Woot! An update! Thanks to the two people who reviewed my first chapter. Hope this satisfies your thirst for the moment

Twice as Much as Half

Chapter 2

"Some of the teachers are concerned about Magenta's performance and participation in the classroom," Walter Scott, the guidance counsellor informed my guardians. I hate it when adults talk about me as if I'm not even present. It makes me feel like sucker punching them, but I don't, because I have to control my actions. "They were wondering if there was anything in her home life that could be affecting her school life in this way."

Dad looked accusingly at Papa, who spared him not even a glance, simply replying, "Of course not. Everything is fine at home. Now, could you be respectful of my daughter's presence?"

We'd already been sitting here for about three minutes, unless I'd slowed my counting in my head, in which case it was longer than that, and I didn't want to spend another second with this man. His clothes just screamed "I'm a wanker!" with his green and yellow horizontally striped polo shirt and khaki coloured pants and penny loafers. Who in the world wears penny loafers? I mean, seriously. In the immortal words of Reliant K, "Penny loafers are absurd. 'Cause I don't know why on earth you would take your two cents worth and put them in your girly shoes... Why not use quarters, so then you can make a phone call."

"Yes of course," Walter agreed, looking me in the eye, as if that actually made up for his earlier disrespect. "Now, we did speak earlier in the year about the special circumstances of your family arrangement."

"What special circumstances?" I asked pointedly. "There's nothing special about our family arrangement. It's no different to if Susan's parents were divorced and had joint custody. I still have a curfew. I still have rules enforced on me. I still have chores. How are my circumstances 'special'?" Yes, I was frustrated. Yes, I was agrovated. But I had every right to be. This dickwad was labelling my circumstances without actually knowing all that much about me. "Just because I have two male guardians and no mother does not make my circumstance special. You're just labelling it as special because you're afraid of discriminating. Well guess what! I don't like being referred to as special. I. Am. Normal. If you think-."

Dad placed a hand on my knee to quiet my protests, while Papa situated his own at the nape of my neck.

"I'm sorry if I've offended you, Magenta." Damn right you've offended me. "But with your family structure being how it is, we fear that you would be excluded from certain activities. If not by the general description of the event, such as the Mother-Daughter evenings that have been planned, then by your peers."

"Oh come on!" Dad exclaimed. "Surely she's not the only kid in school who doesn't have a mother. What do the other girls do? Accept that they're 'different' and can't attend those events? Or do they allow substitute mothers? Aunts perhaps? Grandmothers?"

"Certainly there is a large number of motherless girls attending the school, but you must understand that each of their circumstances are different. And, I'm afraid, they are all quite a bit different to your own."

"This blows," I muttered under my breath, crossing my arms under my breasts and hefting one leg over top of the other. Closed body language, Papa calls it, when a person wants nothing more to do with the subject at hand. Let's hope they get the hint.

"Surely this isn't the purpose of these meetings," Papa commented, his hand still at my nape. This was a comforting gesture he had maintained all through my life from before I could remember... at least I assume it was before I can remember, considering that I don't remember those parts of my life.

"No, the purpose is to address any issues you or the school may have come across in the first term of the year. As I mentioned before, some of Magenta's teachers are concerned about her participation and performance in the classroom."

"I'm right here," I said exasperatedly. Can you tell that I don't like to be ignored? I think I've made it pretty clear so far.

"Some have even reported her sleeping the whole way through their classes."

"Still here!"

"It makes us wonder if she gets enough sleep at night. She clearly displays a disinterest in many of the subject areas she chose to study this year. Are there any complications that the school should be aware of?"

Gritting my teeth, I began impatiently jiggling my leg. This asshole was going to ignore me no matter what. Luckily, Papa's powers of persuasion surpass any other's on this earth and he managed to draw the meeting to a close not long after.

We said goodbye to Dad an hour and a half later as we stood on the front steps of the school. It was Papa's last weekend with me before he had to relinquish me to Dad for the holidays and he apparently had big plans for it. I wasn't complaining. I liked spending time with Papa and his men.

Oh! I haven't told you about his men!

Well there are about a gazillion of them. All with huge muscles and most with a military background. Looking at them you wouldn't figure a single one would be able to tell you what twice two was, but they were all really intelligent, which was a great help when it came to homework. Think about it; I had an entire company worth of knowledge practically at my fingertips (once I taught them all about instant messaging and showed them how to use the programs, that is). I had the official okay from Papa to bug anyone in the building wearing Rangeman black (Plus Ella) for help with anything (within reason, of course). Anyway, I liked to call the guys The Lost Boys, because they liked to kid around a lot and looked at Ranger like he was Peter Pan or Wendy or something... maybe I was Wendy... I don't know, I try not to think about it all too much. Fact is, they're the Lost Boys because they would follow Papa anywhere.

