidewalk. “Holy shit, I can’t believe you just said that. Am I really talking to Aaron Stewart right now? Or his evil twin?”

Aaron grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “I’m just full of surprises.”

"Yeah, no kidding." He eyed him. "I wonder why people always peg you as, like, super nice and overly happy. You're not really like that at all, huh?"

He shrugged. "That's what you get for being on the student council. And the soccer team. And being a boy scout." He smiled wryly. "People are always putting labels on other people without getting to know them first. They take one look at your appearance and slot you into a certain group in their minds. It gets pretty tiring, you know? Sometimes I wish I could just go somewhere where people wouldn't know me. Start over." He picked at his sleeve. "I mean, even you hate me, and I didn't even do anything to you."

Call scratched his neck sheepishly, suddenly feeling terrible. "You're right," he admitted. "But I can see now that I was wrong about you. You're pretty cool, I guess."

The way Aaron lit up, it was like Call had just told him he'd won the million dollar Powerball. "Thanks," he said, and he really did sound grateful. "You're pretty cool too."

They smiled at each other. Aaron's smile in particular was very nice (albeit a bit odd, why was he staring at him like that? was there something on his face?) and Call was so distracted by his freckles that he almost forgot the circumstances that brought them together like this.

That is, until his ringtone went off.

Both of them jumped. Call groaned and finally worked up the courage to check his phone. 38 missed calls and 12 unanswered texts. Yikes.

Aaron bumped his shoulder, looking concerned. “Everything okay?”

“Not in the slightest,” he muttered, then got up and stretched. “I think I’ve been out here long enough. I should head home before my dad calls the cops. Again.”

Aaron got up too. “I’ll walk you home.”

“Dude, I live in Greenwich, there’s no way I’m walking.” Also, he didn’t need a bodyguard to walk him home. He could take care of himself.

Golden Boy did not seem to like this arrangement, going by his scrunched up face (which was not cute, shut up brain) “But-”

“It’s okay. I’ll just take the bus, alright?” He waved and started walking off. “See you at school.”

He got a good distance down the street before Aaron called out, “Wait, uh, Call?" He turned around. “You know, if you ever need someone to talk to, don’t hesitate to come to me, okay? My door’s always open.”

He gestured at the 7 Eleven like it was a safe haven. Call couldn’t help but smile a little. What a goof. “Sure, Stewart. Bye.”

“Bye,” he said softly. Call walked off.

The second Call walked through the front doors of his apartment building, he was apprehended by the police.

Seriously. One second he was walking into the lobby, minding his own business, and the next thing he knew, he was being cuffed and interrogated by the fuzz like he’d committed some sort of felony. Which was totally unfair because he didn’t even do anything this time.

At least they were nice about it. They asked him a few questions about why he’d run off (which he didn’t answer), where he’d been for the past two and a half hours (didn’t answer that either), and why he hadn’t come back home when he’d seen that an Amber Alert had gone out for him nearly an hour ago.

To which he replied “...oh, shit.”

He was even more fucked than originally perceived.

For the record, Call was totally expecting the roasting of a lifetime when he walked into his kitchen after being escorted up the elevator by four police officers and the old lady from 23C (Mrs. Jenkins never could mind her business. A shame). He just didn’t expect to get it from two adults at the same time.

“Call, there you are,” Alastair exclaimed, racing around the table to entrap his son in a bone-crushing hug. “What were you thinking ? You could have been kidnapped or murdered or worse -”

Over his shoulder, Call saw Uncle Rufus sitting regally (associating him with that word now had a totally new meaning, ugh) at the kitchen table in a fur coat and Alastair’s fuzzy novelty pink slippers and if that sentence didn’t seem strange to you, then you need to get your eyes checked because Call was pretty sure he was hallucinating.

Even in fuzzy slippers he looked like royalty, jeez. Again, Call felt the sudden urge to smack himself for not figuring this out sooner, but, to be fair, the Wikipedia article on the royal family needed some serious updating if he couldn’t even recognize his own uncle on the front page.

“So,” said Rufus, placing his hands calmly down on his lap (even though Call knew he was anything but calm, going by the twitching eyebrow), “Can you, in any way, give us a perfectly logical explanation for your actions tonight?”

A long beat of silence. This was turning out worse than he thought. Both of them were giving him the Parental Stare Down™ and he was starting to feel nervous.

Con the old coot , his brain whispered to him, imitating Aaron’s voice. Shut it , he whispered back, then straightened up. He had a plan. It was a very good plan, too. He thought of it on the bus ride to his apartment.

Call marched right over to Uncle Rufus and slammed his hands down on the table, fixing him with a hard stare. “I would like to propose a compromise.”

“A compromise?,” he repeated. Both him and Alastair looked marginally shocked. They probably didn’t even know Call knew the meaning of the word compromise.

He wouldn’t let that stop him though. He nodded stiffly. “I don’t like you,” he told Rufus truthfully. “You lied to me and you’ve been a general butt to me for a long time and I’m really mad that you kept something this big from me for all these years.” Rufus opened his mouth, but Call held up a hand to silence him. “ However , I know you well enough to know that you won’t leave me alone until you get what you want, so I’m willing to cooperate a little bit. Instead of moving to Genovia, I’m going to stay here and finish high school. I’m allowing you to stay in New York and teach me all there is to be a prince or whatever, but, by March, if I still don’t want to do it, I’m going to publicly renounce my status.”

Rufus’ eyebrows shot up into his non-existent hairline. “Who told you about renouncing?”

“Wikipedia,” he said smugly, holding up his phone. “And you know what else it told me? It said that there’s already someone in line to take the throne if I do renounce, so you can’t give me any crap about not having someone to fill in for me.” Mic. Fucking. Drop.

Alastair muttered something about medication and disappeared into his room. Rufus stared at Call like he’d just dropped off the face of the moon.

“You know, you’d be a great lawyer,” he said after a moment’s pause. “You could probably get into Yale.”

“I’m not going to college,” Call told him. “I’m dropping out of high school to join Greenpeace when I turn eighteen.”

Alastair returned just as Rufus was saying, “What the hell is a Greenpeace?,” with like five Advils and two powerades. He offered one to Rufus who, surprisingly, took it.

“Of course, if you are going to stay behind and tutor me, I require some compensation for the foreseeable hours of endless torture...” He calmly examined his nails.

Rufus sighed through his nose and muttered something in Spanish, then took out his wallet. “How much do you want?”

“A hundred. Every week-no, every day ,” Call said eagerly. “In cash. And a new collar for Havoc, preferably diamond-encrusted.

“Callum Hunt ,” Alastair hissed.

“What? He can afford it! He’s a king .”

“Is that all?,” Rufus cut into their growing argument. He looked extremely exhausted. Call only felt a little bit guilty about that. Just a little. “Why couldn’t you have decided this before running off? We were worried sick.”

You mean my dad was worried, don’t try to appeal to my emotions, old man , Call thought nastily. Out loud he said, “Oops?"

Alastair clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I’m proud of you for taking responsibility, son,” he said. Then, “Also you’re grounded until college.”

Havoc chose this heart-warming moment to deposit a dead bird onto the living room floor. Call, as his owner, was forced to clean it up, which pretty much goes to show that even if you suddenly become a prince overnight, some things never change.

“I need to make a business call,” Rufus said tiredly, then rubbed the bridge of his nose and shook his head as he left the room. Call counted that as a win.

Royalty_watch posted:

[image of stylishly dressed boy in sunglasses departing from a private jet terminal, carrying luggage]

@Royalty_watch: #jasper dewinter is on the move! Wonder what he’s doing in New York??

#deWinter family #genovia #royalty #JFK airport

Load comments [389]

Yammitogo: bet you he’s meeting up with King Rufus

Heyayaeyahe replied: DUH

ggM8 replied: ughughugh what are they doinggggg i need to knowwww

imlikeT-T: he’s so hot omfg i love the new highlights!! <3

Ew: ew.

Maya_M: why does he look so pissed off lmao

imlikeT-T replied: natural state of being

Lolrandum: FIRST!

TamTams: ....Call

[recieved 9:55 pm]

TamTams: why were you hanging out with aaron stewart at the convenience store in the middle of the night?

[recieved 9:55 pm]

Call: .....

[delivered 9:56 pm]

Call: THAT SNITCH

[delivered 9:57 pm]

Chapter Text

January

At around three in the morning, Call was woken up by a series of texts blowing up his phone.

Unknown: Hi

[Received 3:43 a.m]

Unknown: Just wanted to make sure you got home safely 🙂

[Received 3:43 a.m]

Unknown: I got your number from Tamara, hope that’s okay

[Received 3:43 a.m]

Unknown: I’m not a stalker I swear lol

[Received 3:43 a.m]

Unknown: 😊

[Received 3:44 a.m]

Unknown: This is Aaron btw

[Received 3:44 a.m]

He squinted at his phone for a full minute, blocked the number, then went back to sleep.

[January, 5:27 am]

@JasperDeWinter posted:

[image of a stylishly dressed boy frowning at the camera, a glass of apple juice in one hand and the interior of a private jet visible in the background]

@JasperDeWinter: When the American flight attendant won’t serve you wine because you’re “underage” 😒 #rant #jasperdewinter #nyc #thefoodwasblandaswell #america #whatdoyouexpect #royalty #elitistparty

Load comments [117,097]

seasidebrew: what does this say +8,896

Simply_kaya replied: idk i dont speak rich asshole +5,342

Rightinfrontofmysalad: so America isn’t good enough for you? Wow, thanks jerk. +113

hihipuffy: he never smiles in his photos tf +45

Alovelyday: Welcome to America, Jaz! Hope you have a wonderful time!!! +11,097

imlikeT-T: i’m quaking he’s so cute omfg PLEaSe father my children <3 <3 <3 +1,209

Uberwhy replied: PLEaSe shut up +12

Downwithvegans: Caption should be: on the way to steal ur bitch +133

bbb replied: *on the way to fiscally damage your country +435

January, At The Loft

When Call woke up the next morning, he felt more refreshed and well-rested than he had in months. His skin was clear, his leg didn't ache as much, even his hair was sort-of-not-really cooperating enough for him to brush it without promptly snapping his comb in half. Today was going to be a good day. There was no doubt in his mind.

