AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter sucks, I know. It's very bland and boring, but it helps the story progress further, and will help develop Mail's character more. It'll start getting better after the next few chapters. I'll most likely release the next one in a couple of days..hopefully.

Oh, and there might be several errors because I didn't go thoroughly check the chapter like I should have. Oops. x)

DISCLAIMER: I unfortunately do not own Death Note.

Unfortunate Circumstances .o2

There was nothing to do in his house. It was vast, filled with expensive decorations and exotic paintings. Even then though, nothing sparked much of an interest to Mail. It was usually his mother who enjoyed the abstract paintings, and owned the odd collection of souvenirs from time to time--not him. He never seemed to be captiviated by such things. Personality-wise, he was more like his father. Precise, quiet but unafraid to be outspoken, and procrastinated quite a bit.

He scanned the living room briefly. As usual, everything was perfectly in place, without a speck of dust in sight. However, it was far from welcoming. The house had a cold atmosphere to it; it practically welcomed the silence, with the exception of a maid or two. However, they usually remained out of sight.

Occasionally, Mail would appreciate this time to reflect, and contemplate his actions. The quiet environment gave him opportunities to extend his thoughts. Sometimes, he'd picture some crazy scenario, or some type of unique predicament, and what type of decisions he would make if he were in it. It was always more enjoyable to wonder what it was like somewhere other than inside his house. Majority of the time, this was one of the main reasons Mail would return straight to his room, going to bed quite early. You see, sleeping made time go faster. It was a method he discovered that helped sort his thoughts out, even if they didn't make much sense in the first place.

After all, it's been said that the human mind thinks multiple thoughts at a time.

Mail quietly made his way into his room, placing his body on the comfortable blanket and mattress after shoving all his school supplies on the floor.
He allowed himself to relax. It was only then thoughts started to consume his mind. But the first thing that came to mind was..

Ms. Kennedy.

The blonde haired woman with unnaturally bright blue eyes. At the thought of his fake teacher, Mail Jeevas smiled bitterly.

She thought he had problems.

But it was her who was in a financial crisis. She was the one living check by check, the one who was unable to afford a decent living Yes, he had seen the papers on her cluttered desk. Money calculations, deductions, checks. She was desperately trying to deposit some money, but that proved to be impossible now--all thanks to the steady increase of gas prices. Who was the one with the problems? Was what Mail wanted to say.

But she wasn't very socialiable. The only one who called her cell was her landlord; impatiently demanding his rent money.

Mail had known this through careful observation; it was the little things she did when nobody was looking. When the class was unruly, an exhausted frown would plaster itself onto her lips, and she would stand there for a brief moment and just stare. Doubt would be flickering back and forth in her eyes, plain as daylight, as she would wonder how big of a mistake it had been, pursuing a teaching career. But then after a minute, she'd snap out of her dream-like state, and start raising her voice to gain control of the class.

It would be quite amusing, to imagine her face if she found out about all the things he knew about her. Mail had to admit, it was a bit sad that he was bored enough to pay this much attention to her. But then again, the daily class discussions and teachings were just about enough to drive him crazy. Hell, Mail wasn't stupid. Multiplication was a breeze. So was division. He figured it all out within several minutes, while the others were still trying to figure out the concept of what two times three was.

And she thought he was incompetent.

He snorted, before pulling up his blanket, deciding that thinking about his teacher would only serve to aggravate him. Instead, his mind started to wander to other subjects. Soon, he found himself wondering when his mother was going to come home. Her meetings usually lasted 2-4 hours, depending on what company she was dealing with. His father, Nathaniel Jeevas, was also in a business meeting. However, his meeting lasted longer. Sometimes for two and a half weeks, depending whether or not he needed to travel to exotic places.

Ah yes, Mail's parents were always busy, whether it was inventing new games, to inventing new software. It was always about technology. At first, Mail was curious. He had wondered how a television worked, among many other electronics. How it could produce vibrant colors, and life-like images in a box?

