Page 30 of Brutal Prince

“You look lost,” the beautiful boy stated as he cruised up beside me on his bike.

His skin was flawless, unlike mine. My hand automatically gravitated to the place I hated the most, my chin. Three red pimples that stood out like a lighthouse beacon at night. Damn it. I tried squeezing them earlier, but Mom caught me in the act. “They’ll spread if you squeeze them.”

If my skin was that bad at twelve years old imagine how it’ll be in a couple of years time.

He swept his dark blond hair back with his hand, never taking his eyes off me once. What a dreamboat. A gush of cool air ran down my throat and I realized my mouth was gaping. I licked my lips in an attempt to hydrate them.

“No,” I finally answered.

“You look too young to be a student here.”

Well, duh. “My dad is a janitor,” nodding my head in the direction of the maintenance room where he was buried inside.

“Gromit’s your dad?”

“Gromit?”

“Rhymes with vomit.”

“My dad’s not called Gromit.”

He made a growling sound at the back of his throat as he rolled his eyes. “You’re not that smart. How old are you?”

“Twelve.”

“Young. Young and pretty.”

“I’m not pretty. How old are you?”

He held up two fingers. “Two years older than you and…a shitload more experienced.”

I wrinkled my nose. “You’re only fourteen. That’s not that old.”

A sharp clanging sound coming from the maintenance room splintered the conversation. My father wandered out carrying his toolbox.

“Grom-it,” the boy sniggered, pushing down on his pedal and glided away.

I watched the boy go utterly fascinated by him, yet incredibly angry that he called my father Gromit. I looked back at my father, suddenly seeing him in a different light. He was wearing his blue janitor jumpsuit, covered in grease and hunched over like he always was. It occurred to me that he was someone who spent his life being invisible, either by choice or by circumstances.

He was a nobody. Who married another nobody and had a kid who was also a nobody.

But that boy was a somebody. I knew that much. I knew nothing about him, except his age. Yet, I could tell by the way he held himself, and the self-assured tone in his pristine voice that he was born for greatness. Probably lived in a mansion in the Greenway suburb in Kingston Valley where the mega wealthy dwell. I wondered what he had for breakfast. Probably expensive food like bacon and eggs served on a silver platter.

Every day after school, I’d bike to KVU where my dad worked and then waited until he finished his shift at 5.30pm. Back then, Mom worked as a nurse at the hospital, so it was inconvenient to hang out there.

In the cooler seasons, I’d hang out in the library reading or sketching. In the warmer seasons, I’d find a spot in the university garden or on the sports field.

My parents couldn’t afford child care. On school breaks I’d spend the whole day, five days per week, hanging out at the university. I hated it so much. Boredom was an understatement.

Until the day, I met the boy on the bike. From that point onwards, I searched for him, hoping we’d collide in a wonderful haze of serendipity.

It was a tortuously long week later before I saw him again. Unfortunately, he didn’t come alone.

“Do you still miss Dad?” I asked Mom as I brushed her knotted hair. I’d neglected her and felt bad. She, on the other hand, wanted me to live my life, rather than being a slave to her needs. However, it didn’t quite work that way.

Air released from her lungs as if she’d been holding her breath for days. “Yes. Every single day.”

“Do you wonder what life would be like if he was still alive?”

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