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“C’mon, all, can’t be late on the first day!” Mista sighed. His voice was soft despite his frustration as he finished buttoning up Two’s coat. He patted him on the back and he hobbled over to the door. One down, five to go. Mista paced back to the table, where the others sat, squabbling over god knows what. It was routine in the house at this point, where a day couldn’t go without petty arguments between the six siblings.
“What is it now? If we don’t leave soon, you’re all gonna end up late, and so will I.” When they heard Mista approaching, Three and Seven separated, and One stepped back from his position of trying to break the two up. A puddle of purple liquid creeped further towards the edges of the table, and decorated one of the plates that held a now soggy half-eaten piece of toast. Five looked frantic as he put down his cup and scrambled off his seat, walking up to Mista to animatedly explain the situation.
“Seven made One’s cup fall, an’-” A yell broke up Five’s explanation. “No! I’wuz Five!” Seven wailed, shoving Five out of the way. The two started to push at each other back and forth before Mista lightly pressed Seven back by the chest with a hand, doing the same to Five. Three, who was still sitting at the table, piped up. “They broke my toast!” He whined, and Mista coughed to hide a chuckle at his choice in words. The chatter between the four grew again as Mista started to clean up the table, stacking plates and mopping up wasted grape juice.
“Listen, guys, I don’t care who did it. We don’t have the time to make more breakfast, so finish up what you have.” He stacked the plates up next to the sink and wandered into the hall. “Oi, did Six ever get breakfast, guys?” The chatter went quiet again. Mista felt a headache coming on. He knocked on the door to their shared bedroom, and let himself in when there was quiet.
He found Six, dressed but half-tangled in his blanket. His chest was rising and falling slowly, but Mista’s hopes of getting them all out in time only fell. He sat on the corner of his bed, and shook his shoulder. “Six?... C’mon, Sei. Gotta get up, champ.” He jostled the child’s shoulder every once in a while, and eventually he stirred. “Mm?” He hummed quietly, blinking up at Mista. “We’re gonna leave you behind if you don’t get your coat on, dude.” Mista warned, and patted his shoulder one last time before he got up. Six jumped off the bed and raced out before he could even open the door.
“Can I eat?” Six called out, not even turning back. He only stopped when he got to the door and wrestled with his boots. Mista stopped short, kneeling in front of where Five sat, to help him tie up his laces. “No time.” Mista said, tying the bow a bit tighter than usual. “Here, Sinque.” He mumbled, handing the boy his coat when he stood back up. He pointedly ignored Six’s pout and instead noticed that Two forgot his hat, again. He jogged to their room again, and lightly tossed it to him. “That’s yours, Two.” He called, though he realized it was unhelpful when he remembered that Two had trouble catching in the first place. “Shi-” He caught himself, “sorry, Due.” He said, ruffling his hair before the boy put his hat on.
His eyes scanned over the six, and his shoulders slumped in relief. “That’s everything, then?” The boys eagerly nodded. He allowed himself a smile. “Alright. Wow, first day of Kindergarten… You guys excited?” There was scattered cheering and excited voices for a moment, before Mista spoke again. “And this is the first, and last morning that will go like this, understand? Unless you want me to start getting ya’ll up in the middle of the night. We gotta get ready faster from now on, okay?” More nods all around, and they were off.
---
The walk went surprisingly smoothly, with the five trailing behind one another, one hand holding the one in front and the other holding the one behind as smoothly as it could go, other than the usual clamor and bickering. No one was hurt, so Mista considered it a victory. The only problem now was getting them inside.
Realization didn’t dawn when he told them they had arrived, nor when he nudged them on. It didn’t come until they took a few steps and noticed that Mista wasn’t following. All was silent as they froze, and turned back. “What’s the matter?” He asked, though he knew the answer.
“Arentcha going with us, papa?” One asked, his eyes suddenly wide as saucers. He patted One’s shoulder. “I thought I told you guys before, you gotta go to school on your own. You’re all big kids, now, you can do this.” He said, but the others didn’t seem convinced. One shoved his hand off of his shoulder, and instead tightly wrapped his arms around his leg, leaning all his weight into it.
“Come on, Uno…” He murmured, stooping down to try to tug the boy off of him.
Instead, Six got a similar idea and hugged his arm, and the others joined in until he was absolutely weighed down. He even felt Two climb onto his back and wrap his arms around his neck. So he sat, collapsed on the sidewalk with six five year olds clinging onto him for dear life by his arms, legs, and whatever else they could pin him by. He sighed, and admitted defeat.
“I know, I’ll miss you guys too. I’ll pick you up in the afternoon, I promise.” He soothed, though it was mostly ignored. He carefully got back up, making sure to give them time to adjust and properly stand up. “It’s only a couple hours, so…” The teary eyes he was met with convinced him that it was definitely too scary. “Hey, c’mon, listen… If you let go of my legs, I’ll walk you guys in. You can meet your teacher, and then you’ll have nothing else to worry about, right?” He felt twin vice grips on his calves loosen, and be replaced by hands tightening on his pants instead. Still clingy, but an improvement. He carefully adjusted Two on his shoulders, and grabbed the two hands on either side of his pant legs, and helped them into the small schoolhouse.
