Edited April 28, 2013
"Why me?" Myles pondered the question over. Why did Beckett ask help from him? He had his friends, didn't he? Plus, he never did like being pulled into one of Beckett's mischievous ideas.
There was a time where Myles did take part in it. But, when Butler commented that Artemis never took to such things, because he was too mature and smart, Myles considered that statement. After that, he just isolated himself from Beckett's group and anyone that tried making friends with him.
Beckett took no notice.
Myles discovered the joys of reading and writing at age nine, that he just locked himself reading a good book or writing some poetry or a story. His favorite place was Artemis's study, because he didn't get bothered there and because it was quiet.
Then, last year when a teacher requested it, he started tutoring elementary kids. He wholly enjoyed it, not only because it gave him this satisfaction to see the sparkle in the kid's eye, but because he felt truly needed, for once.
One time, Myles tried his hand at tutoring his brother, but abandoned it a week after, seeing that Beckett was a lost cause. But now, he thought, that it wasn't true. At least, it probably wasn't true. Beckett was just easily distracted. One time, when Myles was reading Frankenstein aloud to Beckett, he glanced up and saw the blond staring at fly that was flying around the room. Myles slammed the book on desk, making Beckett jump. "What? Yeah, I'm paying attention!"
Yes, he was easily distracted and a tad hyperactive. Myles used to snort at that. But was that such a bad thing now? To be happy and making others around you happy? He didn't know.
That night, he began to feel the consequences of being anti-social. He sat alone at lunch, to the point where he just went to his dorm to eat. Myles knew they called him a jackass, and he acted like he didn't care, but on the inside he was screaming that it wasn't true.
He saw his brother being so popular. People would scream, " 'Sup, Beckett!" and Beckett would scream back at them. No one said, "Hello, Myles." He didn't really care, anyways. But in the contest, the way Beckett's friends cheered him on, even if they knew he probably wouldn't win, they cheered. It made Myles ask himself, "What about me?"
Myles discovered at a young age that the key to success was being like his successful older brother, Artemis II. Since Myles spent more time with him, he knew how Artemis was, so, he tested being 'Artemis' at school, and now he knew he was terribly wrong.
Artemis had no friends (not that Myles knew of) and he didn't have a girlfriend. Sure, he had the attention, but not real love. Rachel didn't count, since Myles knew she was a gold digger. It was obvious. And whenever he goes to the school counselor, Dr. Po, he asks how Artemis was at St. Bartleby's. Dr. Po would say, "Not exactly delightful," and change the subject.
Myles noticed one more thing. Who was he, if he was trying to be like Artemis? A day ago he would've replied, "The smart twin," but now he wasn't so sure, seeing that Beckett could construct such an invention. He wasn't like Beckett, sporty and everybody's friend. And he realized he didn't like to be like Artemis, genius but lonely, Then…who was Myles Fowl?
Myles dragged himself from his bed and stumbled into the bathroom. After he took his shower and changed, he saw that his roommate Franklin (Frankie to others) hasn't woken up. Myles got one of Franklin's billiard stick and poked him a couple of times. Franklin's eyes opened and glared at Myles.
"Time to get up," Myles said, setting the stick down.
"Since when do you wake me up?"
Myles swallowed the lump in his throat. Myles had never wakened Franklin up. Franklin had the bad habit of staying up at the game room playing billiards and oversleeping in the morning. Myles never woke him up, because as Artemis had said once, "Every man for himself." And because of his fault, Franklin would arrive late to class.
Franklin would glare at Myles and say, "Roommates are supposed to rely on each other, man."
"Every man for himself," Myles would reply dryly.
"Roommates are supposed to rely on each other, right?" Myles said.
Franklin sat and looked at Myles, confused. "I guess. Thanks, dude."
"No problem. See you at class."
"Yeah."
Myles walked out of the room. He heard a, "Psst. Psst. Myles! You with the glasses!"
Myles sighed deeply and turned around. Beckett was hiding behind his dorm door. He walked towards him, he straightened his glasses and crossed his arms. "You were referring to me?"
