Day Twenty-Two: Mad (screw the date)

“... Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please...“

Beckett rolled his eyes, twirling a rusted screwdriver in his hand. He placed his phone on his right shoulder and pressed it to his ear, and strangely enough, Emily still hadn’t noticed that he had stopped talking precisely six minutes ago. He flung the screwdriver carelessly on his bed, and was horrified when it hit the wall instead, an angry scratch symbolizing his failed efforts.

He heard a distance, “what was that?” and cringed.

Quick quick quick quick- paint! I need paint! thought Becket desperately, racing to his door before Myles could even think about investigating. He locked the door with a satisfied click! and frowned, focusing his attention on the ugly scratch on his wall. Tiny chips of plaster mounted on the surface of his bed, and a cold feeling spread through his body like wild fire. His mum was going to murder him. Beckett racked his brain, trying to think of any little thing Myles or Artemis had done as to ensure that they wouldn’t speak a word of his little incident, and after sifting thoroughly through most of his recent memories he grinned, his shoulders relaxing.

There was always the whole drugging-Emily-so-she-could-be-less-annoying story, and Beckett was sure that his mother wouldn’t take too kindly on her sons for keeping that little secret from her.

There was a light knock-knock-knock on his door and Beckett turned around, squinting at the security screen he had made Myles install not too long ago. Screen Myles was currently giving him one of his many death glares, and Beckett’s grin widened. He strolled over to the door and glanced momentarily at the screen before singing, “Who is it?”

Screen Myles curled his upper lip and crossed his arms, raising an irritated eyebrow. “Just open it you deluded oaf,” he said, stifling a yawn. Beckett snorted, and Myles scowled, knocking on the door more forcefully than before. “I have a proposition for you,” announced Beckett, biting back a smile that might have ruined his ‘serious’ tone of voice. Myles looked up, annoyed, and made a face. “Do you now?”

Beckett nodded despite knowing that Myles couldn’t see him. After a moment of silence, Myles sighed and tapped the door more lightly. “I can’t see you, idiot, so is that a yes?” he said. Beckett scowled, crossing his arms. “Yes,” he said finally. “Let’s say, hypothetically, I’ve scratched the wall-“

“That’s what happens when you unnecessarily fling tools on your bed, Beckett.”

“-and hypothetically, bits of the wall came off-“

“Mother isn’t going to like that.”

“-and I have no blue paint in my room to cover it up with, which is going to seriously piss mum off. 

Hypothetically, of course.”

“Of course,” repeated an amused Myles.

Beckett rolled his eyes before continuing. “What do you suggest we do?” he asked, tracing the picture of Captain America’s shield printed on his shirt nervously. “Oh no, I had nothing to do with that stupid mistake of yours, you’re on your own, brother,” said Myles, turning his back on the screen and making his way towards his own room. “No!” Beckett groaned, twisting the knob on his door and racing to his brother’s side. He grabbed his shoulder, surprising Myles, and pulled him towards him. “Help me,” he said, his eyes pleading. Myles scoffed, brushing Beckett’s hands from his shoulder with a disdainful hand of his own. Beckett reclaimed his brother’s shoulder with an even tighter grasp, and Myles was forced to hear him out.

“Please?”

Myles glared at him, and pointed at his left shoulder. Beckett nodded quickly and obliged, loosening his grip on his brother’s shoulder. “Pretty please?” he repeated, his voice eerily resembling a toddler’s. Myles sighed. “Fine,” he said, reluctantly entering his brother’s room. He crinkled his nose in distaste as the smell of motor oil engulfed his senses, and he immediately shoved his forearm onto his nose. 

“Later,” he gagged, running out of his room as fast as his long legs could carry him, leaving a confused and highly amused Beckett alone.

He turned to his bed, and realized that Emily was still on the phone. He grinned, grabbing the phone and bringing it to his ear.

“... Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please-“

Beckett laughed, silencing Emily’s perpetual pleading. “Alright! Alright. I’ll go fetch Myles and we’ll pick you up at the bookstore. Sound good?”