That was, until he walked into the kitchen.

“Ah, good morning, Callum,” Uncle Rufus said in his usual baritone voice (Call jerked out of his sleepy state so fast he nearly sprained his eyelids) “I take it you slept well?”

Suddenly, all of the events from last night came crashing down like a tidal wave of doom. He remembered going to the Plaza, Uncle Rufus telling him he was a prince, running away, spending all night at 7 Eleven with Aaron Stewart of all people and crying and holy shit Call cannot believe he actually cried like that in front of one of the most popular boys in school is he actually insane— 

He may say this a lot...but he wanted to die. Like, for real this time. Would it be too late to go back upstairs and pitch himself off the balcony?

As he stood there staring at the wall and regretting all of his life choices, his dad slunk into the kitchen with hunched shoulders like he half expected Uncle Rufus to yell at him for being there, even though it was his own house. Well, Rufus paid the rent, so technically it wasn't his apartment, but Uncle Rufus hated the Loft so much that he'd probably be offended to be associated with it. Mostly because he thought they could do better. Apparently a little artist’s loft in Greenwich wasn’t fancy enough for him and his father, and he never went a single visit without offering to pay for somewhere nicer. Call liked it though. There were lots of windows and a big winding staircase that led up to the top floor, where Call’s room was. And even though it was total murder on his leg, it was probably the coolest room in the apartment complex. Like a tower, almost. 

Ironic, now that he thinks about it. A tower fit for a prince.

He could totally tell his dad was trying to be fancy for Rufus, because he’d actually woken up before noon to set the table, which he never did on weekdays. He'd even put out the plastic K-mart plates and switched out the red solo cups with actual cups, which they only used for special events like birthdays or when they hosted marathons of America’s Next Top Model.

“This house is a mess,” Rufus commented idly, and the two of them flinched. “I could recommend you a maid service if you find cleaning to be too daunting of a task. I know how busy you get at the shop. Or perhaps a nanny. I’m sure Callum would benefit from having a stable influence in the home.”

Translation: Maybe if you got a real job instead of wasting your time tinkering with cars, you’d be able to focus on setting a good example for your son.

“We weren’t exactly expecting company,” Alastair said through clenched teeth, and Call had to admire his restraint. It was probably taking all of his willpower not to cuss the man out. “You’ll have to excuse the mess.”

Translation: Can’t you see you’re not wanted here? Just go back to your fancy hotel room and leave us alone you old coot.

The tension in the room was palpable. Alastair and Rufus had never really gotten along, even when Call was younger. From what he could tell, Rufus hadn’t approved of his mom and dad’s relationship, but they’d gone out together behind his back anyway. And then she’d gotten pregnant, which made him even more mad. It almost soothed Call, knowing that Rufus was a bigoted and controlling piece of shit even back then. It also explained why he didn’t seem to like Call much. Children born out of wedlock were probably his worst nightmare.

And wasn’t that something? Just realizing that his father, Alastair Hunt, managed to seduce a freaking queen, was mind blowing. Not because he was ugly—far from it, actually. Unlike Call, Alastair was actually good looking. His hair wasn’t tangled and impossible to comb through; it was all nice and straight and silky, and it was tied up in a low ponytail that looked way too good for a man nearing his late thirties. His features weren’t weirdly sharp and intense; they were chiseled and rugged, and made him look like a movie star. Seriously, if his dad wasn’t so socially awkward, Call would probably have like three step-moms by now.

“I made waffles,” he said when Call just hovered awkwardly in the doorway. “With syrup and m&m’s. And those little rainbow sprinkles you like.”

Call squinted distrustfully, keeping an eye on Rufus, who was busy folding his newspaper into four neat sections. “And whipped cream?”

“I can get it for you if you like,” he said, looking all too happy to vacate the premises. “Go on. Sit.”

Call approached the table cautiously.

“Sit down, child, I don’t bite,” Uncle Rufus said as Alastair practically evaporated from the dining area. “How did you sleep?”

“Why are you here?,” he blurted out.

Rufus had the nerve to shoot him the Evil Eye, as if that wasn’t a valid enough question to be asking. He said, “I didn’t spend the night, if that’s what you’re worried about. I had to return to the Plaza to greet one of my students.”

Okay. That’s not what he asked, but okay. “That’s nice, but you didn’t answer my question. Why are you here?” As in, in his house, at seven in the morning, wearing a suit. What kind of psychopath wears a suit at seven in the morning?

“You’re as cranky in the mornings as I remember,” he muttered, then louder: “I wanted to speak with you before school started, if that’s alright with you?”

Normally this wouldn’t be a problem, but Call was feeling a little bit rude today. Well, ruder than usual. 

“No thank you,” he said, grabbed a carton of milk out of the fridge and started walking backwards out of the kitchen. “Now if you’ll excuse me—” 

“Callum.” Rufus’ voice was quiet and serious. “Sit.”

Call sat.

Breakfast was an awkward affair. Alastair and Call tried their very best to carry on as normal, but Rufus being there made them act all stiff towards each other, like one wrong move would provoke his uncle into chopping off their heads full queen of hearts mode.

Uncle Rufus cleared his throat. “So,” he began. “It is to my understanding that you have a school dance coming up.”

Call paused, face filled with waffles. “Wha?”

His uncle made a disgusted face, but plowed on, “School dances are a great way to meet new people.” He cleared his throat a second time. “Any special ladies you plan on taking?”

Was this actually happening right now? Was he actually having this conversation with Rufus of all people? “Um...no.”

“Well, why not?”

“Because I don’t plan on going?”

“I thought you said Tamara was forcing you to go?,” his dad said, like the total traitor he was.

Rufus sat up and tried for a very weak-looking smile. “What about Tamara?”

“What about Tamara?”

“Very nice girl. Comes from a well-standing family.” He raised an eyebrow at Call’s growing horror. “I think she would be a good fit, don’t you agree?”

Call stood up fast. “I’m not having this conversation,” he told him firmly, then fled the room. Uncle Rufus’ confused ‘what did I say?” echoed behind him as he ran into the bathroom and dead-bolted the lock, then rested his forehead on the mirror and groaned loudly. God, why was everyone so embarrassing.

He emerged a few minutes later in uniform and slightly less disheveled looking, practically dragging his feet in dread. Rufus had migrated back to the kitchen and was sipping on oolong tea while Alastair was attempting to astral project to another dimension while keeping an expression of polite interest. His father was a talented man.

“Better,” Rufus told him. “Not good, but definitely better. We’ll work on your overall appearance later on today during your, ah, lessons.”

“Wait.” Call swallowed his mouthful of milk, wiped his mouth, and coughed a little. “Lessons? No one said anything about lessons.”

“You said, and I quote, that you are “allowing me to teach you all there is to be a prince or whatever”.” Great, now he was quoting. Call hated when he did that. “Unless this is you voiding our compromise. In which case, I’d like to have my money back.”

No way in hell, old man, he thought viciously. “Okay. Prince lessons, fine. Whatever. I’m not gonna have to, like, balance books on my head and junk. Right?” When no one said anything, he snorted. “Seriously? Is this a joke?”

“This is no laughing matter,” Rufus said seriously. “Completing these lessons and becoming someone the citizens of Genovia can look up to is the least you can do for your country.” Oh boy, now he was breaking out the patriotic bullshit. “I expect to see you at the Plaza no later than four thirty. Don’t be late.”

“What exactly are you going to be teaching me at these ‘lessons’?”

“Oh, I’m not going to teach you. One of my delegates flew out from Genovia last night. He will be teaching you all you need to know.”

A very clear vision of some mustachioed British dude with a monocle who said ‘very good, sir’ a lot appeared in Call’s imagination. “Oh joy.”

“I’m sure you’ll get along swimmingly,” Rufus dismissed.

He sighed hard. Alastair looked on pityingly over the rim of his mug.

“You should probably start heading out,” he told him. “You don’t want to miss your train.”

"Mmph," Rufus swallowed his tea with difficulty and waved his hand. "No need for that," he said. "Stanley can drive you."

What.

“Stanley?” He blinked. Slowly. “You mean the limo driver? You want me to take the limousine to school?”

“Is that a problem?,” Rufus asked innocently.

“Yes, it’s a problem! It’s a huge problem!” Call threw his hands up in the air. “Uncle Rufus, what if someone sees me?”

Not to mention what they would do if they saw him. Call was well aware of how jealous the kids at his prep school could get, especially if you were richer than them. Just take Tamara for example. The fact that her parents could even afford to live on 5th street meant that she got picked on daily, no matter how popular she was. Imagine what they would do to Call, who wasn’t popular at all. The results could be catastrophic.

But Rufus wasn’t having it. He said, “Does it matter? Honestly Callum, all Stanley is doing is dropping you off and picking you up. It’s not like he’s tailing you from class to class.”

Call looked to his father for help, but the man was astral projecting again, which meant that he probably wasn’t going to say anything. He’d never felt more betrayed in his life.

“But if I take a limo to school they’ll laugh at me,” he argued. “What kind of rich asshole shows up to high school with an escort?”

Rufus frowned at the language but stated simply, “This is your only option. Your safety is very important to us and the odds of someone coming after you now are higher than before. And sit up when you speak to me, boy, you look undignified.”

Groaning internally, Call shifted in his seat until he was no longer slouching.