"Ok, dude. So here's my plan. You and I have next hour together, so we just skip the class-"
"Skip?" asked Myles, horrified.
"Ugh, fine. I skip class and you ask to go to the bathroom. We meet at the auditorium and go to Dean Guiney's office."
"And we can't just ask to go to the office?"
"No, we can't. You know how the teachers are with me. And you know Professor Johnson's rule. Only one can go out at a time."
"Fine. What time shall we meet?"
Beckett glanced at his cell phone clock. "About 8:30, ok?"
Myles nodded. "Alright."
"Don't forget."
"I won't."
Beckett shut the door and Myles walked to World History Class, sitting in the back. That was strange of him, since he was a front row student.
The classroom was noisy, boys screaming vulgarities to each other and throwing paper airplanes and balls at each other. Myles hid himself under a book, and Franklin arrived, sitting beside Myles.
"Hi."
"Hi," Myles said.
Professor Johnson strolled in. "Alright class settle down."
"Fuck you Evan!" shouted a boy.
"Class…"
Evan shot a paper ball at the boy.
"Class…"
Someone fell from his chair.
"Oh, for crying out loud."
"SILENCE!"
And silence followed.
Professor Johnson took his role call list out and cleared his throat. "Gerard Avery?"
"Here."
"Reese Cobble?"
"Here."
"Franklin Connelly?"
"Here."
"On time now, Mr. Connelly?"
"Yes, sir."
"Right, then. Evan Copel?"
"Here."
Myles glanced at the clock. 8:05.
"Beckett Fowl?"
…
"Beckett Fowl?" repeated Professor Johnson.
…
He sighed. "Late."
Myles gritted his teeth. A bad habit of his. 8:07.
"Myles Fowl?"
"Here, sir."
Afterwards, they opened their books to page 285 and Professor Johnson lectured them on French history. And for once in his life, Myles wasn't paying attention. He was staring at the clock.
8:20. He was about to raise his hand for the bathroom until Gerard Avery asked, "May I go take a drink of water?"
"You may."
Damn him.
Myles waited 2 minutes more and Gerard came back, looking refreshed. His hand shot up.
"Yes, Myles?"
"May I go use the restroom, sir?"
"You may."
Myles walked out of the classroom and walked swiftly to the auditorium. He stood outside the auditorium for 5 full minutes until someone pulled him inside the auditorium.
"Idiot, what the hell were you thinking?"
"What?"
"Didn't you think a teacher that a teacher would be suspicious if you were just standing around?"
"Oh, sorry."
"Whatever. Just come on. I know a short cut to Dean Guiney's office."
Myles nodded. Among the darkness of the auditorium, they walked across the red seats, careful not to trip on anything. Nearby, they heard the band play 'Morning Glory'. Well, Myles was. Beckett was blabbering about how to ditch classes without getting caught.
"…And sometimes, just for fun, I sing the Mission Impossible theme. Not too loud, though. Don't want the teachers to hear."
Myles sighed.
They reached the end, and they walked through the corridors of the school. Well, Myles was walking through the corridors. Beckett was creeping against the walls of the corridors, humming Mission Impossible now. Beckett held Myles back and pushed him to the wall. A teacher passed by, taking no notice. After he left, Beckett peeked. "No one coming. Go! Go! Go!"
Myles shook his head, and walked into the office, Beckett following behind him.
Ms. Olsen was typing something out, and Beckett approached her with a grin. "Heya, Ms. Olsen."
"What do you want?" Ms. Olsen said, not looking up from her work.
"We need to see Dean Guiney, miss." Myles said.
She looked up. She was surprised when she heard such politeness from Beckett, but when she saw Myles, she wasn't surprised anymore.
"What for?"
"It's about my invention."
Ms. Olsen sighed. "Wait a minute."
She stood up and left for a bit.
"You think she'd let us in?"
"She has no reason not to, unless Dean Guiney is busy."
Ms. Olsen entered the office. "Sir?"
"Yes, Florence?"
