A/N: This is a little different than what I usually write, but this idea's been in the works for a while, and I'm finally bringing it out.
This can't be real. I now have 21 reviews on a three-chapter story.
You guys are amazing!
:D
Okay, I took a while to decide what the fight would be about. (I'm saying it here, because most of you guessed anyways. :) ) I'm still not entirely happy with it, so if you guys have some suggestions, I can rework the chapter. :)
~OS
Summary: Brett and Chett are identical twins. They say twins run in famililes. What if The Once-ler had a twin too? The girl his mother always wanted? And what happened to her?
Cleo hugged herself underneath the pile of pillows as her mother's heels click-clacked over to where her father was typing away on the old rickety laptop the Sarens owned. It was black, and chunky, and very very outdated. But that's not the point.
Her blue eyes peeked through a small gap in the cushions to see the bottom of her mother's dress and the black office chair with legs sticking out of it. Her father hadn't noticed Isabella yet.
"Ahem."
Well, it was only a matter of time.
The chair swiveled around, and Cleo now saw the khaki-clad legs of her father. She heard a creaking, and assumed this to be her father leaning forward in his chair.
"We need to talk."
This was the voice of her mom, dripping with disdain and a southern accent. She took a step towards the man.
"What about?" said her father, his tone calm, collected, and casual.
"About this- this program you've been looking at."
"What program?"
"Don't you try to hide things from me! It's ridiculous, wasteful spending, that's what it is! Don't try to pretend, you know exactly what I'm talking about!" seethed Isabella.
"Say I didn't. Explain to me Isabella, how merely considering all the options for a good education for our children is wasteful spending."
His voice was still very soft, and he said this with no trace of detectable anger.
"He doesn't need a fancy art school! He can barely even tell his rights from his lefts! Now, if you were searching for a fancy, thousand-dollar school like this for Brett or Chet, then I would understand. They have talent. But Oncie! Why, sometimes I feel he doesn't even know his own name! And you want to send him to a school for the gifted?"
She was so carried up in her tirade that she didn't notice the shadows on her husband's face darken, and his eyes ignite in anger. Yet, his voice was still contained when he spoke.
"First off, Brett and Chet are our sports stars, there's no doubt about that. I'm sure they'll do well in the athletics department. But our son The Once-ler has a lot of promise, much more than that of Brett and Chett. He's only five, and yet he already has all these designs for inventions he's going to build! And I have complete confidence that he can build every single one of them."
He said the last part before his wife could interject.
"Second off, it's not an art school. It's the School For the Gifted and Talented Arts. Which include art, yes, but also music, dance, invention, acting, culinary skills and more. It's not just any fancy school. It's something I think will actually help Oncie on his way to fame."
Isabella cut in. "Fame?"
She snorted.
"The day that no-good lazy baby of a boy becomes famous will be the same day I become the richest woman in the world."
She paused, an almost evil grin on her face.
"And what about your only daughter? Cleo? Doesn't she deserve this so-called amazing school?"
The man sighed, really getting angry now.
"I'm sure by now you've realized that Cleo is a very smart girl, but maybe perhaps not the most imaginative! Besides, she already gets spoiled silly by her mother!"
His voice started to rise.
"And the only reason that she hasn't become a brat already is because she actually noticed her brother, which is ten times more than you ever did!"
Inside her little cocoon of pillows, Cleo let out a little gasp, then shrunk back to the farthest end of the pile, tears starting to form in her little eyes.
Her father looked at the pile for a moment then, but then carried on.
"And I'm sure that when she grows up she'll be ten thousand times the woman you are,"
Isabella's face had turned white by now.
"But that's not the point now, is it? No, it's about you, Isabella, you, who, if, you hadn't given birth to him, I would have sworn you hated your third child."
Her mouth was open, but with no answer.
"Actually, you know what, forget that. You do hate your second-youngest, and everyone can see that; I was just too blind to believe it. You can go ahead and forget this whole school thing. I'll teach Oncie myself if I have to. You're just an overgrown, spoiled, horrible brat, and you know what? Eventually you're going to make your daughter into one too!"
He stalked out and slammed the study door, leaving Isabella (and Cleo) in the room alone.
Isabella was shaken. Her husband, in the entire time they were married, had never yelled at her like that. She was annoyed, and worried, and angry, and slightly defeated, and yet a winner all at the same time. She slowly made herself over to the double doors, cautiously turning the handle, as if the very touch of her hand would lead it to bite her. After letting herself out, she quickly rushed upstairs, leaving the door halfway open with a very confused and hurt Cleo inside.
My daddy loves me.
But he just yelled at you...
But he still loves me. He didn't mean it.
Yes, he did, and you know it. Every single word he said was true.
N-no...
Yes. You are a horrible person, Cleo Saren.
Go away.
No. I can't. I'm your conscience.
My what?
Con. Sci. Ence.
Huh?
I take care of you and I tell you what's right and what's wrong.
Well, you're not doing a very good job.
What! Of course I am!
No. If you were, you wouldn't have let me go in there.
That's not how it works.
