Lincoln Velazquest was the kind of guy who liked being early for all his appointments. If he had his way, he'd show up five to ten minutes before go time, that way he wasn't stressing and flying by the seat of his pants. At some point in his long and checkered past, he had watched a movie where one of the characters was an overbearing slave driver of a boss, a real Elon Musk type who demanded his employees work 96 hours a week and sleep under their desks. He told another character this little nugget of wisdom: Early is on time, on time is late, and late is unacceptable. The boss guy was presented as a real villain, but something about his logic - in that one event, at least - really stuck with Lincoln.
From that point on, he vowed to be a little early everywhere he went.
It wasn't just the movie that inspired him to do this, though. It was also (maybe even mainly) his own anxiety. He wasn't anxious or nervous in general, but he did get stressed out kind of easily, or he used to. He had gotten better as he aged and gained a little experience, but there was once a time when he'd really bite his nails over certain things. If he had to be somewhere at a specific time, he'd stress about time. When should he leave? How late could he be? How would he get there? What if something happened along the way and slowed him down, like traffic? You never know what life is going to throw at you. For that reason primarily, he liked to get a move on as early as possible. That way he had some breathing room in case anything happened. If you're on too tight a schedule, getting stuck in traffic can completely sink you stone cold dead like you're the Titanic. If you have a bunch of extra time, however, you can get through it no problem.
Of course, sometimes that backfired on him. He'd overestimate the amount of time he'd need to get somewhere and wind up waiting around for twenty or even thirty minutes. The buses in Royal Woods weren't all that reliable so he would usually take the earliest one that he possibly could if he wasn't sure how long it would take him to get to his destination. One time he went to the dentist on his own for a 3:00 pm appointment. He got there at 1:53 because he didn't know how long it would take him on the bus. He wound up sitting in the waiting room and playing on his phone for over an hour. Soon, his phone died and he was reduced to leafing through six month old copies of People magazine. He didn't particularly relish being quite that early, but he supposed it was better than being late. Being late just wasn't for him.
Too bad he was late all the time.
See, Lincoln was one of fifteen children. He had fourteen brothers, some of whom were older, some of whom were younger. With so many siblings hanging around, getting out the door in the morning was a freaking nightmare. Every day, Lincoln wound up being late for school because his brothers took so long getting ready. It seemed that there was always at least one guy dragging his feet. Every single day it was something. Monday, Milton couldn't find his math book and everyone had to tear down the house to help him dig it up; Tuesday, Leo overslept (and waking him up took a whole act of God); Wednesday, Sammy stripped naked and lost his diaper, and Lincoln and the others had to stop what they were doing to get him ready; Thursday, Johnny didn't have a paper bag to wear and refused to leave the house. "I can't go out there like this, bro; I'm practically naked." Then finally, on Friday, the boys all got into a Nerf gun fight after breakfast and lost track of time, even though Lincoln was right there to remind them they had to leave. "We got plenty of time," Tommy would say…even though they were already five minutes late. Friday was one of those days where no one seemed to take anything seriously. It was the end of the week and everyone was ready for the weekend. There was a sort of holiday atmosphere and they thought they could get away with more than they could on any other week day.
Not true.
Lincoln found that out the hard way. Every other Friday - or so it felt like - he got in school suspension for being late all week. He'd beg and plead for clemency, swearing that he was only late because of his brothers, but none of his teachers (or his principal) wanted to hear it. Lincoln's family had a reputation in the school system and the principal cut him absolutely zero slack. By this point, the principal at Lincoln's school had already had Leo, Eddie, David, Thommy, and Milton as students and therefore knew the brothers well. It's not that they were bad kids, but they could be very energetic and rambunctious, like most boys their age. And of course any misdeeds they committed, no matter how slight or singular, was unfairly reflected on the rest. Eddie had gotten into a few fights, mainly against bullies, and the principal acted like he was some kind of madman out to randomly attack people. Tommy and a few of his friends - gearhead types into cars and mechanics - pulled a prank once where they disassembled their math teacher's Ford Focus and put it back together backwards. Now he had the reputation as a prankster even though he really wasn't.
Five of Lincoln's brothers had already passed through the middle school and the principal - and all the teachers - had it in their heads that they knew Lincoln. They thought that he was late every day because he was playing along with his brother's antics. Little did they know, he wanted to get out the door and get on with his day. He didn't want to be late. He didn't want to get in trouble, get ISS, and get yelled at. He wanted to just get to school on time like everybody else, darn it.
At one point a few months back, Lincoln got tired of his brothers always making him late and decided to take the bus. He was shocked to find out that it stopped on his street at 6:20am.
School didn't start until 8.
He quickly found out why. Due to some poor planning at the bus garage, his bus was one of the few that left the Royal Woods town limits and picked up kids in the surrounding hills and farmland. Instead of stopping at his street on the way back to school - which was only a couple miles away - it stopped on the way out, meaning that Lincoln had to not only get up early as heck, but sit around while the driver went far and wide to collect kids across the countryside. Lincoln had a very delicate sleep schedule. He went to bed at 11:30 each night and woke at 6:30. If he stayed up later or got up earlier, it would throw him out of whack and he'd end up with insomnia. He could slowly change his schedule - though it wouldn't be easy. Frankly, though, he didn't want to. To catch the bus, he'd have to get up at 5:30 at the very least, which would give him enough time to shower, eat breakfast, and wake up a little bit before trudging out to the bus stop all the way at the other end of the street. Even then, he'd be cutting it pretty darn close.
His desire to get to school on time won out and he decided to give the whole thing the proverbial old college try. The first day was miserable. He was half asleep all through his morning routine and wound up forgetting to put on deodorant, a dangerous proposition for a boy of thirteen. He spilled milk all down the front of his shirt and his pants while making breakfast, and had to change. It was November and standing outside at the bus stop in the predawn cold was a level of hell that he had rarely experienced, especially since the bus just so happened to be late that day.