“Fix your hair as well, I can’t even see your eyes,” he continued, and Call opened his mouth to protest. “Talking over the King while he is speaking is an offence punishable by death.” (Call snapped his mouth shut) “Good. Now, this afternoon, same time, be there. And...” He gestured vaguely. “Please make an effort to look at least somewhat decent.”

He wasn’t getting out of this, was he? “But I meet up with Tamara every morning to take the subway,” he whined.

Rufus waved him off. “Stanley can pick up your little friend, too.” Then he turned back to the newspaper.

Stanley was a tall, stone-faced man of no discernible age and no discernible race who hid his eyes behind thick sunglasses. He stared silently down at Call when he approached the car. No smile or anything. Maybe he was a robot.

“Hi,” said Call.

“Good morning, Your Majesty,” the man said tonelessly. Call winced.

“Just Call is fine.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” He stepped aside and opened the door to the limo for him. Call begrudgingly got in and tried to ignore his neighbors’ stares.

Spoiler alert: It didn’t work.

Explaining the limousine to Tamara probably took the cake as one of the hardest lies Call has ever told.

She had endless questions and absolutely no mercy as a budding journalist, and despite Call being her best friend, he wasn’t spared from her wrath. By the time they got to the first stoplight, he was seriously contemplating jumping out of the car.

Don’t get him wrong, she totally ate up his excuse. Something about his uncle going through a midlife crisis because he never fathered any children, and Call being the closest thing to a son he had, and how he seemed intent on spending as much money on him as possible to win his affection. He supposed it wasn’t too hard of a thing to believe, since she was pretty much going through the same thing with her own father at the moment.

“It was like as soon as Ravan went missing, he was convinced me and Kimiya were going to vanish into thin air if he didn’t buy us solid gold toilet seats or something.” She applied another coat of lipstick, using the mirror Stanley had so thoughtfully provided for her, and miraculously didn’t smear it all over her face when they hit a bump in the road. “Not that he did buy us solid gold toilet seats, but he totally would if I asked him. I wonder if I’ll get a bigger cut of the inheritance if Kimiya gets kidnapped too.”

For reference, Ravan, Tamara’s eldest sister, didn’t actually get kidnapped, she just ran off and got eloped with her boyfriend in Cambodia a couple of years back without telling her parents. It kind of explained why Mr. Rajavi didn’t like Call all too much. He probably thought that Call wanted to get eloped with Tamara in Cambodia, too.

Which was stupid, really. It wasn’t like Call liked her like that anymore anyway.

He was just glad Tamara was still talking to him. When he’d first pulled up, she’d been pretty mad about him not showing up to last night’s recording, and then demanded to know why he was hanging out with Aaron Stewart instead, and if it somehow connected to the limo thing, to which he replied, of course, with another lie. It seemed like that was all he ever did now. Like a default setting.

Probably not a good moral standpoint if he was going to be a prince.

“I wasn’t going to ask,” she said as they drove through another stoplight, “But are you okay? You’re quiet. You’re never quiet, unless you’re thinking about something. Which, no offense, you don’t really do often.”

Only Tamara could insult him while trying to comfort him. He told her, “I’m fine. It’s just family issues. You know...”

“What, your uncle? What did he do this time?” When he didn’t respond, she surprised him by actually putting down her lipstick and turning to look at him straight on. She didn’t do that often. Tamara’s mind was always going at a mile a minute and it took a lot of effort to focus on one thing.

Especially if that thing was Call.

Anyway, she was like, “Look, Call, I love you, but your Uncle Rufus is obviously taking a huge toll on your emotional well-being. You can’t keep letting him walk all over you like this. You’re fourteen now, that’s practically an adult. You have to take charge of your own life. Be more assertive.”

He blinked. “What? I’m totally assertive. I’m, like, the most assertive person in the world.” He didn’t tell her that he didn’t know what the word assertive meant. He didn’t want to look stupid in front of her (again).

“Not with him. Never with him. He’s always forcing you to do things you don’t want to do. That can’t be healthy.” 

That was kind of true actually. Call had very specific childhood memories that included him being forced to attend fancy dinners or go places that required a suit, a tie, and way too much cheek-pinching from rich older ladies, and how much his uncle insisted on making him go despite how much seven year old Call clearly hated it. 

“But that’s normal, isn’t it?,” he asked. “Didn’t your parents do the same thing with you and your sisters?”

“Well, yes, but that was my dad. He’s your uncle. Besides, I liked dressing up, you obviously didn’t. It’s wrong to force a kid to go through that. It can mess them up for life.”

He didn’t say anything. Instead, he looked out the window and watched the buildings going past. Some curious tourists stared at the limousine, probably wondering if someone famous was inside of it.

“Hey,” her voice broke the silence. “If something really bad was going on, you’d tell me right? I mean.” She pursed her lips. “We’re best friends and best friends tell each other everything.”

Call swallowed down the guilt. He really didn’t deserve a friend like her. 

“I told you I’m fine.” He smiled falsely. “Trust me. I’m an open book.”

January, Study Hall

TAMARA’S ULTIMATE LIST OF HOTTEST CELEBRITIES (with commentary by callum hunt)

Megan Fox: (Do I even have to say anything? She’s like every teenage boy’s wet dream) Wow, I did not need to know that. (You asked. 10/10)

Tom Holland: (Listen, just because I had a crush on him like two years ago doesn’t mean I still do. He gets a 9/10, but ONLY because Spiderman is my favorite superhero. No other reason.)

Rihanna: (Um, duh. 10/10)

Matt Damon: (Matt Damon? more like Matt Demon , he looks like a freaking lopsided potato. 0/10)

Aaron Stewart: (He’s not even a celebrity get away from me)

George Clooney: (I feel like I’d get in trouble for saying he’s hot since he’s like five hundred million years old so I’m just gonna go with 5/10 to be safe)

Jasper DeWinter: (Okay, you got me, I have no idea who this is) All you need to know is that he’s from one of those corrupt families that have too much money and power to be sensible and yet every teenage girl in America worships the ground they walk on. Kind of like the Kardashians, except more politically influential. (Noted. 5/10 for supposed assholery).

Reese Witherspoon: (Reese reminds me of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups so she automatically gets an extra point from that alone. However, the word “witherspoon” invokes deep-sated feelings of anger and discomfort for unknown reasons and I don’t trust it. -1.5/10)

How exactly is this supposed to help me find a date for the dance. 

It’s not, I was just bored.  

You want me to show up with the trash can, don’t you? 

Well, you’d certainly make a cute couple. 

Again, thanks for the vote of confidence.

Upside of dating Callum Hunt: you’ll always be the hot one.

I’m breaking up with you Tamara.

After convincing Stanley to drop them off two blocks away from the school gates (and spending the entire walk down those two blocks worrying that someone saw them get out of the limo), Call’s day went by pretty uneventfully. Well, sure he took an Algebra test he’s pretty sure he failed and Rafe almost threw up on him at lunch, and Kylie Myles’s boyfriend tripped him in the hallway for “messing with his girl” and stole his book bag (again), but all of that stuff was normal for him. Besides, he totally beat the shit out of the kid and got his book bag back, so it was all good.

That being said, things didn’t start to get interesting until P.E. And when he says interesting, he means absolutely terrible. Whoever decided that gym class should be a requirement in the American education system has a special place in hell reserved just for them.

“Alright ladies, head out to the field,” Coach Graves, a burly man with a thick mustache (who most definitely peaked in high school) yelled out to the group of boys. “We’re playing soccer today, so grab a ball and find a partner.”

A collective groan rose up from the group. Call rolled his eyes.

From this spot on the hill, he had a clear view of the other boys as they ran around kicking balls in these garish yellow T-shirts and baby blue shorts. Call was the only one allowed to wear jeans. He was also the only one allowed to sit out during certain exercises. A lot of people considered it lucky that he didn’t have to fully strip down in front of everyone else and run around chasing a stupid ball for 45 minutes. Not Call though. He hated it.

“You don’t even need to sit out every class, you can walk fine,” Kylie Myles had said to him once on the way to the locker rooms, her perfect blond ponytail tied up in a blue ribbon and her pretty face curled up in annoyance. “Just stop milking it already. It’s totally not fair for the rest of us if you’re the only one.”

I don’t want to be the only one, he’d wanted to yell at her. I want to play just like the rest of you.

Instead, he’d flipped her off and marched into the building, fuming. It wasn’t his fault; it was the school board and the nurse and all the other adults who thought he was too handicapped to participate in a simple game of dodge ball or climb a rope or do a freaking push up. If anything, it wasn’t fair to him.

Maybe if he were someone like Tamara, he could rally for his rights or whatever. Yell at a government official. Start a go-fund-me page. Change things. Maybe if he were more assertive.

A shadow passed over his spot on the grass. He looked up, annoyed.

Aaron Stewart stared down at him, red-cheeked and blond hair soaked with sweat. Call’s expression soured even more.

“Hey,” he said.

“What do you want,” Call replied.

Aaron looked taken aback. “I just wanted to say hi.”

Angry, Call turned back to picking at the grass. “Well, you said it, congratulations. Leave me alone.”

But Aaron didn’t leave him alone. Almost exactly mirroring last night, he plopped down next to him on the grass. “Are you okay?”

Call didn’t dignify that with a response. He sat back on his hands and stretched out his legs, watching the other boys kick the soccer ball around in the brisk air. On the other side of the field, the girls were playing lacrosse and getting really intense with it. Earlier, one girl got a lacrosse stick to the face and had to be sent to the nurse. Call was just glad he wasn’t on that side of the field. Girls were terrifying.

“So, how did things go with your Uncle last night?,” Aaron asked quite suddenly. Despite the cold air, his shirt stuck to his skin and Call had to look the opposite way because it was too distracting. “Did you take my advice?”

“Sort of,” he admitted stiffly. He tugged at a few strands of grass. “Why aren’t you playing soccer?”

