By Martin Vorran's third day at Woodside High, the rumours had become completely useless.
He was rich.
He was weird.
He was dangerous.
He was brilliant.
He'd been expelled from a private academy in New York.
His family owned half of Boston.
He had supposedly hacked the school's grading system before lunch on his first day.
One sophomore insisted Martin spoke six languages.
Martin actually heard that one.
He stopped.
Looked at the boy.
"Six?"
The sophomore froze.
Martin considered it.
"Bit ambitious."
Then kept walking.
By first bell, the story had become eight.
Martin had stopped trying to understand American teenagers.
There were limits even to his curiosity.
The east courtyard was crowded.
Athletes occupied the benches.
Theatre kids rehearsed something loudly enough to qualify as psychological warfare.
Freshmen travelled in nervous little groups.
Martin stood near the railing.
Watching.
Not people generally.
One person.
Marcus Doyle.
Seventeen.
Quarterback.
Popular.
Confident.
And, from what Martin had observed over the previous two days, profoundly stupid.
Marcus had something interesting, though.
A network.
Students approached him constantly.
Different social groups.
Different years.
Different reasons.
Some interactions were innocent.
Some weren't.
Martin had noticed the second category almost immediately.
That bothered him.
Not because Martin was particularly shocked by drugs.
That would have been hypocritical to an almost athletic degree.
The Vorran family made money from drugs.
Martin knew that.
Seamus knew that.
Half the men who'd attended his father's funeral knew that.
Martin wasn't pretending his surname belonged on a charity.
But there were rules.
No children.
And Woodside High was full of them.
Marcus handed something discreetly to a freshman.
Martin's jaw tightened.
There.
That was enough.
He pushed away from the railing.
Marcus noticed him approaching.
"There he is."
Martin stopped.
Marcus grinned.
"Batman."
Martin looked down at his own clothes.
Black jacket.
Dark jeans.
Boots.
He considered it.
"Fair."
Marcus's friends laughed.
Marcus hadn't expected Martin to agree.
"You got a problem, Vorran?"
"Several."
"With me?"
"Currently."
That wiped away a few smiles.
Martin nodded toward the freshman disappearing into the building.
"How old?"
Marcus shrugged.
"Fourteen. Fifteen. Who cares?"
Martin stared at him.
"I do."
Marcus laughed.
"Why?"
"Because he's a child."
"So?"
Martin's expression changed.
Only slightly.
But Marcus noticed.
"Don't."
Marcus frowned.
"Don't what?"
"Sell to children."
Marcus actually laughed.
"Who the hell are you to tell me what to do?"
Martin glanced around the courtyard.
Teachers.
Students.
Cameras.
Hundreds of witnesses.
Then back at Marcus.
"Nobody."
Marcus smirked.
"Good."
"For now."
The smirk disappeared.
Martin walked away.
At lunch, Marcus found him.
Martin was sitting beneath a tree with an engineering book open beside his food.
Marcus dropped into the opposite seat.
Martin didn't look up.
"No."
Marcus frowned.
"I haven't said anything."
"You're going to."
"You don't know that."
Martin finally looked at him.
"You crossed the courtyard specifically to sit opposite someone you don't like."
Marcus paused.
"Okay, that's creepy."
"Efficient."
Marcus leaned forward.
"You were serious this morning?"
"Usually."
"About stopping?"
"Yes."
Marcus shook his head.
"You don't understand business."
Martin slowly closed the book.
That got his attention.
"Go on."
"Freshmen buy."
"Yes."
"They've got money."
"Sometimes."
"They want stuff."
Martin nodded.
"Correct."
Marcus spread his hands.
"So?"
"So you've correctly identified demand and then somehow selected the stupidest possible product."
Marcus stared at him.
"What?"
Martin leaned back.
"You've got access to half the school."
"Yeah."
"Students know you."
"Yeah."
"They already come to you when they want something."
"Yeah."
"And your brilliant entrepreneurial conclusion was drugs."
Marcus frowned.
"Drugs make money."
"So do pharmacies. Doesn't mean they sell cocaine beside the aspirin."
Marcus stared.
Martin continued.
"What does a fourteen-year-old actually need during school?"
Marcus looked confused.
"What?"
"Pencil breaks five minutes before an exam."
Marcus said nothing.
"Phone charger forgotten."
Nothing.
"Eraser. Notebook. Calculator. Food. Water. Whatever mundane little disaster has suddenly become the most important thing in their life."
Marcus stared at him.
"You want me to sell pencils?"
Martin looked genuinely offended.
"No. I want you to understand what you're actually good at."
Marcus's expression shifted.
Martin tapped the table.
"You built a network."
That got him.
"You've got people across different groups who already know how to find you."
Marcus slowly sat back.
"You've been watching me."
"I watch everything."
"That's not creepy at all."
"I've been told."
Marcus looked around.
"So what? I become some school-supply guy?"
"You become the person who can get people ordinary things when they need them."
"That's lame."
"You're currently risking your future for pocket money from fourteen-year-olds."
Martin raised an eyebrow.