By ten minutes.
He thought he'd get some sleep on the bus, but a number of things prevented him from doing so. For one thing, there was no heat and the inside of the bus was almost as cold as the outside, if not colder. Lincoln's seat was hard and lumpy, and when he rested his head against the chilly window, he got a brain freeze. He used his backpack as a pillow, but the jostling of the bus kept slamming his head against the window. The impact was muffled and muted by the backpack, sure, but he still got a headache. Lastly - but certainly not leastly - the acrid smell of the bus's diesel fumes turned his stomach and kept him from napping. By the time he got to school, he felt like he was going to be sick, but he had n o time to relax because the bus didn't get to school until 7:57, giving him two whole minutes to get to his locker and then to class. He was so tired that he wound up falling asleep in second period math and getting yelled at by the teacher.
As he feared, he threw his sleep balance all off and spent most of that night awake in bed, tossing and turning. He finally fell asleep at 2am, just to have to wake up in a few hours to catch the bus. He was even more tired and miserable than he had been the day before and snoozed his alarm a dozen times before finally getting out of bed at 6. He skipped his morning shower and his breakfast in the interest of getting more sleep, so he felt dirty and hungry all the way to school. The bus pulled up to the main doors at 7:51, leaving him no time to stop by the cafeteria for breakfast. He was starved until lunch rolled around, and by then, he was so hungry that his lunch wasn't enough to fill him up.
He fell asleep in class again and, again, got yelled at. This time, since it happened twice in a row, he got in school suspension. It was the end of the day so he had to carry out his sentence the next day. He did not look forward to it, and wound up stressing the whole evening, which kept him awake into the small hours of the morning yet again.
This happened for most of a week before Lincoln finally threw his hands up in surrender. Catching a ride to school with Leo and the others all but ensured he'd be late, but at the very least, he'd be well rested.
Of course, it took him a while to get back on his previous schedule, but once he did, life improved for him ten fold.
Except for the being chronically late part. That stayed exactly the same.
A week or so after giving up on the bus, Lincoln had another bright idea. Why not just walk? Lots of kids walked to school in Royal Woods. Granted, he lived several miles from school, but he walked pretty fast and didn't usually get winded. He figured that he could get to school in just over an hour. He could leave before seven and get there right before eight.
It wasn't a bad plan, and the first time Lincoln did it, everything went off without a hitch. He was a little tired maybe, but it's not like he was going to spend the day doing construction work or anything, he would be sitting in class, taking it relatively easy. No big deal.
But then something happened.
Winter.
Winters in Michigan are notoriously brutal, and the winter into which Royal Woods trudged that year was one of the coldest and most vicious on record. Daytime temps barely cracked zero, and every other day it seemed to snow, sleet, or freezing rain. The sidewalks turned into sheets of ice and walking on them became an act of suicide. The one time Lincoln tried, he slid all the way in the opposite direction and wound up stuck in a snowbank downtown.
Drats, foiled again.
His next bright idea was taking a taxi to school. He had a ton of money saved up from birthdays, Christmases, mowing lawns, and shoveling sidewalks, and could totally afford it. The ride from his home to the school only cost around seven bucks. At that rate, he could take a cab every morning all through the winter.
It seemed a brilliant idea.
But once more, something happened.
One day he called a cab and was waiting outside. He saw a taxi from the same company parked up the street. Was that meant for him? Were they at the wrong house? Before he could decide whether to walk over or not, the cab took off. Lincoln called the cab company to see what was going on, and the dispatcher got a really bad attitude with him. "The cab can't be there instantly, kid, you just called."
"No, you don't understand, I just -"
The dispatcher, radioing the driver, cut Lincoln off. "Yeah, where are you? This guy's bellyaching already."
Something about the dispatcher's rudeness set Lincoln off. He yelled a few curse words, then started walking to school. The cab eventually showed up, but Lincoln kept walking, refusing to get in. He was tired of people treating him like trash. If the cab company wanted to be that way, screw them, they would never get another cent of his money ever again. Why support someone who's going to be rude to you? Lincoln couldn't understand that. "You're mean to me…here, have money."
Nope.
Not him.
He actually had a little thing called self-respect.
Unfortunately, his self-respect brought him all the way back to square one. He had no easy and efficient way of getting to school. He had to just deal with all of his brothers making him late. The universe was against the idea of him getting to school on time for some reason, so eff it, he might as well just give up and stop trying.
From that day forward, he let nature take its course. Every morning, there was some zany reason that he was late for school. Jeez, it was constant nonstop. You'd think that, statistically speaking, there would be one or two days here sand there that they'd be on time, but nope, you'd be wrong.
Lincoln tried to accept this, he really did, but it just wasn't in his nature. He wanted to be on time, darn it, and the more that he was late, the more that he wanted to be on time, even early. By spring, he thought that he could start walking again, but as luck would have it, that spring turned out to be unrelentingly wet. It rained every single day, usually in the morning, and we're not talking a little sprinkle either, we're talking full on rainstorm downpour. Lincoln became so frustrated that he could scream. Nothing worked. No matter what he did, he failed. It really was like the universe was against him. How can you triumph when the very cosmos wants you to fail. You can't. You might as well not even try.
No.
That wasn't acceptable. Lincoln was tired of being late and he vowed to one day find a way to get there on time. Obviously he was going about this the wrong way. He couldn't get to school on time on his own. How could he do it?
