Chapter 1 Royal Pain
Trent
"Mmm! Can you smell that Mr. Bateman?"
A man dressed in khakis, fishing hat and flannel wasn't all that impressed. "What's in God's name is that awful smell?" He wrinkled his nose in distaste, not bothering to hide his accent. At least here it would be called an accent. He said the words while looking around at the students semi-gathered around, like they were... savages? When really, all they were doing was walking close together and trying to shout over each other. Freshmen as it seemed.
"Yum." A random kid with bleached white hair said, while walking by. Pins and every strange assortment of metal clinked with every step he took. "Smells like French toast."
"I beg your pardon?" Mr. Bateman tried to catch the kid's attention, but the kid was too far out of earshot now.
In retrospect, they were simply teenagers, not appearing to be all that eager to be here. Some looked curious, others looked frightened, and the rest looked bored out of their minds. CalebâAHEMâTrent was feeling the opposite. To him this was all seen as a simple, fresh start. A strange land. A place where no one knew him. Or his secret.
"That's the smell of freedom!" Caleb gave up at holding his arms open to give Mr. Bateman a look. "Mr. Bateman, your accent." Though he gave no thought to letting his own accent slip.
Mr. Bateman, blue eyed, slightly freckled on both of his cheeks, always carrying a proper, well raised attitude, raised both of his eyebrows at once. "Sorry m-"
"Shh!" Trent considered in covering the man's mouth, but quickly discarded the idea. The attempt would have been fruitless. Besides he respected the hell out of the guy. He'd known Mr. Bateman for as long as he could remember. Mr. Bateman was like a second father to him. Someone he'd grown quite fond of.
Mr. Bateman looked like he was about to apologize but thought better of it.
Trent eyed Mr. Bateman from head to toe, making a mental note of what not to dress like. The tanned khakis were impossible to miss. Even though Trent was by no means, a fashion expert, but even he could see how Mr. Bateman's outfit clashed. It was different compared to the usual tuxedos and expensive suits he wore. Mr. Bateman more or less, looked like a fish out of water. A fish with dignity that is. Trent knew not to comment and to ignore the strange looks he was starting to get.
This wasn't home. Here, he had the freedom to dress as he pleased. Right now, Trent wore a simple pair of baggy brown shorts and a dark blue muscle shirt. A pair of earpiece headphones were hanging limp over his right shoulder. Courtesy of Mr. Bateman. The thin white wire led down to his right pocket where he carried a couple of blank notebooks causally to his side. He remembered to slouch and look slightly aloof, even though he was secretly excited to be where he was.
Public High School. Who would have thought? The building before them wasn't all that impressive. It was a three story tall, and wide maroon brick building. The windows were open. Trent could smell the familiar smells of what smelled like carpet cleaner, fresh paint and musty textbooks. Trent thought it had an old soul.
"Sir, I don't think anyone listening to us. They all seem to be, listening to rather loud racket. They call this music?" Trent chuckled while Mr. Bateman looked around, wide eyed. Like he was standing in the middle of the jungle. "Or staring at their... phones."
Trent put an arm around the usually uptight man and pulled him close while giving a wide sweep of a hand gesture. "This my fellow man, is a public high school. Look at all various group's people of America call... cliché's."
Mr. Bateman seemed to fail at seeing Trent's vision as he tugged at his collar. "I'm not so sure about this. Couldn't you have picked, someplace else? There are plenty of boarding schools who'd love to have you, with better extracurricular activities to choose from."
"Like fencing?" Trent made a sour face. "Sorry. Not my thing. Why not, join the yearbook committee? Or better yet, give a shot at art class? Hands on experience!" He wiggled his fingers for a show of emphasis.
Mr. Bateman grew white at that. He remembered all too well what Trent's art skills had cost him. Trent had the idea when he was 6, to repaint his father's Lamborghini from white to red.
Trent hadn't forgotten either, his ear drums suddenly started to ache.
"Do you think I should join the football team? Or what was that racket you carry a ball in, game thing called?"
"Lacrosse?" Mr. Bateman even seemed unsure on how to properly say the word.
Trent ignored Mr. Bateman's second slip. "Yeah that. You think I might be good at something like that? How hard can it be?"
"But sir." Mr. Bateman said. Another disagreement was coming. Trent didn't want to end things on bad terms with the only man, who might have been the only person who bothered to understand him.
"Basketball? Baseball? I hear that's popular in this country."
"Sir? I still can't say I'm comfortable with you doing this."
"Shhh! Remember, you're supposed to be," He gave a dramatic pause, "my father."
Mr. Bateman visibly repressed the nudge to roll his eyes or shake his head.
"There you see? You're playing the part just right."
Not even Mr. Bateman could hide a smirk that took a lopsided shape on the left side of his face.
