Dewey

The process of choosing individual rooms had been a unique process of each of the triplets. For Huey, it had been a gradual process of 'growing' into his room. Louie had moved into his room secretively, only telling people it existed after he asked for help moving furniture. Dewey, meanwhile, had literally called dibs on the first empty room he saw the moment it had occurred to him he could have a room all to himself.

It had started simple enough. A bed, a table, a few posters of famous sports stars. Over time, however, things had been added to it, added in the spur of activity following a new fixation. An electric guitar leaned up in the corner alongside a rusty old sword. Bottles of acrylic paint were strewn on a desk alongside expensive filmmaking equipment. A small bookshelf was home to a collection of movies and TV shows, where gritty crime-dramas could be found alongside children's cartoons. It was a space of pure, concentrated inconsistency.

Up against the wall was a full-body mirror, in front of which stood Dewey, frowning at his reflection. The adolescent duckling was wearing a short-sleeve baseball shirt, blue along the sleeves and white upon the body. Feeling like something was missing, he walked over to his wardrobe and threw it open, rifling through the multiple pieces of clothing within and pulling out a couple of items. After a bit of deliberating, he chose a blue denim jacket and put the rest back in his wardrobe. Throwing it on, he stepped in front of the mirror again.

He studied himself a bit more, the blue denim jacket complementing the t-shirt. But something was still missing.

He went over to the table next to the bed, and rifled through the middle drawer, pulling out a tub of gel. The words American Crew were emblazoned in bold black text upon its surface. He went back to the mirror and swept a globule of the stuff through his head feathers, sweeping them back over his head, though not so far back as to be flattened against his skull. He looked at the result in the mirror, turning his head to get better angles.

Perfect.

Satisfied, Dewey walked out his room with a confident smirk, grabbing a large black backpack on the way out. His brothers sometimes made fun of how long it took for him to get ready, but he never let it get to him. He prided himself on looking cool, no matter what the occasion.

He walked out into the main hall, heading down the stairs, but slowing down when he heard fragments of a conversation. Looking out over to the centre of the hall, he saw the large, imposing form of Mrs Beakley, dressed in her usual purple attire, an inactive vacuum cleaner in her hands. Before her was Webby, facing her adoptive grandmother and away from the staircase. He could only see the back of her from this angle, her small, darkish pink backpack facing him. Just a couple of inches shorter than him, she was dressed in a violet skirt and a faded denim jacket, presumably worn over her vest and pink shirt. Of all of his family, Webby's outfit had been largely consistent through the years.

"…to speak with him earlier, but he was busy." Beakley was saying in her usual curtly manner. "He had a boardroom meeting today, and he had to leave early."

"Okay, but you can talk to him when he comes home, right?" Webby asked in her usual bright and happy tone. But there was a hint of anxiousness in her voice, a slight waver that made Dewey hang back at the top of the stairs.

"I can." Beakley replied. "But you should speak to Della and Donald first."

"Oh, they… probably won't have a problem with it." Webby said with a nervous laugh. "It's just a mountain trek, no ruins or horrible mercenaries! Hardly even an adventure, really."

Dewey's smile faded. He saw Beakley look at Webby sadly, before sighing and kneeling down, putting a hand on both of her shoulders.

"Webby, listen…" Beakley said gently. "I know it's been a while since the last outing, but… Donald and Della are still worried about Louie. And Scrooge shares their concerns. Nothing good is going to come out of forcing him to go out when he's still recovering."

"…Yeah. I know." Dewey heard Webby mumble quietly. "It's just… it's been four years."

Four years. Dewey leaned against the wall as he watched. He'd forgotten how long it had been. Four years.

"These things take a while to properly recover from." Beakley replied. "In fact, it's possible that…"

"Hey, Turbo!"

Dewey yelped in fright as someone pulled him in by the shoulders for a great big hug. Blinking, he recognised Della, grinning down at him, and he smiled back. "Hey, mom."

"How's my little champion goin'?" Della laughed, a few wrinkles starting to show in the crease of her eyes, but otherwise the same Della Duck who'd been raising him all these years, complete with the starting-to-fray pilot's uniform. "When were you going to tell me you were having a rematch with Silverbeak High?"

"Aw, man, you know about that? I wanted it to be a surprise!"

"Sorry, kiddo. Can't keep a secret from Della Duck!" Della let him go, grinning eagerly. "Gimme the deats – how'd it happen? Were they sore from you guys whuppin their asses last season?"

"Oh, you're not gonna believe this." Dewey chuckled as they started to walk downstairs, putting Webby out of his mind for a moment. "The coach from Silverbeak actually accused our team of cheating! Said that we'd rigged the game or something."