Once a month we have a movie night in the rec room downstairs. All the guys that aren't on duty that night cram in and we order pizza from Pino's and I'm allowed one friend over, provided that they have passed the Papa test. The Papa test is kind of complicated, and probably a little invasive. So, I tell Papa who I'm thinking of inviting. He asks unlimited questions about her (it's always a her, I'm not allowed boys over) then looks up her criminal record and her parents background. That's the simple part over. When her parents drop her off (this is a prerequisite. Parents must accompany child to building) he interrogates them (in the actual interrogation chamber!) while I entertain my friend on the comm. floor. If the interrogation goes well, Papa will pleasantly say goodbye to the parents and ensure they are gone before having one of the Lost Boys crash tackle me (while standing right beside her) and another hold a gun up to her face. If she could endure this without complete and utter break down and was actually willing to stay, then she was permitted. Otherwise it was back to the drawing board.

Needless to say, once I found a friend that didn't mind my father's antics and actually passed the Papa test, I kept that one girl for the rest of all movie nights. That girl was Amelia Gerard. My BFF (Best Friend Forever, for all those who are not down with the lingo... Dad). Amelia and I go right back to preschool. We met on the first day and became instant friends (because it's that easy when you're young. Hey! You have eyes and finger! I have eyes and fingers! We're the same! Be my friend).

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, a totally packed weekend with Papa before going to Dad's for the holidays. Well, I was lectured the entire ride home about paying attention in class and doing as the teacher says, like he can talk. I've never once heard a tale of him actually obeying police orders. Of course, I've not heard all that many stories of him at all, being that the Lost Boys are so tight lipped about everything in the past, but, I like to imagine that he was very defiant. As soon as we entered the underground parking garage, however, a smile graced his face and he grew silent.

Standing by the elevator (which, subsequently I was forbidden to use after a certain incident involving silly string, a stink bomb and the elevator getting stuck...) were Tank, Lester, Bobby and Junior, all grinning madly. That didn't happen very often; movie night and my birthday, that's about all I can think of. It made me nervous. They were definitely up to something. Those grins were freaking me out. And Papa was smiling too. Not nearly as rare as Tank lead me to believe it was before I came along, but it still gave me a funny feeling.

I didn't even have enough energy to make it to the couch in the apartment. I collapsed on the floor just inside the living room door and made no effort to find a more comfortable position even though it hurt like hell to lie on my arm the way I did. I was covered from head to toe in practically everything you can imagine could cover me after spending time in the woods and then some, but I didn't care, I just wanted to sleep. Papa and the boys had taken me camping... sort of. It wasn't the type of family camping situation you see on TV, far from it, in fact. There was no cabin, no tent, no sitting around a campfire toasting marshmallows and reminiscing (the only marshmallows present were the ones that I snuck in the small pack I was allowed to take), no friendly games or fishing or anything that you would expect. Truth be told, it felt like some kind of boot camp.

The six of us were armed with paint guns, separated into pairs (Papa and Lester, Bobby and Junior, Tank and me) and handed an envelope with our secret starting point contained within it, by Woody (who apparently organised the whole thing for us) early on Saturday morning. The aim? To 'kill' them before they kill you. Naturally, that included a lot of planning and strategy, these guys are ex-military, remember. It was a very full on weekend to say the least.

Tank and I decided to profit from everyone's knee jerk reaction to protect me. Once we had acquired all the intelligence we needed (where the other teams were based, any plans we may have eavesdropped on) and gotten a feel for our surroundings (this was more for me than for Tank, who had spent much time in these woods for training exercises and what-not), we started stalking around quietly avoiding, while still looking for, the other teams. We had our packs on our backs, have decided not to set up a permanent camp and our guns slung over our shoulders, but at the ready. After a while (and by a while I'm talking a few hours, it was after nightfall) we came up a few yards behind Papa and Lester. They didn't hear us as they were discussing tactics of some kind, so we retreated a way to finalise the plans we had formulated earlier.

He ran steadily ahead of me, never breaking stride or checking behind him to check on me (this was planned). I stumbled along a fair distance behind, puffing and panting and grasping my side from a fake stitch. The path he took lead us straight past Papa and Lester, just a few metres away. Once he had passed them I called out.