“Yeah- just don’t be late. The movie starts in half an hour and your house is a good twenty minutes from mine,” said Emily, her voice slightly muffled from the telephone line. Beckett grabbed a newly washed and ironed shirt from his drawer before deciding against it, dropping it on the floor. He reasoned with himself that the shirt he currently wore was only three days old- barely even used. “What are we watching again?” he asked, pulling on a pair of green converse shoes and socks fresh from the dryer. “The Amazing Spider Man,” she breathed, giving Beckett a reason to roll his eyes. “Then I’ll be there in thirty,” he teased, tying his shoelaces. Emily gave a startled huh! and hung up. Beckett smiled, walked over to his door, and slipped out, locking the doors behind him. What his mum didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

He got into his brother’s room without bothering to knock, and was greeted rather coldly by a very disgruntled Myles. “What?” asked Myles, looking up from his smart phone. “Who’re you texting?” asked Beckett, prodding Myles’ arm. Myles rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t exactly concern you, so...”

Beckett snorted. “Farah, is it?” he said, giving his brother a wink. Myles ignored his brother, locked his phone, and stood up. “What brings you here, then?” he asked, disappearing into his walk in closet. 

“We’re going to go to the movies,” said Beckett, carefully avoiding the title The Amazing Spider Man (again, what Myles didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him). Myles got out of the room, holding two very expensive looking suits in either hand. “This,” he said, he jerking his head at his right hand, which held a navy silk double breasted Armani suit with a bright maroon tie. “Or this,” he said, jerking his head at his left hand: a charcoal pinstriped suit with a black tie and a steely grey undershirt. “You’re not wearing that to the movies,” said Beckett, eying the suits with great distaste, “Are you?”

“Of course I am. These are my casual suits. Haven’t you noticed?”

Beckett ran a swift hand through his fair curls and sighed. “Myles. You are not going to wear a bloody suit to the movies,” he said. It was Myles’ turn to sigh. “Yes, I am. Just because you’re wearing something dreadful doesn’t mean I should too,” he said, studying both suits critically. Beckett crossed his arms and smiled, making his way over to his brother. Myles pulled his gaze from the suits to look at Beckett.

“Beckett, why are you smiling like that?” he asked, staring at him with wide eyes. Beckett shook his head, chuckling, and edged closer to Myles. “Beckett, stop that. Stop that right now,” he said, his voice a tremulous whisper. He stumbled backwards as Beckett lunged forwards, and the two landed ungracefully on the floor, Myles crying out in pain. Beckett kept one arm firmly on Myles’ chest, and his other hand snatched the two suits away from Myles’ grip. “Get off me!” yelled Myles, his legs kicking weakly. “No,” said Beckett, his hold on Myles firm. “Off. Me,” hissed Myles kicking more wildly. “As you wish!” replied Beckett cheerfully, quickly getting up.  Myles swung an arm around Beckett’s neck, keeping Beckett in place. “Ha!” he cried triumphantly. Beckett only smiled before using his right foot to kick Myles in his lower regions. Myles grunted, doubling over in pain, before releasing Beckett from his inadequate grip.

“You’re pathetic Myles,” he called from across the room, dangling both suits from the window. Myles gurgled a protest, but didn’t get up. Beckett shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said, smiling at his own joke before dropping both suits. The wind carried the lighter articles of clothing from the mud and then unfortunately dropped them right into the miniature duck pond. Myles gasped, slowly recovering from the hit. He got up at his own pace and stared at Beckett’s empty hands. Beckett noticed that his brother was turning a very deep shade of maroon, which, oddly enough, matched one of his muddled suits. He grinned, backing away slowly from his brother and towards the door. “I’m.telling.mother,” Myles said quietly, also edging closer to the door. Beckett’s heart dropped to his stomach and he bolted out of the room, shutting the door behind him. He heard Myles curse just an earshot away from him and picked up his pace, making his way towards the staircases hidden behind a false window.