He put his nose down to the grindstone, as the old saying goes, and proceeded to come up with a way he could stop being late all the time. He dreamed up a thousand and one fanciful ideas, including building his own go kart, but they all fell through. Like he said before, there was no feasible way that he could get to school on time by himself. Whatever he did, it would have to involve getting everyone out the door early. That, of course, was easier said than done. Far, far easier said than done. His brothers were fourteen deep; do you know how hard it is to wrangle fourteen people? It was like trying to herd a stampede of raging bulls. He'd have an easier time catching rain in his hands.
But as he saw it, he had no other option.
Except to be late to school forever.
On the morning of March 3rd, two days before his mom's birthday, Lincoln woke to the bleating of the alarm on his bedside table. He rolled over, slapped the off button, and stretched out on his back, blinking his tired and puffy eyes. He waited for the mist of sleep to slowly clear from his mind, then sat up and stretched. There was a slight chill in the air and he gave a quick, body wide shudder. With so many kids to feed, house, and clothe, Dad did everything on the cheap, which meant that he kept the thermostat as low as he could. It was always just a few degrees above cold in the winter; two or three clicks in the down position, and ice would start forming on everything. That was bad, but at least you could put on extra clothes. In the summer time, Dad kept the thermostat just below boiling, and you could only take off so much. It was horrible, and if you so much as thought about touching the thermostat, Dad would fly into a screeching, foot stomping rage.
Being late winter, Lincoln had gone to bed in a sweater and a pair of sweat pants. Despite those, however, he was cold, and needed a moment to warm up. "Okay, guys," he said, "it's time to get up."
The Quadruplets all moaned.
Lincoln stood and stretched. His room was small, it contained two bunk beds on facing walls and a futon under the window. He shared his space with the four twins, as they were known. There was Johnny, the oldest by seventeen seconds and one heck of a chef; John, a rising star on the middle school's wrestling team and a huge fan of old school WWF (especially Bret Hart and Chris Benoit); James, an inventor who dreamed of one day winning a Nobel Prize; and J.J., short for Jason Jr. J.J. was your classic introvert who was too shy and timid to socialize with other kids his age unless absolutely forced. He preferred to be alone, reading comics or playing video games. Being the youngest of the four twins, he was pretty sheltered and really nervous-like. The others ran over top of him and he usually let it happen without so much as a peep.
"Dude, it's too early," Johnny said. As the oldest, he was naturally the ringleader of the little clique within a clique. The way he and the other twins interacted reminded Lincoln of the 3 Stooges, with Johnny as the tyrannical Moe and the others as his goofy henchmen.
"I know," Lincoln said as he changed into his customary outfit; a pair of dark blue and a white polo shirt. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on a pair of orange boots. He finished off his look with a pair of orange visor sunglasses; he looked like an early 2000s cool kid. All he needed was a pair of Jinco jeans and a button up bowling shirt with flames on it. His hair was shaggy and messy, but if he could put gel in it and spike it, he'd have that 2002 fashion sense down pat. "But we gotta get going, we don't wanna be late."
"Late is unacceptable," John said and sprang out of bed. Like the other twins, he wore his white hair in dreadlocks and had a crazy right eye that bulged from its socket, making him look like a character from a horror movie. You know the type: He wanders up to the main characters like a madman, twitching and muttering to himself, then warns them not to go up to the abandoned summer camp. It's evil…you'll all die. Of course, they ignore his crazy butt and go anyway…whereupon they all proceed to die because the place really is evil.
"Atta boy," Lincoln said. John was a man after his own heart. He didn't take being late to school quite as seriously as Lincoln himself did but he was certainly an ally.
So, too, was J.J. J.J.'s nervous constitution meant that he dreaded being reprimanded by his teacher for not being on time. Unfortunately for Lincoln, J.J. was too timid and weak kneed to stand up and say anything, so he wasn't much of an ally. In fact, he was the kind of ally who wouldn't send troops or money, but would totally hit you up with thoughts and prayers…but only in private so as not to offend and incur the wrath of the other side,
So basically useless,
"Personally, I like being late," Johnny said and folded his arms grandly under his head. "Less time at school."
John climbed onto the bunk bed and looked at Johnny. "Too bad, let's move it."
Johnny's face darkened and he pushed John away. "Get outta my face, John. It's too early to smell your rank butt breath." Johnny sat up and stretched. "I hope there's Froot Loops. I'm starving."
Bumping into each other and wobbling like a bunch of tops, the four tops (as grandma called them, after an old soul group) got dressed for the day. Each one of them wore a paper bag on their head, goggles raised up over their foreheads, baggy military style coats, and tennis shoes. The only way you could tell them apart was by the color of their coats. Johnny's was blue, John's was red, James's was purple, and J.J.'s was orange. They put Lincoln in mind of a fan fiction OC recolor ("oooh, how would my Mary Sue look in lavender instead of teal?") and he made fun of them mercilessly. He said that they were essentially the same person (which wasn't true) and that they might as well be joined at the hip. "You have the individuality of a freaking herd of sheep," he would say.
That made them mad, and if he wasn't careful, they'd mob him like a swarm of locusts. Sometimes they even moved the same way. It was funny and eerie to behold.
Like every morning, they all tried to force their way through the bedroom door at once and got stuck. Much slapping, cursing, and wiggling ensued. Having anticipated this, Lincoln grabbed a broom and pushed them through. "Thanks, Linc," four voices said in unison.
"Don't mention it, guys," Lincoln said and touched his index finger to his forehead in a salute. He had been bunking with the four tops since he could remember and was, therefore, the brother who best understood them and was the best equipped to deal with them. With them, you had to anticipate the unanticipatable. They were all so different from each other but yet fundamentally the same: You had to give them a kick in the butt sometimes to get them on their way.
When you got right down to it, all of his brothers were like that, hence his little dilemma. If they didn't need a good kick in the rear, he wouldn't be flippin' floppin' late every single goshdarn day.
