June 3 – Lawn Gnome Beach Party of Terror

7:02 pm

Phineas Flynn

It was after we trained monkeys to juggle bicycles that Ferb and I began to get our noses stuck in the air. Gosh, no, that's not right. I just want to have a partner in crime, someone to share the blame. But the fact is, it was all me, me and just me. Ferb tagged along, at first. But then he stood up for what he believed, and I was the one who went off the rails.

I'm Phineas Flynn, and this is my journal. Well, mine, and my brother, Ferb's. And I'm going to start it out with a big confession. Ferb's going to help me. I don't think I can do it all myself – I don't know the whole story – and the bits I do know are sort of hard for me to face – hard to write down.

Well, here goes.

I can still remember that day really well. Too well, in fact. Just goes to show you what popularity can do to someone's mind.

It was exactly a year ago, the first day of summer vacation - I had just finished grade four. I remember biking along Maple Drive, prouder of myself, just then, than I had ever been of anyone else. I, Phineas Flynn, was going to skip grade five entirely. Heck, I was even going to skip grade six! The teachers said I was brilliant. And I was.

I'm not saying I'm proud of my thoughts. Actually, writing this, I just want to shrivel up and disappear. It sounds so disgusting. It's just gross when someone gets puffed up. People think I'm a nice guy. Well, I wasn't. And I'm not, now – no one's perfect. It's just, by grace's power, I've been humbled a bit. It makes all the difference in the world. To anyone.

My brother and best friend, Ferb Fletcher – well, if you're reading this journal, then you know Ferb – was biking beside me. He wasn't looking too happy.

Yeah, he had failed the grade.

He was brilliant enough. Back then, I was too stuck up to admit anyone was smarter than me, but Ferb was the one exception to that rule. But he 'lacked social skill'. He didn't talk. He didn't have any friends – except for me. And I was his brother. He didn't even make eye contact unless he had to.

So he failed the grade.

And, horrible truth to tell, I didn't even care. Not past the fact that I wouldn't have a favourite desk partner to copy answers from in grade seven.

And that day, we built a rollercoaster.

I think what put the idea into my head was the opportunity to be better than someone else. Better than a whole fair, to be exact. To build a more exciting rollercoaster than the one we had rode at the fair.

Also, why turn down the opportunity to make a little extra pocket money?

But the real motivation behind my rollercoaster engineering was the fact that the echoes of the cheers of my friends were still bouncing around in my ears from the day Ferb and I had trained monkeys to juggle bicycles. Not to mention my sister's aggravated growls. Teasing her, putting her on edge, it was fun! And impressing the socks off everyone in the block was even more entertaining.

And so Ferb and I constructed 'the coolest coaster ever.' And at the end of the day, I was rewarded with – "Hey, Phineas, that was great.", "Way too cool," "That was awesome!" and, "Can we do it again?"

That was it!

Yup, my tiny, self-centered mind was sorta miffed. It was only the best rollercoaster ever built in Danville. In the world, most likely!

And so I told the kid – "Sorry, only one ride per customer."

And the disappointment on his face was like the first taste of blood in a shark's feeding frenzy.

Bigger, better! It was all I could think of. It wasn't having the best day ever that mattered anymore. It wasn't even Ferb who mattered anymore. It was the drive to have people like me and love me because I was the best.

I pushed the limits of science, of architecture, of space-time. But I was always tied down at home. And everyday, the feeling that I had to produce more exciting rides, more stunning feats of engineering, more amazing calculations, weighed on me.

Home wasn't enough anymore. Danville wasn't enough anymore. When people asked me if I was too young to be doing something, it made me inexplicably angry. Of course I wasn't! I was me! Hadn't they heard of me?

One night, toward the end of summer, I also got the feeling that time was running out – that school would be upon me soon. That anxious thought, on top of all the pressure and hunger that fed yet killed my soul, drove me to the most drastic movement of my short life.

"Ferb," I whispered, sometime in the dead of night. He woke with a start and a sigh, but I found I didn't care if I had interrupted his sweet dreams or not.

"Ferb, let's go to London."

He laughed a little uncertainly. "You're still dreaming," he said, and rolled over.

"No, bro, I'm totally serious. We could be outta here before mom and dad wake up."

"You're crazy."

He was sitting up, now, clutching Perry, our pet platypus, to his chest. And there was fear in his voice. "Phin, you've gone crazy! I knew you would! It's been coming all summer long."

I ignored this – what did he know? "Come on! We've got our lives waiting for us out there! Don't you see? No one cares we're young! We're smart enough to thrive out there! We could make it big! Engineer a bridge that's more impressive than the Tower Bridge! Build something cooler than the Tower of London. With our bare hands! A skyscraper to heaven."

"You're crazy."

"Come on, Ferb, you were born there! You've got family, we could visit!"

"I've got family, here, too!"

"Who cares? We've got our destinies to meet."

Ferb actually edged away from me, moving to the far right side of his bed. "I care. And we're not doing anything, Phineas Flynn. I can't stop you if you're going to go out there. And I don't want to make you miserable. But there is no way I'm going to London with you."

What did I do to my brother?

That was the worst night of my life. Worse because I didn't feel bad at the time. I only felt a stinking, spiteful apathy. Wasn't happy, wasn't sorry. Whatever.

And that apathy took over my life.

I went to London. Yes, I actually did. I had made enough money in Danville to support my crazy scheme. I didn't care I was ten years old. If I couldn't physically defend myself in the wide world, well, technology could, and did.

And those were the lost months.

Like I said, apathy. Nothing. No feeling. Other people's admiration didn't give me what I wanted. Fame became my thirst, but no matter how deeply I drank, it didn't satisfy. I just kept getting thirstier.

You think you see where I'm going with this, reader, don't you? Yeah, no. My life didn't work that way. I didn't go running back to Ferb and mom and dad like a good little boy. Uh-uh. It took a lot more than that. Because by then, I was trapped. And not just by the insatiable thirst for power and gain that was so ugly for a ten-year-old to have – but by business, and men cleverer than me, who knew I was naïve and didn't mind taking advantage of the fact.