Myles, now dressed in black dress pants and an ironed grey button up shirt, whipped out his phone and dialed Juliet’s number. She picked up, and he informed her about the tragedy that was his suits. She agreed to fetch them later only after she heard about how they ended up in the mud in the first place. He mumbled an excuse and got out of the room, grabbing a pair of skeleton keys he had hidden in a bowl by his door. Myles walked over to Beckett’s room and unlocked the door. He braced himself from the stench that was about to wrap itself around him and quickly took several photographs of the mark Beckett had so stupidly made only ten minutes ago.

Myles smiled to himself despite the unbearable odor and left the room, pocketing his phone safely in his back pocket. He went back to his room and put on a light cashmere sweater and dress shoes his brother had bought for him from a business trip in Florence. Normally, Chanel wouldn’t live up to his usual standards, but he was going to the movies, and Beckett had made it clear that he had to dress casual. 

Smirking to himself, he made his way downstairs and out of the back doors of Fowl Manor. He saw that Beckett was waiting in the silver Bentley, looking extremely bored.

Myles climbed in beside his brother and buckled his seatbelt. “Don’t turn on the radio,” he reminded Beckett before he could push the button. Beckett stopped, his hand in midair, and pouted. “Just get on with it,” said Myles impatiently, motioning him to start the engine.

Beckett rolled his eyes but did as he was told, pulling the car out of the garage and into the driveway.

***

Twilight had just settled in, splashing the sky with bursts of oranges and deep pinks. Clouds swirled in multicolor, and the barest hints of stars appeared, adding the final touches to a perfectly romantic evening.

Unfortunately for Emily, she wasn’t able to fully appreciate the sky’s beauty, because Myles and Beckett were late. So very late that in fact, it defied the laws of physics itself.

She impatiently glanced at her phone, checking the time. Six minutes late. How could they, she thought furiously, how could they ditch me at a time like this? This was Spiderman for crying out loud! Not some petty movie Deena had insisted they’d watch some time ago.

A silver Bentley rolled into view, and stopped just by Faucet’s Bookstore. Emily could see one very blonde head poking out from one of the windows, and a darker one sitting right beside it. She let out a noise of frustration before she stomped over to the car, opened the handle, and slammed the door shut, ignoring Beckett’s protesting yelp.

She crossed her arms, glaring at both of them. “You’re six minutes late,” she declared, her eyes growing narrower and narrower with each excuse the twins mumbled. “... Beckett threw my best suits on the ground- my suits! It was a situation that I couldn’t leave unnoticed, Emily. In all honesty I wasn’t even sure I was going to accompany you after Beckett’s last gag,” said Myles, sounding exceedingly upset. She rolled her eyes in response and slapped the back of Beckett’s head. Beckett ignored this, and grinned, pressing the exhilarator pedal. The shops of down town Dublin became a passing blur, and Emily forced herself to relax. They were going to make it. They were going to make it.

She flicked her ponytail from her shoulder and reached out a hand at the control panel.

Myles swatted her hand away, shaking his head disapprovingly. “No radio,” he said sternly, his frown becoming more prominent. Emily snorted, and pushed a large black button, activating the radio. Myles raised his eyebrows in irritation. “Emily...” he began, obviously nettled. Emily raised her chin loftily. 

“You guys made me miss the commercials. I am going to listen to my radio and no one is going to say anything about it,” she said, Beckett nodding at every word she had spoken. “She’s right, bro, we gotta do what the boss lady says we gotta do,” he said, turning the knob that controlled a variety of channels. Myles groaned and focused his attention on his phone. “You’re only agreeing with her because you want the radio for yourself,” he muttered, unlocking his phone.

“Damn right he is,” quipped Emily, high fiving Beckett. Myles rolled his eyes and shook his head in annoyance. “No- no- no- I hate that song- no- wait! Keep it! Keep it!” said Emily, stopping Beckett’s hand from turning the knob. He turned to her, grinning. “You like Chris Brown?” he asked, amused. Emily shrugged, crinkling her nose. “I like this song,” she corrected, cocking her head as to imitate professional rappers she had seen on TV as she and Beckett sang along.

