"Ah, the most exciting adventure in a young man's life: skipping class. Well, it's a bit different for us, seeing as we're home schooled and all, so we've never had the opportunity like other kids to just skip out on an entire day of school, so I've decided to make today, May 31st, National Scott Skip Day. Oh, I'm Scott Moffatt, at your service, and. . ."

The camcorder began to lower itself from Scott's face, down to his chest, and finally down to the floor. "This is stupid," Clint, Scott's 16 year old brother mumbled under his breath.

"HEY!" Scott shouted, furrowing his eyebrows. "I'm telling you, this will be fun, Clint. We can go out to Cleveland's house, and set off fireworks in his backyard, and go to the Italian Fest downtown, and--"

"Go visit Cameron?" Clint put in.

Making a face, Scott snorted. "Hardly."

Turning the camera around toward himself, Clint stuck as much of his face as he could into the view of the lens. "Cameron McGillis has had a thing for Scott here for nearly five years--"

"It's not a THING, she's just. . . weird."

"And," Clint continued as if Scott hadn't even spoken, "Scott spent an entire summer one year, telling her that he was going to wash his hair every time she called. . . She must think he has the cleanest hair on the planet."

"Or else she thinks I use that Herbel Essence shampoo."

"For someone who uses such a shampoo, you certainly are grouchy quite often, and--"

"Can we please get back to the video?"

Clint rolled his eyes, knowing that his older brother was just trying to change the subject from his frequent mood swings. "Okay, so we're going to visit Cleveland, go to the Italian Fest, blah blah blah," the younger boy picked up where they left off. "You do realize this isn't going to be as exciting as actually skipping out on class would be," he remarked, squinting his left eye as he looked through the lens with his right eye. He figured it was probably better to just humor Scott, because if he didn't go along with this absolutely idiotic idea, his older brother would more than likely stalk off and sulk in the corner the entire day, making everyone and their brother feel bad for not letting him have his way.

"I don't recall asking for your opinion? Anyway, as I was saying before I was so RUDELY," throwing a dirty look toward Clint, he went on, "interrupted, today is indeed Scott Moffatt Skip Day, and--"

"Skipping of what? It's not like we're going to get suspended or anything, the worst that could happen is we get grounded."

"Okay, do you wanna take on your own little segment? I mean, GAWD, just do your own thing and let me do the filming if you're going to keep running off at the mouth."

Pressing the "pause" button, Clint set the recording device on the desk, letting out a deep breath. "I really hate even talking to you when you're like this. . ."

Rolling his eyes, Scott shook his head then opened his mouth to speak, but before he got the chance, the door to the bedroom flew open, nearly smacking Scott in the face, to reveal a grinning Robert Franklin Peter Moffatt.

"KNOCK, Bob, KNOCK next time," Scott suggested, still holding onto the arm of the desk chair to keep his balance.

"What? Oh, sorry, I got my Britney fan club magazine in the mail today," Bob rambled on, the grin still on his face and his mood unfazed by the glare of his older brother.

Clint bit his lower lip to hold in a particularly rude comment, and coughed. Bob's obsession with Britney Spears had long since gotten out of hand. It wouldn't be so bad if he didn't insist on carrying all his posters with them on tour, and since the tour had ended and they'd taken up residence in their new home (ironically enough in their old area, near Nashville), Bob had promptly joined the blond computer generated monster's official fan club.

Unfortunately, Scott's restraint wasn't as controlled as Clint's was, for he blurted out a scoffing, "As if she'd ever give you a chance anyway, Bob. Give it up already."

The briefly hurt look in Bob's eyes rose compassion within Clint's chest so he merely smiled understandingly but refrained from biting Scott's head off. As he'd mentioned earlier, when Scott got this way, it was better to just ignore him and hope the mood would pass over shortly. Rather than respond to Scott's downright offensive comment, Bob changed the subject. "You guys coming down to the study? Sheila's got a few assignments for us before the school year ends."

Laughing, Scott gestured for Clint to begin recording again, which garnered a shake of the younger brother's head in disbelief. This was so utterly ridiculous, but he pressed record and raised the camcorder back to his eye anyway. "I'm taping, begin your silly diatribe."

