Prydwen Hall
Chapter One
Day of Arrival
Streams of golden light shimmered through the arched windows of the Great Hall, illuminating the royal blue gown of a peculiar old man standing in the center of the room. He was hunched over the podium, squinting through the cascade of light, trying to see the heads of the six hundreds boys in blue suits who were all waiting for him to begin his speech. Just behind the old man were four distinguished headmasters, draped in magnificent blue robes, and seated in red velvet high-backed chairs, waiting for him to proceed. They were all nearing the end of their morning school assembly with the old honorary professor about to give the final speech of the day to send the boys off on the Easter Holidays.
The old professor simply stared into space as if he didn’t know where he was. He then mumbled something and pulled out of his pocket a series of crumpled notes. Smiling feebly, he scratched his head as a blank look came over his face. He seemed bewildered of why he was standing at this podium and why on earth everyone was staring at him.
Peter Bradden was three rows from the back, casually reclining in his seat with arms folded at his chest, waiting along with all the others for the old professor to begin. His light grey eyes, ever filled with mockery and mischief, traveled around the room, amused to find that everyone was bored beyond belief.
Meanwhile, the old man abruptly fell silent at the podium. A moment later, his low snoring could be heard throughout the chamber. The headmasters behind him exchanged looks of concern. A low grumbling began moving through the crowd, growing louder and louder. All around Peter, five hundred ninety-nine boys were beginning to moan in anger as the little old professor was serenely snoring at the podium.
“Where did they get this old geezer?” shouted a fat boy with red hair.
“Wake him up!” cried another.
Someone screamed shrilly just for the heck of it which started a stream of mindless giggles. Another boy burst out a thunderous belch which sent many boys reeling in laughter. The rest of the crowd was not so playful. They were becoming more and more uncomfortable till their patience was at its boiling point. They were gripping their chairs, leaning forward as if they were ready to pounce.
Pandemonium was, indeed, threatening to break out and Peter now sat up, taking a keen interest in the dark mood brewing around him. This could be the rumblings of a riot, he thought, excitedly. Everyone around him looked so frustrated they could tear the old man‘s head off.
Peter leaned forward, wondering if it could be possible that all of these pampered, whiny boys were about to finally show some guts and earn his respect, at last, by rising up in a collective madness, throwing chairs, breaking windows, smashing in walls, destroying every sacred object in the place, revolting against the mindlessness of all the rules of this institution that they have been forced to endure for years. Could it really be happening? Was it even possible that spoiled brats could suddenly become revolutionaries? Peter sensed that all hell was about to break to loose. One more minute of having to wait for this old man to wake up was going to send them all into an explosive frenzy.
Peter was on the edge of his seat, holding his breath in anticipation, waiting for the first boy to throw a chair.
But, as usual, in this boring place, nothing happened at all.
The Deputy Headmaster rose from his regal chair and nudged the old man to wake up. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief, all their anger having dissipated while Peter sighed in disappointment, slumping back in his chair.
The old man jumped to attention with a look of bewilderment. He then muttered a few words, absently twirling a handkerchief in the air, signaling the end of his speech and the beginning of Easter Vacation.
A wave of blue swooped up from the chairs and mind-shattering applause filled the room. Boys were screaming to the top of their lungs as they climbed over chairs and stampeded toward the arched doors. Many boys were dancing in the aisles wiggling their rumps, while still others did flips and cartwheels. Rowdier boys were riding piggyback and galloping towards the Entrance Hall. All the schoolmasters stuck their fingers in their ears, rushing to the doors to escape while four headmasters slipped into a door just behind them to free themselves from this madhouse, but the little old professor had found a cozy chair near the window and was now going back to sleep which was remarkable considering all the mayhem going on around him.
Peter remained there until all of the students had crammed themselves through the large doors, pushing and shoving each other. When he realized he was the only one left in the Hall, except for the old professor, of course, he rose to his feet and made his way to the doors.
When he got to the threshold, he witnessed a scene of incredible chaos inside the elegant Entrance Hall. Boys were running in every direction, most of them heading towards the staircase to fetch their luggage they had packed the night before. There were some just standing around, however, laughing very loudly and punching each other in the arms. A group of boys were high up on the stairs, looking out over the balcony, expertly spitting down wads of chewed-up paper and laughing uproariously when they made their mark.
Peter left the threshold and made his way through the crowd as invisibly as a breeze. No one noticed him at all, which is what he wanted, and he seemed to have almost made it out of the room when a group of boys walked by. As they passed, an unusually splendid-looking boy noticed Peter.
He had beautiful blond hair that had been carefully combed into curls so lovingly shaped on the side of his forehead it must have taken him several hours to sculpt it to such perfection. He had an assortment of school medals above his breast pocket of which he seemed to wear proudly, and his suit was so wrinkle-free, it was as if an army of laundry personnel had pressed it for him just that morning.
He saw that Peter was about to enter the long corridor up ahead, exiting the Entrance Hall. His lips broke into a wicked grin. He seemed very pleased about something.
“Peter!” he called, waving.
Peter rolled his eyes, seeing that it was Devon, and continued walking.
The boy immediately ran towards Peter and, in no time, caught up with him.
Devon walked beside Peter now, grinning broadly and teasingly punching Peter in the arm as if they were old friends.
“You slipped out this morning before I could find out how miserable you must be feeling. I’ve been laughing all morning thinking about you having to stay here for the next ten days. I couldn’t have put together a better revenge--it’s too funny! I’d rather be dead than you right now! There is justice in the world, after all!”