That's when they both heard a sound that they'd only heard on television before. A bell rang, making both Mr. Bateman and Trent have to cover their ears at the same time. Trent felt like his brain rattled a little inside his skull.
"Ah! That's loud!"
It was shrill and still ringing.
"Do you think that's what they call a fire alarm?" Trent had to mostly shout this.
"I think it means you might be late. You'd better hurry, or, I'll... have to ground you."
Trent smiled, and for once, felt a pang of anxiety as he stared at the man he'd known his entire life. He wasn't in his country anymore, and the people were massively different here than there. Here people treated him like he was nobody important. And that's what he wanted. Right?
"Thank you, Bobby." Trent rarely called Mr. Bateman by first name unless it was necessary.
Tears might have gleamed in the man's eyes when he looked back at Trent. Though it vanished too quickly for Trent to catch. "So grown up. We're all so proud of you sir."
Trent repressed the urge to get misty eyed himself, and gave a devil may care smile instead. "I still have one year left. No need to get sentimental now old man."
"And there'll be many more after." Mr. Bateman finished. "...Old man?"
Trent sheepishly looked down at that ground and at the man's face in one flicker. "It's what I heard a kid back there, say to his driver?"
Mr. Bateman pursed his lips at this.
"Should I try calling you, pops?"
Now Mr. Bateman turned green around the gills. "I prefer you call me what you always have."
"But in public..."
"Then just... dad, will do." He tugged at his collar once more. "Now don't forget to meet me at the mansion after school."
"Ugh, why did it have to be a mansion? It looks totally run down. Shabby. Why couldn't dad have let me get a crappy apartment instead? He didn't have to-"
"Now, Sir, he is your father and he only wants best for you."
Trent rarely cut Mr. Bateman off, let alone anyone, but the annoyance he felt was too strong. "I know. I know, wouldn't hurt him to cut some slack once in awhile."
"Sir, with all due respect, remember who your father is. Who you are."
But Trent had already heard this lecture, many times. He zoned out most of what was said. Part of him was remembering his last conversation with his father. His mother, was always on his right side. They weren't always so overbearing, until Trent made the announcement that he wanted to come to America to experience life out on his own. He was 18 now for crying out loud. He wanted to experience his final year of school in the last place anyone would have expected. A public high school.
Trent found himself tired, bored of home school, his instructor was too uptight. Eventually he complained enough after he reached his teen years. That his parents decided to start sending him to a boarding school, but it was like someone had cloned his too uptight instructor and set them free to roam those buildings.
His father was where Trent got the eyes from. They were pale blue eyes. His Father's eyes were sterner, Trent's were more distant, like they were elsewhere. I'm fact, his head was usually always elsewhere. He was tired of always being followed, and everywhere he went, bodyguards, escorts, servants, always had to follow to ensure his safety.
He longed for that freedom.
"So why not America?" Caleb was in his home country at the dinner table.
Suddenly the entire dinner table went silent. Caleb didn't have to crane his neck far to the left to see the expression on his father's face. A fairly nice ambassador from Australia suddenly turned white as a sheet. Usually the guy was the one telling all the jokes, at the moment, it seemed like it was the last thing he'd do.
Caleb's Father's posture looked calm, but Caleb knew better. They both carried the same temper. He was no longer scraping his plate anymore. Not even the servers standing with their backs to the walls dared to breathe.
Caleb's 2 older siblings and his younger sibling kept taking small sips of their soup. They kept their heads down. Caleb's mother, a pale blonde haired woman (Caleb inherited her hair), her eyes darted back and forth across the table smelling danger in the air. Each time her head moved, the diamonds on the crown that rested over her head flashed. She may have looked like a docile woman, but she was fiercer than any dragon Caleb challenged in any video game.
"And why would you want to go there?" The older man with raven black and hues of blue in it said. He clasped his hands together over his dinner plate and bowed his head. A vein in his temple looked about ready to burst.
Caleb knew the answer before he said it. He straightened his back in his chair, feeling the remains of dinner threatening to rise. His answer needed to be a good one but his own voice sounded trite. "Because I need to grow up."
"Define: Platitudinous."
Caleb responded almost flatly. He knew where this was going now. He tried not to gulp, he really did, but he gave himself pause before answering without difficulty. "Used to often to be interesting or thoughtful."
"There you see? You've been given the best education right here in these walls. What else could you ask for?" He gave a dismissal wave of many rings on that one hand. Though there was only one ring he took pride in. His wedding ring.
His eyes appeared black instead of blue. This wasn't the first time he'd heard this.
But Caleb wasn't going to drop this, "Dad, I'm not giving up."
