Day One
Monday
LOKI VIRTUE SCORE OR LVS: 0
Reset for a fresh start
Better than the minus millions, I suppose!
Today at school, I performed a mighty feat: I was nice to the new kid.
If you’ve never attended a mortal school, you might not know that it is a long-standing tradition that the new child in class is treated with disdain and cruelty. However, because I am a Good God™ now, I ignored this custom, risking the scorn of my peers!
“Miss, Sarah can sit next to me,” I said, gesturing graciously at an empty chair beside me.
This is Sarah. She’s new.
Thor, who was sitting on my other side, leaned over. “What did you do to her chair? Spread peanut butter over the seat? Or superglue?”
“Nothing!” I promised.
No lie detected.
“Actually,” said Sarah, “I’d rather sit over there if that’s OK?” She pointed at a chair far, far away from me.
I sat there with my mouth open in horror as Sarah trotted to her new seat. I had done this noble deed, driven by pity for a poor unfortunate soul, and . . . she refused my offer? She turned down Loki? ME?
Well. I don’t know why I bother.
You bother because you want to become a good person in order to be allowed to return home to Asgard one day. And you still have a LOT of improving to do.
I hate this diary. I think I might put it in the fire.
I’m flame-retardant to the highest temperatures of the fiery wilderness of Muspelheim.
After school, I watched TV with Thor and Hyrrokkin. Heimdall was busy installing what mortals call an alarm.
Alarm:
a device that emits a high-pitched sound when thieves break into your house. Also prone to beeping at random intervals for no reason, especially in the middle of the night. Note to self: check how hot it is in Muspelheim.
When I come across an unfamiliar mortal concept, this book shows me an explanation written by “all-knowing” Odin himself. Sometimes it sounds like he’s just making fun of mortals.
ATTACK!
GRR!
RAWR!
“Who would want to break into this pathetic hovel anyway?” I asked.
“Giants!” said Heimdall.
“And what do we have that the giants would want to steal?” I asked, gesturing around at the drab mortal dwelling that we call home. Not a gold throne or a diamond-encrusted chalice in sight, unlike in Asgard.
“They might want to steal Thor’s hammer!” said Heimdall. “Or kidnap one of us! Or steal”—he cast his eyes around the room—“our television. It’s very large. Anyway. Dinnertime. Go and wash your hands. With soap!”
After dinner, Hyrrokkin fed her snakes. While she was busy popping dead mice into the eager mouths of serpents, Thor and I did chores.
Chores are one of the cruelest parts of being a mortal child. Especially today’s horrifying task:
Loki – Tidy that mess of a bedroom!
Thor – Dust hammer collection– your bedroom is already tidy.
In Asgard, if you drop something, it magically returns itself to its proper place. But tragically that does not happen in the mortal realm.
Apparently, my system for storing my belongings was not acceptable to my fake parents. I don’t know why. I know where everything is.
I’m quite annoyed that Thor is so good at cleaning his room. In fact, I think he only does it to annoy me.
He came to bother me after dusting his hammers. As I worked my tender fingers to the bone, he went on and on about how funny it was that the new girl turned down my offer of a seat. I don’t believe Thor truly grasps the concept of humor. Humiliation is only funny when it’s not happening to me.
Funny
NOT funny
“I think it was very rude of her,” I said haughtily.
“That’s why it was funny,” said Thor. “Though not as funny as your face when she turned you down like a friendless loser.”
Just before I wreaked terrible vengeance upon Thor, thereby destroying my status as a Good God™, Hyrrokkin called us downstairs.
“I have received an email from your school,” she said, frowning.
Hyrrokkin disapproves of emails. In fact, she considers paper letters to be newfangled and prefers runes etched into stone, or at least painted on a “nice bit of vellum.”
“The school is to hold a mystical ritual on Thursday, in which you will be judged,” she went on. “Your teachers will tell Heimdall and me if you have proved worthy.”
But how will my teachers know if I am worthy? I have not completed any quests to show my worth!
Hyrrokkin explained that the mystical ritual was something called a parents’ night, and that our worthiness would be judged based on how “Liam” (me) and “Thomas” (Thor) have performed at school.
While I know that I am a delight to be around and a wit of the highest order, the thought of being judged by my teachers did give me a strange feeling in my stomach.
You see, sometimes my genius can be misconstrued. Teachers have been known to shout at me, saying things like “Liam, don’t disrupt the class!” and “Liam, stop being needlessly cruel to Sophie!” and “Oh God, why did they have to put you in my class? Does the principal hate me?”
But I dismissed my worries. After all, what does it matter what my teachers say about me at this paltry meeting in three days’ time? I am an immortal god, glorious and mighty! I do not need their praise.
You need everybody’s praise, Loki. You’re incredibly insecure.
GNASH!
Have I mentioned that I hate this diary?
Copyright © 2023 by Louie Stowell; Illustrated by Louie Stowell. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