Once the doorway was clear of Johns, Lincoln grabbed his backpack and went out into the hall. The first brother he encountered of the day was Larry. Seven and one of a pair of twins (Mom and Dad really pumped them out, huh?), he, like all the others, had snowy white hair. Also, like all the others (aside from Lincoln), he was black. What sense did it make that out of fifteen kids, Lincoln happened to be the only paleface of the lot? Not freaking much, but Lincoln supposed things like sense and logic didn't matter. Anything goes in this house. Anyway, Larry liked cowboy movies, so he liked to dress like one. Today, he was wearing chaps, a western style vest, and a cowboy hat and boots. Lincoln and the others mocked and made fun of him quite a lot for the way he dressed. They had all sorts of nicknames for him. The Crybaby Kid; The Lame Ranger; Sheriff Woody; and Lincoln's favorite - The Black Buckaroo.
He couldn't help himself, the moment he saw Larry standing there, he had to dive in and pick on him.
"Howdy, pardner," Lincoln said and tipped an imaginary hat.
Larry glared at him. "I don't talk like that," he said coldly.
"I reckon you don't," Lincoln said. "You better saddle up your horse and get on down to the saloon. It's almost chow."
Flashing, Larry kicked Lincoln in the shin. The tip of his boot crashed into Lincoln's bone and sent a shockwave of pain through him. Lincoln yelped and grabbed his leg, hopping up and down on one foot. He bared his teeth and swiped at Larry, but he was already making trails to the next town. "That's right," Lincoln called after him, "go on and get."
Lincoln turned around and bumped into the Larry's other half, Charlie, also seven. He wore blue cutaway tails, a top hat, and an orange bow around his neck. He carried a walking stick and looked for all the world like he was going to break out into the Charleston at any moment. Lincoln rolled his eyes and shook his head. Charlie was a good kid, like Larry, but his neverending game of dress up was just as cringy as his twin's. Being seen in public with the two of them was really embarrassing, and when the family was out on the town, Lincoln made sure to hang back a few steps. He had the benefit of looking white, so - he hoped - people might think he was just some random kid who happened to be walking in the same direction.
Charlie spun his cane grandly and Lincoln once again tipped an imaginary hat. "Top of the morning to you," he said.
"And to you, my good man," Charlie replied.
See, Charlie had this thing about being the center of attention: He loved it. He lived for the spotlight and loved, loved, loved all eyes being on him. He had always been something of a ham as a baby, doing things specifically for the reactions they caused, and he had gotten worse (or more advanced, depending on how you look at it) as he got older. When he was a little younger, he thought he would be a comedian, and tried his best to make everyone laugh with his own brand of slapstick that involved him falling down a lot. This stemmed from a time he ran into the kitchen for dinner and slipped on a bit of mashed potatoes someone had dropped on the floor. He flew into the air and landed flat on his back like a WWE star falling from the top of a steel cage. Everyone exploded into laughter, and even though Charlie ran crying to mommy like he always did when he got a little boo boo, he realized the comedic value in what he had done.
For a while, he tried to replicate the incident by taking intentional tumbles down the stairs, on ice, and just crossing the living room. At first, it was hysterical; they were all boys, after all, and there's nothing funnier to a boy than someone falling down or otherwise being made a fool of. Lincoln laughed right along with his brothers and slapped his knee for good measure - hee hee, haw haw, Charlie busted his ass. Like superhero movies and online outrage, however, it got real old, real quick. Once Charlie realized that he wasn't getting the same pop for his pratfalls that he was before, he switched gears and learned to do magic tricks. Oftentimes, they were clumsy and poorly executed, which was kind of funny, Lincoln supposed. Charlie loved card tricks but could never "pick" your card. If you had an ace of spades, he'd say you had a queen of hearts. When he first started, he carried a rabbit around in his top hat; its name was Mr. Jingles and he nibbled on lettuce and carrots throughout the day. Charlie eventually dumped him because Mr. Jingles kept crapping in his hat.
The only person who was shocked and amazed at his fumbling attempts to do magic was Mom. Charlie was mama's little boy and he milked it for all he was worth. He was shrewd in that he knew if he snuggled up to Mom and acted like a baby, he could get her on his side almost without fail. He could stick out his bottom lip and get his way on nearly anything.
"Got any tricks for me this morning?" Lincoln asked.
Charlie jumped back with a flourish and flicked his wrist. A bouquet of fake flowers was supposed to appear in his hand, but instead it flew out and sailed across the hall. "My merchandise!" he cried, clawing at his face. He ran after it and picked it up, smothering it in kisses and shushing it. "It's okay," he whispered, "daddy's here."
What a drama queen.
Leaving Charlie to it, Lincoln went to the bathroom. A crack of line shone beneath the door and he could hear the muffled hiss of the shower beyond. He considered waiting, but his bladder twinged and he made up his mind. He knocked and waited a second, no reply. "Yo!" he called. "Can I come in?"
"Yeah," a voice replied. He couldn't hear it well enough to figure out who it was.
Opening the door to a burst of steam, Lincoln went inside, walking carefully because the floor was wet from the massive number of showers that had already been taken that morning. The mirror over the sink was heavily with condensation and the counter was littered with toothbrushes, empty toothpaste tubes, socks, and garbage, The toilet was a piss soaked nightmare and the trashcan next to it was overflowing with used tissues, empty toilet paper tubes, and other assorted garbage. Though Mom hounded them nonstop, the bathrooms (and many of their bedrooms) were a complete and utter mess.
Behind the curtain, Lincoln could just make out a shadowy form. "Who's there?" the form asked.
It was David.