“I play on the varsity team. Why would I subject myself to more of it?” He laid down on his back, arms bent behind his neck. Closed his eyes. “And I wanted to talk to you some more. If that’s okay.”

Call pursed his lips, then shrugged. “I don’t mind. But don’t blame me when your reputation gets shot to pieces because your student council buddies saw you hanging out with me.”

He gestured over to the group of boys standing around by the goalposts, who were shooting the two of them suspicious looks and whispering. 

Aaron didn’t seem to care all that much, if his lack of reaction was anything to go by. “I mean, they kind of already gave me crap for coming over here, so.”

Call raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Really.” He nodded gravely. “They said if I hang out with them I can’t be seen talking to you. Since it might hurt their chances of getting re-elected or whatever.”

“Well, those guys are jerks,” he decided.

Aaron didn’t smile this time. He didn’t have much of an expression on his face. “Yeah. They are.”

“Why do you hang out with them, then?”

He shrugged and picked at the grass. “I dunno. I don’t really have anyone else to hang out with.”

Call blinked three times in rapid succession. “What? How? You’re like, popular.”

Aaron gave him a funny look. “Not really. You have to be friends with a lot of people to be popular, right? Well, I actually just moved here. At the beginning of the year. I guess you didn’t know that.”

Call, in fact, did not know that. He had a habit of not really paying attention to things that didn’t directly affect him. “Oh. Where did you move from?”

“Virginia. And then California before that. I’m used to it, though. I move around a lot.”

“Oh.”

He inclined his head over to the group of boys. “Those guys over there were the first ones to talk to me when I first moved here,” he said awkwardly. “I mean—they kind of had to? They’re part of the ambassadors club, which means that they have to make new students feel welcomed or whatever.”

Call nodded, not sure why he was being told this. “Yeah.”

“And I never really made friends so I just—kind of got stuck with them. I joined the student council because they were in it and I wanted to fit in, but.” He took a breath. “They’re kind of—they’re kind of awful. They only really talk to me during meetings and I sit with them at lunch, but I feel like they don’t really like me? Like, I feel like they’re just putting up with me because they have to.”

Call opened his mouth, but Aaron kept going.

“I move around so much that by the time I make friends I’m already packing to go to a different state. At this point I’m kind of used to just hanging out with kids I don’t really like, but.” He gestured wildly. “It gets kind of tiring? Like—not really having someone to talk to. And I talk to them sometimes, but. They don’t really care about what I have to say.”

That last part he finished off miserably. Call was quiet.

Aaron let out a huge breath of air and then turned to smile shakily up at him. “Sorry, that came out of nowhere. I didn’t mean to dump my problems on you or anything.”

“Dude, you literally saw me cry my eyes out last night. It’s fine,” he said, and was surprised to find that it really was fine. “Why do you hang out with them if you think they’re so awful?”

“They’re all I have,” he told him. “It’s better to have some friends than have no friends at all, right?”

Call made a face. “That’s stupid. If you don’t like them, don’t be friends with them anymore.”

Aaron shook his head, picking at the grass again. “It’s not that simple.”

In the distance, the coach’s whistle blew, signifying the end of the period. As one, the students began making their way back to the locker rooms. Aaron got up and held out a hand to help him up. After a moment of deliberation, Call took it.

“You should sit with us at lunch tomorrow,” he offered as they reached their lockers. Aaron’s was across from his and he paused in the middle of slipping off his shoes to give Call an incredulous look.

“You have room at your table?” There was a defensive note to his voice, like he thought he might be messing with him.

Call pulled his shirt over his head and said, “No, but we can always kick Rafe out. Nobody likes him anyway.” He heard Aaron snort and tried to catch his eye over his shoulder, but the other boy was busy staring intently at the lockers like he was trying his very best to avoid looking in Call’s direction entirely. “So, will you?”

“I don’t know. What if they think I’m...weird?”

“Trust me, you’re probably going to be the least weird one there,” he said, shrugging on his blazer. He thought he heard a soft “doubt it” from Aaron, but by the time he turned fully around the other boy was dressed and slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder. 

He looked so unsure of himself as he stood there, messing with the strap of his bag, that Call walked over and clapped a hand on his shoulder. He jumped. “Aaron. I offered. That means I want you to sit with us. Okay?”

“I—okay.” It took a moment, but a smile began to form on his face. A genuine smile. And it was like the sun gradually making its way out behind storm clouds. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

“Totally.” He removed his hand and scratched the back of his neck, feeling embarrassed. 

“Cool.”

Thankfully, when Call walked into the Plaza, Mr. Joseph wasn’t there this time. Instead, a young boy with twitchy blue eyes was waiting for him.

“G-Good afternoon, Your Majesty,” the boy squeaked with all the grace and poise of turkey thirty seconds away from getting its head chopped off. “T-The King requests your presence in h-his quarters.”

Call looked him up and down judgmentally. The kid couldn’t have been more than twelve at the very least, and yet he looked more official than Call ever could. He even had a clipboard. And glasses. Although, the intense avoiding-eye-contact thing was probably not good work ethic. He should probably stop doing that.

“My name’s Call, not Your Majesty,” Call told him, just in case he didn’t know, but that only seemed to make the younger boy more nervous, if that was possible. “What’s yours?”

“D-Drew. Drew Wallace.” 

They walked to the elevator in silence. The bellhop manning the machine seemed to recognize Call from yesterday’s mishap and made a slightly annoyed face before asking what floor. Drew told him in a shaky voice and anxiously clicked his pen.

“Are you the representative my Uncle was talking about?,” Call asked, and before the boy could say anything, he blurted, “You’re really young. How’d you even get this gig?”

“I—uh, my dad works for the k-king. Your Majesty.” He chewed on the pen a little and then seemed to realize that wasn’t professional and took it out of his mouth. “You’ve met him b-before. His name is Joseph?”

Huh. That’s probably why he looked so familiar. Maybe. Call squinted. Something else about this kid was nagging at him, though. 

They reached the floor and all thoughts about the suspicious boy vanished from his head as Drew led him to his uncle’s door.

Uncle Rufus’ room was just about as lavish as you’d expect, with golden walls and furniture and even a mini glass chandelier hanging from the ceiling. There were also like, ten security guards stationed around the room, but that was to be expected.

Uncle Rufus himself was sitting in a plush armchair by the crackling fireplace, reading a book. A pair of golden glasses sat on the bridge of his nose. He sort of looked like Dumbledore, if Dumbledore was a 6 foot tall dark-skinned man in a fur coat with a bald head so shiny it could make contact with aliens. And was also a king. With ten security guards.

What really caught Call’s attention, though, was the unfamiliar teenage boy sitting across from him.

It should be noted that the boy was exceptionally pretty, like, prettier than the prettiest girl in school type of pretty. His Asian features were polished and refined, his dark hair dyed blond where the fringe fell into narrow eyes. And his cheekbones were no joke, like, Call wondered for a fleeting moment if they were even real.

It wasn’t just his looks though; his entire demeanor gave off an aura of wealth. Even the way he sat— with one leg crossed over the other and toes pointed down all demure and poised, like some sort of elven prince. With the button up polo shirt, the baby blue sweater tied around his neck, and the horse patterned corduroy shorts, he looked like the son of a rich CEO, or maybe one of those spoiled brat Instagram kids who took pictures of themselves next to their private jets with captions like “my shoes cost more than your yearly mortgage”.

Oh, and he was also wearing knee socks. Can’t forget the knee socks.

“Um,” said Call.

“Good afternoon,” replied Uncle Rufus, not looking up from his book. He held out a bag of candy. “Gummy worms?” 

Call didn’t move, but the other boy turned to look at him, chin tilted upwards. He looked like he was waiting for Call to do a backflip or something equally astounding, but Call just kind of stared at him. Then the boy’s face went from mild curiosity to full on barely concealed disgust.

“Your Majesty,” he sniffed, that one sentence sounding haughtier than his entire appearance put together. “Should I call security? It seems that a homeless boy has wandered into our living quarters.”

And just like that, Call hated him. “What?”

“Jasper,” Rufus chided nonchalantly, still not looking. Man, that book must be really interesting. “That ‘homeless boy’ you are referring to is the prince of Genovia. I expect you to address him as such.”

“You’re joking.” And when no one refuted, he surprised Call by actually managing to pull of the patented Uncle Rufus Noise of Disapproval perfectly. “This is the prince? Him? This—This commoner?”

“What?” Call said yet again.

Rufus rubbed his forehead. “Jasper.” 

“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but this is just ridiculous. I knew he was American, but—” His lip curled into a sneer. “He hardly looks like he can dress himself properly. Are you sure you have the right person?”

Call couldn’t believe this. Was he dreaming right now? “And who are you supposed to be?,” he shot back. “Peewee Herman?”

The speed with which this kid’s face went from shocked to filled with 100% murderous intent was alarming. He sneered and stalked over, getting right into Call’s personal space. Call was dismayed to find out the other boy was considerably taller, and he had to crane his neck up to look him in the eye. 

Uncle Rufus looked like he was trying really hard not to laugh.

“Callum,” Rufus said calmly after getting his face under control. “This is Jasper DeWinter. He’s the youngest of the DeWinter family, the Baron DeWinter’s youngest son, seventh in line to the Genovian crown. He is also one of my students, a graduate of one of the preparatory schools I sponsor outside of the castle. He will be your tutor from now on.”

“My what now?,” Call asked. Then the name clicked. “Oh, DeWinter. That’s the really corrupt family, right?”

Jasper reeled back like he’d been slapped. "You," his voice shook. “How dare you—”

“Jasper, remember your manners,” said Rufus, and Jasper snapped his mouth shut. He went on to explain, “Mr. DeWinter flew all the way out from Genovia to come and see you, Callum. Please do your best not to insult him.”

