Danny Masters

Chapter 7

"What do you need prep school for?" asked my dad. He and my mom were sitting on the couch together, huddled over the phony brochure.

"Oh, Jack," my mom replied, "this is a good thing. Danny is obviously gifted! Who knew he was so good at—" she paused to study a hand-written note from my teacher, forged by Vlad. "'Ecological signs and the results thereof'," she read aloud. "What does that mean, Danny?" she asked me.

"Simply put," explained Jazz as she walked into the room, "he studies the relationships among organisms in ecosystems, namely their behavior."

"And the behavior of the environment around them," I added. I was actually pretty good at science. I'd also been prepped for any and all questions my rents might ask. I shot Jazz a nasty look, then quickly focused my attention back on the brochure; this was my Q & A time.

My dad stood up, rubbing his hands together. "All I want to know is how much all this is going to cost us."

"Oh, not a cent," I was quick to assure them. "I got in on scholarship because they've never seen such raw talent." They looked skeptical. "Honest. Their exact words."

My mom caved in. "Alright, Danny. You can go to your new school."

"Yes!" I exclaimed, my fist punching the air high above my head.

"As soon as we talk to Mr. Lancer about it," she finished. All according to plan.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

The meeting went smoothly – I was calling the shots. I was in control of Lancer's body before my parents even entered the building. They made sure the school was what he thought was best for me, and I shoved words of praise through his mouth. I pulled out a document of release I had earlier put into his desk, and my folks signed it. Vlad would be so proud.

The snag hit when I passed Sam and Tucker in the hall. They had heard from Jazz that I was transferring, and came to see if it was true. Why must she do this to me? Needless to say, they were more than a little surprised.

"Why?" they kept asking.

"Because I'm talented," I kept replying.

Finally, somebody fixed the broken record and Sam asked, "What exactly are you talented at?"

"'Ecological signs and the results thereof'," I said proudly.

"So... you got a scholarship for being good at ecology?" She still wasn't buying. So I got defensive.

"Is that so hard to believe, Sam?" I asked, a bit angrily. "Is it really so astonishing that someone has placed worth on me? On my future?"

'How dare you play the guilt card on her!' I cried at the Evil Me.

'Shut up, you,' he countered, and turned back to his work.

Sam was visibly upset, and I—that is, Evil Me—wasn't making it better. "I'm sorry, Sam," he said caustically. "I'm sorry that I'm valued somewhere else." I brushed in between them, storming away. Tucker was shocked and speechless, and Sam was breaking down.

Man, is this ever gonna end badly…