"Come on, Chase! Please! I really want to try out my new Xbox," Adam whined. He widened his eyes and jutted out his lower lip for an added guilt factor.
"No Adam! I have homework to do. I'd say that you should study too, but at this point, why bother? You're grades aren't getting any better. I, on the other hand, actually have a shot at being valedictorian," Chase insisted.
"See, this is why you don't have friends! Instead of having something we normal people call 'fun,' you'd rather study to become a valomictorium."
Chase heaved an irritated sigh. "This conversation is giving me a migraine…"
"Does that mean you cave?!" Adam asked hopefully.
"No! I stand by my convictions! There's no way I'm going to blow off my schoolwork."
Adam pouted. All he wanted was to play videogames! Why did Chase have to be so impossible? Adam just had to be handcuffed to the most boring teenager in the world. At this rate, he'd be fortunate if he ever saw a game console again. So long as he and Chase were locked together, Adam wouldn't have any fun.
Then again… perhaps there was a way for both brothers to do what they wanted.
An idea struck Adam and he perked up. "Okay, how about this: what if you do your homework while I play videogames?"
Chase squinted. He was all prepared to shoot down Adam's idea, but then he stopped and thought. It did make a lot of sense. Chase could sit on the couch and do his homework, and Adam could play on his new console. Who would've thought that Adam could produce a useful idea?
"Fine. That's reasonable," Chase agreed nonchalantly, as not to seem too impressed. He wouldn't dare give his older brother the satisfaction of knowing he impressed his genius younger brother.
He grabbed his backpack from the cyber desk and swung it over his right shoulder. Side by side, the two boys made their way into the elevator.
Once upstairs, the pair found the living room to be empty. It didn't take them long to make themselves comfortable. Adam went about the business of setting up his console. Without choice, Chase stood near and waited for his older brother to finish. He impatiently watched as Adam pressed buttons and synced the controller. After he was done, the brothers sat down on the couch.
The next sixty minutes were rather civil. Chase was able to knock out his Geometry, Geography, and Biology homework. The most obnoxious thing Adam did - which was, in Chase's opinion, bearable – was his occasional grunts or outbursts when he failed a level. Chase tuned that out, though – literally. He turned down his bionic hearing so that he wouldn't have to listen to a single second of his brother's videogame-fueled rage. As long as Adam didn't jerk his hands or his body, Chase was happy.
Unfortunately for the teenage genius, Adam had made it to the boss level. The adept gamer spent the past hour beating 24 difficult levels. Every video game player was familiar with the euphoria of reaching the end-all level and facing off against the toughest programmed enemy in the game. It was a milestone, a proud accomplishment to reach the last level. Adam would then either drink in a glorious victory or scorn a terrible defeat. Regardless of whether he failed or succeeded, Adam was sure to manifest his emotion in the form of movement. Chase, however, was oblivious to his brother's virtual faceoff.
Adam's fingers flew over the controller, repeatedly pressing buttons. His back was arched away from the couch cushion as he kept his eyes trained on screen. He continued muttering words of encouragement to himself, talking himself through what was necessary to complete the level. Then that moment came - the sting of unproductive ambitions. Adam played a valiant game, but his well-programmed opponent was stronger, swifter, and wiser. Adam's eyes bulged as those infamous, hated words flashed across the screen.
Level failed. Game over.
In an impulsive act of fury, the enraged boy shot up from his seat yelling, "No! That's not fair! I had it; I was so close! Why?!"
Due to his brother's rushed movements, Chase was jerked off the couch. That combined with Adam's outburst affectively startled the boy. He was now forced to reactivate his hearing.
"Adam!" Chase yelled. "What is wrong with you?! Why'd you do that?"
"I just spent the past hour getting to this stupid level just to be defeated! I was about to win!"
Chase looked at him, dumbfounded. (And Chase couldn't say that he was dumbfounded very often.) "Not winning this mind-numbing waste of time warranted jumping up from the couch, yelling, and making me drop my schoolwork?"
"You don't understand, Chase! I was so close to victory!"
Chase huffed. He bent down to pick his homework off the floor while saying, "I understand that my work better not be messed up or-"
"Or what? You think I'm threatened by someone 1/18th my size?" Adam spat sarcastically.
Chase ignored his brother's insult. He scooped up his homework and set it all on the coffee table. Crouching down, Chase flipped his schoolwork right-side-up and examined it. Most everything appeared to be fine – crumpled, but fine. Then Chase came across the report he was writing when Adam jumped up. His eyes widened when they fell upon the thick, black mark from his pen that ran diagonally across the length of the paper. Adam looked over Chase's shoulder and cringed at the deformity.
"Yow! Uh, Chase, I don't know what you were trying to do, but that probably won't get you a good grade. I should know. I've found many creative ways to fail homework."
Chase turned to face his brother with burning eyes. Adam flinched.
"I didn't do this, Adam! You did! When you jumped up, my hand must've jerked and created this mark all over the A+ paper I was writing!" Chase bellowed.
"Oh, what's the big deal? You can write another report. I suffered a much bigger loss than you, anyway! The loss of that level…"
Before Chase had a chance to backlash, Donald entered the living room.