Too late, Call thought. Jasper had stopped seething and was now observing Call from head to toe, studying every imperfection with close detail and unguarded distaste. After a moment he shook his head.

“He’s a bit ugly,” he announced, and then at Call’s outraged look, simpered, “From an objective standpoint of course. I’m sure he has a lovely personality.” He said this with a grimace masquerading as a smile, clearly not believing a word he just spoke. “But I do have my concerns, Your Majesty.”

Rufus calmly made a gesture that said “go on”. 

“Well, for starters, your hair looks positively dreadful,"  he started off, stalking around Call in a circle while Drew nervously scribbled down notes on a pad of paper. “It looks like you chopped it off with a sharp rock. When was the last time you even cut it? Let alone combed it? Or washed it?"

Call touched his head self-consciously. It was a bit messy and long and kind of covered his eyes, but he didn’t think it looked too bad.

“And the shoes. Ugh.” Jasper aimed a kick at his converse, making him wince. “Did you dig these out of the garbage? Or steal them off of a homeless man?”

Actually, they were from the Salvation Army not the dumpster, although Call had a feeling that both of those things were synonymous in Jasper’s mind.

“And don’t even get me started on your eyebrows!,” he wailed dramatically. “Do you even wax those caterpillars?”

Call stared. “People wax those?”

Clearly, this was the wrong thing to say, because Jasper’s face morphed into one of complete and utter disdain. “Drew,” Jasper called over his shoulder, and the mousy-haired boy jumped in alarm. “Arrange an appointment with An-Mei for next month. Tell her it’s urgent.”

Drew saluted and scampered off while furiously punching numbers into his My LIttle Pony themed phone. Rufus finally put his book aside and strode up to them.

“Will you be able to help him?,” he murmured to Jasper. “I know it is...a lot.”

“It will take some work,” admitted Jasper. “A lot of work. But we DeWinters don’t give up so easily. Even if the task seems impossible.”

“I’m literally right here, guys,” Call said, but they ignored him.

“I appreciate you taking the time to do this,” said Rufus and Jasper preened, shooting Call a smug look like he was supposed to be jealous or something. 

“Of course, Your Majesty,” he simpered with fake sweetness. “I live to serve.” 

Man, what a kiss ass. “Um, if you don’t mind,” Call interrupted. “Did you just invite me over here to insult me or what?”

He rolled his eyes. “Do you even know what you’re here for?”

“To be a prince. Duh.” He crossed his arms guardedly when Jasper just snorted. “What?”

“Incorrect. You will be learning how to sign documents, write speeches and pass laws,” he said curtly. “You will learn how to hold your posture, how to dictate your speech, and how to properly convey authority in your tone. You will learn how to properly handle silverware, how to dress, how to style your hair. And, most importantly, how to be an aristocrat.”

Call was overwhelmed. “You mean that Disney movie about the singing cats?”

His new tutor looked like he was going to kill him. “We’ll work on keeping your mouth shut during next week’s lesson.”

He took out a pad of sticky notes and began scribbling on them. “When you come back tomorrow you will wear slacks and a button up shirt, not that terrible uniform. I expect your hair to be combed, your teeth properly flossed, and I never want to see you in those shoes ever again.” 

He ripped off the sticky note and stuck it to Call’s forehead, who went cross-eyed trying to look at it. 

“Your assignment for tonight is to research Genovia’s royal family histories and write me a five paragraph essay of the titles and styles of each successor to the throne. Do not dawdle.”

Call was horrified. He had homework now? No one said anything about homework.

“And another thing.” He got in really close and said in a voice barely above a whisper, “You may be royal by blood, but you will never rule over Genovia. My father should have gotten that spot, and if you cooperate, he still will. If you, in any way, ruin this for me, I will make your life a living hell, Callum Hunt. Don’t get on my bad side if you know what’s best for you.”

Call was angry, but he didn’t dare show it in front of his uncle. His uncle who apparently hated him so much that he was willing to sic this psycho on him just because he could. 

Jasper dusted off his clothes and leveled him with a sneer. “You are dismissed. Until next time, mi principito.”

Call left the Plaza feeling like he’d just sold his soul to the devil.

Chapter Text

January

Call was totally dreading going to school that morning.

Stupid Jasper DeWinter. Stupid Uncle Rufus. Making him dress up. Comb his hair. Floss his teeth, like some sort of well-adjusted human being. This had to qualify as cruel and unusual punishment somewhere. Maybe he could call the police? Child services? Surely there was someone out there who could save him from this. 

But there wasn’t. He was a prince, and princes had to take regular showers, apparently.

Talk about a waste of resources. 

He knew without a doubt that Tamara would have something to say about him dressing up, too. When did she not have something to say about anything he ever did? It was always “don’t do that, Call” and “you’re embarrassing me, Call” and “good god, why does your hair look like that?”

He could only imagine what she’d say if he actually put in some effort. She’d probably have a heart attack.

But it wasn’t like he had a choice. He was getting paid for these stupid prince lessons, after all. He couldn’t just give up—Uncle Rufus would never let him hear the end of it.

(Plus, he totally wanted to make that Jasper kid eat his words. It wasn’t just about making Uncle Rufus like him anymore. Now it was personal)

When he pulled up to Tamara’s house that morning (after spending like an hour getting ready) he wasn’t at all surprised when the first thing out of her mouth was, “Why do you smell like a Macy’s perfume aisle? And what the hell is in your hair? Chicken grease?”

It was gel, actually. He’d found a huge jar of the stuff in his dad’s bathroom cabinet that morning, underneath the black hair dye he used for his graying roots. Apparently that’s what he used to get his hair to look all effortlessly nice and silky, so Call tried some out to see if he could get similar results. He’d also found a bottle of woman’s perfume tucked away behind the cough syrup, and since he couldn’t find any cologne, he decided to put some of it on too. Because perfume and cologne were pretty much the same thing, right? Like, they both smelled nice. And this one smelled like strawberries. Who didn’t like strawberries?

For some reason, when he mentioned the perfume thing to Tamara, she just gave him this strange look.

“Call,” she said. “What does it usually mean when you find women’s things in a man’s bathroom?”

He frowned. “That...my dad is exploring new avenues of his personal identity?”

Stanley coughed into his fist.

“Well, maybe,” Tamara allowed. “But usually it means that your dad’s been bringing women over to your house.” A pause. “You know, for sex.”

If Call were standing, he's pretty sure he would've fallen over from sheer shock. Because—what? Did he hear that right? His dad? With a woman? As in, an actual real life breathing woman? With boobs??

"Well, women do tend to have boobs," Tamara said, as if this was all perfectly normal and Call wasn’t having a coronary in the seat across from her. “But why are you so surprised? It’s not like your dad’s celibate or anything. He had to have sex to make you, after all.”

Which, yeah, ew, thanks for that mental image Tamara. He would rather not think about his dorky, socially stunted father having sex with anyone at all, especially not with some woman he’d never met before. Up until now, his father’s dating habits weren’t even something he had to worry about—like, yes, his dad was good-looking for a man nearing his late thirties, but he worked at an autoshop. Selling car parts. Most of the time he came home covered in grease, and he always smelled like motor oil. What woman on this earth would want to have sex with that?

Then again, his mom did. And evidently, so did this mysterious strawberry-smelling lady. Maybe girls were into that whole “disheveled and slightly greasy mechanic” look.

He had to get a second opinion on this. Maybe he’ll ask Gwenda during study hall.

Jasper DeWinter: Social Media Star, Modern Royalty, Dictator in Training??

By Tamara Rajavi, Editor in Chief of Tamara Tells It Like It Is [Webzine]

Posted: 38 minutes ago

It’s no secret to any somewhat intelligent human being that teenage boys on social media, especially male celebrities who fall within the 13 to 18 age gap, are some of the most thirst-trappy, narcissistic beings that have been crafted by satan’s hands in the last two millennia. We all know it, we’re all aware of it, so why is it that teenage girls are so adamant on treating them as if they’re sweet baby angels that can never do any harm? Why is it that when their favorite “uwu soft boy” is exposed to be the narcissistic, racist, homophobic demagogue that he is, they’re so quick to come to his defense? This strange phenomena, a rippling effect that I have justly dubbed “Vapid Teenage Girl Syndrome”, has been tearing apart adolescent social circles for decades. But what causes it? What causes our youth to be so blind to the truth?

A prime example of this phenomena comes in the form of a certain Genovian politician that has been making headlines lately for his derogatory comments towards the working class, immigrants, and LGBTQ+ rights. And no, I’m not talking about the Baron DeWinter, I’m talking about the youngest DeWinter himself—the one who’s been captured in this circling Instagram video (English subtitles included) spouting off the same conservative nonsense that his father’s no doubt drilled into him since birth. 

I mean, was it really that much of a surprise? Did anyone really expect his son, the youngest of seven children, to have a different opinion from the rest of his family? Seems so, because there are blogs, entire Twitter bios, and Snapchat stories dedicated to the documentation of Jasper’s life, all starting with the beloved catchphrase “JD is misunderstood, stop listening to fake news and see the truth”, because apparently hard cold evidence isn’t even enough to change their poor, brainwashed minds. 

See, I have a theory. A conspiracy theory if you will. What if this was the Baron DeWinter’s plan all along? What if he’s using his son, an avid social media star and general heartthrob of teenage girls and lonely stay-at-home moms alike, to garner an army of die-hard fans that will always stan no matter what? And what if this video, this careless—almost too careless (and expertly shot, I mean, come on, lighting is never that perfect in real life)—video was just a test run to see how much they could get away with without losing all of his fans? A whole lot, it seems, because no one seems to really care that he claimed immigrants are “ruining Genovia’s integrity” and only seem to be concerned with whether or not his latest Instagram post meant he was in New York or not.

