《Heart》


 Atlas

    A letter came in the post that summer, offering a scholarship for a law degree at Harvard University. It''d only been a year since he began attending his local high school, St. Pursuit, but to Atlas Bentley, such academic excellence was less of an achievement and more of an expectation. A straight-A student, model classmate, and member of the school¡¯s student committee, he was what every parent wished their son could have amounted to at the ripe old age of 16. His outfit was well-managed, not a single wrinkle present on his juniper green blazer and button-up white shirt. Straight and pristine, his matching plain tie hung from his neck, dangling down to his midsection with a tie clip securing it in place around his chest. A clean, grey V-neck jumper clung to his trained body, accentuating his well-kept physique. Atlas always thought he would look better if he grew his hair out, but his parents insisted he kept himself presentable in his formative years, allowing him to keep a soft side part that extended only a few centimetres from his scalp. ¡°Look the part and soon enough, you''ll be the part,¡± they had told him. It was a decent train of thought, akin to ¡°fake it till you make it,¡± but Atlas didn''t have to fake anything. He had what others could only hope for. Talent. Legalese, mathematics, literature¡ªall of it came naturally to him. It was simple, easy to understand. He was good at it. Very good at it. Good enough to warrant an invitation to study the law at its highest level in his college years, provided he maintained his exceptional grades throughout the remainder of his high school years.


    A beeping sound echoed through a large, sparsely decorated room. Atlas shot awake, disregarding his desire to sleep for a few more minutes as he glanced over to his alarm clock, reading the time as 6:30. He flung his bedsheets off him, sliding out of bed in a single smooth motion as he had done countless times before. His uniform was laid out pristinely on the opposite side of the room, resting on a small coffee table next to the door. Atlas strode purposefully to the uniform, putting it on piece by piece whilst taking great care not to crease anything he touched. Bed-head wasn''t something Atlas usually had to worry about on account of his short cut, but today his quiff seemed especially uncooperative, drooping in each cardinal direction in an attempt to disrupt the cohesion of his haircut. A few dollops of hair wax were all it took to sort out that particular problem, however, with it taking just a few moments for Atlas to sort himself out in front of his bathroom mirror. He grabbed hold of his electric toothbrush, squirted around a pea-sized amount of paste on it before cleaning his teeth for precisely two minutes and spitting it out again, rinsing his mouth with half a cup of water. Atlas proceeded downstairs after making sure of his appearance, finding his parents both sitting at the long, ebony table situated in the centre of their dining area. Gold and turquoise leaves were scattered across the wallpaper in the living room and dining room hybrid that constituted the first floor of the Bentley¡¯s abode, but Atlas paid little attention to all of it. After all, he''d seen it thousands of times over the past five years since they had moved into the small town of Stowe, Vermont. A simple, black school rucksack was resting by the front door, likely filled with school supplies and a fresh new laptop for Atlas to utilise in his studies.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    "Atlas," a subdued and sophisticated voice echoed from the wide, intricate table, "make sure you take your bag. We didn''t prep it for you not to take it."


    "Of course, Father," Atlas responded. He glanced over to his dad. Warren Bentley was an otherwise average-looking man with an extravagant haircut so abnormal it was clear he was trying to overcompensate for something. What exactly that was, Atlas was scared to question, so he always remained silent.


    "Good. We reviewed the timetable St. Pursuit sent out. Don''t be late home¡ªit is crucial we discuss your potential extra-curriculars for the coming years, after all."


    "I understand."


    "Very well. Be on your way, Atlas. Do not disappoint us."


    "I won''t."


    Atlas slid on his pointed leather shoes, taking extra care in tying them, ensuring they would under no circumstance come undone. He stepped out the door, wishing his parents a good day before walking the short trip to St. Pursuit High School, going over the previous year''s material as he did so. Equations, covalent bonds, promissory estoppel¡ªnone of it was a challenge to recall. All Atlas had to do was mildly recall the subjects, and the details flooded his mind. He was gifted, and he knew it. In fact, he more than just knew it. He''d been told it by his teachers, his peers, even his parents. Each and every one was convinced Atlas possessed something others his age did not, so what reason did he have to doubt them?