Caleb was secretly pleased that he waited after the steak was served. That meant there were no dinner knives present. But if he were ask one of the servers... would they have? He doubted his mother would stand for it, but would she have been quick enough?
Caleb and his father clashed the most. He was the third child out of four, and the second son. The oldest, Augustus, always did what his daddy told him to do, he kept his head down the lowest to Caleb's left. He usually referred Caleb as a royal pain.
"No." His father said and without excusing himself. Without so much of a reason or excuse, he threw his napkin that once sat on his lap over the table. He was gone in seconds.
Caleb's mother gave him a look that conveyed that they would have this discussion later. She too left the dinner the table without excusing herself. She floated through the very same door her husband exited.
Samantha, the second child, and the most level headed of the family kicked at Caleb's chair with raised brows.
"Sir," Mr. Bateman's voice brought Caleb-Trent, back into the present. "Have you heard a single word I've said?"
He had to clear his throat some to answer and it had to be the truth. "Er-ah-um, no. Sorry. I'm sorry Mr. Bateman, I was actually thinking of home just now."
For a moment, Mr. Bateman looked smug. "Getting, as they say, cold feet?"
Trent felt his spine stiffen in response. "No." Never.
"It's not too late you know."
The word Platitudinous suddenly came to mind. So his father's words would continue to haunt him even here huh?
"My decisions been made." He originally thought he sounded less stern, but there was a royal bloodline running through his veins. Mr. Bateman stiffened and bowed his head lightly.
The bell suddenly rang again. Trent had barely paid any attention to what went around him anymore, he hardly noticed the front lawn was nearly empty. His soon to be classmates, hopefully potential friends, seemed to run in his direction. Trent had a moment fear of them suddenly whipping out cameras and firing question after question.
But they were just kids. Not paparazzi. This wouldn't be like that time when Trent got lost during one of his mother's sneaky shopping trips. The paparazzi somehow got wind of this and found Trent all alone. It took him weeks to months to get over that experience.
"Didn't it ring once already?!" Caleb his ears plugged with his fingers.
"Sir, I think that was the warning bell!"
Trent thought about asking him to repeat the answer because he didn't catch all the words, but the bell was still ringing so he left it alone. It had finally stopped, and kids were running to where ever they needed to be. Trent didn't fully understand why.
Mr. Bateman visibly had to restrain himself from shouting anymore. "And don't forget about teatime at five, just before dinner."
Trent started to turn to head in the direction of the office. He was sure a man in a black leather jacket would be in there setting up his arrangement. His cover story would soon follow. "Wouldn't miss it for the world... pops."
Mr. Bateman wasn't talking about just tea. There was usually a game of poker involved right after or during. It took Trent years to finally beat Mr. Bateman, or he let Trent win. Trent might never know.
"Now you have everything you need sir?" The man was starting to sound like his mother and started to check Trent from head to toe.
"Yeah." He might have been hearing things but his voice sounded a little shaky.
Think, royalty. His mother's voice was like a feather caressing his ear. Trent remembered her standing directly behind him while he stood before a full length mirror on his 16th birthday. He had to give a speech and was suddenly getting very nervous about screwing it up, but his mom was there, in his room. One hand placed over his right shoulder as she whispered those two simple words of encouragement behind him.
Trent adjusted his voice and straightened up his spine like someone was tugging at the hairs on the top of his head.
"Then," Mr. Bateman said, slightly straining in thought about what to say next, "take care."
A sound, like a bike crashing took place right beside Trent. He had to turn a little to find the source of what was making the racket. A mousy haired kid with frantic looking eyes was hurriedly trying to put a lock on his bike. His school bag happened to rip open suddenly that all his materials spilled on the school's property. Books, notebooks, glue sticks, yellow highlighters, pens and pencils all went rolling in different directions.
Trent took one step forward about to offer some help, but the kid had scooped up all of his materials too quickly for Trent to fully comprehend what happened. Trent thought it safe to assume this wasn't the first time this had happened to the kid. The kid barely batted an eyelash or turned red with embarrassment.
Trent got an even better look at the kid once he was standing up. Hazel eyes met his, as if finally noticing he was not alone. Trent couldn't help but smile to a point, his face stretched in odd places. His feet were frozen to ground and he felt his knees lock in place. Why did he suddenly feel so nervous? Was it because this was the first time some random stranger here looked directly at him? Would he be recognized?
The kid at first, stared, then blinked as if he wished to be someplace else.
The kid was shorter, by only a few inches. "Hi."
Trent could only stare back. His smile reaching over a thousand watts. Or so it felt. Someone he didn't know just said Hi to him. Like he was an equal! The kid gazed back with disinterest before pulling his hood down and checked his phone. Trent heard him curse lightly at himself about being late and headed on inside.
He's cute for a guy, Trent thought.
Wait, what?