"Wow. How'd he figure that?" Noticing Webby, Della waved over, momentarily distracted. "Hey, Webs!"

Webby looked up at them, waving back at them with a sudden smile on her face. "Morning, Aunt Della!"

"It was crazy." Dewey said as he continued the story. "Apparently, he went through, like, three different conspiracies when he was complaining to the Silverbeak principal, and then he said we did two different things when he complained to ours. So, like, they agreed to just have a rematch to try and calm him down or something."

"Jeez." Della shook her head, amused. "What a psycho."

"Yeah…"

They walked down the main hall towards the door, the painting of Scrooge, Della and Donald up against the pirates looming over them. Dewey walked up to Webby. "Hey. You still hanging out with May and June today?"

"Uh…" Webby's smile flickered. "…No, they said they were too busy. Private school stuff, you know."

"Cool!" Dewey replied. "I was gonna hang out at mall later, browse for stuff. If you aren't doing anything, you could come along if you want."

Webby instantly brightened up. "Oh! Yeah, that'll be fun!"

"Yeah! And we could stop by the arcade, too!"

"Yeah, who needs gymnastics class when you've got fighting games and guitar games?"

"Exact- wait, gymnastics?"

"Oh, yeah. That's why they couldn't make it, they have gymnastics after school."

"What?" Dewey cried in indignation. "They have a gymnastics class now? Why don't we have a gymnastics class?"

"I know, right?" Webby shouted back excitedly.

They continued chatting, waiting for the other two to get ready, while Beakley left to continue with the housework. Huey was in the kitchen, preparing their lunches with Uncle Donald. Louie, though, was always late to wake up.

Eventually, he came down the stairs, looking slightly tired and dishevelled – though that was par for the course with Louie. He was wearing his usual green zip-up hoodie over a light green undershirt. A brown satchel hung by his side, the strap around his shoulder.

"Hey, bro!" Dewey called out.

"Hey." Louie replied casually, adjusting the strap of his bag. "We ready?"

"Yeah, I think Huey's just finishing the lunches with Uncle Donald."

"Awesome. I needed some more pigeon food." Louie said sarcastically.

Webby frowned. "Come on, Louie. They make that stuff specially for us!"

Louie leaned against the wall, giving Webby a look. "Look, I'll eat the muesli bars, and the fruit, and whatever healthy-body crap Huey puts in there. But I'm not touching Donald's tuna sandwiches."

"…Okay, that's fair enough." Webby admitted after a pause. "They're bad."

"They are the worst." Dewey agreed.

"They're good for you!" They heard Donald shout defensively from the kitchen.

A moment later, Huey and Donald emerged from the kitchen, two paper bags in each hand. Donald wore his usual sailor's outfit, while Huey wore a red buttoned shirt, long sleeves rolled up, and, as always, a red cap, positioned carefully on his head.

"Okay, here you go, sorry we're behind schedule." Huey said quickly, handing one of the bags to Webby. "Uncle Donald got stuck in the pantry again."

"Feh." Donald muttered irritably as he handed Dewey and Louie their lunches. "That lock's always been screwy."

"Alright!" Huey said authoritatively as everyone put their lunch in their bags, taking out a notepad from underneath his hat. "It's Tuesday, so I've got Modern History first, Physics second, English third, and a free for last period. Webby, you've got General Maths, English, Music, and then a free. I'd suggest that we meet up during then to study."

"Yep!" Webby said brightly.

Huey turned to Dewey. "Dewey, you have General Maths with Webby, then baseball practice, English with me, and soccer practice last."

"Got it." Dewey nodded.

Huey turned around to Louie. "Louie, you've got-"

"I know my own timetable, dude." Louie interrupted him testily, pushing away from the wall and walking towards the door. "Let's just go, already."

They watched him head off towards the door, awkward silence hanging in the air. Huey chuckled nervously, saying, "Heh… we are cutting it pretty close." He turned to Donald as he picked up his bag. "Uh, see you, Uncle Donald. See you, mom."

Donald's worried face forced itself into a smile. "See you, kids! Have a good day!"

"Yeah, have fun, kiddos!" Della added.

"Will do!" Dewey replied, smirking back at them and backing towards the doors.

"Bye!" Webby said in farewell, following Dewey and Huey outside.

It was only when the kids had left, and the door had swung shut behind them, that Della and Donald looked at each other with concern.