"We now have three of our four man party, and once Dave gets his ass in here, we shall be on our way out to find adventure for the day. The key to getting out of the house without being noticed is to go down the steps and walk as quickly as possible toward the back entrance, then climb through the hole in the neighbor's fence, then run through his yard in order not get caught."

"You know, Scott. . . I have this WEIRD feeling that if we actually asked Sheila for the day off, she would give it to us, after just telling us what she'd like us to do for homework."

"Gawd, don't you guys know how to have any fun?" Scott pouted at Bob. "It's no fun if we ask, duh."

"I think Dave is outside with Angelica," Clint threw in, in an attempt to veto another argument. "You don't plan on walking out to Cleveland's, do you? That's at least five miles. . ."

"Nooooo, we borrow Jarrod's car, dumbass."

Bob's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. "The corvette?"

"No, I was talking about the INVISIBLE car that Jarrod owns." Scott rolled his eyes. "Of course the corvette, moron."

"You're dreaming if you think he's going to let you borrow his car," Clint pointed out, still failing to see the humor in his brother's "bright idea".

"Trust me, he will. Now, are we ready to head on out?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Clint didn't bother to make a sound. Just go with the flow is what he always did. Bob, however, had a look of horror on his face. "Let me go get my Britney mag first!" Of course. . . how could he possibly leave without that?

About five minutes later, and about five headaches later, the three boys found themselves inching slowing down the stairs. Once Scott reached the bottom step, he suddenly stopped, causing the other two to run into him reminiscent of the Brady Bunch. "Why'd you stop?" Clint hissed, still crushed between his two brothers.

"I have to make sure our parents aren't around, don't I?"

"Ugh, let's just GO."

"Fine," Scott responded irritably, and the three made a mad dash for the kitchen where the back door was located. Just as they rounded the corner, all three of them stopped when they heard footsteps coming up the stairs from the cellar. Eyes widening, they quickly scrambled in the direction they'd just come from, and flew back up the stairs as fast as their legs would carry them. Once the door to Scott's room was closed behind them, they all let out deep breaths.

"Nice plan, Scotty," Bob remarked, a smirk flooding his face.

"Could've happened to anyone," Scott spat out, still trying to catch his breath. After taking in a decent amount of oxygen, he straightened up, the determined look still on his face. "Okay, we're just going to have to go with plan B."

"Plan B?" Clint raised his eyebrows. "And what would Plan B be?"

"Well, the window in Bob and Dave's room leads to that huge maple tree, the one with the limbs that touch the window? We're just gonna have to climb down, that's all."

"You are nuts."

"Come on, we're running out of precious time," was all he said, leading them into the other bedroom and over to the window. Looking down, all three saw Dave down by the neighbor's driveway, talking to Angelica. Scott slid the window open, then pulled up the screen window so he could stick his head out. "Dave!" he hissed toward his younger brother, who continued amongst his conversation with the ebony-haired girl below. "DAVE!"

David Michael William Moffatt frowned and glanced up and down the sidewalk. He could've sworn he'd just heard someone call his name. Shrugging, he turned back to Angelica, who was smiling catlike at him. Her long, thick dark hair hung down to her waist and two perfectly shaped eyebrows set off her olive colored skin. She was a pretty girl, and he had fun with her, just like he did with most of them, but there always seemed to be something missing. Which he supposed was the reason he never seemed to last longer than a week with a girl. His brothers constantly teased him for going through girlfriends as much as most people go through pairs of socks. But he figured that it was better to find out exactly what it was he was looking for, than to get extremely serious about someone and later on find out that things were never meant to be. He supposed that kind of situation would turn into a messy one, not only for the girl, but for himself as well.

"DAAAAAAVVVVVVVEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Okay, that time he knew he wasn't imagining things, and his head snapped up to the tree which was blocking his view of the room he shared with Bob. "Well, well, well!" Dave shouted in that direction, grinning. "If I didn't know better, I'd think a nest of talking birds had formed in our maple tree!"

"Ingrate," he heard Scott mutter as he moved closer to the house.

