Nick tried being as quiet as humanely possible while he unlocked his front door, but at the last second the pain in his back surged, causing him to stumble the rest of the way inside.

"Nickolas? Nickolas is that you?" called a tender female voice from the depths of the sumptuous hall.

Nick shut the door as softly as he could, then went still, hoping no one would think he was here.

"Nickolas, we can see you! Get over here!" yelled a gruff male voice from the same direction.

Quietly cursing to himself, Nick had forgotten about the security camera installed right above the front door. With no energy to escape, he swung the long-sword back over his shoulder and limped his way down the hall.

He found his parents waiting in their grandiose living-room. The walls were beige while the ceiling and floor were white; a wide flat screen took up a large space where it hung on the wall, and an ample black sofa with two matching arm chairs all faced it; a sizable glass table sat in between the tv and the sofa set, and perched on its center was a miniature glass letter 'P'.

"Nickolas, why are you walking like that?" questioned the woman with the tender voice. Helen Pierce had wavy dark-brown hair that stretched not too far past her shoulders, and thin pink lips. She always dressed as if she were about to strut down a model runway, and always reminded her son to do the same. "And what in the world are you carrying?"

"Oh this...it's just a stick, a really white and sharp-ish stick," Nick said, lowering the sword from his shoulder. "I tripped right over it on my way to-"

Crash!

Both Nick and Helen flinched as an ear-splitting sound of glass shattering exploded in the room. Nick was the first to notice fragmented pieces of a glass cup scattered atop a black end table, and the lacerated palm of his father, Timothy Pierce.

"No jokes, no sarcastic cracks," Timothy ordered. His short hair was a darker shade of brown than his wife's, and it matched with his thick goatee.

Timothy Pierce was a businessman. Not all of the business he did was legal, but both his son and wife were already aware of that. He bought and distributed a variety of things to a variety of people, and owned several manufacturing companies, but if there was one thing he was truly proficient in, it was evading the authorities.

"Tell us the truth," Timothy went on. "Where did you go this afternoon, and why weren't you answering your phone?"

Nick feigned indifference on his face. "What do you mean? I was in class. Using my phone would've been rude, obviously."

Timothy's expression molded into something hostile. "And yet, I got a call from Principal Heimes telling me that you weren't in either of your classes after lunch. Last chance."

Nick frowned, more confused than worried. He quickly sculpted his expression into something more innocent. "Alright, fine...I'm scared. Anxious. Terrified. This is my last year as a kid in high school, then I'll have to start being an adult in university or college. I only just realized it today. Sure I'm the president of Somber Ridge's student body now, but will I ever amount to anything after that? Sorry...Felt like I was suffocating, so I left school, took a walk in the park, tripped over this really cool...sword-like stick, left my cell on vibrate and forgot. Don't worry, next time I feel like that, I'll just wait till after school to take a walk, and I definitely won't leave my phone on vibrate. Promise."

"Nickolas..." Helen sighed, more stressed than worried.

Timothy stared long and hard at his son, seemingly trying to determine if he really was telling the truth. It was sometimes hard for either him or his wife to know for sure.

When neither parent immediately responded again, Nick continued. "But, why was Principal H. calling you directly about something that a school administrator could've just done?"

"Glad you asked," Timothy finally answered. He strode forward, till there was meager space between him and Nick. "When were you going to tell us that you've been dealing vampire dust at school?"

Nick sighed this time, feeling more peeved than penitent. "May I ask how you came across such information?"

"Someone from your school named you, someone you recruited. Someone you've been paying."

"...really?" There was only one person Nick could think of that fit the description, but it was hard for him to believe that Charlie could have ever done something like that.

"Of course you're not taking this seriously!" Timothy snapped. "You dive head-first into a risky venture like this, and you never once thought to consult with me?"

Helen was reticent as she stood a safe distance away from both her husband and son, arms crossed, and a posture that said she was ready to jump in and take Timothy's side whenever it was needed. Nick stayed silent, preparing in his own way for the storm that was his father's disappointment.

"And what's worse, you involve someone who's even more incompetent than you in this business. And now look where you are — you've been expelled! That old crane of a principal just couldn't look the other way, she's already informed the school board members and the police. I may be able to keep you out of jail, but you've already lost too much with your juvenile antics. You'll be lucky if I can even find another school for you to finish your fourth year, let alone a university or college that would accept you with your now pending criminal record!"

"Oh, there's that private academy down in the north-end of the city," Helen chimed in, desperately wanting to give her husband a prompt solution. "Who was it again...Jerry, I think it was, the school's headmaster. He could be persuaded to 'look past' Nickolas' record."

Timothy groaned. "That sleazy bastard... He was on my case for years about Maxim Corp. He'll want in, it's likely that's all he'll want."

"Then perhaps make him a silent partner for now; see how long that quashes his obsession. And if all goes well for the rest of the school year, maybe you can squeeze a little recommendation letter from him for that Magnolia university just on the outskirts. Joanna once told me that Jerry is really close with the headmaster there."

