TW for descriptions of eating disorders. Oh, and Hollace and Lizzie are speculation children that might have been born if Jupiter had lived longer. He did in this fic, so I added them in.

Smalls’ father is dead.

            He really is, has been for the last decade, murdered by an uncaught hired assassin. Smalls had only been five at the time, and his memory of the man is sparse at best. Jupiter, Smalls’ father, had been powerful. He’d owned a major publishing house and had successfully run for and won a seat in the Senate. The government liked him. The newspapers liked him. Foreign ambassadors liked him. The people liked him.

            But he’s dead now.

            Smalls just wishes that everyone would stop trying to pretend he isn’t-and stop constantly reminding him of it.

            Granted, that’s probably hard, considering the scandal following his father’s death. He’d left the majority of his wealth and business enterprises to his youngest son-leaving the eight elder sons reeling.

            Unfortunately, Smalls happens to be that youngest son.

            Further misfortune; one of his father’s old executives, a man named Garten Longtreader, took control of Jupiter’s assets shortly after his murder, and sold them off to Morbin Blackhawk, Jupiter’s political rival. So Smalls’ inheritance means essentially nothing-and yet, it’s all any of his older brother seem to care about. Most of them, at least.

            Morbin has taken it upon himself to make the Jovesons lives miserable. He’d kept them locked inside D.C. for a long time, before the family finally managed to escape-well, most of them.

            Smalls’ father is dead. Smalls wishes he isn’t, but he is, and so instead he just wishes that everyone would let it go. Including himself.

oOo

            Smalls wakes only because his younger sister stomps in and flings wide the curtains.

            “Mom says to get up.” Emma says, her freckled face appearing as Smalls glares up at her. “We’ve got school today.”

            Smalls turns over, burying his face in his pillow. “Five minutes.” He mumbles. Just five. Then I can get up and make sure everything's ready.

            “Okay, but Mom isn’t in a great mood so…..”

            Smalls sighs, and rolls out of bed. What time was it he went to sleep the night before? He can’t remember, only that it was very late-or early, depending on your perspective. Smalls shares a room with two of his brothers, Evan and Asher. It’s not a big space, one wall with a bunkbed stacked against it-Smalls has the bottom bunk-and on the other a twin bed covered in books and disgruntled blankets. Neither of his brothers are present, and his younger sister is already gone.

            Smalls sighs. Then he goes to see if the bathroom is open. It’s not. So he waits, impatient, tapping his foot as the house stirs and comes alive with the sounds and noises of Smalls’ brothers and sisters. Clive eventually emerges from the bathroom and Smalls showers in cold water, spending all of five minutes in the bathroom before his younger sister Hollace is pounding on the door.

            He emerges to the twelve-year-old wailing that Asher called her a rude word, and Smalls sighs. He might be the youngest son but most of the time it doesn’t feel like that, as he comforts his younger sister and shoots Asher a look. Asher glares back over his coffee cup that definitely shouldn’t be upstairs. Smalls knows what battles are worth the fight, though, and Asher’s coffee addiction isn’t one of them.

            I shouldn’t be talking, Smalls thinks, rubbing his temples as he waits for Hollace to calm down some. He puts an arm around her shoulders and guides her down the stairs, only to find the kitchen in complete disarray. His mother’s already gone, left for work fifteen minutes before if the clock’s correct.

            Sighing, Smalls refills the coffee pot and then sets about getting Hollace and her twin, Livvie, ready for school. Evan stumbles in from the yard with a basketful of eggs that Smalls is slightly paranoid will crack based on the way he’s carrying them.

            “Evan if you break those-” He warns.

            “I won’t. I’m not a toddler, geez.” Evan replies.

            But Smalls hears one crack almost the minute he turns his back, and sees Evan attempt to discreetly throw it away. He says nothing, biting his tongue hard. He helps Livvie and Hollace make their lunches, and then Emory wanders in.

            “Have you seen the Illliad? I need it for class” he asks.

            Smalls wants to snap that no, of course he hasn’t seen it, maybe Emory should keep his school stuff in one place as opposed to scattered around the house-but, he doesn’t. He holds his tongue.