"What can I do for you, Curly?"

As Scott began to climb out of the window and onto the first branch, which shook a little upon the onslaught of his body weight, he continued talking. "We're ditching class today."

"We don't HAVE classes, Scott. It's called. . . 'home'."

"Oh, haven't you heard? Scott's in an adventurous mood today," Clint commented from the window, rolling his eyes in the process.

"I'm always up for a good adventure." Smiling, Dave turned back to Angelica, who was pouting quite prettily.

"You're leaving me, Davey?"

"I'll be back later on, after this moron decides he's had enough excitement for one day. I promise." Eyes twinkling, he leaned over and gently kissed her softly. "I'll see you later."

"Call me." Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him a bit more passionately this time, and he found himself enthusiastically returning the kiss, and probably would've continued for a while had his older brothers not finished coming down the tree and interrupted him.

"Let's go, Dave," Scott insisted, breaking the two apart.

"Later, sweetheart," grinned Dave, as he began to follow his brothers toward the neighbor's fence. He barely even heard her mumble a soft "Bye" before they were competely out of sight.

"Okay, you HAVE to promise that you will take this car straight out to Cleveland's, and back, got it? Don't make me hunt you down and pull out your intestines thereupon kicking your ass. . ."

"Don't WORRY, we'll only have it for about six hours," Scott promised, fingering the keys in his hand.

"Thanks for the car, Jarrod." Clint tried to ease the kid's mind a little, by showing some respect, unlike Scott who was already climbing into the car without a moment's notice.

The nervous look on Jarrod's face remained, though, and Clint was still in utter bewilderment that he'd agreed to let Scott borrow the car for a bit. The jet black vette had been a gift for Jarrod Newhouse's 18th birthday, of which the entire neighborhood had heard about within 24 hours. Most of the younger kids on the block just stared at the car in awe, while the older kids offered to wash it for him, in hopes that he'd let them take it for a spin up and down the street. It was no secret that Scott had fallen in love with the car himself, the moment he'd laid eyes on it, and had suddenly been hanging out with their neighbor more and more recently.

"Wow," Scott murmured, appearing to have forgetten that anyone was within his presence as his wide eyes sparkled brilliantly.

"We'll get it back to you AS SOON as possible, okay?" Again, Clint tried to reassure Jarrod, but the boy looked more and more like he was regretting his decision.

"Hop in guys," Scott ordered, revving the engine.

"Uh, j-just be careful with it, okay? And don't do that too much or you'll burn the engine. And try not to go over the speed limit, please?" he pleaded.

"Jarrod! Chill! We'll be cool." Laughing, Scott shut his door after Clint had climbed in behind him, and went to put the car into reverse. But as he pressed down on the gas, they appeared to be moving closer to the back of the garage, rather than further away.

"SHIT! You're in drive, dumbass!" Clint cringed as Scott slammed on the breaks and put it directly into reverse, nearly tearing out of the driveway. He could've sworn all the blood had drained from Jarrod's face and Clint had no clue how the boy was still standing up and hadn't passed out yet.

"See you later, Newhouse!" Smiling, Scott put the car back into drive, and pushed down on the gas. Upon taking off down the street, Clint, as well as his other two brothers, quickly pulled on their seatbelts.

"Uh, Scott, could you slow down a bit?" Bob, who had the unfortunate luck of sitting in the front seat, suggested.

"Will you guys quit worrying about everything? Just sit back and relax."

"Easy for you to say," Clint mumbled.

"What was that?" Scott's eyes caught his in the rearview mirror.

"I said, maybe you should watch the road and quit staring at me in the rearview mirror."

"SCOTT! Look out for the mailbox!"

The car jerked to the left, then straightened itself out again. "Damned things, why do people put them so close to the road, anyway?"

"Why don't we take the back way to Cleveland's," Dave put in, looking a bit unnerved by Scott's wreckless driving as well.

"What back way?"

"Old State Road, duh. . . It's right off 305."

"Isn't that completely out of our way, dipshit?"

"Nooooooo, you just take the overpass to get to 305, it's only like, a mile down the road." Dave rolled his eyes, then sat back in his seat while sliding on his sunglasses.