"Let's be cautious throwing around the word lame."
Marcus didn't have an answer for that.
Martin reopened his book.
Marcus remained sitting there.
After several seconds:
"What about the other stuff?"
Martin looked up.
"Not here."
"What?"
"School is finished."
Marcus laughed.
"No."
Martin returned to his book.
Marcus leaned forward.
"You don't get to decide that."
"No."
Martin turned a page.
"You do."
Marcus stared at him.
Martin looked back up.
"You can keep doing exactly what you're doing until somebody gets caught and points at you."
Marcus's face tightened.
"Or?"
"Or you stop."
"That's your master plan?"
"Pretty much."
Marcus scoffed.
"And what do you get?"
Martin smiled slightly.
"There it is."
"What?"
"The intelligent question."
Marcus stared.
Martin closed the book again.
"I get the network."
"The hell you do."
"You don't understand what you've built."
"And you do?"
"Yes."
"You're sixteen."
"So are computers. They still work."
Marcus blinked.
"That doesn't even make sense."
"It did in my head."
For the first time, Marcus laughed.
Actually laughed.
Martin pointed at him.
"There. Keep doing that. Considerably more charming."
Marcus shook his head.
"You're insane."
"Probably."
"And you seriously expect me to listen to you?"
Martin leaned forward.
"No."
Marcus waited.
"I expect you to think."
That shut him up.
Martin's voice remained conversational.
"You're good with people. They trust you. You're popular. You understand the social structure here considerably better than I do."
Marcus hadn't expected a compliment.
Martin could tell.
"So use that."
"For pencils."
"Pencils are apparently very upsetting to you."
"They're pencils."
"They're an example."
Marcus leaned back.
Martin shrugged.
"Build something legitimate here. Something useful. Make money without risking some fourteen-year-old's life or your own future."
Marcus studied him.
"And who's running it?"
Martin looked at him over his glasses.
"You."
Marcus relaxed slightly.
"Good."
"You work for me."
Marcus's face immediately changed.
"What?"
Martin picked up his sandwich.
"I'm your boss now."
Marcus stared.
"You can't just declare yourself my boss."
Martin took a bite.
Chewed.
Swallowed.
"Apparently I can."
"That's not how business works."
Martin almost smiled.
"Finally. Something we can teach each other."
Across the courtyard, Alex Dunphy had witnessed enough of that conversation to become suspicious.
Not the words.
She couldn't hear them.
The body language.
Marcus Doyle didn't sit down with people.
People came to Marcus.
Yet he'd approached Martin.
And now Marcus was listening.
Actually listening.
Alex narrowed her eyes.
Martin looked over.
Their eyes met.
He smiled.
Alex immediately looked down.
Damn it.
By the end of the day, Marcus Doyle had stopped approaching younger students.
Alex noticed that too.
She didn't know why.
She was becoming increasingly irritated by how many things involving Martin Vorran she noticed.
After physics, she found him at his locker.
"Okay."
Martin looked sideways.
"That's an aggressive opening."
"What were you talking to Marcus Doyle about?"
"Business."
Alex stared.
"You're sixteen."
"So is he."
"That's not an answer."
"It technically is."
"What business?"
Martin closed his locker.
"He's surprisingly entrepreneurial."
"Marcus?"
"Don't sound so shocked."
"He once tried to microwave a protein shake."
Martin paused.
"Why?"
"He thought it would absorb faster."
Martin stared into the middle distance.
"That information has substantially damaged my assessment."
Alex laughed.
Martin smiled.
There it was again.
That annoying transformation.
The mysterious Vorran disappeared whenever he genuinely smiled.
Suddenly he was just a blond sixteen-year-old with glasses.
A cute one.
Alex's brain supplied that last part without permission.
She immediately rejected the motion.
Martin adjusted his backpack.
"Walking home?"
"I've been sentenced to transportation."
"What?"
"My mother made Haley pick me up."
Martin frowned.
"Haley."
"My sister."
"The one I should be worried about."
"You remembered."
"I remember most things."
"That's either impressive or deeply irritating."
"Usually both."
A horn sounded outside.
Alex closed her eyes.
"No."
Another horn.
Longer.
Martin looked toward the doors.
"That yours?"
"Unfortunately."
They walked outside.
A car waited near the curb.
Haley Dunphy sat behind the wheel wearing sunglasses large enough to have their own postal code.
She spotted Alex.
Then spotted Martin.
The sunglasses came down.
Slowly.
Alex saw it happen.
"No."
Martin looked at her.
"What?"
"Whatever happens next, don't encourage her."
"I don't know her."
"That's never stopped Haley."
They reached the car.
Haley looked Martin up and down.
Then looked at Alex.
Then Martin.
Then Alex again.
Her face transformed.
"Oh my God."
Alex pointed at her.
"Don't."
Haley ignored her completely.
"Hi."
Martin glanced at Alex.
Alex mouthed:
Don't.
Martin looked back at Haley.
"Hello."
Haley smiled.
"I'm Haley."
"Martin."
"I know."
Alex froze.
Martin raised an eyebrow.
