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.