            “It’s on the couch.” He replies, tone measured. “You should keep it in your bag.”

            “I didn’t ask for your opinion, I just asked where the book was.” Emory snaps, stomping off.

            Smalls grits his teeth, the fire in his chest flaring. He wants nothing more than to snap, than to yell at his older brother for being such a pain when all Smalls ever does is try to help-

            “Smalls, Mary’s sick.” Emma interrupts his seething. “I’m making her stay home, but do you think you can pick up her work for her? I have try-outs after school.”

            Smalls only nods, not bothering to mention the fact that he too has try-outs after school; and debate, and a tutoring session with one of the eighth-graders but-

            He can handle it. He can handle it. It’s fine.

            “Thanks.” Emma says, vanishing back upstairs.

            Smalls turns to Lizzie. “Could you put the coffee on again?” He asks. Lizzie huffs but does as he asks. His phone buzzes. Hollace asks another question. And another. And another.

            “No, Holly, I don’t know why stars twinkle. Go look it up.” He finally snaps.

            Hollace glares at him. “Well sor-ry!” She snipes, vanishing up the stairwell.

            Smalls has peace for all of two minutes before Evan bursts in in a panic because he lost his airpods and can’t find them. Then comes Matthew, hacking and coughing like he inhaled a whole gallon of water, and Smalls wonders what happened to self-preservation instincts and he orders Matthew to stay home. In the meantime, Evan finds his airpods under the couch cushions, Hollace reappears having found the answer to her question and babbles happily about while Smalls doesn’t even try to listen, and Clive finally comes down, not even remotely prepared and Smalls ends up making his lunch too.

            But it’s fine. It’s fine, It’s fine. Smalls squashes the fire in his chest, but the spark is always there, and it does not go away.

            And another new school doesn’t help.

.

oOo

.

            Heather can’t remember the last time she was hungry.

            Okay, that’s not true, she’s always hungry. She just can’t remember the last time she willingly ate. It’s anorexia, she’s not in denial. She’s studying to go to medical school-she can recognize the behaviors in herself.

            The hard part is stopping it.

            It started in sixth grade, when she first heard the words ‘not quite perfect’ pass the lips of her father’s mouth. It had been a joke, she thinks, maybe. She’s not sure. But soon she was obsessed, dotting every i and crossing every t. Straight A+s, taking her dance team to state, winning poetry competitions but it’s never enough. Never enough, never enough. The anxiety makes her stomach churn.

            Her parents aren’t rich. The school’s tuition is expensive. Picket’s gotten into a fight-again.

            The least Heather can do is make it easier on her parents, make it easier on everyone. Perfect, perfect, perfect, her mind aches from all the times she’s thought it. It’s like there’s this endless void inside of her and it will never fill up, it will never be enough, no matter how many pounds she loses no matter how many A+s and competitions she wins, the void is there.

            Hungry.

            She is waiting for the bus in the rain. Of course, it’s raining, Thank you Pennsylvania, she thinks crossly. Heather watches as the yellow bus trundles down the road, splashing water. She takes a step back. There’s no sense in ruining her shoes, regardless if they came second-hand. But no one needs to know that.

            The doors open and Picket is not there beside her. He is missing, again, and Heather sighs and shrugs when the bus driver, Pacer, glances around, raising an eyebrow.

            Heather knows as much as he does.

            She smiles, and makes her way through the flow of teenagers to the back of the bus. A few girls on her Dance Team smile back, and Heather waves, but anxiety claws up from her stomach and it is all she can do to make her smile stay. What if she says something wrong? Perfect Perfect Perfect…….

            She hurries all the way to the back of the bus, collapsing onto the seat gratefully, blissfully alone. She pulls her knees up to her chest and leans her head against the window, watching the rain. She hopes Picket is alright. He probably is-he’s not a little ten-year-old anymore-but he’s reckless. And he worries her.

            Heather wants to sleep and escape the noise of the bus, she’d prefer not to go to school at all.

            But someone is marching determinedly down the aisle, and Heather straightens.