Letting out a deep breath, Scott turned on his signal to enter the highway, a little freaked out at driving such a fancy car on a road where the speed limit was virtually endless. As he worked his way up to a comfortable pace, he found the rush and excitement of the cars whizzing by him pushing him to move a bit faster. Pure exhiliaration washed over him as a slow grin worked its way onto his lips, and he leaned back in his seat, pushing down on the gas pedal even more. The fact that his exit was going to be coming up shortly was long forgotten, especially when he heard the sirens behind him.

"Uh, Scott?"

"I see it," he muttered to Clint, who was leaning up through the seats after spotting the cop car following closely behind them.

"Pull over."

"What the hell do you think I'm doing?"

"Oh, shit, we're not even driving a car that belongs to us," Dave pointed out, placing a hand over his eyes. "They're going to ask you for your registration, you know."

"Don't you think i know that???" The frustration of all the voices shouting at him at once forced him to slam on the brakes and pull over to the side of the road much quicker than he probably should have. "Now, guys, just be cool, okay? Maybe I won't get a ticket, since I have a clean record."

"You've only HAD your license for five months," Bob explained, matter-of-factly.

"Okay, just shut up," Scott hissed, just as the police officer was approaching their vehicle. Pasting a fake smile on his face, Scott turned to face the nice man out of his open window. "Hello, officer."

"Do you have any idea how fast you were going, kid?"

"Uh, sixty miles per hour?" Attempting an innocent look, he frowned as the cop stuck his thumb up in the air as a gesture to keep going. "Sixty-five?" The finger remained. "Well, considering you're the one with the radar, perhaps you should just tell me," he mumbled.

"I clocked you at eight-nine."

"What? That's impossible. . ."

"You calling me a liar, kid?"

"No!" Good Lord, the last thing he wanted to do was insult a policeman. "I just. . . wasn't aware that I was going so fast, I apologize."

"License and registration?"

"Erm. . . Well, I have my license, but I'm not sure where the registration is."

"How many people you got in the car with you?" The man bent down to glance in through the windows.

"Just me and my brothers, sir." To Scott's horror, Dave tipped his sunglasses down a little, grinned and waved at the man. Mental note: kick Dave's ass once we get out of this mess. "Uh, I'm really sorry about this officer, and I promise this will never happen again. I've only had my license for five months and I haven't had a ticket yet, so could you PLEASE just give me a warning just this once? I swear, from now on I'll be especially careful, and. . . " He continued rambling on as the cop looked over his driver's license.

The police officer tried to hide an amused smile. This kid was something else. "Look, I'm sorry but I'm just doing my job, and you were going at least fifteen miles over the speed limit."

Groaning, Scott leaned back in his seat as the man began to write up his first speeding ticket. . .

"Seventy-five fricken dollars."

"Omigod, are you shitting me?" Cleveland Hyatt chuckled at his friend's misfortune.

"You should've seen Scott," Dave remarked, giggling, "he tried to plea bargain with the cop, and then began to beg and plead not to get a ticket. It was really quite humorous. Hahahaha"

"Shut up."

"So," Cleveland said, trying to change the subject a little, "Who's the flavor of the week, Dave?"

"Some girl named. . . Angela, I think," Scott answered for him.

"Angelica," Dave corrected him. "And what do you mean by 'flavor of the week'?"

Snorting, Cleveland's smirk fell when he saw the hurt look on Dave's face. "Aww, I'm sorry Davey, but you have to admit you've probably dated the entire eastern seaboard, by now."

"That's not true. . ."

"Like hell," Scott mumbled, flipping through Cleveland's CD collection without even bothering to look at them.

Dave let out a soft sigh, then pursed his lips together in a frustrated manner. He hated how people teased him all the time, especially about this. He LOVED girls, it was just the way he felt, and so what if he worshipped each one differently that he went out with? But worshipping and actually being in love were two different things. He could recognize that, so why couldn't everyone else? Why couldn't they just let him have his fun and then go about their own business?

