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In front of the mirror, Steven adjusts his tie with a grin.
First day of secondary school, he thinks. How exciting! He can’t wait to learn advanced history, chemistry, geology, everything!
And—he straightens out his jacket lapels—the uniform does look quite sharp.
“Hey Steven. Here’s your lunch, buddy.” His brother Marc appears from the kitchen and hands him a neatly folded brown bag. “Didn’t know if they would have vegan food in the cafeteria, so I made you something.”
“Thanks mate,” Steven chirps, opening the bag to peek at the contents. “Ooh, avocado. My favorite!”
His other brother Jake pops out from around the corner of the foyer with a raised brow. “¿En serio? He gets a homemade lunch, and I don’t?”
Marc scoffs. “Oh please. You’ll just throw it away,” he retorts, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “Besides, you could just buy something. Khonshu gives you an allowance.”
Jake smirks. “That’s because I’m his favorite son.”
“I’m not so sure that’s a good thing,” Marc says flatly.
“Is that jealousy I hear, hermano?”
Marc rolls his eyes. “No, just your stupidity.”
“Erm, guys? Looks like Khonshu is waiting for us.” Steven points a thumb toward the window where they can see their guardian standing in front of a white sports car, staring conspicuously at them. “We’d best be on our way then.”
“Right. Hurry up,” Marc says, jostling into Jake’s shoulder on his way out the door. Definitely not accidental.
Jake readjusts his cap with a scowl but follows suit.
Behind them, Steven lingers to say goodbye to their family pet.
“Laters gators, Gus.” He wiggles a finger at the goldfish drifting lazily in the tank. “Don’t swim too hard, yeah? You’ve only got one working fin left, you know.”
“Steven! We’re leaving without you!” Jake yells in a sing-song voice from outside.
“W-Wait up!” Steven almost trips over himself running out the door.
Khonshu pulls the vehicle into the drop-off area of their local middle school, Ennead, where students are trickling in from a long line of cars. He turns in his seat to face all of them, crinkling the fabric of his tailored white suit.
“My sons—”
In the backseat, Marc pointedly looks out the window, seemingly fascinated with the school’s architecture. Ooh, pyramids!
Steven giggles.
“Marc.” Khonshu gives the boy an unimpressed look from over his glasses. “I am speaking.”
“I know.”
Up close, the old man’s face looks sharp, like a bird’s beak. Or, as Jake would say, the Phineas muchacho from Steven’s cartoons with the triangle head. Steven had a field day with that.
Khonshu continues, unperturbed. “Keep an eye on Jake and the worm. Ammit’s offspring is attending this school, and I’m certain the scum is up to no good.”
Marc finally tears his gaze away from the building and squints at Khonshu. Ammit and Khonshu have had this long-standing rivalry that’s apparently existed since the dawn of time. Their job (as in Marc and Jake’s designated life mission) is to antagonize Arthur Harrow, Ammit’s son, as much as humanly possible. In return, he does the same.
“First of all, Steven’s not a worm. Second, Harrow’s just a little bug that’s gonna be squashed so fast, he won’t know what hit ‘im. Just watch.”
Khonshu's expression doesn’t change, but they can see him gaze upon Marc in silent pride.
Jake cracks his knuckles with a sneer at the mention of Harrow. Finally, something they could agree on.
Steven, on the other hand, groans tiredly. So much for a peaceful day at school.
The three boys exit the car with Marc at the front, Jake at the back, and Steven reluctantly sandwiched at the middle. As Khonshu drives off, none of them turn back to wave goodbye. As per usual.
They head into the school through an enormous pair of double doors and walk in a line for a moment before Steven grumbles incoherently.
“Didn’t catch that, hermano. ¿Que dices?”
“I said, we’re not in primary school anymore,” Steven stresses. He steps out of their makeshift formation and quickens his stride to match Marc’s. “We don’t need to walk in a line, yeah? We look downright foolish.”
“We don’t know what Harrow’s planning,” Marc reasons, but he slows down for Steven anyway. “The bastard’s got so many tricks up his sleeve. It’s for your safety.”
“Marc, don’t be daft. I can handle myself. Besides, the sod’s not going to try anything on the first day.”
Jake laughs, throwing his arms around their shoulders. “Steven’s right. Obviously, the pendejo is planning to start his reign of terror on the second day of school, not the first.”
Just then, a curly-haired girl bounds toward them, waving an eager hand. “Marc! Steven! Jake!” She shouts, a smile adorning her cheeks. A hippo keychain sways on her backpack.
“Layla,” Marc breathes with a relieved sigh. He brushes off Jake’s arm (with Jake muttering about him being “down so fucking bad for this chick”) before she comes in for a hug, leaning into him. “Hey. How was your summer?”
“It was great! Aunt Tawaret and I had so much fun in Cairo. How were your summers?”
“Bloody terrible,” Steven admits. He returns her smile. “Lovely to see you though, Layla.”
“The old bird put us to work,” Jake adds gruffly, fiddling with his cap and looking elsewhere. He always looks nervous around Layla, much to Marc’s amusement.
“Oh, that’s no fun.” She sounds genuinely apologetic. “Well, at least we’re still at the same school. Maybe it’ll be a good year.”
Marc huffs. “Not with Harrow around.”
At his name, they all subtly glance at a boy with long silver hair walking on the opposite side of the hall, in the same direction. He is flanked by a swarm of other students, buzzing around him as if he’s at the center of their little hive, yet he looks completely at ease. Content, even.
“Seriously?” Layla raises a brow. “I thought Ammit got a new job somewhere.”
Steven leans in and stage whispers. “I hear she got passed over for a promotion for the umpteenth time. So now she and Arthur are stuck here.”
“Huh. How tragic,” she quips.
