"You're adamant about this, aren't you," Monty remarked, staring levelly at Waylon Sr.

Waylon squared his broad shoulders, and crossed his arms. "Absolutely."

"Springfield Elementary seems positively unsatisfactory for the boy. Why, I'm sure we could find a much more suitable academic regime for him. Perhaps even a private tutor, hmm?" Monty tented his fingers. "Teach him the finer niceties? Latin, arithmetic, ancient history?"

Waylon shook his head. "No. He needs to get out of the house, make some friends his own age."

Monty snorted. "He'll be intermingling with the lowbrow townish simpletons and their pathetic offspring in that motley schoolhouse." He tilted his chin, and looked smugly down at his partner; as if the matter had been decided.

Waylon took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. He did his best to keep his temper controlled. "Really Monty? Townish simpletons… like me?"

Monty paled slightly.

Waylon raised himself to his full height, which still put him a few inches below Monty; but his broad shoulders and thicker frame made up for the difference. "People who grew up, blue collar in Springfield? People who had to live frugally, and didn't necessarily have the chance to be educated in Europe?" He took a step forward, brows lowering. "Keep him away from the commoners, eh? Like you've forgotten where I came from?"

Monty held up his hands. "No, no. I didn't mean you." He swallowed nervously. "I meant other Springfieldians."

Waylon folded his arms across his chest. "Oh really," he stated. It was not a question.

"I mean the pathetic wage slaves who are cursed to live within the confines of a lower tax bracket. How on earth can we expect the boy to achieve his potential if he's stuck rubbing elbows with the progeny of that class?"

"Like my parents?" Waylon's voice took on a warning tone. His hazel eyes flashed. "Why yes, Monty. How indeed can a poor, humble family of Springfield ever hope to produce anything worthy of your notice. I'm sure it's impossible."

Monty took a step back, hands still raised in supplication. "Gah, you misunderstand me, man! I don't mean you, or your family. You're different."

"Oh? How?"

"Well, for starters, I know you-"

Waylon jabbed a finger at Monty, interrupting him. "-Aha! See, there you go. You know me. And you don't know them. So before you judge, let me tell you: Springfield's full of good people, smart people, hard-working people. Alright, sure, Springfield's not full of people like you!" He snapped his fingers. "With your wealth and power and family name. But I daresay that makes you the anomaly, Monty; not me. Springfield's my town; my people. Waylon Jay is going to Springfield Elementary, and that's final."

With that, Waylon stalked out the study, shutting the door hard behind him.

Monty Burns stood frozen for a second, hands clutched to his chest. He realized he'd been holding his breath. Lion of the Atom nothing, Monty thought as he ran a hand through his hair. That man truly is the master of his domain. Monty shook himself, almost like a dog, and straightened his shirt collar. I hope I never have to see him verily enraged. His 'mild annoyance' is more than enough. So thinking, C. Montgomery Burns pulled out a phone directory, and began looking up the number to Springfield Elementary.

Breakfast at the Burns household was a family affair. Typically, the formal dining room was avoided and breakfast was usually taken in the solarium. Waylon Sr., Monty, and Waylon Jay would eat together before the men went to work, and Cordelia took charge of young Waylon Jay's activities for the day.

Johan would stand off to the side, watching but never partaking in the meal. He was the head steward, Monty's houseman; and not part of the so-labelled family.

"You're going to be starting school this fall," Waylon informed his young son as the boy happily munched his cereal.

Waylon Jay looked up, chewing. His brown eyes quizzical. "But I don't want to," he remarked.

("Don't talk with your mouth full," his father chided.)

Monty smiled indulgently. "Well, unfortunately, sometimes want has precious little bearing on what one must do. I'm sure you'll find it…" he looked over at Waylon Sr. as he struggled for words.

"It's a great opportunity," Waylon Sr. finished. "You'll learn new things, make new friends, go on field trips to exciting places... You're growing up, and this is all part of that."

Then came the questions-and-answers period. Young Waylon Jay, small for his age, but keenly observant asked questions about school, and growing up, then finally the important one: could Malibu Stacy come to school with him?

Monty and Waylon Sr. exchanged knowing looks.

"It's best she stays home for now," Waylon Sr. replied. "She's already been to school. When you get home though, she can help you with your homework, right? She probably knows all the answers."

Waylon Jay bobbed his head eagerly. "Okay."

Monty gave an approving nod to his partner. Handled that one well, he mouthed silently.

Waylon Smithers, Sr. strode confidently into the principal's office at Springfield Elementary. He had a leather messenger bag in one hand, blazer held over his shoulder with the other.

The young man at the desk, a fellow with black hair and a thick neck, looked up in surprise. "Ah, good morning, sir. I wasn't expecting you so early." He gestured to a chair in front of his desk. "Please, have a seat."

Waylon smiled and draped his jacket over the back of the chair before sitting down. "Thank you." Waylon glanced at the clock. "I thought our meeting was at nine this morning." He looked at his pocket watch to confirm the time.

The man behind the desk rubbed his hands together. "Ah, well no matter. I'm glad you have you. It looks like you're enrolling your son in our school, Mister Burns?"

Waylon blinked in surprise. "Burns? Ah..." He furrowed his brow. "Isn't Principal Graham still here?"

The man shook his head. "Unfortunately, he had to go on medical leave. A bad heart, you know. I've been brought in to take his place." He rose and extended a hand. "Acting Principal Chalmers."