“Yellow bottle gin... yellow top sippin’... yellow Lamborghini... yellow top missin’... yeah- yeah... that shit look like a toupee`... I get what you get in ten years, in two days...”

Myles turned to look at Emily, looking absolutely horrified. “Emily, what in the world are you doing?” he asked her incredulously, his eyes narrowed in disbelief. Emily smiled sheepishly and continued with the rap. Beckett laughed delightedly and shook his head, now very amused. “ I don’t even know you anymore,” sniffed Myles, blocking his ears. Emily giggled, laugh lines wrinkling just below her eyes. “Beckett, change the song before Myles explodes, please,” she said, nodding at Myles, who snorted. Beckett obliged, and the delicate sounds of a piano playing rumbled through the speakers, surprising Myles. “They put this on here? That’s brilliant! Keep it, keep it!” she said excitedly. 

“This is most certainly an improvement. This almost covers up your unfortunate rap fetish. Good for you, Emily,” said Myles with an approved nod of the head. The piano solo ended, and a very hissy voice breathed the lyrics through the speakers.

“I’ve seen the book of tales... crafted by magic lamps... only then time itself... its pages are filled with darkness... and mystery...”

Myles closed his eyes. “What in heaven’s name is that?”

Emily glanced at Myles, annoyed. “That’s Michael Jackson, stupid, you don’t mess with Michael Jackson.”

“Myles is in trouble!” sang Beckett, singing along the words, making Emily’s heart burst with pride over his taste in music. Myles arched an eyebrow and said nothing, which Emily thought was the sensible thing to do.

After ten more minutes of Emily and Beckett singing along every song Myles claimed to despise, they reached a brightly lit building with movie posters plastered all over the walls, throngs of teenagers crowding the main entrances. Myles curled his lip. “Is this what people do when they’re procrastinating?” he asked dryly, unbuckling his seat belt. Emily opened the door for him and waited until he got out. “Pretty much,” she said, leading the way towards the front door. The strong smell of smoke wafted by and Emily and Myles scrunched their noses in discomfort. A group of teenage boys and girls sniggered as Myles passed them, his expensive clothing sticking out like a sore thumb.

“Oi! What’s with the shoes, mate? You gay or something?” called one of the guys standing nearest to them, giving Myles a vicious smile. Emily turned to look at Myles, who was flushing the lightest of pink. 

Beckett stopped walking and turned around to look at the group, his eyes narrowed. He then turned to look at Myles, who gave him a slight headshake, which, despite the glare of artificial lights that hung by either side of the theatre gate, was barely even noticeable. But Emily noticed it, and she felt her heart pang, her lunch swimming disagreeably in her stomach. Beckett raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Myles started walking forward again, his back straight and his shoulders seemingly relaxed, but Emily knew better. She rushed over to his side and glanced behind her, giving the group a very dirty look.

Beckett trailed after them just after he had said, “Why? You interested or something?” which caused the crowd to hoot and holler with laughter, leaving the man who had insulted Myles visibly humiliated. 

Beckett left the door to close automatically behind him and soon enough he fell into step with them, walking by Myles’ right. “I told you not to wear-“

“Just leave it, Beckett,” snapped Myles. He sighed, and walked over to the ticket counter. Turning around, he glanced at Emily and Beckett, asking, “Which film are we watching?”

“Spiderman,” they answered simultaneously. Myles rolled his eyes and bought the tickets (ignoring Emily’s protests over how she should be the one paying).

