1. The Perks if being a Rich, Soiled Brat, Chapter 2

“You know, there is so much money here, I don’t even know what to buy next,” I said to Cassandra. She was writing something in her notebook.

“That is a real problem. How are we possibly going to solve this,” was her indifferent answer.

“You are not taking this seriously,” I had to say.

“I couldn’t be more serious,” she continued, without looking at me. The excessive use of sarcasm was something she was developing for quite some time now. I couldn’t say that I liked it. Since I discovered sarcasm, I was indeed using it now and then but not as excessively as Cassandra. It was beyond the point of ridiculous.

“So tonight there’s a party at Brad’s house. You’re coming, right?” she asked now honestly. I could tell that she was overcoming the urge to employ another useless rhetorical device.

“Do you remember our first party? It was six years ago. You had a huge fight with your parents the next day. Mine never found out. Now we are going to parties almost every day,” I said.

“It’s a bit early for nostalgia, don’t you think? Of course we are partying every day. It’s what we are supposed to do,” she said. The answer made enough sense to me.

Of course there was also excessive drinking that night as it was always the case at those parties. This time however it was particularly bad. I couldn’t stop so I had to throw up. As it was once explained to me by our butler this was actually a natural reaction. “Who would be so stupid and just force a seemingly endless amount of neurotoxin into their bodies voluntarily?” was a question I was asking myself. But as it turned out I was that stupid. But so were all the other teenagers around me. As people usually tried to avoid me, I was actively trying to engage in conversations, which usually ended up worse than they started. Those kids either didn’t want to talk about money or they were intimidated by the bodyguard standing right behind me all the time. So I decided to try to talk to one of those jocks, because jocks are commonly assholes and you can’t break what’s already broken. And of course it was in that moment when the eventually unavoidable happened. The vomit was splashing all over that nice football jacket. Or maybe it was a baseball jacket, I wasn’t able to tell anymore. Understandably this jock got extremely furious, since one of his most valuable possessions had just been ruined beyond recognition. As he clenched his fist and tried to hit me however, my bodyguard swiftly broke his arm in three places. He also felt the need to punch him in the stomach several times until the boy was unable to move.

“This guy’s career is ruined forever,” I heard people say. Obviously it wasn’t only his jacket that was ruined.

“Somebody call Child Protection Services!”

“I don’t know their number,” I said. “Was that really necessary?” I then asked the bodyguard.

“I’m only doing my job. My job is to protect you from any harm,” was his answer. However true his statement may have been, I felt the need to apologize to this boy lying on the floor, who no one had protected from harm. But he wasn’t responsive, so I decided to apologize to one of his fellow jocks instead.

“Listen, I can pay for all of this,” I started, while pulling out my wallet.

“You really are playing every part of your stereotype,” he said.

“Well the world just loves stereotypes, doesn't it?” I responded smiling.

“True. Everyone has to fit some kind of stereotype. I’m sick of it. I wish there was a way to change it,” he remarked. And before I knew it I was having a conversation. I came to know that this boy was aiming to become a star baseball player and much to my surprise he mentioned that the only way to accomplish this was by hard work. It was definitely something I had never heard of. Before I could just quietly place a few dollar bills on the still unconscious body of the other boy however, Cassandra appeared. Probably trying to prevent the worst from happening.

“I’m sorry, is he bothering you?” she asked in an unseen apologetic way. Obviously she wasn’t asking me. She then gently pulled me away by my school uniform necktie.

“You are not supposed to engage with these people. You know how you always end up insulting everyone,” she said. I nodded quietly. That was usually the case. This time however, it seemed different.

As odd as it may seem, the young master and this unusually erudite and ambitious athlete actually ended up becoming friends. The next day the young master happened to be taking the bus for the first time in his life, which, needless to say, was an unpleasant experience for everyone involved. As a man didn’t appear quite willing to offer his seat to the young master, he masterfully overcame the urge to use his new friend’s baseball bat to force the passenger to leave his seat in an overtly violent way. However he still provoked a fight using an array of insults. Though dastardly a deed this may have been, the young master did not actually intend to harm the man. Repentance however was nowhere to be found.