    Class began in 15 minutes, but Atlas had been trained into viewing a quarter hour early as being on time. He stood perfectly still outside of his first class, ignoring the world around him as if it didn''t exist at all in the process, too preoccupied with thoughts of last year''s materials to bother with what was going on around him. Moments passed with Atlas simply envisioning the content he had drilled into him the year prior, examining each and every detail to maximise his chances at passing any exam which may crop up during the first few weeks. After 10 minutes of Atlas going over each possibility, he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Another boy, who he could only assume was the same age as himself, came speeding down the hallway, crashing into Atlas near the entrance to their first classroom. The force of the impact sent each of the boys tumbling a few metres down the hallway in a tangled ball, both crashing into the wall with a violent impact.


    "OW! That hurt!" Atlas exclaimed as his head hit the wall behind him.


    "Well, that makes two of us," the boy responded whilst rubbing the back of his head, "not like it didn''t hurt me as well."


    "Of course it hurt you too. Look where you''re going!"


    "Yeah, yeah, I''ve heard it all before," the boy responded. "Wait, are you in Mr. Mitchell''s class?"


    "I don''t see how that''s relevant, but yes, I am."


    "Amazing," the boy responded with a giggle, a prankish smile spreading across his face, "looks like we''ll be spending some time together."


    "I wouldn''t get your hopes up," Atlas responded. "I''m far beyond whatever you''re capable of."


    "Oh yeah?"


    "Yes. Harvard agrees."


    "Oooo, Harvard. I''m shaking in my boots, really I am."


    "Are you always this insufferable?"


    "I''ve been told so."


    "Of course you have. Well... if we''re going to be spending this class together, you may as well introduce yourself."


    "Oh yeah, forget about that part. I''m¡ª"

 Tucker

    Bandages were getting more expensive. Tucker was familiar¡ªhe''d been buying them regularly as far back as he could remember¡ªbut raising the price by ten pence was starting to cause him issues. He couldn''t afford them this time; they cost more than he had managed to scrounge around and find, but he wasn''t about to show up to school without them. So he tucked them into his large, worn-out jacket before silently manoeuvring out of the convenience store.


    He hadn''t been home in a few days, and he was getting seriously tired, but today he had to show up. A dismal thing his home was¡ªa ground-floor apartment lacking any form of window that reeked of every bad habit a person could pick up. Tucker didn''t care for it much, but his mother kept bringing him back. She wasn''t mum of the year or anything, but she was all he really had.


    This time, however, he had a better reason to return. He''d almost been kicked out of his high school, St. Pursuit, the year prior, but whether or not he could return was down to a letter he would receive today. It was sitting on the kitchen table next to his weary mother, who sat there smiling at Tucker as he reached for the envelope, unfurling it and examining its contents. By some miracle, he had been allowed to stay. Tucker wasn''t sure why, but he was glad.


    "Looks like good news," a shaky voice rang out from across the table. Tucker''s mother, extending the start of a conversation, stated, "I can see it on your face."


    "I get to stay at that school this year," Tucker responded. "Saves you the trouble of having to look for other options."


    "That''s good to hear, Tuck. I was really worried for a minute."


    "It''s fine. You don''t have to worry."


    "Oh, Tuck, you just don''t get it. There''s something sleeping inside you¡ªit just needs to wake up."


    "I think you think too highly of me, Mum."


    "What can I say? I''m your mum, after all." Her face softened, eyes cast down at the kitchen table. "You have something your dad and I don''t."


    "Stop it with that. I''m perfectly average, so just stop it with all your gifted-kid bullshit, ''kay?"


    "Tuck, you really don''t understand. I just want you to use what you have. To do your best. Just, please, promise me one thing."


    "Sure, Mum, whatever you want."


    "Promise you''ll get out of this town, no matter what."


    "Okay, Mum. I promise."


    "Good to hear, Tuck. Now, best get ready for school, eh?"


    "Sure thing, Mum."


    With that, Tucker''s mum stood from the table and walked into the parents'' bedroom, leaving him alone with her words.