As he expected, they came in just as the teacher, who had a plastered on, tight lipped smile that made it look like he was already at the end of his ropes as he attempted to get everyone to sit on the same rug to start the day. The man paused from trying to pick up a child who looked a bit older than the six and the glimmer in his eyes and the start of a genuine, amused smile on the teacher’s face made Mista’s eyes find the ground in sudden self-consciousness.
“The Mista family, I presume?” the man, some Father Pooch-something? asked, obviously forcing his voice into a more professional, friendly tone than the laugh he was obviously biting back as he looked over the man and the sixtuplets clinging to his person. Mista gave a sheepish smile in response and a curt nod, crouching to unhook hands from his pant legs and carefully lift Two off of his shoulders and onto the ground. While most of them took nervous steps away from him to look at the others and one another, Three clung to his sleeve and gave his new teacher an apprehensive look. “Tre… C’mon, little man. I gotta go to work, and you gotta go meet your new class.” Mista pried him off, and Three gave him a look of betrayal. He sighed for the upteenth time today.
“Now, don’t act up when I’m gone. I’d stay with you guys but the boss is expecting me in soon.” He patted Three’s back, encouraging him to go over to the others. He turned to Father Dog, “They’re good kids, but call me if anything comes up, okay? They can be a bit of a handful, and bicker like hell, so… You have my number from the conference, right?” He nodded, and Mista gave a wave. “Have a good day, guys. I’ll pick you up around 1.” He was sent off with a chorus of goodbyes and frantic waves, and a polite nod from their teacher.
He closed his eyes once he was outside, ignoring the anxiousness creeping up and making his steps feel heavy. They would be fine. No matter how much he reminded himself of that, over and over, he couldn’t help but be worried for the kids. They really weren’t used to being far from his side, even with his work he had been careful to make time for them. Even if he did have work, he knew that they didn’t get out much. They kept to themselves in their little house, and so he guessed they didn’t have much experience with kids their age or adults alike. He kept a hand in his pocket, carefully on his phone so he couldn’t miss the buzz of his phone, already expecting for the Dogfather to have called despite that he hadn’t even managed to find his way out of the parking lot yet.
---
“If everyone is here, we can start.” Pucci said, once he situated the six sitting criss-cross-applesauce with the other children. He sat down in a similar way in front of them all, wiping off his hands on his lap. “Now first, I’m going to just see who’s here. We can have proper introductions later and get to know each other, but for right now, I’ll say everyone’s names, and if you’re here, say ‘here’”
“Echoes?” “Here.” “Heiro?” “Here!”
The list went along without much of a hitch until their teacher got to the six.
“One?” “Here!” “Two?” “Here. “Three?” “Here.”
“Four?” … Silence.
He quirked his eyebrow and tried again, eyes scanning over the six. They were all there, so why was no one piping up? “Four Mista?” He tried again, and the siblings looked uncomfortable and nervous as they looked at each other. Finally, Six spoke up.
“Papa said four is cursed.” He said finally, and Two piped up next to him “It means death!” The other four agreed, nods and quiet hums of agreement. The silence stretched for a moment longer as Pucci considered his response carefully, and eventually gave up with a quiet “Ah. Okay.” He ran his fingers over his hair, sighing through his nose. “Five?” “Here!” And the morning continues.
Once they were done with roll call, Pucci was about to continue with the next activity when a voice piped up. “What about you, sir? What is your name?” Twisting around to look, One realized it was Heiro.
“Oh, right.. My name is Father Pucci, but you all can call me Father or Mr. Pucci if it’s easier for you.” Heiro bowed his head in a little nod. “I will be taking care of you all while you’re here, from 8, like today, to 1. Technically, I’m meant to stay until the last child is picked up, but I won’t waste my time if any of you make a habit of it. Does anyone need to call their parents to make sure they get picked up at the right time?” Other than fidgeting and whispering, it was relatively quiet, and he took it for a no.
“Good. Because it’s the first day, most of you don’t know each other, right?” There was a scattered nod or two. “Let’s all go, quietly, to the craft room.” He stated as more of a command then a suggestion, pointing out a colorfully painted door labeled as the craft room. “When we go in, make sure you sit with at least two people you don’t know. There’s paper, crayons, markers, and everything you’ll need to be able to make a nametag, that you will wear for the rest of the day. You must write your name on it, but you can also draw pictures if you want.” With that he stood up, and watched the others stand up with him, and led them into the room.
---
He lamented how quickly his straightened tables had quickly became covered in craft supplies, scribbles of marker and crayon, and whatever mess the children brought in. It was hard to bite his tongue and not yell at the kids, seeing as it was the first day and he didn’t want Principal Brando to chew him out again because of parent complaints. It’s not like the children made it easy for him to be understanding, he complained. The chaos escalated suddenly from a hum to a roar as a fight between One and Five went from their usual yelling at each other to Five swinging at One’s face with a balled fist. The yelp of pain and the worried yells of their classmates only escalated the situation and the two grappled, pushing and hitting and shoving.
