Jasper Hillard Davian was your typical, idealised teenage boy. Tallness ran in his family. His cousin Mike was almost seven feet. At six and a half, Jasper felt as small as five two.
"Are you coming OUT yet!?"
"Just a minute!"
"Jasper! Come on!"
Jasper groaned. Mothers!
The tall, muscular teenager dumped about two gallons of gel into his hair to fix it up right. He hated it when it stuck up unevenly. He wanted it to look good. Not "caveman" good, but "rough-and-tough" good. He spent more time tweaking, modelling and sculping his head of brown hair than a sculptor spent modelling a block of clay. Finally satisfied with his hair after the sixth time, he came out of the bathroom. He tugged on his jacket and grabbed his backpack.
"Honey, if you're going to spend that much time in the bathroom, at least try and hurry up in the mornings, hmm?" said Alison.
"Sorry, maah," said Jasper. They headed out the door and into the driveway. Jasper threw his bag into the back seat and got in the front. His mother started the car.
"Oh damn!" she groaned.
"Now what?" he asked.
"Flat battery".
"Well how the hell did that happen?"
"Your FATHER, I'll bet! Jump-starting his car or something...Oh trust him to forget to...Ooooh! David I am going to fry you ALIVE when you get home! Honey, you better take your bike!"
"But mom!"
"No buts! I can't drive you today, sorry!"
Jasper groaned. He got out of the car and went to get his bike. He strapped his backpack onto the back of the bike and climbed on. He wasn't going to bother with a helmet. It would mess up his hairdo. He checked his reflection in the dial of his watch, which he kept more for making sure he was godlike gorgeous more than for checking the time. He pressed down on the pedals and the racing bike shot off. His long legs pumped up and down tirelessly as he whizzed along. This was easy! He remembered how much loved riding a bike when he was a kid. Perhaps he should do this from now on? Yeah...When it wasn't raining, at least. He took a corner, the tires squealed. He hit the pavement, jumped up and then pedalled through the school gates. He squeezed lightly on the brakes and the bike slid into the bike-rack. He forgot his lock! Crap! Forget it, he'd chance it this one time. He'd have to get a lock sooner or later, though.
Jasper unbuckled his backpack and headed inside. He checked his watch, this time to actually see if he was late. Nope. Fifteen minutes early. Sweet!
"Oh so you made it todae, didja Jaspy?"
Jasper looked up from his watch to see Brandt and Ivan striding towards him. Brandt was tall, like Jasper. His hair was a lighter brown, and shorter, neater. He had a strong Irish accent, which made him an absolute chick-magnet.
"Ve vondered vhen you vuld get here!" said Ivan. Ivan Pytor Loskov was a Russian. He looked like some Cold-War-era spy. Five feet, nine inches tall, with very, very, VERY short, buzz-cut blond hair. His body was so pale he might have been bathed in bleach as a baby. He was very thin and sharp.
"Well you guys had each other for company, didn't you?" said Jasper, "What's up?"
"Zis crazy booze-sviller, he still hasn't returned my iPod yet!" Ivan said, "And I vant it back, Brandt, or the next song you vill listen to is zhe funeral march by Chopin, yes?"
"Alright alright...bloody Red!" said Brandt, "here, take your iPod!...We wondered where you were, Jasper.."
"Car broke down, I had to cycle to school instead," said Jasper. "Come on, we got history coming up in..."
"Vive minutes," said Ivan, checking his watch, "ve better move, come!"
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