One Of Us

Chapter Three

"You're enough of a nuisance in our daily lives," Roman had said, crouching down to fix his hair in the reflection on the blank TV screen. "Why don't you scurry off and leave the performance to the, ah... actual performers."

It was the second video Virgil had ever taken part in, and his first with the other Sides. He had turned up just as the others had begun to bicker — Strike while they're distracted, he'd thought. It was a few days after New Year's, which meant the Christmas spirit was beginning to drain from the mindscape, slowly replacing itself with the dull realization that the family had gone home and there was work to be done. While each Side rode the high of the holidays and crashed hard around January 2nd, Virgil did the opposite; in simple terms, this was his time to shine.

As he looked down on the prince who flicked at his already perfect hair without concern, Virgil's expression puckered. "You call that a performance?" he scoffed, injecting as much malice into his tone as he could. "It was pitchy at best."

Roman gasped theatrically, affronted, and drew himself up to his full height. Each Side technically stood the same distance off the ground, but the way the prince carried himself made him feel at least six feet tall up close. The sword that hung by his waist did nothing to soften the view.

"Now, Anxiety," Patton cut in, hurrying over from his spot by the shades. Logan followed him at a calculated distance, waiting for an indicator to intervene. "There's no need to be mean."

No need to be mean? Virgil thought disdainfully. Prince started it. What would you call him, exactly? Warm and kind?

Patton was still talking, oblivious to the silence that was stretching itself between the other two. "Why don't we all just take a deep breath, okay?"

"I don't remember asking for your input," Virgil said. The subtle hurt that settled itself behind Patton's eyes nearly made him break; instead of giving in, he let his lip curl into a sneer, watching with twisted pride as they both shrank away from him. This was good. This was how it should be.

"Excuse me, Sunshine," Roman said, recovering first and taking a defensive step forward. "It's not my fault you're too dense to comprehend my creative genius."

"Roman..." Patton began uncertainly, but Virgil's blood was already boiling.

"Dense," he repeated. He cocked his head to one side and willed himself to come up with a quick and effective insult. "Funny, I didn't realize we were coming up with adjectives to describe you."

"Anxiety!" Patton said, his voice stern. Virgil guessed he had succeeded. "If you're not going to play nice —"

"When have I ever played nice?" Virgil said scornfully. Maybe fifteen years ago, when I thought you all wanted to be my friends, he thought, and now his fists were clenched and his jaw was set and this was so, so stupid.

"That's enough," Logan said, and everyone jumped; they seemed to have forgotten he was there. For a moment, Virgil almost let himself be relieved — maybe he finally had some backup.

Then he realized that Logan's eyes were fixed only on him.

"We need to prepare for the editing process," Logan said, back rigid and arms folded. "Now is not the time for petty debates."

"Your mom is petty," Virgil grumbled under his breath.

"Right as ever, Specs," Roman agreed, evidently not having heard. "We've got work to do. So long!" With that, he sank out, leaving the rest of them trapped in uneasy quiet.

Virgil rolled his eyes and let out a chuckle he hoped was nonchalant. "Can't wait to see the comments on this video. 'That guy can't carry a tune to save his life. Who does he think he's kidding?' It'll be great for a laugh, don't you think?" Please don't let that happen. I don't want that to happen.