Nothing has happened in weeks. Seriously. Boredom hit record highs, and I had to illegally download The Matrix trilogy to keep the absolute tedium at bay. I was about ready to give up, and tell myself that the rest of my summer would be hopelessly boring, but then, this morning, the end of my listlessness came in the mail.

It was an envelope, roughly the size of a hard cover book, and was too big to stuff in the mailbox with all of the other letters and bills. The postman delivered it to my door, where he handed it to my hardly-dressed brother with a "you've been invited to one hell of a wedding, kid," and was gone.

I snatched the royal blue envelope from my brother. "That would be mine." I said.

"But it has my name on it." Ethan grumbled, still half asleep.

"Shut up and go get dressed." I told him and took the letter into the living room to open it.

Inside the blue envelope was an ivory card, decorated around the edges with silver and blue letter pressed designs. It was beautiful, right down to the finest detail, and, after gazing at the swirls and curls and loops, I finally lowered my eyes and read the invitation.

Mr. Bernard Acelin Clovis Gemino Blake

requests the pleasure of your company

in celebrating the sixteenth birthday of his eldest son

Cornelius Algernon Theodoric Christopher Blake III

at the Plage de l'Espiguette house

on July the thiry-first, starting at five O' clock

Formal attire, s'il vous plait

So, Neil was having a birthday. I looked at the reply card, wondering which of the elaborately decorated boxes I should check, when I felt another piece of paper under my hand. It was a hastily written note by the birthday boy himself. Though he didn't sign it, his neat handwriting was unmistakable.

Ethan, it read. I'll be sending a car for you on the twenty eight. Please come. Don't worry about bringing anything, just be ready at eleven am. If your parents say you can't come, the car will still come and get you. My father will work out the illegalities if it turns into a kidnapping. See you then.

I folder up the note and neatly marked the, "Yes, I would be honoured to celebrate with Mr. Blake the III" box. So long, boring summer life. Hello again, crazy rich people.