"Woohoo, guess what I found guys. . ." Bob's voice startled Dave's thoughts as he let out a deep breath to glance at the thin white sticks between his brother's fingers. Eyes widening, Dave's mouth dropped slightly open, and he let out a soft, almost inaudible "Are those what I think they are?"

"I'd say our day's just about to get better," was Scott's response, the grin on his face almost nauseating.

"Okay, so wait, wait, that's not even the stupid part. There are signs. . . billboards, even. . . on almost EVERY fucking street in town," Cleveland punctuated each syllable with a thrust of his hand, a lit joint between his forefinger and middle finger, "about buying fireworks, yet it's still illegal to set them off." Pausing, he raised the doobie to his lips and inhaled. "Tell me why it's legal to sell them, but it's ILLEGAL to own them, and furthermore, illegal to even be handling them, unless you work for the city."

"Is that your fucked up way of saying we're not going to blow things up today?" Clint frowned from behind a pair of sunglasses, and he dipped his orange bucket hat just slightly over his forehead.

The five of them were sitting in a circle in Cleveland's basement, admidst a cloud of smoke so potent every now and then one of them would let out a soft cough. As the disco ball hanging from the ceiling would display floating crystallized reflections on the wall, Bob's eyes would follow them until he would get dizzy and be forced to return his stare to the others in the room.

"No, we're not gonna blow things up, weren't you just listenenenening?"

Dave giggled, feeling more carefree than he had since. . . well, since he could ever remember. "Is it true. . . that if you stand on your head. . . all the blood rushes to your head and you eventually become smarter?"

"Why don't you demonstrate, Dave?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of Shcott." Giggling again, he found that he couldn't stop laughing at the serious look on his older brother's face.

"Real funny, monkey boy. Why don't you tell THAT one to your little girlfriend, Angela."

"It's. . . Angelicallllica. . . or. . . something like that." Snorting, Dave attempted to catch one train of thought in his head, but his eyes were too wandering, finding themselves engrossed in almost every sudden movement.

"Man," Cleveland said, in an attempt to be serious, "You really should try to stick around to actually get to know a girl, instead of bouncing back and forth between them. . ."

"Yeah, you need a girl like. . . a girl like. . . " Bob's eyebrows furrowed together, and the others stared at him, waiting for him to finish his thought. After what seemed like minutes had gone by while he continued staring off into space, Clint forcefully nudged his brother in the shoulder, and he spoke again, as if he'd never left off. "A girl like Britney. Everyone needs a girl like Britney."

"Sure, if you don't mind fake blond hair, a fake tan, and fake breasts." Dave didn't get it. Even though he was only partially in his right mind at the moment, he didn't understand how Bob could be so into Britney Spears, a girl who didn't even know he existed, and still ridicule him for trying to actually find the right girl, who would make him feel things that Britney just could never make him feel. . . loved. . .

"You know who has nice breasts?" Scott interrupted, not even seeming to realize that another conversation had been taking place. "Lola Steinberger."

"Ewww, Scott, she's old enough to be our mother."

Glaring at Clint, the eldest brother huffed. "She is not, she would've had to have been 10 when she had us."

"She's the town fleusy, you doof."

"And that means she's not allowed to have nice breasts?"

Dave chuckled, finding all of this extremely amusing as he continued to look back and forth between Scott and Clint as they bantered. "Nice breasts or not, if her husband ever catches you looking at them, he'll come after you with that shotgun of his."

"Shhhhhh guys guys, I'm tryin to relax here," Cleveland reiterated, closing his eyes slightly and slowly nodding his head. "I'm still bummed out that my folks wouldn't let me buy those fireworks."

"Maybe we could make our own," Bob suggested, pulling his navy blue sleeping cap out of his eyes so that he could see.

"That's BRILLIANT!" Scott jumped up, and Dave immediately noticed the mischievous gleam within his older brother's eyes, and it was purely frightening.

"How in God's name do you create a firework?" It wasn't even exactly a question Dave wanted to hear the answer to, though. Nope, he'd rather just sit in here and lay low for a while, and let this buzz pass over.

"Duh, all we should need is some gun powder, and some of that blue touchpaper."