What we, as a society, (and as girls for that matter) need to do is nip this type of behavior in the bud while we still have the power to do so. I say we come together and en masse petition to have the jerk removed from his precious Instagram page entirely. I’ve included a link in the credits below. Feel free to sign up, we’ll need all the signatures we can get.

As always, this editorial wasn’t meant to offend anyone (except Jasper DeWinter, this is targeted at you). I’m just Tamara, I'm just a kid, and I’m just telling it like it is.

X

Comments: 8

Maya Gerard said: Don’t be mean to Jasper he’s just from a different culture😢 he doesn’t understand that what he said was wrong. I think he has anxiety and that’s why he hasn’t addressed the controversy yet. We gotta protect our boy bc that stupid video took what he said out of context!

Replies: 1

Callum Hunt replied: Simp detected. Blocked and reported.

Natalie Taylor said: Oh my god you stupid SJW’s can never be pleased, can you? Can’t you just be happy that a POC is in a position of power and be done with it? +1 like

Replies: 5

Tamara Rajavi replied: Okay, normally I don’t directly reply to comments because it’s unprofessional, but this was just an entirely new brand of stupidity that I couldn’t even wrap my head around it. Seriously. I had to leave and make myself a cup of tea before responding to this mess. First of all, I will never be “just happy” that a single POC gets elected into office. Having just one POC hired doesn’t change the fact that everyone else is still a middle-aged white man. I won’t be “pleased” until it becomes COMMONPLACE for POC to have positions of power, thanks. PLUS the Baron DeWinter is NOT a POC. He. Is. White. His wife is Chinese, yes, but that doesn’t suddenly change the Baron’s skin color/background/culture. Unless Jasper or one of his siblings takes his position, you can’t say anything. Bye now. +2 likes

Callum Hunt replied: Lol get fucked

Tamara Rajavi replied: Call, you can’t curse on here this is a school-run website

Callum Hunt replied: Lol who’s gonna report me? God? 

Tamara Rajavi replied: YOU ARE THE COMMENT MODERATOR +1 like

January, At School

Well, he didn’t get the chance to talk to Gwenda at all, because halfway through study hall, Mr. North came storming in demanding to see Call out in the hallway. Apparently, someone had stuck a bunch of moist towelettes down the locker room toilets and flooded the whole gym. Which meant, of course, that he was the prime suspect.

Mr. North was always blaming him for things. Like releasing all of the mole rats on dissection day (as a peaceful protest against animal cruelty, he’d like to remind everyone), or stealing all the pens from the school store and reselling them for half price in the first floor boys’ room, or taking down the foam letters in the band room hallway that spelled “success” so that they spelled “succ”.

Not saying that Call did those things...those are just examples.

Tamara said the reason that Mr. North kept blaming him for stuff was because Call never seemed to be affected by his wrongdoings enough to work on his behavioral issues.

“I don’t have behavioral issues!,” he disputed on the way to his locker. “He just has a personal bias against me. And it’s not my fault all the mole rats ended up in his office.”

“You shouldn’t have released them in the first place,” she said, shaking her head. Which was extremely hypocritical of her because she’d been the one who’d picked the lock to the science room so Call could get to the mole rats.

While he was stewing over the injustice of it all, Tamara suddenly went, “Ugh,” as they rounded the corner. At first, he thought she might’ve stepped in another wad of gum, but then she said, “Don’t look now. Mr. and Mrs. Jackass at three o’clock.”

She was, of course, referring to her older sister (Kimiya) and her sister’s boyfriend (Alex Strike) who were leaning up against Alex’s locker (which was next to Call’s) and feverishly sucking face in full view of the whole school.

It was a very intense makeout session. Like, of the tongue-in-mouth and hair-pulling and choked-off moans variety. There was probably some groping going on there too.

It was sort of mesmerizing to watch, honestly. Some people might find it disgusting, but Call certainly wouldn’t mind getting kissed like that. Especially not by Alex Strike, who was, in his opinion, the hottest guy he had ever seen. He had shaggy brown hair and deep blue eyes and when he smiled he had dimples, which Call liked a whole lot. Kimiya didn’t know how lucky she was to be able to date him. She got into fights with him like every other day, and they broke up so often that Tamara had started to keep a tally. So far, the longest they’d stayed together was three and a half weeks, not including weekends or holidays.

But no matter how many times the two Juniors broke up, they always got back together. Call honestly didn’t understand what made Alex go back to Kimiya every time. Like, yeah, she was hot, no doubt about that, but she was also mean and rude and kind of awful.

Speaking of: he must’ve been studying their kissing technique a little too closely, because all of a sudden Kimiya was pulling away from her boyfriend with a wet-sounding, suction-y schick! and snapping at Call, “What are you looking at, you little weirdo?”

Did he mention that Kimiya Rajavi hated his guts? Because Kimiya Rajavi hated his guts. Like, if he were dying from a stab wound on the side of the road, she would probably run him over twice just to make sure the job was done; that’s how much she hated him.

To be fair, it was kind of his fault. And not because of something he did to her (at least, not really), but because of something she overheard.

See, a few weeks ago, Call had been invited to Tamara’s house for the very first time ever, and they were chilling in her bed eating pizza. Kimiya had also been in the room, but not because she’d wanted to hang out with them; Dr. Rajavi just didn’t trust Call and Tamara to be alone in her bedroom together without a supervisor. Probably because he thought Call might try to have sex with her. Which he wouldn’t of course—Tamara was really pretty, sure, but she was also really authoritative. If he tried to have sex with her she’d probably just boss him around the whole time.

Anyway, Kimiya had been there, but she was sitting on the floor and scrolling through Instagram and wasn’t really monitoring them anyway, so Call and Tamara sat there and watched a bunch of shitty Hallmark movies to pass the time. They were able to determine that A Very Merry Mix Up had the stupidest premise, Stop the Wedding had the most convoluted plot, and Falling for Vermont had the hottest supporting cast and also the dumbest character tropes.

The resulting conversation had gone a little something like this:

Tamara: Okay, question. If you had the choice, who would you rather lose your virginity to? The quirky be-speckled brunet who loses her memory, or the business savvy blond who moves back to her hometown because she realizes family is more important than success?

Call (making a face): Isn’t that kind of personal? And how do you know I’m a virgin?

Tamara: Trust me, I know. And girls talk about this type of stuff all the time. It’s a basic sleepover conversation topic. Are we not at a sleepover?

That was a bit unfair, seeing as this was Call’s very first sleepover, and he couldn’t really tell if this was something girls actually talked about or if she was just messing with him.

Call: Well, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a girl.

Tamara (rolling her eyes): Just answer the question, asshole.

He had to think about it for a minute. On the screen, the blond woman was sobbing in the rain as she clutched onto the front of the leading man, her sizable chest pushing into his as the music swelled dramatically in the background.

He wondered how she got her chest to stick out so much. Maybe she stuffed her bra like Kylie Myles did for pep rallies.

Call: Mmm...I think I’d pick the business lady. I like confident women. I think.

(And no, it wasn’t because he had a thing for blonds, shut up Tamara)

Somehow, this got them started on Call’s childhood crushes (Shego from Kim Possible and Sharpay from High School Musical), which then led to him being asked if a meteor took out everyone on earth, and there was only one person left besides him, who would he choose to repopulate with? Shego won over Sharpay in that regard, but Starfire from Teen Titans won the next round simply because she was nice and Call thought empathy was more important than survival ability if they were going to raise the next generation of humans together.

But then Tamara started bringing up people from school.

Tamara: Kylie Myles?

Call: God no! She’s mean. Plus, she hates your guts. I wouldn’t want to have fifty babies with someone who hates my best friend.

Tamara: I’d be dead, so it wouldn’t really matter. Anyway, what about Penny Duran? She’s cute. And popular.

Call: You know I have a fundamental hatred of popular people. Unless they’re nice. Like Alex Strike.

Tamara: Would you lose your virginity to Alex Strike?

Call: Well, yeah. He’s crazy hot. And one time he helped me with my Algebra homework, so I know he’d do a good job taking care of the kids. Plus, he could probably bench press like a hundred pounds. He can lift me, Tamara. Can you imagine— 

Kimiya: What the fuck?

They’d forgotten Kimiya was still in the room with them. Call had also, until that moment, forgotten that Kimiya was actually dating Alex Strike, the person they were currently discussing. Meaning that he’d just openly admitted to wanting to have sex with Kimiya’s boyfriend while she was within earshot. 

Oops.

Tamara (sensing danger): This is a private conversation, Kimiya. Just go back to your phone.

Kimiya: You’re talking about my boyfriend, so obviously I’m going to listen. And what the fuck do you mean you’d lose your virginity to him? Are you gay or something?

She’d said the word gay as if it were a viral disease. Next to him, Tamara stiffened.

Tamara: So what if he is? It’s not like it’s any of your business. Besides, Call’s bisexual. There’s a difference.

Kimiya: I don’t care what he is! It’s still disgusting! And Alex isn’t gay, so stop talking about him like he is!

Tamara (getting really mad now): It’s not disgusting! And how do you know he’s not gay?

Kimiya: Um, probably because he’s dating me and not some guy?

Tamara: Like that means anything! He doesn’t even like you—everyone knows the only reason he’s even dating you in the first place is because he wants to get an internship at mom and dad’s job!

Well, Kimiya definitely hadn’t liked that. She went so red it looked like her head was going to pop right off her shoulders.

Kimiya: You’re just jealous because you can’t get a boyfriend! Alex loves me!

Tamara: Loves the fact that you put out so easily, you mean! And I don’t want a boyfriend, they’re overrated. Especially pasty little white boys whose necks are thinner than my upper arm!

Call (eating popcorn): Oooh.

Kimiya: I don’t know a single teenage girl who isn’t interested in having a boyfriend. Are you sure you’re not gay?

Tamara: And so what if I was? At least it would be better than whatever meaningless nonsense you and Alex have going on!

