The Inheritance Book 1

Ch 50 Aletheia Grapes: Bryce Wheeler [Tuesday Night, Week Three]

Five minutes before 7:00 pm Miss Haversham pushed the pause button on the DVD player. They were in the parlor where a small t.v. had been temporarily set up, and were in the last half of Harry Potter and the Magical Something or Other.

"Bryce," said Haversham.

He automatically sat up.

She pushed up her owl-eye glasses. "Why don't you head on over to Aunt Allora's office for your meeting."

As though he hadn't been keeping track of the clock. Allora's office was near the kitchen, a whopping 45-second walk. If it had been any other time, he would have shot back with a witty or sarcastic comment, but he had been numb since receiving the news and didn't have it in him to joke around.

He saluted, crammed on his hat, and with all eyes on him, made a quiet exit. The movie blared back up again behind him.

Bryce slogged through the foyer, past the grand staircase, and into the open area behind it. Allora's and Haversham's offices were under each of the staircases, across from the kitchen. He had overheard some of the kids talking about how nervous they had been in their private interviews with the old lady. This would be his first. According to the high and mighty schedule, she held two or three interviews per week. Each kid would have at least one during the summer.

It felt kinda like being called to the principal's office. He'd had plenty of experience with that, starting in kindergarten when he'd been suspended for three days. Some older kid behind him on the bus was spit-hitting him with bits of chewed up Starbursts and wouldn't stop. Bryce had stood up on the seat to tell him to knock it off. That's when one of the Starburst spitballs hit him in the eye. That splat had flipped his crazy switch. He'd dived over the seat fists flying, and landed right on top of the boy. Gave him a black eye. The suspension had been well worth it.

Since then, every teacher in every grade had sent him to the principal's office at least two or three times during the year for what they considered disrespectful behavior. Or, in other words, annoying the teacher. Usually because he livened up their boring lessons. Being the class clown was a huge part of his school identity. His classmates anticipated, dreaded, and expected it, and he wasn't going to disappoint. Often, he made them laugh, and on a rare occasion, even the teacher would crack a smile.

Yesterday's Bryce lived for those moments. Today's Bryce was trapped in a deep, dark hole and couldn't pull himself out. Nothing else mattered anymore.

The door to Allora's office was open. She was seated at her desk.

"Bryce, darling! Prompt as punch! Come on in and have a seat," she said warmly.

He turned his hat backward and plopped down into one of the round-back chairs across from Allora's desk. The office's flower theme in various shades of purple, with yellow and blonde wood accents, and a chandelier that filled the entire ceiling, was probably supposed to cheer up the small, windowless space. But it was still a small, windowless space. If he spent too much time in here, he might suffocate.

Aunt Allora settled back in her purple office chair and folded her arms. There was an uncomfortable silence while she sized him up. Finally, she leaned forward, rested her elbows on her desk, and smiled. "So, young man. Tell me why you came to Trecorin."

"Well, the short answer is because you i n v i t e d me."

"What's the long answer then? Why did you accept?"

"I guess the same reason everyone else did, to have a chance at inheriting the castle and, you know, your money."

"Hmm. And yet on the first day, you purposely set out to try our patience. Surely you must have known that wouldn't help you in your goal."