Seventeen and jacked, with flowing white locks that covered his square jawed face, David was the jock of the house. Every family big enough has one, or so Lincoln supposed. He was the captain of every sports team imaginable (except for the girl ones, of course) and had both set and shattered many records in the county, indeed, even the state. He was a great athlete and would probably go pro one day, but he wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed. In fact, he was something of a meathead, and Lincoln and the others picked on him about it. His nickname at home was Caveman, devised by Leo because "He's big, dumb, and ugly" and every time someone made a stupid mistake, the boys refered to it as "Pulling a David."
Despite being a meathead jock, David was a total bro and had a heart of…well, maybe not gold, but…anyway, he was a good dude. He didn't like bullies, could get along with almost anyone, and didn't look down at people for being fat or nerdy or whatever. Don't tell anyone this because it might hurt his street cred and make him mad, but he also really liked small, cute animals. He had a book on his nightstand called The ABCs of the Zoo. It was meant for toddlers and had a picture of an animal for every letter in the alphabet (Alpaca for A and so on). David would spend hours looking at the pictures and giggling like a little girl. "Kitty," he would say and stroke the picture of the kitten with his finger. "Pretty kitty. K-A-T that spells cat."
It was actually kind of wholesome and would make Lincoln think twice about picking on him if David didn't pick on him as well. As I'm sure you can imagine, with fourteen boys, everyone got roasted, and each and every soul in the house was vulnerable at all times, Sammy being the sole exception since he was three. He looked a lot younger, though, and still sucked on a binkie. Seriously, kids that old usually don't. It's gonna ruin his teeth. Of course, he was mommy's baby, so if he wanted his binkie, he got his binkie.
Anyway, Lincoln identified himself. "Oh, hey, Linc," David said, "I thought you were Warren. He keeps throwing ice water over the curtain and getting me."
Eleven and rail thin with white hair that put everyone in mind of Bart Simpson, Warren was the gymnast of the bunch. He wore sparkly purple tights and did girly routines much to the delight of Mom and to the dismay of Dad. Temperament-wise, he was kind of like Lincoln, kind of like Johnny. He could be thoughtful and inventive at times, but other times, he could be a big dumb loudmouth who thought it was literally impossible for him to be wrong about literally anything. He liked to pull pranks - it wasn't necessarily "his thing", but occasionally, the spirit would take him and he'd do something.
"Nope, it's just me," Lincoln said, "I gotta pee."
"Alright, don't let Warren in."
"I won't."
Lincoln took his whiz, washed his hands, and brushed his teeth while he was at it. "See ya later," Lincoln said.
"Bye," David responded.
Lincoln opened the door and stepped into the hall just in time to bump into Milton. Fifteen with a flat top, he wore orange and black checkered pants and a black and white T-shirt. He was staring down at a sheaf of papers in his hands and silently moving his lips. He and Lincoln collided, and Milton jumped back in shock. He saw Lincoln and grinned. "Oh, hey, Linc, I didn't see you there."
"I guess not," Lincoln said and nodded to the papers. "Another screenplay?"
Milton smiled broadly and nodded, his face glowing with pride. "Yeah, my newest…and probably my best."
Milton dreamed of one day becoming a famous and beloved filmmaker on par with Coopola, Scorcese, and Kubric. He wrote screenplays and filmed no budget movies in the backyard on an old camera Mom bought him one Christmas from the second hand store in town. Lincoln personally thought his movies were slightly lacking in originality and oozing with cheese. That wasn't meant as an indictment or dismissal of his talent, but come on, he was fifteen, every great artist produced trash when they were fifteen years old. He was firmly in the learning stages of his craft and needed time to hone his skills. In Lincoln's opinion, he was good enough now that, if he kept working and refining his technique, he would one day be great.
Everyone's got to start somewhere, after all. There may be a few people scattered throughout history who were tremendously talented at an early age (like Stevie Wonder and Michael Jackson), but most people had to work hard at improving. One day, Milton would get there…but today was not that day. The screenplay, he told Lincoln, was about a gang of clowns who fight for turf with a gang of mimes. It was called Clownfellas, and was supposed to be a parody of mob and gang related cinema. It wasn't the worst idea he had ever had and could, theoretically, work, but some of what he read to Lincoln just wasn't very good.
"You're getting there, pal," Lincoln said and clapped him on the shoulder in passing.
The older boy beamed, then frowned and turned to a departing Lincoln. "What do you mean getting there? I've been there."
He sounded like he was trying to convince himself rather than Lincoln.
Downstairs, Lincoln went into the kitchen and grabbed a granola bar from the pantry. In the dining room, Eddie and Leo were sitting at the table shooting the breeze over cups of instant coffee and a couple microwaved breakfast sandwiches. Tall, muscular, and twenty two with curly white hair and an overbite, Leo wore camo pants, a long sleeve camo utility jacket over an orange T shirt, and orange boots. When he turned eighteen, he joined the military and went through boot camp in Louisiana. He achieved the rank of private and spent four years in the service, some of it overseas, before being discharged after hurting his ankle on an exercise in the Mojave. He didn't walk with a limp or anything, but it ached when it rained or snowed and it was bad enough, apparently, that the military didn't want him anymore. For a while after coming home, Leo was bitter and depressed; he wanted to make a career out of his service and harbored dreams of one day becoming a high ranking officer. He had love action, guns, explosions, and excitement since he was a kid and had always wanted to be a soldier. After coming home, he felt like he had no purpose and was really down.
Leo, with his warmth and paternal nature, had been like a second father to the boys, and seeing him that way broke their hearts. They tried everything under the sun to make him feel better, but they could not give him the one thing he really wanted: His military career back.
