The Prince

Chapter 3: Cheers for Cheerios

-dedication to: cousin Jessie. love you! happy nineteenth!-

 Chapter Three: Cheers for Cheerios

"I tried! There was no other choice!" I couldn't bear it.  "Dad, it was horrible, there was literally nothing else-" 

We both stare at the ruins of what used to be my VCR. Well, before I used CIA-level agent training on it and completely destroyed it. 

"You really had to smash it." He shakes his head, his dark brown eyes scanning over the wreckage of the poor thing.

"It was a lecture! Over disc! And somehow the nutter made it so you can't pause, can't stop, can't even take the goddamned disc out!" Okay, so maybe what I did would be called a little drastic. But try having your mom record herself ranting about what you do wrong. Drastic times call for drastic measures.

"Xander, just get ready for school." He sighs and walks out the door. I know he might be slightly disappointed but he would've done the same. I'm basically a younger, hotter replica of my Dad. (Not really. I look more like my mom, but me and my dad basically have the same personality.)

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I find a pair of dark-wash jeans, (since they make my ass look fantastic) a white tee and a solid, plain black tie. Yeah. I have to wear ties, it's something even Dad stresses. He even told me that I could even wear footsie pyjamas, as long as I had a tie on. 'A tie makes a prince. A tie makes a man.' He would always say, when I protested and said I looked like an absolute fart.

Which I probably still do, but it looks a lot more attractive when you don't do a bow-tie. Which I will never, ever do again. The only girl at the social function that was worth my time saw me in a fucking bow-tie. Let's not forget the parts where I stuttered, spilled my drink on her, and had acne covering my forehead. This might come as a shocker to you, but I didn't get her number that night.

Sighing at the embarassing memory, I shake my head to clear it, and head downstairs. I find my Dad eating, surprise surprise, Cheerios.

While the ordinary person might find this weird, our family has an obsession with Cheerios. Who wouldn't? They're delicious, easy to prepare, and a much better substitution to wild trainberries. (Trainberries are fucking disgusting, but Mother insisted for years. ('They're good for you! And while you're at it, Daniel, Xander, use the low-fat, low-calorie, low-everything yogurt! No, not the sugary one Xander. That one! Yeah, the disgusting one!)

"I made you cereal." He says, slurping away at his own bowl, as he nods to the bowl directly across from his.

"Thanks. Cheers." I lift my bowl up and clank it against his. Cheers for Cheerios, the most incredible cereal ever. "What is this, Honey nut?" I ask, milk dribbling out of my mouth as I grab a napkin and quickly wipe it away.

"Apple cinnamon, Xander." He sighs, his broad shoulders slumping. "You're tastebuds are awful, and that's speaking from a guy who ripped off most of his." Apparently Dad lost a lot of tastebuds battling these really sadistic and messed up guys, who shoved bottles of hotsauce down his throat. (Actually, I think it might have been a lie, and it was actually a burrito we had at Ekna's* that burnt them all off. He enjoys exaggerating.)

After I've finished my bowl of cereal, Father announces that he's driving me to school. (A first, since apparently dad hasn't touched a proper steering wheel since his twenty-some days. But apart from tractor-driving, BMXing and golf carts, how much different could it be?) So minutes later, we're driving through sleepy Wellingtons, America, trying to find the school before I'm late.