Private School Kings

The Prince Lies

Magnus stood on the chair all the way to the right, blushing hard in the way that Heather sometimes did when she drank without much makeup. Of the three boys, he looked the most out of it, swaying with a stupid smile on his face but still downing the beers that the other lords were handing to him. All the way to the left, was another blond, and though his hair was longer than I had ever seen it and his face rounder, I knew Tim Watson when I saw him. He looked young, boyish and enthusiastic. The third boy stood on the chair between them. He had dark wavy hair and starry freckles I knew so well, but his eyes were clear and innocent. There was no fury in this Fletcher Highguard. Not yet. He was wild and free and smiling an unbridled Pruitt smile. He was fit to be king.

The recording was noisy, but Fletcher's laughter, a sound I had grown so used to, rang loud above the rest of the sound. Tim was stone faced, focused on the task ahead of him, sweating bullets as he took messy sips. Magnus was shaky and swaying. But Fletcher made it look easy. He loved it. It was so obvious. The competition, the craziness, he loved all of it. Or, he had.

The video continued, and Magnus only grew shakier. His hair caught the light and morphed into a shining blond halo. His thin body folded forwards as he fell, and his arms flew out behind him like the wings of a baby bird. Tim and Fletcher's eyes were elsewhere, but the camera followed Magnus as he hit the ground. The fall didn't look terrible, even onto the cold concrete, but I knew that it was. There was laughter from most of the crowd, a sharp hiss behind the camera and a whispered swear that sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it within my buzzing brain, even the two remaining boys smiled when they saw. Something rotten grew inside of me as I watched them leave a living boy to die. Even Fletcher, especially Fletcher.

The camera turned back upwards and Tim and Fletcher kept going. They drank and drank until eventually Tim fell too. His was an awkward stumble, and when he hit the ground he pushed himself back into a shaky standing position immediately, but it was too late. He had lost.

A boy stepped forward, wearing a crown. This must have been the last king, Talia's brother. Where she hid behind apathy he was all emotion and animation he moved wildly, with a manic smile that twisted my insides.

"Lords and Ladies," He boomed. That impressive volume must have been a requirement for all Pruitt Kings because he sounded just like Tim. "Let me introduce you," He gripped Fletcher's hand, pulling it up into the air, "To the new King of Pruitt!"

Fletcher's victory roar was an animalistic, awful sound. He leapt from the chair like a wild beast, landing on surprisingly steady legs. He threw two clenched fists to the air and roared again, "Fuck yeah! Fuck yeah!" Hearing his voice, that deep timberous sound, such an essential part of him, coming from a person so entirely different from the one I knew was like watching a favorite movie out of order. It was just wrong. He whirled, arms still out, slapping Tim hard on the back. Tim grimaced, and then he pulled Fletcher in for a macho hug. It was clear that they were friends from the familiarity of the gesture. When Fletcher broke away from the embrace he turned, looking for someone. When he saw the body on the floor he laughed, kneeling beside it. "Mags!" Even with the noise I could hear the excitement in his voice. He pulled at the boy's shoulder. "Come on Mags, get up and celebrate with me!" But as the body turned the red staining his temple became visible. It clotted his blond bangs and left them hanging awkwardly over his glassy, wide open, eyes. "Mags?" Fletcher's voice turned hesitant, confused. The room quieted, leaving me with gasps, and then... the video went dark.

Fletcher had been there. Fletcher had lied to me. He'd been a lord. He'd been a king. My stomach turned at the thought of him in that crown.

Heather was smiling, but she didn't look happy. She looked like a ghost, a flawed remembrance of the boy I had just watched die. Everything felt wrong. Everything inside me, everything around me. It had all turned sour.