'Cutting it close' by Huey's definition was 'ten minutes before the bus arrives'. They had missed the bus by accident a couple of years ago, and since then Huey had always insisted on arriving at the bus stop early. Louie had tried to argue for just getting dropped off by Launchpad, but Donald needed the jeep to drop off May and June, and they'd all agreed that it wouldn't be tasteful to rock up in the limo. So, they hung out at the bus stop, installed thoughtfully at the bottom of the hill where the manor resided.

Dewey leant against the bus stop sign, keeping a look out for the bus. He hated waiting around for too long. It made him restless. He looked over to his family, sitting on the metal bench of the bus stop, with Webby and Louie on either side and Huey sitting in the middle, reading a textbook. Louie seemed to be staring off into space, while Webby seemed to be fidgeting, her hands in her lap. An advertisement for some kind of insurance agency was plastered on the side of the glass shelter encapsulating the seating.

"…So, Louie…" Webby spoke up, breaking the green triplet out of his trance. "How're you going with that pyramid scheme thingy?"

"Hm?" Louie blinked. "Oh, that. Yeah, I, uh… scrapped it. Too complicated for what it was worth."

"…Are… are you sure?" Webby asked hesitantly. "I mean, it's just, you scrapped the last one as well, and… you know, I just think we should try it before…"

"I'm sure." Louie interrupted her, sounding annoyed.

"…Right. Sorry." Webby apologised with a nervous chuckle.

Dewey looked between the two of them, noticing Huey's eyes flick towards Louie anxiously. Stepping off the metal pole of the sign, Dewey said with a smirk, "Well, then, dear brother, if you've got a free schedule, then I might have a task that might interest you."

Louie turned to look at him. His frowned turned from sullen to thoughtful, and he raised a single eyebrow. Taking that as a sign of interest, Dewey continued, pacing before the group. "You see, as some of you may know, the Junior baseball team is having a rematch against Silverbeak High in a mere three weeks!"

"Wait, a rematch?" Huey looked up from his book in confusion. "Why?"

"Oh, the coach for Silverbeak is convinced that we cheated in the last match."

"Is this the same coach who had rhino tranquiliser in his office?" Webby asked curiously.

Dewey nodded. "Yeah, he's nuts. Anyway, point is, my team are inviting no-one other than Trent Bosman to watch the game, and we need you to help us impress him!"

He paused, holding his arms out dramatically, only to be met with three blank stares.

His arms fell by his side in disbelief. "Trent Bosman? The strongest batter in Feathered Hill for three years running? The guy who hit ten balls out of the park in a single game?"

"I don't keep up with sports." Huey said apologetically.

"…Was he the guy who looked like Storkules with short hair?" Louie asked slowly. "Graduated last year?"

Dewey pointed finger guns at Louie with a relieved grin. "That's the guy!"

Louie stared at him uneasily. "Didn't he get busted for doing dope?"

"No, he was accused of doing dope!" Dewey snapped as the other two drew back in alarm. "One of his so-called 'friends' put it in his locker when he wasn't looking, alright? He was framed."

"And you know that, how?" Huey asked.

"…Because he said so."

Louie gave him an unimpressed look, while Huey and Webby shared sceptical glances with each other.

"Okay, I admit that's a weak defence." Dewey said quickly. "But trust me, he didn't do it. I just you to get him, like, the best seats and snacks for the match, or something."

"…Yeah, I think I'm going to pass on that one." Louie said, leaning back on the bench. "It doesn't sound like there's a lot in it for me, anyway."

"Come on, dude, we'll pay you!" Dewey begged him. "How much do you want, ten bucks? Twenty?"

"Fifty." Louie said bluntly.

"Fif-!" Dewey threw up his arms, outraged. "I only have fifty-five in the bank!" He protested.

"Well, that's what you get for not saving money." Louie replied with an evil smirk. "That said, if you can prove this guy isn't an asshole, I'll cut-"

"Language." Huey chastised him.

Louie turned to Huey in disbelief. "…Are you kidding me? Asshole is on the list?"

"It's always been on the list!" Huey replied exasperatedly, putting the book aside and glaring at the younger triplet. "You haven't even read the list!"

"No, I haven't, because it's stupid!" Louie said frustratedly. "Everyone else our age swears like a sailor, you can't expect me to-!"

"Well, I don't!" Huey snapped. "And neither does Webby, or Uncle Donald, who is, in fact, a sailor! All I'm asking is that you respect that and-"

"Alright, alright! I'll pretend I'm not a real teenager when I'm around you!" Louie said angrily, folding his arms and turning away. "Jesus."