The two of them really started to get into it then (Call just kind of sat there awkwardly and watched), yelling so loud you could probably hear it all the way down to the first floor, until the Drs. Rajavi, who’d been lurking in the next room, came in to see what all the commotion was about. They ended up having to put them in separate rooms to cool down, and Call had to go home because he couldn’t be in the house while they psychoanalyzed Tamara on her need to rile up her sister and Kimiya on her latent homophobia.

On the way out the door, though, Dr. Rajavi had clapped him on the shoulder. Apparently, Call being gay meant that he could be a lot nicer to him; since he wasn’t sexually attracted to his youngest daughter, and was no longer a threat to her chastity or whatever. 

The poor man had been so happy that Call didn’t even have the heart to correct him.

Even now, weeks later, Kimiya hadn’t let it go. Every time she saw him she had something nasty to say. And she seemed to make it a point to kiss Alex in places where she knew Call would be, as if to remind him over and over again that Alex was hers, and that Call would never have a chance with someone like him.

So yes, Kimiya Rajavi hated his guts. But Call was fairly certain his hatred for her ran much, much deeper.

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Tamara said, gritting her teeth. “This is a public area. Take your gross PDA somewhere else if you don’t want people staring at you.”

Kimiya flushed, but Alex Strike, catching his breath, saw Call looking at him and winked.

Call went red and stared at his shoes.

“Ugh, whatever,” Kimiya said, tugging her boyfriend’s arm down the hallway. The two made a hasty retreat, but Call knew that wouldn’t be the last time he saw them today.

January, Lunch

Sure enough, Call saw Kimiya and Alex in various compromising positions as the day carried on. He spotted them behind the bleachers during gym, sneaking into an unused classroom between periods, and was assaulted with the infuriating (and extremely hot) visual of the two practically humping each other during lunch.

He didn’t know what their problem was. Like, couldn’t they wait? Didn’t they have class?

Even worse, when he went to the vegan lunch line to grab a salad, he ran into Kylie Myles, who clearly saw him reaching for the last caesar, stole it right from under his fingers, and then proceeded to swish her perfect blond ponytail in his face. He had to fight the urge to take out his pocket knife and cut the stupid thing off. Tamara might actually choke him to death with her braid if he got expelled over something as stupid as that.

As he grabbed a balsamic vinaigrette with no small amount of ire, he watched Kylie laugh and toss her hair with the rest of the student council kids while down the table, the jocks made an ungodly amount of noise and threw food at each other.

Jeez. If those were the types of people Aaron usually sat with, no wonder he wanted to sit at Call’s table.

Speaking of; Call was kind of nervous about having Aaron sit with them today. Like, he said he wanted to, but what if Aaron decided he didn’t like them after all? Call’s friends were...an acquired taste. To put it simply, the whole table was an accumulation of the leftover assorted weirdos that no one else wanted to deal with. Like Rafe, who was so loud and disruptive he got kicked out of four different tables before he ended up at Call’s. Or Gwenda, who had major anger issues (that Rafe usually got the brunt of), or Tamara, who was too intense and serious, or Kai, who just didn’t talk. Like, at all. Literally, Call’s never heard the kid open his mouth once.

Rest assured, all of Call’s rag-tag group of friends had one thing in common; they were freaks. Losers. Nobodies. Kids like Aaron didn’t just hang out with kids like them, unless they were trying to get brownie points. Bringing someone like him to the table could feasibly upend the delicate hierarchy of Magisterium high’s popularity system. There might even be riots.

If Tamara could hear him right now, she would probably call him melodramatic. 

But, he digressed.

When Aaron finally entered the lunchroom, looking nervous and a little bit lost as he clutched his hydro-flask to his chest, Call relaxed. Because even though he hadn’t known him for very long, he could tell Aaron didn’t care about how weird or unpopular a person was. He just wanted some friends to hang out with. And that was what Call did best. He took all the lonely people with no friends and made them friends with each other.

With force, usually. Sometimes even with a little karate-chopping involved.

But there was no violence needed this time around. All Call had to do was go up to where Aaron was standing in the middle of the cafeteria, tap him on the shoulder, and say, “Hey.”

For someone who gave speeches in front of the entire school on the regular, he looked embarrassingly relieved to see him. “Oh, Call, thank god. I was looking for you for, like, hours. I mean—not literally, of course. Only just now. I was in class a few hours ago. And it’s not like we have any classes together. Except gym. But I saw you in gym, so.” 

There was an awkward pause.

“...Right,” Call said, deciding not to comment on...whatever that just was. “You’re, uh, still sitting with us, right?”

“Oh. Yeah. If you still want me.”

“I do,” he assured him. “You already know Tamara I guess, but Rafe, Gwenda, and Kai are sitting there too. Is that...okay?”

He wanted to ask, because from what he’d observed so far, he thought Aaron might have social anxiety. According to the Drs. Rajavi, social anxiety was like having stage fright, except not just on stage, but also when you went to the grocery store or to the park or through the drive thru at Wendy’s. Tamara Tells It Like It Is covered the topic a little during their Mental Health episode, where they asked people on the streets of Manhattan what kind of mental illness they had, and if they said they didn’t have one, they sprayed them with water guns. It was a very popular episode. Over 200,000 Youtube views and counting.

Apparently, asking him that was the right move, because Aaron suddenly looked very cautious. “I don’t really know them. What if...what if they think I’m annoying and don’t like me?” 

Call glanced over at his table. Rafe was attempting to suck a spaghetti noodle up his nose, Kai was filming it and silently egging him on, and Gwenda was shouting at them to stop, leaning across Tamara’s lap to smack at them with her Pre-Algebra book.

“I think you’ll be fine.”

“But—” 

“Come on.” He grabbed his arm and began tugging him towards the table. Aaron abruptly shut up and let himself be tugged.

The entire Jock™ table stared at them as they went past, which was as deeply uncomfortable as it was creepy. He could practically hear the entire High School Musical ensemble ominously singing, “Stick to the status quo!” as he led the taller boy to the back of the lunch room. Even Alex Strike had separated from his girlfriend long enough to watch, looking between the two of them with intense blue eyes like he was trying to solve a 5000 piece jigsaw puzzle without the reference photo. 

Call tried to pretend it didn’t make his stomach flip flop nervously. 

(It did)

When they reached the table, he took Aaron by the shoulders, made him sit in the seat next to his, (for safety, really) and told everyone, “This is Aaron. He’s sitting with us today, so try not to scare him off.”

Aaron waved awkwardly. Kai was the only one who waved back, while Tamara made a soft noise and didn’t look up from her book, and Gwenda eyed the other boy with a frankly predatory look as she twisted a thin braid around her finger.

Rafe moaned pitifully, sprawled across the table with half a noodle sticking out of his nostril. 

“Uh—is he alright?,” Aaron asked.

Kai put his phone down long enough to sign, He’s dead, with a completely straight face.

Call translated. 

“Ah,” said Aaron. “I see.”

They were definitely freaking him out. What a disaster.

Gwenda spent a good ten minutes talking about herself, but Call had to introduce Rafe since he was too busy being unconscious. And then there was Kai, who didn’t really talk unless he felt like it (which was usually never). He required a special type of introduction because sometimes he was a boy and sometimes he was a girl and sometimes he was neither. Today he was wearing the boys’ uniform, so that meant he was using he/him pronouns, but tomorrow it was anyone’s guess, really.

“Oh,” said Aaron after he explained it all, blinking a little. Call was worried for half a second that he was going to be weird about it, but then he smiled and said, “Cool.” 

Kai beamed.

After that, Aaron seemed to relax exponentially. He started making jokes in that dry way of his and laughing in short bursts whenever Rafe did something stupid (which was basically every five seconds). He even got into a smart-people-debate with Tamara over politics and won, which Call didn’t even think was possible. It was almost frightening how well he was able to mesh with their dinky little group of misfits—like he’d been sitting with them his whole life. 

Maybe Aaron would sit with them tomorrow too. And the next day. Maybe—and this was kind of pushing it a little—maybe he’d sit with them for the whole year. Maybe he’d join their friend group and Call could see him every day and they could all laugh like this together, sharing stories and making each other happy. 

Call was surprised to find how much he wanted that. He wanted to know everything about Aaron; what his favorite snacks were, what his middle name was, what made him sad and what made him happy. Most of all, he wanted Aaron to be his friend. He wanted him to be his friend so bad that he was practically vibrating out of his skin.

“So how was the show the other night?,” he asked Tamara before he could do something totally weird, like touch Aaron’s hand or something.

“Fine. Good. No thanks to you.” She dug into her taco with a little too much force. “We were doing that bit on school uniforms again. You know, that really important episode that you promised you wouldn’t miss?”

He winced. “Sorry. There was a lot going on...”

“Mm.” She didn’t sound like she believed him. “Nearly all the youtube comments were asking where you were. There were a lot of people looking forward to seeing you in that skirt.”

Call was 100% certain no one on this earth desired to see his bare legs on camera, but alright. “Oh yeah? Like who?”

“I would,” said Gwenda.

I would, signed Kai, hiding his smile behind a juice box.

Aaron coughed a little, red creeping up the back of his neck, but didn’t say anything.

“Look,” said Tamara. “Just make sure you’re there tomorrow. On Wednesday we had to make Rafe hold the camera, and it was nothing short of a disaster.”

“Hey, I’m the editor,” Rafe cut in, a piece of noodle still hanging out of his nose. “Not the camera-holder-slash-eye-candy. I can’t do both. You don’t pay me enough.”

“We don’t pay you at all!,” Gwenda snapped, which set off a whole round of bickering between the two.

But the problem was, Call suddenly remembered that he couldn’t go to tomorrow’s show, because he had another lesson at the Plaza and he was pretty sure his Uncle wouldn’t be at all understanding if he tried to skip out. Uncle Rufus barely approved of his friendship with Tamara. If he found out about the type of stuff they got up to while filming, he’d probably make Call move schools or something.