He finally found salvation in the family maid, Morag, a short, thick Scottish woman of indeterminable age. Lincoln thought she was in her late thirties, but she could have been younger; it was the bags under her eyes that made her look older. Mom and Dad hired her after Leo left - Leo was such an integral part of smoothly running the house that without him, things began to fall apart and Mom and Dad realized they needed help. Leo was the one who kept his brothers in line and made sure things (like chores) got done. With him gone, the boys had no leader, no guiding force, no one to keep them on the straight and narrow. With him gone, things weren't getting done, the boys were starting to bicker and argue incessantly, and the house took on a generally slovenly appearance. Mom and Dad reached their wits' end and hired Morag, whom the family had met during a vacation to Loch Loud, Scotland, with the Loud family. A Scotswoman by heritage and a cleaning lady by trade, she had been in the US since she was a little girl and had supposedly cleaned the homes of many rich and powerful people. For some reason, she decided to bring her skills to the masses through low prices and quality work.
When Leo came home, he was too depressed to take on his former role as general of the brothers so Morag stayed on. Over time, they became attracted to each other and were now dating. She was a strange cross between maid and part of the family, depending on the situation. On Thanksgiving and at Christmas, she was totally family. When Sammy pulled off his diaper and smeared fecal matter all over the floors and walls, she was just the maid. No one, and I mean no one, wanted to clean that mess up, so of course it would fall to her in the end. After all, she got paid for it, so why not? If Mom and Dad paid Lincoln for the honors, he'd do it in a heartbeat. Lincoln loved a pay day.
"Morning, Linc," Leo said. "How'd you sleep?"
Lincoln dropped into an empty chair and shrugged. Lincoln had been having nightmares a lot recently. In them, some burned up butthole in a Christmas sweater and a tippable fedora chased him through a boiler room and threatened him with butter knife fingers. His name was Teddy Ruger or something. He had a face like a pizza that had been left in the oven too long and took girlish, mincing steps.
"No more bad dreams?" Leo pressed, concerned.
Lincoln shook his head. "Nah, I dealt with those."
In his last dream, Teddy backed Lincoln into a corner, and Lincoln went on a tirade, insulting everything about him from his gooy face to his fashion sense. "Hey, pal, Christmas was six months ago. You gonna change into something more appropriate or nah?" When he was finished with him, Teddy ran away crying like a little girl and hadn't been back since.
That was two weeks ago.
Lincoln could be vicious with his words.
"Good," Leo said. "That's what you gotta do, bro. Confront your problems and handle them. Isn't that right, Eddie?"
Eddie nodded. "Sure thing, Leo."
Ridiculously chizzled and with a bushy white afro that covered his eyes, Eddie was essentially Leo's second in command. Naturally, he was skilled in MMA, karate, and every other fighting style you can imagine. He was eighteen and currently waiting to graduate later in the spring. He was dressed in his usual uniform of a T-shirt stretched tight across his washboard abs, black pants, and orange boots with an orange sweater tied around his waist. He spent most of his free time training at the gym or watching MMA and boxing.
Oh, and pro wrestling. Everyone in the family loved pro wrestling, a passion they had inherited from their father, Jason. Dad was a huge mark from way back; he'd been watching since he was a kid, and had been to tons of shows. He was watching the night The Undertaker had his first match in the WWF and fondly remembered reaching out and touching him as he made his way to the ring. "It was magical," Dad would say in breathy, dreamy tones, "I didn't wash my hand for a month." Every week, Dad, Lincoln, and the others would gather around the TV to watch wrestling. They watched every show from every promotion that they could get: WWE, AEW, NJPW, Impact, OVW, NWA Powerrr, and even CWA - Clown Wrestling Association, where everyone dressed as clowns and had goofy matches that would make Jim Cornette's head explode.
Eddie didn't know if he wanted to be an MMA fighter or a wrestler, but Dad was pushing for him to wrestle. "You can call yourself Black Lesner and come to the ring in a cape," Dad said. Eddie thought that sounded like a dumb gimmick but Lincoln thought it might be kind of funny.
"I sure handled Teddy Ruger," Lincoln said. "I don't think I'm going to be seeing him again."
"Good," Leo said, "I was starting to worry about you."
Just as Lincoln was finishing up, Tommy came in. Tommy wore his hair long and in a braid. Like every other brother, his hair was white. His clothes, orange and black because no one had any creativity around here and dressed exactly alike, closely resembled a racing jumpsuit. Yes, even though he was just sixteen and still in high school, he was a full fledged NASCAR driver! Okay, he hadn't been in any races or anything, but he had a contract and was part of the NASCAR training camp.
Behind him was the final brother Lincoln hadn't encountered that day (save for Sammy). He was Frankie, the resident mad scientist.
Yeah, corny, huh?
Lincoln said that because genius kids were a TV trope that he had seen time and again. Sure, you rarely ever meet an actual genius five year old in real life, so it's actually super rare, but it seemed like they were all over the place anyway. What made it even stranger in this case was the fact that Frankie wasn't the only pint sized Einstein in Royal Woods. Just across the street was Lisa Loud. She and Frankie were naturally an item, but let's hold off on getting into the convoluted and tangled web that was the Loud/Velazquez relationship tree. This one was dating that one, blah blah blah, you know, high school sitcom crap. Heck, even Sammy and Lily were dating. Their dates consisted of them watching Paw Patrol together and eating finger foods at the little plastic table in Lily's bedroom like Lady and the Tramp sucking spaghetti in a back alley.
Where was he? Oh, right, Frankie. Frankei, who with his shock of white hair, goggles, and lab coat looked like the bad guy in a Ratchet and Clank game, was an inventor. He loved tinkering with things and pumping out gadgets. He had even made hologram watches for all his brothers. If you wanted to call Leo, for instance, you pressed a button, said "Call Leo," and a tiny little hologram of Leo would appear. It was really ill and Lincoln loved wowing his friends with it. They all offered mad money for their own, but when Lincoln brought Frankie the idea of producing more for profit, the little smarty pants turned him down. "I'm in this for the sheer love of inventing, and for the hopes of improving the lot of mankind," he said and solemnly placed his hand over his heart. "Not to turn a profit."
