Arthur Barclay Columbus.

Chapter 1: I could finally eat my ramen noodles

Three days earlier

"It's really my father's fault." I said to Lilian, who always sat next to me in Chemistry, "'Barclay'." A scoff. "It's just rude, really."
"Hey, man, sorry, but I really need to pay attention to this." She turned away from me, furiously penciling away.
"Oh. Sure, yeah, I get it." I spoke and rested my head on my hand. At least the view outside was nice.
I plucked at a loose string on my sleeve. "Okay, but what if-"
"No, Artie!" She hissed, and I sighed dramatically.
"My name is Arthur."
"Sure, whatever. Just shut the hell up."

My name was Arthur Barclay Columbus, and people didn't like me.
It was understandable. I was raised by my mother to hate a certain kind of people, and those people could be anyone. I couldn't afford friends, and it was totally my intention to make everyone dislike me.
Totally.

The bell rang and I dashed out. If I was only one second late I would be either in a ditch or on a sidewalk near a tall building. I was followed by a trail of loud crashes and rumbles, as my backpack did not agree with any kind of walking faster than four kilometres an hour, but I made it. A sleek, black SUV just drove up to the school, the windows nearly as dark as the sunglasses on the man who got out and opened the door for me. "Thank you, Matthew. How was your day?"
He scoffed.
I slid inside, the soft car seats a relief for my bum after eight and a half hours of wooden stools and plastic chairs.

This car had grown attached to me. Whenever I was near it rumbled, a deep, melodious vibration that made goosebumps erupt all over my body. It was the smell of the car that made me grow attached to it, a mix of leather and something that was probably a whole lot less nice than I thought – and hoped. I ran a hand over the smooth leather, before looking up at the passenger seat.
"Hello, mother."

"About time you noticed me, Arthur. How was school? Did you have fun?"
My mother was an amazing woman. She was a role model for many, many young girls who wanted to be just like her. She was strong, tough, and incredibly independent. No one could tell her what to do, and she didn't need anyone to tell her what to do. She knew what she wanted and she did what she wanted. She had always been like that.
"Arthur?"

"Yes, sorry, I got distracted. It was good. Lunch was nice."
She nodded exaggeratedly. "I see." She then leaned over to the driver, her vibrant red dress contrasting gravely with the all-black interior and whispered: "Drop him off at home, then go to the Taylor's at one-one-six."
That probably wasn't meant for my ears.

The sky colored pink, then purple, and then black, completely black, as if even the night had given up hope. I was at home, in front of the oven, waiting for the timer to go off, signaling that I could finally eat my Ramen noodles.

A loud ping! caused me to look to my right, to the phone that was planted there so perfectly. The light of the kitchen lamp shone brightly, but somehow shone brighter on that particular spot of that particular phone. It was slightly elevated by a cutting board and it was that loud ping! that tipped the bucket and made me stand up.
I had a fight with my morals for a short moment. This was my mother's phone. My mother's forbidden phone, that she had left lying around so carelessly.
Another ping!.

If it hadn't been for that second ping, I wouldn't have looked. But because of my newfound height and the slightly tilted phone I could read a couple words on the phone, if I squinted a bit.
'Emergency' and several dozen exclamation marks caught my eye and I had reached the phone in a few long strides.
I really shouldn't look. I really, really shouldn't look
Just as I was about to put away all my doubts and instincts, the timer on the oven went off, signaling I could finally eat my Ramen noodles.

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