When he told the table this, they all booed him.

Tamara seemed especially upset, which made sense, since it was her show and Call was basically ruining it by not being there again, but he thought she should be a little more sympathetic. Like, she knew what his uncle was like. It wasn’t his fault.

But then Aaron surprised them all. He said that he didn’t know much about cameras, but if all they needed was a guy to hold it up and hit record, he didn’t have a problem stepping in. The only problem was that he didn’t have anyone to take him to Tamara’s house, since his foster parents were usually busy that time of day.

“Sometimes my foster dad drives me to and from school if he has enough time,” he said. “But I usually just walk.”

“I could drive you there,” Call blurted before his brain could catch up with his mouth. “Me and Stanley pick up and drop off Tamara every day. We can pick you up too. No big deal.”

Actually, it was a very big deal. A very, very big deal. He rode in a limo to school. Wasn’t that the exact thing he was trying to prevent people from finding out? What the hell was wrong with him?

“Really?,” said Aaron, and everything he was thinking just then flew out the window. “That would be really cool, thanks!”

Cool. He said that would be cool.

Call’s hands were feeling real sweaty all of a sudden. 

And then, after that, there was no helping it, was there? Aaron gave him his address and gave him his number (his number!) and Call added him to the Official TTILII Group Chat and sent him a message and watched Aaron save his number into his phone with a dove emoji next to Call’s name and everything. Because apparently “Callum” meant “dove” in Scottish Gaelic or something. Who knew, right? Definitely not Call. And it was his own name.

He wondered if his mom had picked the name on purpose. With Genovia being in the middle of a violent and bloody war at the time, giving her unborn son and future leader a moniker that meant “peace” was probably the most metal fucking thing ever.

Or maybe she just really liked doves.

Not like he could ask her, since she was dead and all. But it was a nice thought.

January, at the Plaza

Jasper DeWinter was the actual spawn of Satan, Call decided. 

Outwardly he seemed very prim and proper, the type of kid who would help old ladies cross the street and donate his hair to cancer. Inwardly, he showed signs of being a high functioning sociopath.

“Keep your back straight! ,” he yelled, whacking Call in the spine with a yardstick while Call attempted to balance a small library on his head. The motion sent the heavy books to the ground and Call had to try not to cry out when one landed on his foot.

That was one of the first lessons they had that day actually: controlling emotions. Because princes didn’t cry. Jasper made that very clear after learning about Call’s minor meltdown at the Plaza a few days prior.

“No matter the circumstances,” he’d stated . “Under no type of duress, should a member of the royal family ever ever lose their composure in public. It’s disgraceful.”

Yeah, easier said than done, Call thought sourly. Jasper piled more books onto his head and yelled at him to keep smiling, which he did (with difficulty) as he practiced walking around the room with a walking stick.

The walking stick had been a bit of a necessity, after Jasper realized that no amount of shouting or degradation would miraculously grant him the ability to walk heel-toe without limping. According to Uncle Rufus, it gave him a “sophisticated” look. Call couldn’t help but feel a little silly with it, like he was cosplaying a comic book villain. Or some crotchety old man.

“Will you stop making that face?,” Jasper’s voice cut through his thoughts. “You look constipated. You’re supposed to smile for the public. If you can’t even do that much, how do you expect to make alliances? To sway public opinion? If you’re scowling every time you go to an event, people will think you don’t want to be there!”

It’s because I don’t!, he thought disparagingly, but ultimately kept his mouth shut. He couldn’t very well cuss him out, not with Uncle Rufus watching over the whole thing like a hawk. And the man hadn’t even said a word so far; he just sat there, ate gummy worms, and let Jasper insult and berate Call like it was the greatest entertainment he’d seen in years. And maybe it was. If Call were someone from the outside watching an irate rich boy in neon green Balenciaga slides screaming about posture while brandishing a ruler like a sword, he probably would’ve found the whole thing ridiculous as well.

“My leg hurts,” he said through gritted teeth. “Can’t we take a break?”

Jasper gave him an angelic smile. “Princes don’t take breaks. Now, do another lap. We’re not stopping until I see your feet bleed.”

Yeah, Call definitely hated him.

It didn’t help that Uncle Rufus seemed to like Jasper way more than he liked Call. He actually listened to what he had to say and smiled at him (Smiled at him! Can you believe it?) when he said something he particularly liked, and they spent a good deal of time whispering to each other in various languages like they were in some secret club that Call wasn’t invited to. The worst part was that he could totally understand why. Jasper was well-spoken, had at least a foot of height on him, and held himself like a true aristocrat. He was everything Call wasn’t. And he was probably everything Uncle Rufus hoped for him to be by the end of these stupid lessons. 

But he wasn’t jealous or anything—he couldn’t care less that Uncle Rufus probably wished Jasper was his nephew instead of him. Seriously. It didn’t bother him one bit.

What did bother him was how superior Jasper acted, like just because he’d gone to a fancy prep school and his dad was a Baron, it made him better than Call or something. Which made absolutely no sense, because Call was a prince, right? Didn’t he outrank him? Technically, Jasper shouldn’t have been able to get away with talking to him the way he did. If they were in Genovia and Call was a fully recognized prince, he’d probably get sent to the dungeons for treason. Or be demoted to a scullery maid, who had to rub Call’s feet and do his laundry. Or a jester. Jasper the Jester. It had a nice ring to it.

He was so absorbed in his revenge fantasy that he didn’t even see Jasper’s horrible, evil cat—Warren—until he was tripping over it and falling flat on his face, books flying everywhere. 

“You idiot!,” Jasper snapped, rushing over to scoop Warren the cat up and press kisses to its wrinkly, hairless body while Call laid there in pain. “Watch where you’re going! You could’ve killed him!”

Warren the cat was perfectly fine, of course. The horrid thing had reflexes like a damn ninja, and was too full of malicious energy to be taken out by something as lame as a human being falling on it. The thing was fifteen years old and weighed like 25 pounds. It had also spent the better part of three hours swiping at Call with razor sharp claws, hissing at him, and yowling every time he got a little too close. One time, when Call had tried to pet it, it had rolled its eyes around in its head and scrunched up its fat naked body like it was being tortured.

Jeez, even Jasper’s cat couldn’t stand the sight of him. 

Its name also wasn’t really Warren; it was Cornelius Seraphim, but Call decided to call it Warren because Cornelius Seraphim was a stupid name for anyone, much less a cat. Of course, when he told Jasper this, the other boy had hit him with the ruler again, because apparently insulting people’s pets was a great offense among nobility and could result in a war if he wasn’t careful.

He was going to be so bruised by the end of this, he could already tell.

“Insolent prince,” Jasper sneered at him.

“Snobby jerk,” he shot back.

“Callum,” Uncle Rufus sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“He started it!”

“I don’t care who started it, I’m ending it.” He fixed him with a serious look. “This is hardly the type of behavior I’d expect from a prince. You’re being extremely disrespectful.”

Call could only gape at him. Had he not heard what Jasper said? Why was he the only one being punished? This was so unfair!

Uncle Rufus certainly hadn’t been giving speeches about respect when Call had walked into the Plaza a few hours ago. Jasper had really let him have it then. Not only had he forgotten to do the stupid “homework” that he’d been assigned to do last time, but apparently Call hadn’t done a good enough job at dressing up as he’d thought—Jasper had taken one look at him and said he looked even more like a pelagatos than usual. Which, according to Google, directly translated to “cat skinner”. But it also meant someone who was mediocre or lame.

Can you believe that? Jasper was out here calling him a dweeb to his face and Uncle Rufus just let him. Unbelievable.

And that wasn’t even the worst of it. That Joseph guy was back now, and he’d spent the whole lesson staring at Call in a way that made him distinctly uncomfortable. Even when Drew, his literal son, was talking to him, he kept his eyes fixated on Call in this weirdly intense way, like he was trying to look straight into his soul or something.

Call didn’t know what the guy’s deal was, but he seriously gave him the creeps. There was something about him that just rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe it was the eyes. They were a very intense blue color. Call was fairly certain they glowed in the dark too.

“Alright,” said Jasper, dusting himself off. “We’re going to start over since someone doesn’t know how to show respect when someone else is helping them out of the goodness of their own heart.” He smiled nastily at him. “And ditch the walking stick. Let’s see how far you’ve come today, shall we?”

Yeah. Call really hated him.

By the time Call got home, he was sweaty, aching, and had a huge red mark on his spine from the stupid ruler. For someone with noodly arms and tiny wrists, Jasper hit ridiculously hard.

It was dark in the apartment when he walked in, which was weird. Usually, his dad was up and watching reruns of Rupal’s Drag Race at this time of night, but Call couldn’t find him anywhere. Seriously, he checked the bathroom, the kitchen, the living room—but he wasn’t there. He wasn’t even in the apartment.

Call thought back to what Tamara had said this morning, about his dad bringing women over to the house behind Call’s back. What if...what if the reason he wasn’t here was because he’d gone on a date? 

Havoc huffed and sniffed at his fingers, but Call was on a mission. He crept into his dad’s bedroom and started looking through his drawers and closet. It took a few nerve-wracking minutes, where he thought Alastair was going to bust in and catch him red-handed, but eventually, he uncovered what he’d been looking for.

Condoms. In his dad’s sock drawer. 

Holy. Shit.

His dad really did have a girlfriend. And he probably was on a date right now! He’d probably been dating, maybe for years, and he’d never told Call about any of it, even though they always told each other everything. Not that Call would’ve wanted to know the details of his romantic rendezvous, but a head’s up would’ve been nice! Jeez! 

He couldn’t believe this. He seriously couldn’t believe this.

He needed to call Tamara right away.