Huey opened his beak, hesitated, then returned to his book with a sigh. Dewey took a step back, sharing an awkward, unsure glance with Webby, then leaning back on the stop sign, somewhat demoralised.

A low mechanical grumble in the distance indicated the bus's arrival.

Feathered Hill High School was located in the southern suburbs of Duckburg, near the industrial district, and it was, in Dewey's humble opinion, the best high school in the whole city. Sure, it wasn't perfect. It didn't have the glamour or prestige of a private school, and it had a few rotten teachers that gave it a bad name, and it was certainly nothing compared to Dewey High. But despite all that, it was his school, and he wouldn't give it away for the world.

He started his school day the same way he started every school day – dramatically flinging the doors open with a grin and strutting down the lobby hall with a confident stride. There were a few other students milling around in the few minutes before Homeroom, looking at him and his family as they walked past. A bunch of guys, a few girls, none of whom gave much more than a brief glance or an eye roll, but he didn't let that discourage him.

The Homeroom classes had sorted the students by last name, so while Webby had to go off to a classroom by herself, Dewey was in the same room as both of his brothers. The roll was taken by Mrs Brookfeather, a crabby old English teacher, followed by a list of announcements that Dewey didn't listen to, and then half an hour later, the school day began for real.

It got off to a poor start, partly thanks to his maths class. Dewey had forgotten exactly who had told him that General Maths was the 'easy' route, but whoever it was had been lying through his teeth. It wasn't hard, per say, but between compound interest, algebra, and whatever this statistics stuff he was going through was, he wasn't exactly breezing through it. Worsening the problem was Mr Weatherby, who had the most monotone, dry, horrifically boring voice Dewey had ever heard in his life. Fitting for a maths teacher, maybe, but it made his maths classes unbearably tedious.

Still, he shared the class with Webby, so it wasn't all bad.

Thankfully, baseball practice was next, which Dewey found much more personally satisfying. Coach Bellows, a massive grizzly bear who taught the baseball team, the soccer team, and a couple of other sports teams as well. Dewey had no idea why he was responsible for so much of the school sports, but he wasn't complaining. He was a pretty good coach, even if he could be a bit… shouty.

His team was like a second family to him, working like a well-oiled machine in every match, with three of his teammates standing out in particular. There was Ted, a duck who Dewey considered to almost be his equal in terms of batting prowess, then there was Pete, a dark-feathered sparrow who could catch a fly out of the air. And then there was Simon Tailfellow, a short, scrawny duck who was kind of holding the team back, but Dewey liked him regardless.

Right after practice came lunch. Knowing full well he wasn't going to like the tuna sandwiches, Dewey headed straight to the cafeteria with his teammates. As much as he liked hanging out with his family, he preferred to hang out with the team during lunch hours – primarily because of how they reacted to his stories.

"A golden tree made of money?" Simon said in disbelief and awe as the four of them waited in line at the cafeteria. "No way, that one has to be fake!"

"I'm telling you dude, it was real!" Dewey said emphatically to the shorter, blue-shirted duck. Then, he admitted, "Well, we had to tear it down to repair the vault… and when I told Huey about it, he said that infinite money wouldn't be worth anything because of some complicated money thing that I didn't understand… but the way that it was growing? It looked like this giant golden serpent!" He said dramatically. "It was growing so big, that it was going to tear the whole vault apart! So, we had to slide down the tree, all the way to bottom, and jump through an emergency exit at the last second! You should've been there, man. It was crazy!"

"Woah." Pete said incredulously as Simon looked up at Dewey with astonishment. He stood next to them in line, wearing a red polo and jacket. Ted was just up ahead, wearing a white jacket with red stripes, ordering something from the cafeteria ladies.

Ted came back with a meat pie in his hand, looked at the group and asked, "What's up?"

Pete turned around. "Oh, Dewey's just talking about one of his adventures."

"Oh, yeah. Which one?"

"Doomsday Vault." Dewey replied. "I think I told you…"

"Yeah, yeah, I remember that one." Ted nodded. "Still don't know how you can have a tree that makes money."

"Me neither! It was so awesome!"

The group chuckled among themselves. As Pete moved up in line to buy a snack for himself, Simon asked, "Dude, you have such an awesome life. All these crazy adventures, that stuff with Magica, and those guys from the moon… why did you stop?"

Dewey shrugged. "Eh. You know. Stuff happens."

"…Stuff?"

"Yeah. You know. High school stuff." He smirked. "I couldn't have wowed you all with my baseball skills if I'd kept adventuring, you know?"

The two guys laughed. "Guess not." Ted replied.

Dewey laughed with them, trying not to let his uneasiness show.