"Hmp. To think, those two years of friendship with the Freeman's wasn't a total waste. I'll give Jerry a call later tonight." Timothy groaned again, sounding both exhausted and frustrated. "All this for what? My childish son..."

"Careful throwing that word around," Nick finally said, his expression grown grave, and his hand tightly gripping the hilt of the long-sword.

Timothy scoffed, the first instance of a smile, though small, that he'd given to his son in a while. "Nickolas, spare us the joke of how ignorant you are to your own blatant childish behaviour-"

"Not that word," Nick interrupted, earning a newly found wrathful glare from his father, but he ignored it. "Not 'childish'. I meant the word you said after that."

It took a moment to realize, but then this triggered an incredulous look from Helen, who hadn't spared Nick a glance since Timothy had taken the reins. She glanced at her husband hoping he would have a more appropriate reaction, but Timothy was just as speechless at the oblique assertion. Neither parent spoke for what seemed like a year, but it was only a minute, and right after Nick belt out a laugh as if he had just heard the best joke in the world, continuing to do so even with Helen now looking displeased at his amused outburst, and Timothy glaring daggers at him.

"Keys. No driving for two months," Timothy demanded.

"That's fair, in a way," Nick said. With his smile still brimming, he dug out a small keyring that held his car key from his back pocket, and tossed it to Timothy.

"Now go to your room, and stay there till it's time for dinner."

"Try to get some ointment on that scrape, dad."

"Go!" shouted both Timothy and Helen.

Nick gave a dramatic sigh before hoisting the long-sword back onto his shoulder and spinning around to head for a spiraling staircase.

"Hold it," Helen called, making Nick halt beneath the living room doorway. "That 'stick-sword' thing, hand it over."

"Aw, come on mo-"

"Now."

Nick heaved another dramatic sigh and once again lowered the sword before dragging it across the pristine white floor over to Helen, making her glower. She yanked the sword from his hand once he was close enough, then handed it Timothy to hold. Neither parent said anything, but Nick knew he was never going to see the long-sword ever again.

Nick's bedroom had four different coloured walls: blue, red, green and yellow. The ceiling was orange, and there was a carpet on the floor made of various shades of pink square patterns. Attached to the ceiling were rainbow coloured monkey-bars that went from the doorway to his bed. On one side of the room, the blue and red walls had several shelves filled with a variety of sports balls, rackets and sticks. On the other side, the green and yellow walls contained several shelves filled with copious amounts and sizes of plastic, rubber and wooden toys.

Nick slung his door open and sulked his way inside, but he only made it a step through when his phone began to ring. The caller ID on the screen said 'Little Orange Birdie'. Though hesitant, Nick knew he shouldn't avoid the call, nor take too long to answer.

"I can explain," he said immediately after accepting the call. There was a short but tense pause on the other end before someone spoke.

"Get over here now," warned a minacious voice.

Nick knew what 'here' meant, and though being summoned to go there wasn't going to call for any good news, he was still relieved at the opportunity to get a safe distance away from Timothy and Helen.

"Can't. T and H have sent me to my room and told me not to leave till dinnertime, plus I've been stripped of car privileges." Nick grinned when he heard a vexed sigh on the other end.

"Give the phone to Timothy."

Nick spun around and sauntered back down a lavish hall, when he stopped mid-way upon seeing Timothy turn the corner heading towards him.

"What are you doing out of your room!" Timothy questioned, closing the distance between Nick and himself.

"It's for you," Nick replied as he held up his phone.

Timothy scowled at him, then raised his hand in an attempt to seize the phone, but at once reconsidered the action. Instead he calmly took the phone from Nick, and inhaled and exhaled before putting it to his ear.

"Hello..." Timothy wandered to a corner in the hall, and motioned for Nick to stay where he was.

Nick was almost dying to hear the conversation, but decided not to push any of his thin luck. He might get to leave now, but he would still have to return home afterwards and deal with whatever punishment Timothy and Helen saw fit. For now, he settled on relishing at the sight of Timothy's growing unnerved expression. He made a mental note to try and get the details of the conversation later.

After a few minutes the call ended. Timothy quickly reverted to an unruffled composure before striding back to Nick. He handed back his phone, then reached into his back pocket to get his car keys, returning those too.

"Go," Timothy said. "Try to be back by dinner." He stared at the polished hardwood floor instead of looking at Nick, and Nick didn't like that it bothered him whenever he did that.

Instead of his usual mocking smile, Nick's expression fell vacant. He didn't spare Timothy another glance and sauntered right by him. His body felt lighter and the pain was subsiding more and more with each passing minute. When he made it back to the living-room, he ignored Helen who had frustratingly asked him where he was going, then shouted the question again when he didn't answer the first time.

Pain-free but troubles amassing, Nick sauntered through the room and back down the hall until he had left.