Boo. You suck. You'd think someone of such vast and superior intellect would realize that making a profit was necessary in life, but noooo, Frankie had "principles" and "ethics."
What a freaking lame-o.
Frankie sat at the table, pulled a plate from inside his lab coat, and sat it before himself. He took out a tiny bean from his pocket, sat it on the plate, and passed a heat wand over it. The bean turned into scrambled eggs, bacon, and sausage. He dug in while the others looked at him longingly. Leo cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. "I hope you brought enough for everyone," he said.
"No, in fact, this is my last one. Sorry."
He spoke in a blunt, cut and dried manner, but Lincoln knew he was telling the truth and that he was, in fact, sorry for not including everyone else. Unlike the stereotypical big brain in movies and TV who had no feelings, Frankie was very in touch with his emotions. He openly watched chick flicks and cried at weddings…and funerals…and school plays…and when his favorite wrestler lost a match…or won a match, for that matter.
"Next time just bring some for everyone, okay?" Leo asked.
"I dunno," Tommy said, "maybe I'm old school but I'm not too hot on eating fake food from a capsule."
Frankie swallowed a bite of eggs. "I assure you, this food is not fake. It is healthy, nutritious, and made from 100 percent real ingredients."
"It looks good," Eddie said, "but still."
"Still what?" Frankie asked.
Eddie shrugged. "It's just kind of weird, that's all."
"Change always seems weird to us," Frankie opined. "We must not let that deter us from carrying on and moving forward into the future."
The older boys at the table looked at each other and shrugged. It was true. Change was always a little strange and uncomfortable at first. Once you've done something for so long, anything else seems alien, impossible, even. If Frankie was right and it was real food coming out of those tablets, then there really wasn't a problem. Lincoln, for his part, thought they were fine…but wondered after the taste. There was no way you could prepare a meal the way Frankie just had and have it taste like anything but a freeze dried facsimile of the real thing. Certainly it wouldn't taste fresh, that was impossible. It might be "good" and good for you but yeah, he didn't think it could hold a candle to Mom's cooking.
After breakfast, the boys piled into the van, Leo behind the wheel. Lincoln kept his eye on his phone and his heart began to pound. Oh, crap, they might actually get to school on time today. In his heart of hearts, however, he doubted it.
"Is everyone here?" Leo asked.
Lincoln crossed his fingers.
Then his hopes were dashed against the cold, hard, jagged rocks of reality when J.J. spoke up. :Warren isn't."
Darn it.
Leo sighed. "Where's Warren?"
No one answered.
Leo turned in his seat and did a quick headcount. He turned back and honked the horn. He rolled the window down and stuck his head out. "Warren!"
He honked again.
For five whole minutes, they waited, but Warren never showed. Lincoln's frustration mounted like steam gathering in a boiler until his face was red and his hands were clenched. There was no way they would be on time now…all thanks to Warren, who was probably still asleep. He had a bad problem with forgetting to set the alarm on his phone.
Finally, Leo sent Milton in to get him, and another five minutes later, Warren came out hopping around and pulling his shoes on. He looked groggy and tired.
Stupid crap, Lincoln thought, a good 25 percent of the time it was -
An idea struck him.
And he smiled.
That night, at home, Lincoln went to his parents. It was after dinner and they were sitting in front of the TV, Dad in his Lazy Boy and Mom perched on the edge of her armchair, bouncing Sammy in her lap. Lincoln had made himself presentable by tucking in his shirt and combing his hair. He wanted to be the picture of maturity and professionalism. "Excuse me," he said, and both of his parents looked at him. "I was wondering if maybe I could…switch rooms?"
"Switch rooms?" Dad asked.
"Why, honey?" Mom asked.
He came up with some lame excuse about needing a change of scenery and they bought it. He went back to his room, threw some things into a box, and went to Warren's room. Warren was reading a book on gymnastics when Lincoln came in. "What's up?" Warren asked.
"I'm moving in," Lincoln said.
Warren sat up. "Really? Sweet."
It took a little rearranging, but the bedroom chart - as it were - was finally complete:
Leo got his own room
Eddie & David were in one
Tommy & Milton
Johnny, John, James & J.J.
Lincoln & Warren
Larry & Charlie
Frankie & Sammy
There was no way that Warren would ever oversleep again, not with Lincoln around, Muhahahaha, See, that was his plan. That night, after Warren talked his ear off and then fell asleep, Lincoln slipped out of his bed and crept across the room on his tippy toes like a cat burglar. He checked Warren's phone, and sure enough, he hadn't set an alarm.
Ha, not so fast, kid.
Lincoln set an alarm and replaced the phone on the nightstand. He crawled back into bed and drifted off to sleep with a peaceful smile.
In the morning, he got ready and checked in on Warren. The alarm had just gone off and Warren was slowly getting ready. There, see? His chances of getting to school on time were already improving. Admittedly, however, it wasn't a done deal. Something else would happen, he just knew it.
And, of course, it did. David couldn't find his basketball jersey. Turns out, it was in the dryer, washed and cleaned by Mom unbeknownst to him.
Darn it. So close.
That night, Lincoln went through the laundry to make sure that David had everything he needed. Unfortunately, however, he discovered that Mom hadn't done the wash, and that David's football stuff was still dirty. Sighing, he threw it all in the washer. When it was done and dried, he folded everything and carried the hamper up the stairs. It was so heavy that his knees buckled and his arms shook, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself on through the pain. It would be so worth it.
He dropped everyone's clothes off in their rooms and hoped for the best. The next morning, everyone had everything they needed.
Then disaster struck.
Tommy couldn't find his homework. Lincoln and the others tore the house apart looking for it before Tommy found it in his backpack, where he had put it the night before.