But like division, and multiplication, he figured that out quickly as well. His curiosity disappated into nothingness.

But it did still fascinated him, somewhat. People seemed wrapped up in trying to make the televisions more convenient, smaller, thinner, with clearer pixels and whatnot. He couldn't exactly understand why, television seemed too much of a hassle. He was perfectly content with the ones his family had; plasma screens, life-like images. Even then though, it didn't interest him for more than five minutes. The shows that seemed to captivate many others seemed pathetically useless in his eyes.

Mail let out another sigh, glancing at the calender next to his clock. His birthday was coming up.

His mother had asked him whether or not he wanted to throw a party. When Mail refused, she had asked why, and that he should--because throwing birthday parties in other families was traditional. Other families, being the key word. He remembered replying in a neutral voice, that there was no point. That it would only consume his time further, and that there was no need to make such a hassle about a birth date. He didn't necessarily want anything. However, his mother did hint that his father might be arriving home for the weekend, and that they'd spend a little time together.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

He'd like that.

Mail never fully understood the meaning of 'birthdays'. The words, 'birth' and 'date' were merged together. So, the purpose of birthdays was to.. celebrate the day of one's birth? With presents? It was an odd concept. The meaning of life; shouldn't one be grateful to be breathing? Yet, the children in his class demanded presents of all sorts. They insisted on gathering a group of friends, having a big icecream cake with candles on top, and spend the whole day as an excuse to be treated well. A couple weeks ago, Mail remembered Ms. Kennedy excused a girl--Janet, was it?--from doing the daily routine clean up of the classroom. Simply because it was her birthday.

He had believed this to be ridiculous, and had slipped out of the classroom, deciding to walk home the long way that day.

Nevertheless, he was happy his father was going to come home. Now he just had to wait. For three weeks.

A frown crossed Mail's face. It was going to be a long, grueling three weeks. He recalled his father explaining that the business meeting was extremely important. He said that his company had created a brand new software, and if the meeting was successful, they'd become even more rich. Mail didn't really care though, they had more than enough money to last them for at least several years. But he grew curious; what exactly was this 'software'?

...

Knock. Knock.

"Mr. Jeevas?"

Upon hearing his last name being called, Mail grunted and rolled over on his bed. He was having a pleasant dream, and obviously didn't want to be disturbed. However, the person at the door became persistent. Eventually, the annoying sound had Mail fully awake. A little pissed-off, Mail opened the door. There was a woman; one of his mother's maids.

"What?" Mail hissed. "I recall telling you that I do not want to be disturbed." The maid smiled, half-heartedly.

"Mrs. Jeevas gave me strict orders to make sure you're attending school today." She responded, before glancing at the digital clock in his room. "You have thirty minutes to get ready, Mr. Jeevas. There's breakfast on the table, and would you like someone to escort you?" Mail stared at her, before letting out a large yawn. This was rather rude, but he didn't really care.

"I..uh.." He struggled to think properly. How long had he been sleeping? "I just got home from school."

The maid flashed him one of her half-hearted smiles again. "Mr. Jeevas, you've been sleeping for more than ten hours. Today is Thursday and your mother expects you to be at school."

Mail blinked, still a tad sleepy. "Very well then." He muttered with discontent, before slamming his bedroom door shut. "I'll be down in 15 minutes. Thanks."

He turned around, grabbing whatever clothing was closer in his closet. It turned out to be navy blue jeans, and a plain red shirt. Mail wouldn't have it any other way; those private school uniforms were so..formal. He hated them, and was more than thankful that his mother didn't make him go. He was already singled out in school, as the kids eyed the type of expensive food he was eating, or the occasional escorts he received. He supposed it didn't really matter what they thought of him though. He would rather stay at a public school, than at a private school. The stuck-up idiots were such a hassle to deal with.