    When the first day of his second year rolled around, Tucker shook off his mum''s words as he usually did, refusing to believe her ramblings had any bearing on his actual life. His wardrobe never let him down, at least. A baggy leather jacket he managed to get from the town''s single thrift store was the centrepiece of his outfit, with it clinging to his toned body and making him appear slightly more muscular than he actually was. Tattered baggy jeans¡ªa hand-me-down from his uncle¡ªwere his trousers of choice, especially when he coupled them with the few plain white T-shirts that made up his usual outfit.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    The thought of going back to school wasn''t exactly dreadful to Tucker, but the prospect never really thrilled him. Waste of time and useless were the two thoughts that crossed his mind whenever school was brought up, but he kept going back anyway. His mum insisted on it.


    He looked in the mirror, observing his wavy, dishevelled, shoulder-length hair oozing its usual black pigment. It wasn''t exactly presentable, but it was good enough to avoid backlash at home. His pearl blue eyes dazzled in the rooms unenthusiastic lighting, reflecting the light in the same lacklustre way that Tucker presented himself as a whole. Tucker took a kitchen knife to his face and began to shave the stubble forming around his neck and jaw. Normally, his razor would have sufficed, but his mother had taken it away the week prior.


    The trip to school wasn''t as gruelling as he''d remembered. Maybe it was because he had a pair of cheap wired headphones and a pack of cigarettes to keep him company, but the hour-long walk seemed to pass quicker than it had the year before. On his way, people kept looking at him. He couldn''t hear them over his music, but he got the gist of what they were saying. After all, people had been saying the same things about him since he was born.


    "That''s Nico Everman''s son."


    That''s all they ever thought of him. The whole town of Stowe believed he''d never amount to more than the son of a convict. He believed it too. After all, he was a thief, a known petty criminal and an academic failure. Everyone believed he would amount to nothing at all¡ªTucker Everman being no exception.


    By the time he arrived at school, his phone had almost run out of battery. His mum had got it second-hand for his sixteenth birthday, which he was grateful for, but the battery life was atrocious.


    His first class didn''t start for half an hour, so Tucker decided to visit the music room beforehand. His mother always wanted to buy him an instrument, but his dad decided that the money was better spent "elsewhere."


    There was a guitar resting against the wall closest to the entrance of the music room, its strings recently tuned and kept in pristine condition. Tucker liked music. He would do more with it if he could, but that was out of his control. He picked up the instrument, figuring out the chords and keys as he went, discovering a chord progression and solo that fitted what he was thinking before playing both back to back. It didn''t sound great, but it was raw. It was his.


    Before he knew it, his first class was less than ten minutes away from starting. Any other day, he probably wouldn''t have cared, but he was doing this for his mum¡ªfor his promise.


    Tucker began hurrying to his first class, but all of a sudden he collided with a student he hadn''t seen before as he rounded the corner.


    "OW! That hurt!" the boy exclaimed as his head hit the wall behind him.


    "Well, that makes two of us," Tucker responded whilst rubbing the back of his head. "Not like it didn''t hurt me as well."


    "Of course it hurt you too. Look where you''re going!"


    "Yeah, yeah, I''ve heard it all before," Tucker responded. "Wait, are you in Mr Mitchell''s class?"


    "I don''t see how that''s relevant, but yes, I am."


    "Amazing," Tucker responded with a giggle, a prankish smile spreading across his face. "Looks like we''ll be spending some time together."


    "I wouldn''t get your hopes up," the boy responded. "I''m far beyond whatever you''re capable of."


    "Oh yeah?"


    "Yes. Harvard agrees."


    "Oooo, Harvard. I''m shaking in my boots, really, I am."


    "Are you always this insufferable?"


    "I''ve been told so."


    "Of course you have. Well... if we''re going to be spending this class together, you may as well introduce yourself."


    "Oh yeah, forgot about that part. I''m Tucker. Don''t tell me you''re too stuck up to give me your name too?"


    "I think you''ll find I am much more sophisticated then you give credit fir. So, unlike you, I have some etiquette. My name is Atlas. Atlas Bentley."