He didn't even do it.
"Whoops," he said. "I better get this real quick."
Real quick turned out to be twenty minutes. Lincoln was so late for school that he got instant detention and had to write a 1000 word essay on the importance of punctuality. He was so mad by the end of the day that he was red. Alright, this had to end and it had to end right freaking now. He couldn't keep doing this being late crap every day. He was going out of his mind here. There had to be a way that he could get his brothers in line enough to get out the door on time.
It came to him. The very idea of it exhausted him but if it was what had to be done, it was what had to be done.
The next day, thankfully, was a teacher work day, so the boys and girls of Royal County got the day off. Lincoln got out of bed just after nine, stretched, and let out a big yawn. There was nothing quite like stretching your muscles after a good sleep.
In the dining room, Morag bustled around making breakfast and wiping down surfaces with a rag…surfaces that she had probably already wiped several times that morning. Morag lived in the guest house and drank copious amounts of coffee to help her meet the challenge of cleaning up after seventeen people, so she was always kind of jittery. "Good morning, Mr. Lincoln," she said - she called everyone Mr., Ms., and Mrs.
"Morning," Lincoln said, "that smells good."
"It's almost ready," she said.
Lincoln sat at the table, and soon, his brothers all stampeded in. Leo kissed Morag on the cheek and got his plate first in return. After breakfast, the boys all went their separate ways…many of them across the street.
1216 Franklin Avenue was a tall and stately home with white siding and a big tree in the front yard. In it was a family almost as large as Lincoln's: The Louds. Ten girls called it home, ranging from Lily, the youngest to Lori, the oldest. Lincoln and his brothers had been friends with the Louds forever, their bond growing especially stronger since the death of the family patriarch, Lynn Sr., who suffered a fatal heart attack shortly after Lily was born. I mentioned earlier a tangled web of who's dating who like a teenage soap opera. Well, here it is:
Eddie and Lori were a couple and had been since right after Lynn Sr. died. He comforted and consoled her and she fell in love with him. They had mentioned the idea of marriage but both wanted to wait until they were more established in life.
David and Leni were, naturally, dating. Leni was a little more, ahem, special than he was, but neither one of them was a genius, so they paired well together. Between them, they even had a whole brain.
Luna and Tommy were dating. They had dissimilar interests, with Luna being really big into music and trying to become a star on YouTube. Despite their differences, they were a good pair, lending credence to the saying that opposites attract.
Next up was Milton. He was dating Luan, which, Lincoln reckoned, is where his newfound love of pranking his brothers came from. To be honest, she was probably the one putting him up to it.
Poor Warren had no gf, but Cookie, from school, had a little crush on him. Lincoln, likewise, didn't have a girlfriend, but he and Girl Jordan were crushing on each other.
Johnny, big pimping, had two girlfriends, Lynn Jr. and Lucy. John had no one, but Ronnie Anne and Nikki were both vying for his affections. James was alone, but Stella and Sid liked him. J.J. also had two girlfriends: Cristina and her much older sister Quinlan - known to most kids in school as "Thicc QT."
Cowboy Larry - to whom the brothers had recently taken to calling Curly Bill after the black dude in The West Texas Rednecks - was dating Lana and Charlie was dating…you guessed it, Lola.
Frankie was dating Lisa and you already know that Sammy and Lily are dating. There you have it, the complete picture. Whenever the brothers had free time, they usually went over to the Loud house to see their girlfriends or just to hang out. Lincoln popped in for a little while and played a video game with Lori, who was a huge gamer. He confided his problems in her and she nodded understandingly. "Getting out the door in the morning is hard for us too," she said. "With so many people, jeez, everything is hard."
Yeah, no dip.
After leaving the Loud house, he went over to Jordan's. She was playing basketball in the driveway and recruited him to play a game of HORSE with her. Lincoln was pretty good at basketball, but she was better, and beat him handily. "Ready for round two?" she asked with a cocky smile.
Lincoln shook his head. "Nah, I got things to do."
Those things were thinking, planning, and strategizing. This week, he decided, would be the end of his getting to school late. He would do whatever it took to make sure he got there on time.
Whatever it took.
Sunday night, after everyone went to sleep, Lincoln slipped out of bed and went through the house like a demented Santa Claus. He crept from room to room making sure everything was as it should be. He found Tommy's undone homework and did it; he cleaned Johnny's room; he did several loads of laundry; packed lunches; set the table for breakfast - he buzzed around the house like Morag on a coffee high. By the time he got to bed, he was sweaty, sore, and tired. As soon as he dropped off, the alarm went off and he had to get up.
He got up, made breakfast, set out everyone's clothes and things for the day, changed Sammy's diaper and got him dressed. Everyone had what they needed and the morning went far more smoothly than Lincoln ever thought possible. There was a moment of tension in the van when Milton couldn't find his phone, but Lincoln, knowing where it was, dashed inside and grabbed it, timing himself.
It took just twenty seconds.
The van pulled out of the driveway and Lincoln's chest throbbed with excited anticipation. Was it going to work? Would his crazy plan actually pay off?
When Leo pulled up to the school and Lincoln jumped out, he checked his phone and his jaw dropped.
Five minutes to bell time.
He did it. He actually did it.
The Hallelujah chorus struck up and Lincoln basked in the warm glow of his accomplishment. No more being late, no more visits to the principal's office, no more detention - everything was looking up from here.
God, he was a genius.
Feeling ten feet tall and super cool, Lincoln strolled into school with a strut. He got to his first class five minutes before the bell, sat down…
…and promptly fell asleep.
When he woke up, class was in full swing and the teacher was standing over him, her arms crossed severely over her chest.
Poor Lincoln wound up getting detention that day anyway.
Sometimes you just can't win, can you?