Turns out Layla and the boys have the same homeroom (led by Layla’s aunt Tawaret, no less), so they all head there together.
Unfortunately, so does Arthur Harrow.
As the bell rings, he slides into his seat. Right behind Steven.
“Marc,” Jake grits through his teeth. Tawaret had placed him diagonally from Steven, moving him further away from Harrow.
“I see ‘em.” Marc says, watching them with a furrowed brow. His position isn’t much better.
From the front, Layla flits her gaze between the boys, tapping her pencil out of habit. One she got from Steven, who currently looks like a deer in headlights.
“Ahem. Hello everyone! I am Ms. Tawaret.” Layla’s aunt waves from the front, fumbling through a deck of index cards. “Welcome to seventh—well actually, no—sixth grade. Pardon me, I seem to have mixed up some of my cards. One moment.”
While Tawaret frantically sorts through her cards, students quietly resume conversation, the classroom filling with soft murmurs. Behind him, Steven feels a presence shift, and he resists the urge to fidget.
“Hello Steven,” a voice says politely. “How was your summer?”
Bullocks. Steven can’t ignore him if he’s being nice. He turns and looks at Harrow, who just smiles.
“Aces,” he replies, wary. “How about yours?”
Harrow hums, leaning back in his chair. “Pretty good. I enjoy Ammit’s company.”
“Oh, that’s nice. Glad to hear it.” Steven turns back around, ready to end the conversation there.
Before he can, Harrow pipes up again. “How are your… brothers? You know, the ones that look like they’re about to murder me.” He looks vaguely amused.
Steven doesn’t have to look to know that Marc and Jake are listening to their entire conversation. “Oh, they’re great. Love them, as idiotic as they are. But that’s what siblings do, yeah?”
“Sure sure.” Harrow waves a hand. “I’m just pointing out that they seem…overbearing. Don’t you think?”
Steven frowns. “No, not really.”
“Well, I suppose as an only child, I wouldn’t understand. But you do know what happened to Marc’s biological brother right? It wasn’t even that long ago. What was his name again?”
Steven levels a glare at him. “Don’t,” he hisses.
“Oh right. Randall. I remember the kid. He followed Marc around like a lost puppy. But in the end, that’s what got him—well, you know,” Harrow laments.
Steven’s eye twitches. At the front, Tawaret drops a whole stack of papers and scrambles to pick them up, but he doesn’t even notice.
“You see, Marc’s just one of those people that only cares for themselves. Just like that Lockley fellow and your new dad,” he says with a hint of revulsion. “But you seem nice. Caring, even. Why bother associating with such bad people? You’ll wind up hurt. Or worse, you might even become just like them. Cold, callous, heartless—”
“Shut up!” Steven yells, voice shrill with anger. His chair screeches across the linoleum floor as he stands abruptly, grabbing the lapels of Harrow’s uniform with both hands. “They’re not like that! You don’t know anything about our family, you arsehole!”
The gasp behind Steven sounds deafening as everyone around them instantly goes quiet. Silence permeates the room, the tension too thick to breathe in.
Steven heaves. Frustration seeps out of him like air out of a balloon, panic freezing his veins instead.
He loosens his grip in shock. What the hell is he doing?
“Steven Grant! We do not use that kind of language in the classroom,” Tawaret scolds. “Put Arthur down this instant and take your seat.”
Steven immediately lets go, spewing rapid-fire apologies. “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry. Are you alright, bruv? I didn’t mean to grab you, really—”
Suddenly, Harrow leans in and whispers something that only he and Steven can hear.
“Maybe it’s too late for you after all, Steven. What a shame. The last thing our town needs is a whole family of killers.”
Harrow sits back in his chair, prim and proper.
Steven stands there for a second, Tawaret’s reprimands fading into the background.
No thoughts. No words. Just rage.
Steven punches Harrow so hard that the other boy blacks out.
It all happened so fast. In fact, his knuckles are still sore, even hours later.
Steven sits outside Principal Osiris’ office, head buried in his arms. The argument inside is muffled, but he wouldn’t want to hear it anyway. He wishes he could bury himself instead. Maybe in a sarcophagus. How fitting.
“Steven.”
He glances up. Marc gazes down at him, arms crossed.
“Marc, I—” He grimaces and hunches in on himself. “I’m sorry. I just lost it.”
Marc is silent for a second before he sighs. “Steven, I’m not mad at you. None of us are.”
Steven sniffs. “… Really?”
Marc ruffles his hair gently before sitting next to him.
“How could I, when you were standing up for us?” He asks, wrapping an arm around Steven.
Steven rests his head on his shoulder. “He was saying all this nonsense about you, Jake, and Khonshu being… you know. Then he mentioned Roro. And I just couldn’t—wouldn’t—take it anymore.”
It was true. As soon as Harrow spouted those words, all Steven could see was red.
He didn’t think they would hurt so much. But he would gladly take the hit for Marc or Jake any day. It’s the least he can do.
Marc stiffens at the mention of his brother. “Violence isn’t always the answer. But honestly… I would’ve done the same. People like Harrow don’t care about the details. They just care about preaching justice and all that bullshit—to look good for their own sake.” He squeezes Steven comfortingly. “C’mon buddy. Enough sulking. Let’s get you home.”
Steven wipes his face and then nods, determined.
Yeah. Home.
After school ends, Harrow finally leaves the nurse’s office, clutching an ice pack to his bruised face.
He turns the corner and is immediately pulled into a dark classroom with a muffled shout just before the door closes.
Over dinner, Jake pulls Steven aside.
“Stevie, mi hermano! You’re stronger than you look, eh?” He says with a devious grin. “No te preocupes. Harrow won’t bother you anymore. I made sure of it.”