Arthur Kirkland was what you could say a 'young adult' and acted like one perfectly. If you didn't look at his height, you would think he was an adult, but he was actually 15 and a half. He was a true Brit in his heart, and had been living in England for 8 years after he moved to the Netherlands because his parent had 'suddenly' bought a house there. He never knew the reason for it, and his mother just answered him with: "Dad just bought a house there." Didn't dad have a job? Wasn't he a Brit like him? The question 'why' would always keep bothering him, since Arthur simply didn't believe the thing his mother said. His father worked all week long except on Sunday's. His mother didn't have any job. She had a little part time job to go clean someone's house on Wednesday since her body was quite… In a bad state. He spent the rest of his youth in the Netherlands, learning the norms and language. But suddenly, his parents told him: "We are moving back to England!" and the question hit him again. Why?
Arthur never bothered asking, knowing it would probably be an answer he couldn't understand. They moved back to a small village that was actually nowhere near a big city with a possible school for Arthur. But the thought that Arthur was back where he had spent his childhood and to be back in his fatherland made him feel comfortable enough to spend the rest of his time. Arthur had never known of the little village before, and thought it would be formal enough to visit the neighbours at first. He walked up the path that led from the front yard to the front door of his new neighbours, noticing it was awful messy and even noticing an empty bag of crisps. He muttered under his breath that it was quite inappropriate to leave an empty bag on the streets, but just walked further, paying it no attention.
It was quite a sturdy house. It looked quite old and moreover, cheap. If there was something he didn't like one bit, than it would be cheap things that wouldn't last long. Like the pencils he would get on his birthday. They would break every time he would try to sharpen them. He'd rather just have some good quality pencils, but he didn't go out often to town, so he never got the chance to buy them. Not like he needed to. Arthur liked to draw. He always had a little sketchbook in one of his pockets and a pencil to sketch out interesting ideas when they came to his mind. He didn't have an rubber, he managed without one perfectly fine. Most people didn't know what else he liked, so on his birthday, he would get an overload of sketchbooks and pencils. It was quite disappointing to see the same presents every year again.
He silently ringed the doorbell once, but heard no one in the house. He rang again, finally hearing some rumbling from upstairs. He heard various curses from the person that was chasing off the stairs to open the door. "Yeah yeah, I'm comin'!" Said person opened the door bluntly, and it was quite a sight. The person was a man, and quite a good looking one, if Arthur may say so. He had his glasses still in his hands and his hair looked quite unruly as one piece of hair stuck up above the gel covered hair that kept the rest smooth. He was still in his pyjama's, and it was already 2 PM. His pyjama's had a hamburger print on it and he came down on his bare feet.
"Heya, who are you? New kid?" Arthur couldn't stand how rude he was to him. "Yes, I am the 'new kid', as you call it." "Cool! I'm Alfred F. Jones, the hero! Who're you?" "… Arthur Kirkland… the Brit?" A laugh blasted out of Alfred's throat as Arthur said that and smiled warmly. "Well, nice to meet ya'! I hope we get to know each other more!" "That would be lovel—" "Let's meet up tomorrow! Ill show ya' around town and stuff, get a drink, it'll be fun!" "Ah! I can—" "Alright then! See ya tomorrow Artie!" And with that Alfred closed the door in Arthur's face. No matter how awkward that was, it seemed like Arthur was going out of town tomorrow to hand up with Alfred, his rude neighbour.