Waylon rose and shook his hand. "Waylon Smithers."

Now it was Chalmers' turn to look perplexed. He glanced quickly down at his planner. "I'm terribly sorry. I thought you were Mister Burns. I have a nine-thirty new student meeting with him." He turned the pages. "I don't actually appear to have anything scheduled for nine this morning." He looked up apologetically.

Waylon ran a hand over his moustache. "I see. Well, I have all my son's paperwork right here," he patted the satchel. "If it's no bother to you, we could get started now."

Chalmers shrugged. "Absolutely. So, you're looking to enroll your son in Springfield Elementary this fall…"

He'd barely began to speak when the office door flew open and C. Montgomery Burns swept in like a whirlwind.

"Ah, dash it all," Monty snarled. "Traffic in this part of town, at this hour, simply dreadful. I was afraid I'd be late." He shut the door, then noticed Waylon sitting calmly in one of the chairs. "Ah, Waylon, what on earth are you doing here?"

Waylon narrowed his eyes slightly. "A prospective student meeting with Principal Chalmers here," he replied, gesturing to the young man at the desk. "What brings you here?"

Monty straightened his back and tried to look in control. "Why, I had a nine-thirty meeting with this fine gentleman. I made it last week."

"I see."

"I told Johan to tell you I'd be here this morning."

Waylon pursed his lips. "The message I got was that you'd made a nine AM meeting appointment for me."

Burns sat down. "Confound it man, that is not what I told him to tell you."

"Evidently there was a miscommunication."

"Clearly." Burns tented his fingers and leaned back in his chair. "Well, never mind that. I suppose we'll just both have to be here."

Waylon held up his palms. "Apparently." He drummed his hands on his knees for a second, then pulled out a folder that contained Waylon Jay's medical records and an outline of his earlier education under Cordelia's tutelage.

Principal Chalmers looked either annoyed by the chaos, or simply confused it all. It was hard for Waylon to be sure; and if he were to be honest he didn't much care.

"So," Chalmers began, trying to sort things out. "You are…"

Monty delicately touched his chest, taking the lead. "I, my gentle educator, am C. Montgomery Burns. Owner and Proprietor of the Springfield Nuclear Power Plant." He gestured to Smithers. "This is my partner and plant co-owner, Waylon J. Smithers."

Chalmers nodded, taking it all in.

"We're here have our son enrolled in your fine educational establishment. Now, naturally, the quality of his academic experience is something of great concern to both of us."

Chalmers' eyes darted back and forth quickly between the two men. "Your… son…" he began slowly.

Waylon handed him the paperwork, cutting him off. "My son; Mister Burns' godson."

"I'm sure," Monty added, "that a man like you can understand why the son of such a powerful man as my chap, Waylon here, would necessitate the instatement of a second legal guardian." He reached over and patted Waylon on the shoulder. "This man's work requires him to travel all over the country on business. Waylon's an architect and engineer in the growing nuclear field. His skillset is in high demand. In his absence, there needs to be someone he trusts to look out for his child. Alas, the youth's mother is not in a legal state to fulfil such a role, so I have humbly taken on the task; at my good Waylon's request. Isn't that right, my good man?"

"Absolutely," Waylon replied, nodding.

"I see," said Chalmers thoughtfully. "So, when it comes to who to list as the child's guardian in his records."

"Both our names will suffice," replied Monty casually.

"And either one of you is…"

"Authorized to make any and all decisions regarding the child's education and well-being. Yes, yes, get on with it," Monty snapped.

Chalmers spread the papers Waylon had handed him across his desk and made several notes with a pen. "I see," he replied carefully. "And young Waylon Junior will be starting this September. Does he go by a nickname, 'Junior'…?"

"Waylon Jay."

Chalmers repeated the name softly as he wrote it down on the top of an enrollment form. "Alright then." He passed the form over to Waylon and Monty. "If you gentlemen would be so kind as to sign on the parent and guardian lines respectively, I believe we can handle the rest of the paperwork from here."

Waylon Sr. signed, then slid the form to Monty, who read everything, then added his name before passing the paper back to Chalmers. "Is there anything else we should be aware of?" he asked.

"Will Waylon Jay be taking the bus, or will one of you be providing transportation?"

Waylon and Monty looked at each other. It was a question neither man had even thought of. "Eh, well…" Waylon leaned over and whispered something in Monty's ear. The older man nodded thoughtfully. An agreement was reached.

"For this year, I think, we shall field his transit; to help him adjust to the changes. But for the following years, no. He may take the bus."

Chalmers nodded. "Very well, then." He added a few more notes. "Is there anything else I can help you with, any questions you have for me about the school or our programs?"

Both Waylon and Monty shook their heads. "No, Principal Chalmers. I think that answers everything for now."

Monty rose, followed by Waylon.

"If anything does come up, we will be sure to contact you."

Chalmers nodded his head again. "Absolutely, gentlemen. It was a pleasure meeting with you."

They shook hands. "Likewise."

As Monty and Waylon headed out, Chalmers almost thought he caught the snippet of a muttered conversation between them. "… 'Our son,' really. Is discretion even part of your vocabulary anymore, Monty?"

"Oh, fiddlesticks, Waylon. What's it matter anyhow? He's in the school you wanted…"

Their hushed voices, bickering gently, disappeared down the hall.