"Well, GEE, why don't I just take it out of my pocket?" Clint rolled his eyes, then took another drag from the lit stick between his fingers. "Or better yet, find my carrying case, I'm sure I packed all the ingredients before we left the house."

Scott slapped his hand across the back of Clint's head, causing his hat to slip into his face. "Don't be such a jerk, I'm sure there's some around here somewhere."

"Actually my dad has that kind of stuff out in the barn," Cleveland spoke up as he rose to his feet, extinguishing the joint and placing it in a bowl he planned to dispose of as soon as they were finished. The others all climbed to their feet and stumbled along after Cleveland as they exitted the basement through the hallway leading directly out to the barn. The backyard of the Hyatt's property was at least five acres, nothing but wide open space leading to a cornfield and eventually a heavily wooded area. The barn was mainly used for Mr. Hyatt's tools and hunting equipment, almost like a shed. Once the boys entered the barn, Cleveland went straight over to his father's hunting equipment to find the gun powder, etc.

"Have you ever gotten lost in your backyard, Cleve?" Bob asked, looking through a dust covered window.

"Nah, I try not to even go exploring back there ever since I saw 'The Blair Witch Project'," came his muffled voice, "and besides that, the fields of corn back there remind me of 'Children of the Corn.'"

"Man, you really are a wimp." Scott snorted, as he playfully climbed aboard Mr. Hyatt's tractor. "How does this thing turn on, anyway?"

"Scott, I really don't think you should be messing with that," Dave warned.

"Aww, c'mon, it's not like I could hurt anything." His eyes lit up at all the nifty buttons around the steering wheel of the large piece of machinery. Hmmm, I wonder what that does, he pondered to himself as he pushed in the button. To his surprise, the machine roared to life, kicking into gear almost immediately as he lurched forward. "What the. . . "

"LOOK OUT!!!@#*!@^&#!@" Clint shouted to Cleveland, who's eyes widened when he saw the tractor coming toward him.<Br> <p>"AHHHH!!!!!" Quickly jumping out of the way, he ran toward the other side of the room and out of the path of the out of control Scott.<Br> <p>The eldest Moffatt's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as he continued trying to find the brake pedal, but it just wasn't working, and he realize that he was going to have to jump off of the tractor before he ran into the other side of the barn, so he hopped up as quickly as possible and leaped off of it, landing in a pile of hay. "Oof!" he grunted, as the breath was knocked out of him and his face was shoved into the uncomfortable straw beneath him. Once he realized he was in one piece, he lifted his head to survey the damage, watching the exact moment the tractor slammed into all Mr. Hyatt's hunting equipment.<Br> <p>"Uh. . . guys. . ." Cleveland whispered, his voice hoarse. "There's gunpowder over there, which is--"<Br> <p>"Highly explosive," Dave squeaked. All five boys glanced back and forth between each other before jumping up and racing toward the door, then running as far away from the barn as they could get before anything could happen to them. Once they were a safe distance away, they simultaneously turned back toward the barn, huffing and puffing. At that moment, a loud noise errupted from the barn as the roof burst into flames, large thick clouds of dark smoke rising from huge mess.<Br> <p>"Omigod. . ."<Br> <p>"Good grief."<Br> <p>"Did we. . ."<Br> <p>"I'm glad I didn't leave my Britney magazine in there."<Br> <p>"Shut up, Bob."<Br> <p>"Someone needs to call the fire department."<Br> <p>Everyone began talking at once, but no one made any moves to actually do anything. Finally, realizing the extent of the situation, Scott took in a deep breath and spoke. "Well. . . I'm beginning to think that Scott's day off has indeed overstayed its welcome. Should we head home?"<Br> <p>"Yeah," Clint quickly responded, "good idea."<Br> <p>"Thanks for the. . . well, the memory, Cleveland." And after patting the poor sputtering boy on the back, the other four made their way back to the main house, leaving Cleveland Hyatt to stare dazedly at the barn that once was.<Br> <p><center>~*~<Br> <p><a href="http://www.angelfire.com/ct/MiseryManor/robinson.html">chapter 2</a><Br> <a href="http://www.angelfire.com/ct/MiseryManor/moffhigh.html">back</a>