“Fine,” she said, making herself comfortable in her chair. “I’m paying for next time, and you’re going to remember that, okay?”  Myles only frowned, and gingerly put on the 3D glasses after wiping it clean with a wet napkin. Beckett, already absorbed, munched his popcorn whilst staring transfixed at the screen, his mouth slightly parted. “I can’t believe you’re making me watch this,” Myles said quietly, sighing in defeat. Emily smiled, and brought her slushy to her lips. She took a thoughtful sip before shushing him, despite the fact that she couldn’t fully concentrate on the movie because of what had happened only previously.

Emily knew she shouldn’t be surprised. Myles wasn’t like every other bloke in Ireland, in fact, he took pride in that, which impressed Emily in a way she could fully appreciate. Being different was something Emily thought was very important. It built character, her mother had told her, which was something that the world seemed to be lacking nowadays. Yet, when that man affronted Myles, she couldn’t help but feel something close to pity, something that she was sure Myles would hate for her to feel.

She let her thoughts wander to the first time they had met. Emily refused to believe that he had ever been teased; she had always assumed he was the bully and not the other way around. Here, however, he was vulnerable, trapped in a location he couldn’t fully feel comfortable in, and she understood that, she really did. She was the britt in Irish land, and high school hadn’t been kind to her, not one bit. But instead of crumbling into peer pressure, this only made Emily stronger, not only as a painter or writer, but as a person. You didn’t need to listen to the opinion of the public; they were stupid and highly predictable.

Emily chuckled to herself. Who knew she shared something in common with the man she had disliked, well, hated, for only so long? Time, Emily decided, was a fickle thing. She nodded, bemused, and her mind whirred with the explosion of new ideas she could soon incorporate into her writing.

Suddenly, a very dorky Peter Parker appeared on the screen, and Emily was immediately snapped back into reality. She felt herself smile at the sight of him and fangirled silently to herself, causing Myles to look at her in distraught. “What are you doing?” he asked, sounding mildly terrified. Emily giggled, and clapped her hands. “Andrew Garfield,” she breathed, giggling. Myles groaned, covering his face with both of his hands.

Just as Peter Parker pulled his mask down his face for the first time, Emily squealed, and Beckett whispered, “I’d look brilliant in tights.” Myles, clearly agitated, rolled his eyes, sinking deeper into his seat. Emily glanced at him from behind her 3D glasses and flashed him a smile. “You look ridiculous, by the way,” she whispered, giving him the thumbs up. “Thank you. Your comment is greatly appreciated, and I’m hoping to hear more of your dry wit soon,” he replied sarcastically, rubbing the side of his temple with a soothing thumb. Emily shushed him for what seemed to be the umpteenth time that night, and Myles scowled, turning his gaze from her to the screen.

Emily smiled through her slushy, and watched happily as Peter undressed himself just after a crime scene. Myles, surprised at Emily’s sudden attentiveness to the film, covered her eyes with his right hand (a habit his mother had installed into his system at a very, very young age). “Hey!” Emily protested, trying to pry his hand from her eyes. “I won’t let you,” he whispered urgently. “Why not!” she asked, sounding irritated. “Because- because he’s undressing,” she heard him squeak. She groaned and slapped his hand away. Unfortunately for her, Spiderman was already swinging from building to building, every inch of bare skin covered tightly in bright red and blue spandex.

“I hate you,” she growled, her eyebrows furrowed and her face twisted into a scowl.

“No you don’t.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Emily hmphed and ignored him, concentrating hard on the movie. From the corner of her eye she saw Myles give her a small smile, and she felt the corner of her lips smile with him.

Peter Parker and Gwen Stacey were now on the terrace, and Emily braced herself for what was about to happen. She had always felt like she was Gwen in her own story, but every Peter in her life proved a great disappointment for her, and so she gave up on the hope that she could find someone who would make her just as happy as Peter did Gwen. Peter was trying to tell Gwen about his secret identity, and was failing miserably.

A strand of spider web launched itself from his wrist, and it latched itself onto Gwen’s lower waist, twirling her around until their lips met. Emily sighed blissfully (and maybe even a little enviously) and found herself looking at Myles, who, to her surprise, was staring right back at her. Emily felt the heat creeping up her cheeks and she quickly looked away, grateful that the theater was dark and that Myles couldn’t see her blush.