"Hey guys; China just called. They wanted me to ask you two to keep the noise down," he wisecracked. Adam and Chase rolled their eyes. "Now, quit your arguing and follow me."
"But Mr. Davenport, Adam-"
"I don't want to hear it, Chase. You can fix whatever went wrong later."
Chase's face twisted into a look of displeasure. Adam silently stuck his tongue out at his brother, making sure Davenport didn't see. He got a glare in return. After that immature display, Adam and Chase stood and followed their father upstairs. While they were walking, Donald began explaining his idea to the boys.
"It occurred to me when you came home from school earlier that I shouldn't have left you guys to figure all this out on your own. So, I want you two to try some activities that will strengthen your ability to work together. These tasks will be made harder since you guys are basically sharing a hand, but that's the point. You need practice. That became extremely evident after the plate incident last night."
"Well, what kinds of 'tasks' did you have in mind?" Chase asked apprehensively.
Donald came to a stop in front of a guest bedroom. "You'll see. Come inside."
With Donald leading, all three guys entered the room. It had a standard look. There was a queen bed, a desk, two nightstands, and dresser with a TV mounted over it. Placed on a chair were linens: pillows, blankets, sheets, and a huge comforter for the bed. Adam and Chase took notice of the fact that the bed was bare, the furniture was quite dusty, and the carpet was covered in random scraps of paper.
"Uh, Mr. Davenport, what happened to this room?" Chase inquired.
It was an anomaly for any of Donald's many guest rooms to be messy. The inventor took pride in every aspect of the mansion – the spare rooms included. However, since the Davenports rarely had company (outside of Grandma Rose), the bedrooms typically went unused. Thus, they always remained clean and spotless. So it was shocking for the boys to see one of the spare rooms in such a disorganized state.
"I enlisted the help of Bree to mess this room up. I had her use her super speed to untidy everything," Donald explained.
"Why?" Adam questioned.
"Because the first activity I'm going to have you guys do is cleaning. You'll work together to make the bed, dust the furniture, and vacuum the carpet."
"What?!" the boys yelled in sync.
"You expect us to clean this whole room while handcuffed together? Mr. Davenport, that won't end well," Adam said.
"Yea," Chase agreed, "Adam and I don't have that kind of skill."
"Well, you're about to develop it," Donald said cheerily. The boys still looked doubtful. "Guys, it'll be fine. Just remember: work together and don't make arguing your first resort when something goes wrong. Try fixing the problem together. Play to each other's strengths."
"But Chase doesn't have any strength for me to play on," Adam countered. "He's got a surplus of shortness and annoyingness, though!"
"You know, Adam, I should be insulted. But I'm rather impressed you know what 'surplus' means. And for the record, not true!" Chase replied, pointing an accusatory finger at his brother.
Donald sighed. "And we're off the tracks already! Look, I'll be back in one hour. Make this room shine."
With those last words, Donald left.
Donald whistled as he strolled down the hallway. Adam and Chase's sixty minutes were up, and the inventor was going to check on them. He was in particularly high spirits right now, because he anticipated that the boys successfully completed their assignment. Donald had unfounded faith in them and this plan. He was convinced that Adam and Chase would be brought closer together emotionally by being chained together physically. After all, this was his idea, and Donald was a brilliant scientist! If a genius like him could crack the intricacies of the human brain, he could certainly repair his two sons' damaged relationship.
Donald came to a stop outside the bedroom door. He could faintly make out the voices of Adam and Chase behind the thick wood. Donald's confidence dropped to his stomach. He desperately hoped that they were loudly complimenting each other instead of fighting again. Taking a breath, he gripped the handle and swung the door open. When he stepped inside, the sight he witnessed froze him in place.
The most standout thing about the room, or what was left of it, was the ridiculous amount of pillow feathers. They covered the carpet, the bed, the furniture, and the boys' heads. And strew across the room were shredded pillows that had been emptied of their soft filling. The bed was unmade, and burn marks covered the mattress. Emanating from those scorched patches of mattress was smoke. Pristine white sheets were being sucked up by the running vacuum cleaner. Chairs were broken and the dresser was dented as if a wrestling match had taken place minutes ago (which Donald assumed was very close to the truth.)
In the middle of all the madness were Adam and Chase, arguing as usual. They yelled over one another and pointed to various spots in the room where damage had been done, most likely blaming each other for the wreckage.
"Adam! Chase!"
Their bickering was suddenly hushed. They slowly turned to see the fuming face of their father. The boys' frightened eyes went from Donald to each other and back.
"It was him!" They both yelled, pointing to each other.
Donald sighed, wiping the outraged look from his facial features. He clapped his hands together and calmly said, "You know what? I'm not gonna yell. This… this was on me for leaving the two of you alone to clean a room. But I am going to ask the both of you a question, and I want you to answer carefully and honestly. … Do I want to know what happened?"
Adam bit his lip. Chase opened his mouth to say something, but he changed his mind and closed it. Lowering his head slightly, he replied, "Probably not, no. As far as keeping your temper goes, I'd advise against finding out what happened…"
Donald just shook his head. "Then I guess its back to the drawing board…"