"Tank!" It was breathless and whiney, but loud enough to carry. "Slow down! I can't run anymore!" To add to the effect I had taken a few minutes to suitably redden my face and dampen my brown from 'sweat'. I increased my pace for a moment but 'tripped' on an imaginary tree root, right in view of the enemy. With a girly squeal (which I had been known to release from time to time), I fell forward, letting out a hefty, "OOF."

"Gen!" Lester called, slightly panicked. He especially could never stand to see me hurt, or sick, or in discomfort. When I had gotten my tonsils out he'd done everything in his power to make sure I wasn't sore or uncomfortable, he even went so far as to give me a pager in case I needed him while he wasn't there. "Are you okay?" He was right next to me now, kneeling down to help me up.

"Just dandy," I grumbled, pushing myself up on my elbows and giving a grimace like the small action hurt. "Stupid trees."

He held out his hand to help me up (now on his feet again), but I refused it.

"It's a trap!" Papa exclaimed, but it was too late, Tank had already circled back around and landed a paint bullet right where his heart is. Lester, taken by surprise by Papa's exclamation, was too shocked to defend himself when I jumped up and plattered a couple of paint bullets so that they matched.

"Can we say mortally wounded?" I crowed amidst my impromptu happy dance.

Tank, Papa and Lester grinned at me and replied in unison, "Mortally wounded."

"We have about a minute before we're dead," Lester informed us, "If you want any information from us you should take it now while we're delirious with pain, but still able to think."

We took what information we could before they did their pathetic dying act and slumped back to the ground to wait out their corpse time in comfort. It turned out that they had nothing that we didn't already know. Unfortunately for us though, Bobby and Junior found us before we could find them. Again it was a few hours later. They got me first. I was sticking close to Tank so I didn't get lost (my orienteering skills were absolute shite), when I felt the impact through my vest, right between the shoulder blades. I was dead.

"Tank," I whispered, pulling his hulking self to the ground with me (we'd agreed not to resist gestures like that, because it was better safe than sorry), "I'm dead. Save yourself." With that I sagged, face first, into the leaf litter and mud. He took only a second to check my florescent green 'wound', before he picked up his gun and started firing into the trees. He wasn't even looking where he was shooting; instead carefully scanning the area, looking for the source of the bullets that he was somehow dodging. I knew the moment he spotted them because he dragged me in front of himself, using my 'corpse' as a shield as he stood up and began rapid fire. I hung deliberately limp from his grip and watched the paint bullets stream through the air toward us in amusement. I could just make out their expressions through the trees, a mixture of disbelief, shock and determination. The bullets pelted my vest leaving a pretty smudging of colours combining into a horrid brown colour so that in the darkness of the extremely early morning it kind of resembled blood. Tank's bullets hit Junior first, riddling his chest with multicoloured splatters until he fell backwards, 'dead'.

He got a real feral look on his face as he continued to fire at us. The ancient rivalry that was present in everything they did was now fully awakened. The grim set of his mouth was a bit scary given that I was directly in the line of his fire. I shuddered at the very moment that a bullet splattered right between his eyes. Now dead, he fell limply backwards to join Junior on the ground.

Tank set me down on the ground and I pulled out the two way from my pack. "Papa? Lester? Come in. Over."

"Loud and clear. Over," Papa replied through the static.

"Papa, I'm dead. Over."

"What about Tank? Over."

"Alive and well. Used my corpse as a shield. Over."

"Bobby and Junior? Over." It was Lester this time. I can only imagine what Papa had done with the information I'd given him.

"Dead and deader. We'll meet you by the car in a few. Over."

By the time we got home the adrenaline of the past twenty four hours had worn off and I was barely able to keep my eyes open long enough to climb the stairs to the seventh floor (yes, even in sleep deprivation and physical exhaustion he made me use the stairs, though he was right behind me the entire time with a hand at the small of my back). Papa unlocked the door and gave me a shove toward the living room, intending for me to go through to the bathroom, but I gave into my drooping eyelids and absent brain activity and settle half heartedly on the floor three steps from where he'd shoved me. I heard him chuckle as he caught me under my arms and dragged me to my feet again, dragging me to the bathroom where he stripped me down to my singlet top and boy leg cottons (while I protested feebly) and stuck me under the cold spray of the shower. I sputtered and put my hands up in an attempt to shield myself from the sudden onslaught.

"PAPA!" I squealed, indignant, but it had done what he'd intended. I was awake.

"Clean up, put on some clean clothes then go to bed. I'll wake you up at four thirty this afternoon so you can get ready for dinner at Grandma's." He turned to leave, then turned back for a second. "Don't fall asleep in there. I don't think many people would be happy if you drowned."

"Got it," I nodded.

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