Pucci strode over to them as fast as he could manage without knocking over any of the kids who had gathered to watch. He grabbed Five, the one who was closest to him, by the back of his shirt collar and yanked him back away from One. Five let out a yelp of surprise and One froze in front of him, staring up at Pucci with wide eyes. The cacophony of voices hushed all at once, and the ones who got up slunk back to their seats. All at once, a hurried explanation tumbled out of Five’s mouth.
“One took the red crayon I was usin’ cause it was the only one in the box an’ I needed it for my name cause its my favorite but he grabbed it from me and messed up my name! Now it looks all weird so I had to get a new paper but he still won’t get me the red back.” He continued to babble for a bit, before Pucci interrupted him.
“I don’t care what happened. If I see any student lay their hand on another student, siblings or not, parents will be called.” Five looked frustrated at being cut off, but One promptly started to tear up. “Don’t call padre!” He pleaded, and was met with a stern face. “Knock it off, and I won’t. But one more bit of trouble, he’ll be hearing from me.” The nod One gave was dutiful, if not for the tears still bubbling up in his wide eyes.
For a fleeting moment, he thought that maybe he had gotten through to them.
---
“I’m sorry, Dogfather, what?” Mista’s voice sounded strained and tired over the tinny speaker of the phone.
“Your son-” He started to repeat, before pausing. “It’s Father Pucci.” He forced his voice steady, pushing down an indignant response. He cut off Mista’s start of an apology, “You need to pick up your sons.”
“I thought that dismissal was at 1 o’clock?” Mista asked, the words coming out slow and laced with worry.
“Yes, usually. However…” He heard a soft ‘Oh no...’ on the other line. “It’s been a rough first day. Your sons..” He stole a glance at the four sitting on the floor in his office. “Seven, Five, and Two, had decided that a food fight during lunch was appropriate.”
Mista groaned. “Those kids… I’m still at work.” He paused in thought. “I’ll talk with the boss, can I call you if I can’t make it over there?” He barely waited for Pucci’s affirmative hum before hanging up. He sighed, dragging a hand over his face. Buccellati was going to be pissed.
---
He was greeted by Father Pucci, who looked like his mood had dropped tenfold in the half an hour between the phone call and his coming, followed by his six. “Couldn’t even behave until dismissal?” He asked, eyeing them. One and Three moved to greet him, Six simply looked nervously up at Mista, the others looking away with a mix of shame and worry on their faces.
He gave One and Three each a pat on the head, before turning to their teacher. “Um.. They can come back tomorrow, right? They’re not kicked out or somethin’?” He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding when Pucci nodded. “As long as they’re willing to behave, they can come back tomorrow.”
He nodded, and gave the others a sharp look. “They will.” The three nodded, still not meeting their father’s eye. With an apology from Mista, the seven shuffled out of the school, and towards home.
The walk was nowhere near as lively as it was that morning, Mista was quiet and tense. He hadn’t let his phone leave his hand for a moment, anxious despite the fact that he had gotten permission to stay home and watch the six for the rest of the day. The pistols travelled close behind, quiet other than the rare excited chatter between each other, until they arrived.
“Ya’ll are going to bed early tonight, I hope you know,” Mista spoke, weaving in and out of the kitchen as he spoke, “partly ‘cause of this morning, and partly punishment for getting sent home.” He finished with finality that dared them to argue. He was surprised when he managed to bundle the juice boxes into his arms and come back to the table with them that there were no objections. He frowned slightly, putting down the juice boxes in front of each of them, and keeping one for himself.
“Everything okay, guys?” He asked, looking at each of them, worry tugging his lips into a slight frown.
It was like a dam breaking, starting with an almost whispered, sincere “ ‘M sorry, Padre.” from Five, before a rush of voices saying similar, jumbled sentiments sounded. For a moment he felt guilty, they seemed legitimately torn up about it all.
He struggled for a moment for a proper response, “Ah, no.. It’s okay, just… This will be the last day like this, right?” He asked, and the others nodded. “Just promise this will be the last bad day.” They were all more than eager to.
The rest of the day was comfortably quiet, though not without the normal disorganization and mess as they progressed through dinner, and into bedtime. Mista made his rounds, ruffling hair and giving forehead kisses goodnight, tucking in sheets and fluffing pillows. He paused at the door, hand on the lightswitch.
“Goodnight, boys. Let’s have a better day tomorrow, okay?” The sleepy mumbles he received sounded something close to affirmative. He flicked off the light, and mumbled a quiet “Sogni d'oro.”
----
The sentiment of having a better day was cheapened by the fact that it was marginally better, as was the next day and just about every day after that. Mista resigned to the fact that this mess would become routine soon enough.