Haley immediately pointed at Alex.
"She told me."
"I mentioned your name once!"
Haley grinned.
"Twice."
"Once!"
Martin looked between them.
Something very close to amusement appeared.
Alex saw it.
"Don't you dare."
"I haven't done anything."
"Your face is doing something."
Haley gasped.
"Wait."
Alex knew that tone.
"No."
Haley removed her sunglasses completely.
She looked at Alex.
Then Martin.
Then Alex.
"Do you have a crush?"
Alex nearly stopped breathing.
"What?!"
Martin became extremely interested in a tree across the street.
"Alex has a crush."
"I DO NOT."
"Oh my God, you totally do."
"I've known him three days!"
Haley looked at Martin.
"She knows how many days."
Alex opened the passenger door.
"I'm going to kill you."
Haley grinned.
"Mom would be annoyed."
"She'd understand."
Martin finally failed.
He laughed.
Alex spun toward him.
"You."
Martin immediately composed himself.
"I didn't say anything."
"You laughed."
"Reflex."
Haley looked impressed.
Not merely because he was cute.
Though, yes.
That hadn't escaped her.
But this was Alex.
Her little sister.
Alex didn't talk to boys like this.
She certainly didn't threaten them while they smiled back at her like they were enjoying every second.
Haley leaned toward the passenger window.
"So, Martin."
Alex climbed inside.
"No."
Haley ignored her.
"Are you rich?"
"HALEY."
Martin blinked.
"That's remarkably direct."
"Thank you."
"It wasn't a compliment."
"Still taking it."
Martin glanced at Alex.
She had buried her face in her hands.
"Family does alright."
Haley looked toward the black Mercedes parked further down the street.
Seamus stood beside it.
Then back at Martin.
"Right."
Martin followed her gaze.
"That's Seamus."
"Your driver?"
"Currently."
Haley's eyes widened.
Alex groaned.
"Please drive."
Haley whispered:
"Mafia rich."
Martin heard her.
His expression didn't move.
Alex elbowed Haley.
"Stop."
"What? Look at him."
Martin adjusted his glasses.
Haley pointed at him.
"See? Mysterious glasses thing."
"They're prescription."
"Even more mysterious."
Martin looked at Alex.
"Is she always like this?"
Alex stared straight ahead.
"This is her being restrained."
"Terrifying."
Haley grinned.
"I like him."
Alex whipped around.
"You've known him twelve seconds."
"Still longer than you knew him before developing a crush."
"I DON'T HAVE A CRUSH."
Martin stepped backward toward the Mercedes.
"I feel I've become involved in a family dispute."
"You have," Alex said.
"Run," Haley added.
Martin nodded.
"Sensible."
He opened the rear door.
Then stopped.
Looked back toward Alex.
"See you tomorrow?"
Alex's embarrassment softened.
"Yeah."
A beat.
"See you tomorrow, Martin."
He smiled.
Then got in.
Haley watched the Mercedes pull away.
Silence.
Alex knew what was coming.
She waited.
Haley slowly turned.
"Alex."
"No."
"He's cute."
"Drive."
"He's rich."
"Drive."
"He has a driver."
"Haley."
"And he likes you."
Alex looked at her.
"He does not."
Haley gave her sister a look that contained years of experience Alex profoundly resented.
"Alex."
"What?"
"I'm stupid about a lot of things."
Alex wisely remained silent.
Haley pointed toward the disappearing Mercedes.
"I'm not stupid about boys."
Alex looked out the window.
Her face felt warm.
"Just drive."
Haley smiled and started the car.
Then, because she was Haley:
"Mom is going to freak."
Alex's head snapped around.
"You are not telling Mom."
"Oh, I'm absolutely telling Mom."
"HALEY!"
The car pulled away from Woodside High with Alex attempting to negotiate the continued survival of her dignity.
Across town, Martin sat in the back of the Mercedes.
Seamus looked at him through the mirror.
"Good day?"
Martin looked out the window.
"Productive."
"School?"
"Mostly."
Seamus knew that answer.
"What did you do?"
Martin adjusted his glasses.
"Acquired a small business."
Seamus went silent.
Then:
"You've been there three days."
"Network was badly managed."
"Marty."
"No drugs."
Seamus paused.
Martin looked at him through the mirror.
"Kids."
Seamus understood immediately.
"And the boy?"
"Marcus?"
Martin thought about it.
"Not stupid."
"That's encouraging."
"Just badly optimised."
Seamus sighed.
"He's a human being."
"Those aren't mutually exclusive."
"And what exactly does this new empire of yours sell?"
Martin looked out at Los Angeles.
"Pencils, apparently."
Seamus stared at him through the mirror.
Martin's mouth twitched.
"What?"
"Your father is haunting me specifically."
Martin laughed.
Three days in Los Angeles.
One mansion under reconstruction.
One school network reorganised.
One quarterback unexpectedly working for him.
And one Alex Dunphy becoming considerably harder not to think about.
Martin rested his head against the seat.
He hadn't started building an empire.
He already had one.
What he was building here was something his father had never been particularly good at.
A life.