Carlos taught Mark how to play the guitar. He loved it. And he was talented. Carlos quickly ran out of things to teach him, so he hired Mark a guitar tutor. He was an old man, quiet, barely spoke a word. Mark and the old man would play together, and the old man wouldn't say a single word. Mark had to teach himself how to read notes and tabs. It was his favorite time of the week, Sat.u.r.day afternoons, when Mark and the old man would rock out, sway in jazz, or just not play, just drumming the guitars.

Mark hated the private school. He felt very uncomfortable in the school uniform, and thought it was lame. He had been studious in his local school, but he began to be rebellious in this new school, being a cla.s.s clown, not doing his homework, that sort of stuff. Even Carlos reprimanded him for his bad behavior. Not to mention Emily. Mark knew there was a line though, so he managed to pa.s.s his cla.s.ses and always make it to the next year. But as the years went on, he was becoming less and less concerned about the arbitrary line.

Sarah loved her life in the villa. She loved her room, and the courtyard. She invited her friends over from the girls school she was attending, and they would play by the pool and laugh. She loved her school. It looked like something out of a fantasy picture book she read when she was way younger. Fancy old style buildings, and green well kept lawns that stretched out forever. She tried to be closer to her brother. After all, they were the closest friends they had while growing up. But Mark ignored her; perhaps he thought she betrayed him, she thought to herself. But Sarah knew how heartbroken their mother was about Mark, his behavior in school, and the distance that she just couldn't seem to close. Sarah eventually stopped trying, too. She had too much to enjoy in life.

Mark was in his late teens now, and he had questions. Where did his mother get all this money? And he thought, sometimes, when he was in his darkest moments, that he and Carlos...didn't really look alike. At all. Different noses. He looked like his mother, and he hated it. And he had eyes that didn't resemble anybody in his family. Not even his grandparents. They were deep, like they had seen some s.h.i.+t. Mark chuckled. He had seen some s.h.i.+t. A family, broken, yet holding together out of love. Love that was wearing thin. And he played a large role in that. Carlos tried to reconcile Mark and Emily, especially on Sundays, but Mark was stubborn. And so was Emily, in a way.

Then, one day, Mark just left school. He ran away from home. Carlos and Emily were in a panic. Carlos thought Mark went over to the guitar tutor's place, so he rushed over there. But the old man shook his head, looking sad, and he even let Carlos in his home to check. Mark wasn't there.

Emily, not knowing what to do, called Fred, for some reason.

"h.e.l.lo, h.e.l.lo?"

"Hi, Emily. What's wrong? Is something wrong?"

"Fred! Mark ran away from home!"

"...I'll be there."