Your Loyal Servant

(6) Is It True?

"What?" Apple screamed, leaning forward in her seat. Her lunch was forgotten—all her attention rested on me.

I took a bite of my banana and nodded. With my mouth full, I insisted, "I kid you not. The Freak actually showed up at my house, claiming his undying loyalty to me."

Selma slid her cell phone into her shoe and looked at me with an incredulous brow arched. She questioned, "Are you sure this isn't some joke? Some new reality show that's all about the candid camera?"

After swallowing my grape juice, I grumbled, "I wish. Then I'd be more okay with the whole thing. But the kid's way too serious. He even gave me this dramatic spiel about not knowing anything else but serving. He was apparently trained to serve me."

Apple shook her head in disbelief. "Why is he doing this?" she inquired, confusing colliding with curiosity in her yes.

Waving my hand, I told her, "Something about a really old debt left unpaid. Seriously, there's a whole history with our families. Apparently my grandpa-times-ten saved his grandpa-times-ten's life and before he could repay him, my really old family member died. But not before he gave his final wish: that ten generations later, his family would serve mine. There are a lot of tens and debts and dramatics."

"So why you?" Selma asked, plucking a strawberry from the bowl in front of me.

"Because I'm the tenth generation," I answered with an eye roll. "And that's why he's the chosen one." I snorted. "He's the tenth as well."

"Doesn't it seem odd?" Apple asked, fingering her lunch. "I mean, it seems so random. Why now? Why didn't you grow up together? That way, he could serve you from birth and you wouldn't think it's strange."

Selma glanced at her. "Regardless," she started, eyes returning to my face, "the entire story is odd. An ancient debt and saving lives? I feel like we've left New Mexico and now we're in Hollywood."

Leaning back in my seat, I agreed, "It is rather farfetched. It could be made up and just a way for my parents to set me up with someone." An eyebrow quirked. "But why him? He's nowhere near my type. He's too much of a dramatic pretty boy."

"That sounds more like Apple's type," Selma mused, making us laugh and Apple glare at us.

Apple's gaze slid over to me and she asked, "Are your parents okay with this?"

Shrugging, I replied, "They seem to be totally fine about the situation. They accepted it without question, which is just weird. I mean, you'd think normal parents would worry about some boy randomly claiming to be their daughter's servant."

"Unless they already knew about it," Selma proposed, her eyes twinkling in mischievousness. "Think about it. If his family knew about it and put so much into him, it's highly probable that your family would know, too. It's possible that as soon as you were born, or even when your mother was pregnant, your parents were told this story. They've had nearly eighteen years to get used to the idea, so when he announced his arrival, they were kind of prepared. Meanwhile, you had no clue, so it's your turn to get used to the idea."

My lips pursed. "Well, if this is so important, you'd think my parents would have told me about it," I assumed, a bit frustrated.

I could practically see the gears grinding in Selma's head. She asked, "You said he claimed to not know anything but how to serve, correct?"

Nodding, I added, "He also said to be a servant is to be himself."

"Based on that," she began, expression pensive, "I think it's safe to assume that for his whole life, he was taught to obey and to never question. His family put so much stock into this, they removed his individualism and planned his entire life out for him, even his words and actions. Everything about him has been dictated."