“... 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