            It’s Kylen.

            It’s always Kylen.

            He’s popular, very, in fact, charismatic, good at sports, prankster, everything you’d expect. And he’s asked Heather out at least once a week since seventh grade, when he and his brother just popped out of thin air in the middle of the summer.

            Heather always has the same answer; a polite but firm no and she wishes he’d get the message. He hasn’t yet, two years and running. Mentally, she prepares herself. Outwardly, she turns back to the window. That won’t deter him. But at least it makes the point.

            She glances back. His brother, Naylen, is hanging back behind him, looking mildly sorry. Naylen’s less popular than Kylen, but more genuine in Heather’s opinion. Irony, She thinks.

            Just as Kylen opens his mouth, the bus jerks to a stop, flinging him to the side.

            Heather shakes her head. Oh, he will never learn, will he.

            She turns her gaze to the front, where a group of nine-Heather counts-gets on. They share similar features, they’re probably related, but Heather’s never seen them before. A few look her age, some are clearly older and some younger. Once the last one crosses the threshold, the bus doors close and Pacer presses the gas. The new group splits almost immediately upon getting on, as if they can’t stand to be around each other. Three of them head for the back, where Heather, Kylen, and Naylen are the only occupants.

            But unlike Heather, Kylen and Naylen appear to know these three.

            “You haven’t grown.” Kylen says, directing it at the shorter of the two boys, who rolls his eyes. Heather’s somewhat shocked by the rudeness.

            “And you haven’t learned manners either.” The boy replies.

            The girl, sporting brilliant red hair, freckles, and leaf-green eyes smiles at Heather, holding out her hand. Heather stands and takes it.

            “I’m Emma.” Emma says. “Is this spot taken?”

            “No.” Heather replies, inwardly lamenting the loss of her peace and quiet. “I’m Heather. You can sit here if you want.”

            Emma’s grin brightens, and Heather can’t help but feel her own turn more genuine.

            Emma gestures to the boys. “These are my brothers. That’s Evan,” She points to the taller boy, “And that’s Smalls. No, that’s not a nickname.”

            Heather almost laughs, but realizes that’s rude at the last minute.

            Smalls sighs. “No, I know. It’s strange. I’m used to it.”

            “D’you think you’ll be able to keep up at a school this intense?” Kylen demands, interrupting rudely.

            What’s wrong with him? Heather wonders.

            “I have a 4.0 GPA. I’ll do fine.” Smalls replies dryly. “Don’t you have better things to do?”

            “Not really.”

            “Get out, Kylen.” Emma glares.

            “What? Jump out of the bus? You’re insane Emma.” Kylen scoffs.

            Naylen slaps his forehead.

            Kylen looks around, sees that all desires his presence gone, huffs, and then marches back towards the front.

            “I’m sorry,” Naylen sighs, slowing to address Smalls.

            “Me too.” Smalls replies.

            Heather wonders what to make of the exchange.

            “We’re cousins.” Emma informs her. “Kylen and us. He and Smalls don’t…….get along.”

            Smalls doesn’t comment, sliding onto the opposite row of seats beside his brother and immediately getting lost in a book.

            “Do you like going to school here?” Emma asks, sitting down.

            She seems intent on making conversation, so Heather gives up on a quiet ride. “Yes. Where did you move from?”

            “West Virginia.” Emma doesn’t elaborate.

            Something clicks in Heather’s mind. “You’re that Senator’s kids, aren’t you?” She says.

            “Yeah.” Emma agrees. She abruptly changes the subject. “What’s your favorite subject?”

            Heather answers Social Studies, and Emma grins and says she’ll be good friends with Smalls, who’s apparently in her grade. They talk the entire bus ride, and Heather realizes that she might be Emma’s first friend.

            They have a lot in common; they’re both studying for medical school, both do dance, and both love to read though Emma likes fantasy books and Heather likes dystopian and mystery.

            And Heather realizes something else. While she’s been sitting with Emma, the word Perfect hasn’t rung in her mind once.

Depending on the feedback I get on this I'll continue. That means; if you want more, like and comment. Thanks :)