"The Fowl twins are here to see you."
"What for?"
"It's about Beckett's invention."
"Oh. Hm. Let them in."
"Yes, sir."
Ms. Olsen came back. She approached the twins, hands folded behind her back. "Very well, boys. Dean Guiney agreed to see you."
Beckett beamed. "Thanks, Ms. Olsen." The passed the long hallway that lead to the headmaster's office. On the left wall there was a large window overlooking the large campus. On the right was a big banner that said, 'St. Bartebly's School for Young Gentleman', courtesy of the art club, of course.
Beckett knocked on the huge double doors. "Come in," they heard.
Myles opened one door and Beckett the other, and they both entered the dark office.
"Good evening, sir." They said in unison. They had to use politeness whenever the Dean was there.
"Hello, boys. Sit down." Dean Guiney gestured them to the velvet armchairs the were in front of his desk.
They nodded and sat down. Beckett was no stranger to the office, but Myles was astounded by the huge bookcase that laid behind Dean Guiney. Some were year books, the history of Ireland, the history of the school, and on the bottom row held some of Dean Guiney's favorite reads.
"So. Do what do I see the pleasure of seeing both Fowl twins?"
"It's about my invention...sir," Beckett said. He didn't like seeing straight into the old headmaster's eyes.
"Ah, yes. Marvelous invention that was, my boy."
"Thank you, sir."
"Yes, yes. What about it?"
"Well, I kinda need it back."
Dean Guiney looked surprised. "I don't understand. What do you mean?"
"He means, sir, that he needs you to return him the Beckett Dish," Myles explained.
Dean Guiney stood and shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't return such an invention back to you, Mister Fowl. It's on it's way to Sweden."
Beckett's eyes widened. He facepalmed and groaned softly. "Ugh, no. Why does this always happen to me?"
Myles saw the disappointment of his brother. He looked at Dean Guiney. "Sir, when does the Beckett Dish get revealed to the public?"
"Next week."
Myles nodded. "Thank you for your time, sir." He tugged on Beckett's sleeve. Beckett followed him out of the office, sniffling. He still had that cold.
"What are we going to do?" Beckett moaned. "Artemis is going to kill me."
Myles pursed his lips and ignored the we. He put a hand on his brother's shoulder.
Beckett shook his head, determination scrawled on his face. "No. Wait. I got an idea." He took his cellphone out.
Uh-oh. "Um, what kind of idea? What are you doing?"
"Plotting, Myles. Plotting."
Life has been boring, lately. It even has the predictable routine.
Ailward knew this would be the consequence of the job. Heck, he doesn't know how many times Madam Ko repeated it.
He was the only one that accepted the job. The rest of the Butler family was either dead or going on with their own life. He sometimes wonders what life would've been like if he had said no. But he didn't. He still valued the Butler family's duties. But that didn't help the boredom. He knew how exciting his cousin's job must've been with Artemis. If the prodigy built the whole entire empire at a young age, they must've done a lot of things, right?
Ailward sighed as he hit his last dummy. The only thing he has done was be in the gym and his other Fowl duties. Butler and Artemis were getting ready for their trip to Sweden tomorrow, so it would be just him. Juliet went back to the States, since she was finally contracted from the WWE two years ago.
His phone vibrated. He looked at the caller ID. It was Beckett. He scratched his neck. "Yes? Hello, Beckett?"
"Owl, Owl, guess what?"
"Did you forget something again?"
"...Apart from that. Guess."
"I give up," he said, not even trying to guess.
"Aw. You're no fun. Anyways, we're going to Sweden."
"What?" He heard Myles's voice in the background.
Even he was surprised. "We are?"
"Yup. Pack your bags with lots of coats, my man. Sweden is cold these times of the year. Myles, stop hyperventilating."
"Roger. I'm on my way."
"See you here. Oh, and don't tell our parents. We'll see you outside of the gates at midnight, 'kay, man?"
"Midnight?"
"Easier to sneak out that way."
"Fine."
"Alright, bye."