Mail quickly stumbled his way through the bathroom door, before brushing his teeth and examining the strange placement of his auburn hair. Several strands made a sweeping movement towards the ceiling, looking tangled and unbrushed, while the others were slightly curled; framing his face. He frowned at his unruly hair.

After several attempts at trying to comb the mess down, Mail decided to shove his head under the shower. The problem had been..successfully fixed.

...

At school, Ms. Kennedy had wondered why his hair, and his shoulders were soaking wet.

Mail mimicked the maid's half-hearted smiles, before shrugging. This earned his several strange looks, whom he was accustomed to. Ms. Kennedy sighed, knowing that he wasn't going to give her much of an answer. She resumed her daily classroom routines, and Mail resumed observing everyone in the room.

Janet Harrison

A brunette with large hazel eyes. She was considered to be the smartest of the class. When she was thinking of an answer, she fidgeted with her hands. Mail automatically assumed that this was a nervous habit constantly used because she doubted herself. It was probably the feeling of pressure from her classmates.

Hailey Thompson.

She had blonde hair, and blue eyes that look similar to Ms. Kennedy's. She wanted to be a dancer, simply because she loves the adrenaline rush of having all eyes on her. The girl craved attention from adults and peers. She was overly friendly, and so far, nobody seemed to hate her.

Oh, except Andrew Parker, who didn't like the fact that his sibling was friends with her. He thought she was fake, which was true.

Mail heaved out a sigh, wondering why he even bothered to think about things like this. They were so trivial, and.. completely useless.Knock. Knock.

Mail could hear soft, persistent footsteps make their way into the room, before stopping.

"Ahem, I'm assuming you're Mail's teacher?" It was a demanding woman's voice, on the brink of rudeness. There was an aura of superiority and intimidation that surrounded her that seemed to grip the whole room. All eyes were focused on her.

"..Yes, I'm Michelle Kennedy. Who are you?" His teacher's voice sounded rather hesitant, and definitely untrusting.

"I'm Mail's tutor."

"Tutor?" Tutor..?

"Yes, tutor. Mail's mother has requested that I teach him privately.."

Mail glanced up, his green eyes focusing on his supposed 'tutor.' Thick black hair, sharp brown eyes, professional clothing. A grin spread over his face, watching the Ms. Kennedy's expression twist into an offended one. It was priceless. Tutor, huh? Maybe she wasn't so bad.

"Excuse me? She never informed me of anything like this."

"Well, that's precisely why I'm telling you now. If you excuse me.." The woman brushed passed Ms. Kennedy, her dark eyes landing on Mail in an instant. He made sure his grin had been concealed, as he walked with her out of the classroom, ignoring the curious stares..

The woman had led him to an empty room, used for children with English problems or had trouble communicating. Mail found this quite amusing, and even allowed a quiet chuckle to escape his lip as the woman quietly shut the door behind them.

Like a hawk, her eyes sharpened as she turned around.

"And what is so funny, Mail Jeevas?" Mail could've sworn there was some sort of amusement in her words. He was about to retort a juvenile comment such as, 'Your face,' but stopped himself. There was something about this woman.. Ah yes, that was it. She wasn't fake, like Ms. Kennedy. He respected her.

And so, Mail decided to be honest, and blunt. "Despite what you may think, I don't have communication problems. I can talk perfectly fine." There was a look of surprise that crossed the woman's face briefly. Mail sat down in a chair, before crossing his arms. "How much is my mother paying you? I'll pay double, triple maybe, if we skip the 'tutoring' part."

She was stunned. For a child at the age of eight, he sure did know how to bribe and manipulate people.

But she didn't have a problem with that. A charming smile spread across her face. "Done. I'm Audrey."

Mail smirked. That was easy. He leaned back on his chair, in a laid-back manner. Audrey seemed to be more relaxed now; there was no longer the cold demeanor that was supposed to intimidate, and help discipline him. Hm. She was definitely something different.