Saint Peters Academy, My Fathers Private Boarding School for Boys.

Saint Peters Academy. 05.

After 29 hours of flight, 46 games of snap, 4 movies, 12 hours sleep and one heart to heart with a stranger on my flight from London, we arrived in Paris. Where, I found out after arrival, we were only to stay for one night before flying off on the schools private plane.

The hotel booked for us was remotely budget and not meeting the standard of which I expected from a Paris hotel. Once again my dreams appeared to lead to disappointment. With lack of satellite television and no pool or spa my brothers and I were stuck for an activity to occupy our night. Leaving my brothers to argue over god knows what, I headed down to the lobby and gift shop in search of something to occupy my time. This is where I was to once again bump into the boy from the plane.

He smiled and pushed his dusty brown fringe out of his eyes.

"Hey, Nean, you staying here to?"

"Yeah the school I was speaking of put us up here. It's totally dull. My brothers are driving me insane upstairs." Trying as hard as I could his name continued to escape me.

"So what you up to tonight?"

"Just chilling with the ratbags I guess." He let out a soft chuckle at the affectionate nickname for my brothers.

"Well I have a few things better in mind if your parents will allow you out with an escort that offered to show you around town?" He raised his eyebrows in anticipation of my reply.

"Sounds good. Although they'll be difficult to persuade. What exactly did you have in mind?" I was starting to warm out to the idea. He was no Jason but then he hadn't dumped me either.

"Well I was thinking we could head out to a night club or two. Have a little fun. A last taste of freedom before we both get packed up in boxes identical to all of those around us and force to live in Siberia type locations under the watchful eye of every teacher around us?"

"I'm only 17. I can't get in" A surprising amount if disappointment washed over me as he took this into consideration.

"The drinking age is 16 over here. Don't worry about your dad, I'm great with parents."

"Sounds good. Let's go find my dad."

Introducing himself formally to my father allowed me to pick up his forgotten name. Fortunately he was as good as he said with parents and quickly had my father eating out of the palm of his hand as he spoke of how we intended to simply stay inside his rental car to view some of the more prominent Paris landmarks. My father quickly jumped on board only to be disappointed when Scott informed him that his car had a mere two seats, therefore Joseph and Lucas were unable to join us.