Why did I just do that?

Emily shook her head in an attempt to clear her mind, and focused her concentration on the screen, occasionally helping herself to Beckett’s large tray of nachos despite his weak protests, which she had casually ignored.

***

The trio dumped their 3D glasses in a large basket and made their way out of the theatre, Emily stumbling over a couple of steps as they walked down. “What the hell is wrong with you?” asked Beckett as he helped her from the ground. She stood up, dusting her jeans and shirt, and shrugged. 

“That was brilliant,” she gushed happily, stuffing her hands in her jean pockets as she stepped into the cold night air, the wind whistling merrily in her ears. The theatre’s doors were pulled back, and people poured out from the building, each heading their own separate way.

“No it wasn’t,” sighed Myles, raising a disdainful eyebrow. Emily swiveled around and faced him, her eyes slits. “Are you kidding me? That was bloody brilliant! Andrew Garfield is a fantastic Spiderman. Loads better than that Toby bloke,” she said, flouncing towards their car’s direction.

“Oh, Emily. Poor, misguided, love struck Emily. You’re just hopeless aren’t you?” taunted Myles, opening the car door as Beckett unlocked it. Emily made a face. “Poor Myles, idiotic, uncoordinated, curly haired dweeb with absolutely no life Myles. Must you put yourself in these situations?” she countered effortlessly, rolling her eyes as she settled herself in the backseat. “I wasn’t the one sighing every five seconds like a giggling thirteen year old girl with a crush,” he replied, clicking his seatbelt into place. “Impossible. You like Gwen Stacey. I know you do. You too, Beck,” she said, smirking at both of them.

Beckett grinned and made his way towards the highway, their car snaking in between others. “She was pretty hot,” Beckett admitted, biting back a smile. Myles scoffed, shaking his head. “Yes she was. And she was pretty smart too. That’s gotta be a turn on, right Myles?” insisted Beckett, peering at his brother. Myles shook his head again, and tapped away at his phone. Emily laughed. “He so likes her, it’s not even funny how much he likes her,” she said, enjoying the sight of Myles flushing in front of her. “In fact, he likes her so much he wants to father her children,” she continued in a theatrical voice, patting a very provocative Myles lightly on the head. Myles sighed. “I am never going to watch a movie with the two of you ever again,” he announced.

Emily complained when he said this and poked his shoulder, determined to irk the older twin in any possible way she could. Myles only ignored her, his phone beeping every thirty seconds. “Who are you even texting?” she asked, peeping over his shoulder. Myles pocketed his phone with one sleek move and shrugged, a secretive smile stretching his face. “No one,” he said.

“You lie!” cried Emily, trying to locate his phone. Beckett laughed again and tutted condimentaly at his brother. Myles sent Beckett a glare and he immediately stopped, stifling a chuckle every now and then.

The blur of the scenery slowed down, and Beckett stopped right by Emily’s house. An orangey glow escaped Emily’s windows and she smiled at the sight of her father grading papers in the living room. Her mother entered the room, carrying two cups of what Emily assumed was steaming hot tea.

She looked at both Myles and Beckett and shrugged. “If you guys want to drop by for a spot of tea...?”

Beckett was about to speak but Myles shook his head politely. “Mother is expecting us home for dinner,” he told her. Emily nodded at this and made her way towards her front door. She turned around to find both boys waving goodbye at her. She grinned, saluting them with her right hand. “Tomorrow, then?” she called. “Breakfast!” Beckett shouted and she nodded, turning her back on them. She twisted the knob open and slipped inside, shielding herself from the piercing cold.

Her cell phone beeped, and she checked the contact name.

Draco Malfoy (Myles).

You remind me a lot of Gwen.

Emily felt her self smile.

Ignoring the butterflies that suddenly swooped down her stomach, she greeted her parents and stopped by the kitchen to fetch herself a teacup.

- left-foot-fowl