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xiv. | chandler.

GOOD JOB...
YOU RUINED IT

CHANDLER PEVOVSKI — the golden

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    "WOULD YOU STOP worrying about it? You look fine!" Charles said, swatting at Foster's arm so he stopped fiddling with his black blazer, since he was too stubborn to dig through his closet to find a suit jacket.

    Foster sighed and began slipping it off of his arms. "I'm just taking it off," he said, throwing it at the black leather chair in the corner of Chandler's room where Matison was sitting. Matison caught it just before it hit him in the face.

    Chandler's eyes snapped up from his phone at Foster's comment. He knew his father wouldn't approve of Foster if he didn't look presentable to his guests. And if that happened, Chandler wouldn't be able to straighten his back for a week with the burning sensation Mr. Pevovski's thirty carat diamond encrusted Gucci belt (which, much like Mr. Westcott's thousand dollar pen, retailed at an outrageous amount: $249,000) would leave.

    He slipped his black iPhone XR into his pocket and walked past Foster in silence to his giant closet. He put his hand on the pure diamond door handle and almost opened it before there was a knock at his door.

    "Time for you to make your grand entrance," Chandler's mother called through the door. She left without another word.

    Chandler scoffed and quickly ducked into his closet and grabbed a suit jacket that he had laid out in advance in case something like this happened.

    His instincts were always right.

    He threw the jacket and Foster and told him to put it on.

    "I'm not letting you go out looking like I just pulled you off the street," Chandler said as he opened his bedroom door and Foster rolled his eyes.

    The six boys, being led by Chandler, made their way down the large marble staircase. As they neared the bottom of the staircase, it seemed as if a spotlight covered them. Everyone's eyes moved from their glass champagne flutes and mobster talk to look at the six boys, walking side by side down the marble stairs.

    "Seems like a pretty good first impression," Foster muttered to Chandler, a smug smirk taking over his exhausted features. He turned his head towards Chandler and blinked a few times, his smirk changing into a smile.

    Chandler Pevovski never thought in a million years that he might've been able to call Foster Ashford a friend.

    Chandler looked straight ahead and swallowed, making his Adam's apple bob up and down. His dark, sapphire blue eyes scanned across the large people-filled room in his house as they all went back to their conversations told in low undertones that they wouldn't want sixteen year olds knowing about.

    "Go have fun," Chandler said to his friends. "And don't die."

    "And don't get arrested," Matison added to Chandler's statement.

    "And don't get arrested," Chandler repeated quietly as his friends went their separate ways.

    Chandler made his way over to the bar. He looked at tonight's dark-haired bartender — who, from what he remembered, Chandler had never seen before — and nodded.

    "Rum and Coke," the bartender said, passing Chandler a glass. "And I am going to pretend that I do not know you are sixteen and go about my business."

    Chandler narrowed his eyes skeptically. He hated Rum and Coke, and any bartender that the Pevovski's had ever had would've known that. It was practically the first asterisks on the application form.

    "Who are you?" Chandler asked quietly, sliding the glass back to the fake bartender.

    "New," he said. He poured Chandler a Gimlet with vodka. "Enjoy."

    The bartender gave Chandler a sly smile as he gave him the glass. Chandler looked suspiciously at the glass and brought it up to his nose to smell it, trying to make sure the bartender didn't poison it. It seemed fine, but, just to play it safe, he passed it off to a woman in a purple dress standing by him.

    Something was off about this party.

    Chandler's blue eyes began scanning the room around him. Tall men in freshly iron-pressed cashmere coats seducing married woman in short dresses with champagne flutes in their hands. Too bad they were too drunk to remember their husband was away on a business trip, buying them a new set of diamond earrings.

    A small child's area was over in the corner, being infested with little boys and girls who looked and acted the same way as their wasted parents. They would never get a real childhood growing up in those types of families.

    Chandler could confirm that.

    Kids like Chandler were born into riches and diamonds. They were taught from a young age that they were superior to everyone. They grew to learn that anyone that had even a dollar less than them were to bow down at them at every turn. Things like that being burned into a seven-year-old's head never ended well.

    He looked away from the odd playpen of sorts and looked back over to the bar. The bartender made eye contact with Chandler and smirked as he slid two glasses to a person in front of him. It was Alexander.

    Chandler rushed over to Alexander and took the drinks out of his hands. He poured them into a plant pot on one side of the bar.

    "Hey!" Alexander complained.

    "Don't worry," Chandler said, placing the glasses back on the bar counter. "The plant's fake."

    Alexander opened his mouth to protest, but no sound came out.

    Chandler looked at the tall, lanky blond boy in front of him. He looked as if he could hardly hold his body up, he was so exhausted. His light blue eyes were bloodshot and could barely stay open. Alexander rubbed his eyes and looked at Chandler, his eyes half-lidded.

    "Get some sleep, buddy," Chandler said sympathetically, grasping onto Alexander's skinny wrist. He began leading Alexander up the stairs and to a guest bedroom. He opened the door, motioning to the king sized bed adorned with white sheets.

    "I'm not tired, though," Alexander said, although he began untying his shoes.

    Chandler laughed a bit as he looked in the closet. He dug in a basket and pulled out a tiger stuffed animal. He threw it at Alexander.

    "What's this?" he asked, sitting on the bed.

    Chandler smiled and shrugged. "Just deal with it," he said. He walked out of the room and almost closed the door. "Sleep," he said to Alexander. He closed the door and walked back downstairs.

    "Putting Alexander to bed," he said as Charles and Foster walked over with drinks in their hands. Chandler grabbed all four glasses with pursed lips and set them down on a window sill. "Please don't drink those."

    Chandler smiled with wide eyes. He was sure the other boys thought he was going insane.

    "Okay," Lucas said emotionlessly, his mouth open a bit. Chandler could see that he was running his tongue along his bottom retainer.

    "Stop," Chandler said, beginning to wring his hands around. "You'll cut your tongue."

    Lucas narrowed his eyes and cocked his head. "You okay?" he asked as the front doors slammed open, police and SWAT teams filing in, surrounding everyone. Some made their way upstairs.

    "Oh, I'm doing just fine," Chandler breathed out quietly, watching an exhausted and scared Alexander being pulled out the door. He dropped the stuffed animal Chandler had given him. He rushed over and picked it up.

    Chandler's friends joined him in front of the doors. They all looked around the room.

    Everyone's judging stares were on them. But Chandler could pick out one in particular.

    The piercing blue eyes that Chandler had were an exact copy of the ones his father, Mr. Pevovski, had. They could be seen from a mile away.

    Mr. Pevovski stared back at his son; an emotionless, empty stare. Chandler knew he was in trouble.

    Good job... you ruined it.