We lived in a huge house at the very top of the biggest hill in town. I used to call it the rich hill. Well, I suppose my classmates did.  I never liked that name. 

I can remember feeling the stares boring into my back on my first day at the elementary. Oh, look, a new snooty rich kid. What's this one gonna do? Will he exhibit a terribly dated wardrobe? Will he bribe the teachers to get himself less homework? Will he brag about his fancy double set of stairs? 

Luckily for my five year old self, my next-door neighbor was also starting on the same day. Unluckily for my five year old self, he was exactly what these gossip-hungry-public-school-attending little children were looking to take a bite into. Perfectly styled gelled hair, stupid fancy little suit, and the best looking tan I've ever seen anyone ever have. Let alone a six year old. 

I'm sure you can picture him now, Sir. Kevin Bailey-Stefan. Little bratty child, but weren't we all. 

Pay attention, though.

This boy, well, he matters much more than I thought he did.