Peter’s mood quickly changed, and he became cheerfully tolerant, even jovial as Devon burst into a fit of laughter.
“That’s right,” said Peter, shaking his head. “Go ahead and laugh it up. I guess you’ve earned it today after all the things I’ve done to you over the years.”
Peter stood still while Devon hung on his arm, laughing so hard he started coughing.
“I’m sorry, Peter,” he said, taking a breath. “I was just thinking about you being left here all alone with Duncan, Byron, and Theo… You must want to hang yourself!”
He went on laughing, but then, abruptly stopped short, and gave Peter a devious look; then stood on tip-toe to murmur into Peter’s ear, “But there’s something I have to tell you that will make you even more miserable.”
“And what’s that?” asked Peter, folding his arms. “That you’re staying with me?”
“No, it’s not that,” said Devon glowering at Peter, “although I would if I could just to torture you even more. No, sorry, Peter, I’ll be too busy on my father’s yacht, sailing off the coast of Italy, having the time of my life. There will be plenty of blue skies and sunshine for me. No, what I have to tell you is a lot worse than that. You’re getting a new roommate.”
“What?” Peter’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”
Devon put his arm around Peter. “I said you’re getting a new roommate. He’s supposed to be arriving any time now. And he’s the kind of roommate…well, you’ll have to see for yourself. I think you better get that noose ready!”
Peter brushed his arm away. “What are you talking about? Who is he?”
“Who is he?” parroted Devon. “Well, for your information, he’s right over there. Take a look. Your new roommate.”
Peter's gaze followed Devon's finger and rested upon a boy by the entrance doors with luggage at his feet. A woman in a fur coat and white gloves was bending over him, kissing him repeatedly. Peter couldn't see his face. Then the woman stepped back and a man in a black suit and hat shook hands with the boy and patted him on the shoulder. They were standing near Professor Bimble, one of the housemasters for the Lower Hall. When Professor Bimble shook hands with the man, it was then that Peter could see the boy clearly.
There was nothing out of the ordinary about him. He was dressed in a blue suit like all the boys around him--except, as Peter peered more closely, he did seem a bit small and slender, with dark hair framing an angelic face that could only be compared to a girl's, it was so pink and creamy. But even this didn't cause a high level of revulsion in Peter. It was only when Peter detected tears upon the boy's cheeks that Peter flinched. The boy had obviously been crying. A lot. He didn't look old enough to be eight years old.
"He's too young to bunk with me," said Peter, dismissing it and about to walk away.
"He's as old as you as you are!" snapped Devon. “Well, almost anyway. He’s twelve!”
Peter was taken aback as if stunned. He took another look.
The mother bent down again this time with a handkerchief actually wiping her little son's nose. Peter stared in disbelief. Then disgust. The only thing that went through Peter’s mind was a memory of an obnoxious boy who seemed creepily similar to this one.
That boy cried so much his tears seemed to be stained permanently on his cheeks, and he had a runny nose that he never bothered wiping. He followed everyone around, asking over and over again if they were mad at him. It was horrible with everyone trying to avoid him and with his whining and pleading for someone to be nice to him, to be his friend, going to anyone at all, naively seeking comfort even from the jocks.
Peter learned that the boy left when the schoolmasters told the parents that he was much too young emotionally to be at Prydwen. Peter could sense this was going to be the very same situation here with this new boy and it gave him a really nasty feeling. But Devon was watching him closely, being very smug, and expecting him to show how dejected he really felt. But he wasn't going to give Devon the satisfaction. He, instead, decided on a different course.
Peter straightened up and said, coolly, "He looks all right to me. I think I'll like him. Thanks, Devon. I believe I'll stroll over there right now and introduce myself."
Devon shook his head, clenching his teeth, knowing that Peter was trying to rob him of his victory. "You're just bluffing. You can see what kind of a baby that boy is. Don't pretend with me. I saw the look on your face."
"You didn't see anything," said Peter, with a sigh. "Your problem, Devon, is that you're jealous. He looks like a top-notch kind of fellow. Finally, I have someone I can respect. After so many years of being your roommate, I get a break! Thank you, God!"
Devon tightened his fists, seething. "You're lying!"
Peter put his arm around him, affectionately. "Don't be hurt. You know I never liked you."
Devon furiously shoved Peter's arm away. "I never liked you either, you rat!"
"Oh, yes, you did," said Peter, now grinning, "You just couldn't imagine why I couldn't stand the sight of you. You've been trying to win my approval for years."
"You're insane!" screamed Devon, stamping his feet. "I hate you!"
"Sure you do," Peter taunted him. "Everyone knows how you really feel about me."
Devon growled and tried to swing at Peter. Peter put his hands up, playfully, and backed away.
"Now, now, Devon. Don't get so emotional about it. I'm sorry I can't return your feelings. But you don't have to lash out at me!"
"I'm going to bust your nose!" Devon howled.
"That could never win my friendship!"
Devon swatted at him and Peter pretended to duck--soon Devon was chasing him in circles. Hulky Ted Sanders and clever Tom Middleton stood nearby, observing them.
"We better break it up," said Ted to Tom, moving towards them.
Ted immediately grabbed Devon and put him in a headlock. Devon began to squirm, yelling about the state of his hair. He was particularly proud of his blonde locks and didn't like for anyone to touch them. Ted rubbed his knuckles slightly on Devon's skull and he screamed as if he were being tortured. Peter and Tom looked on, chuckling.
Tom was the same height as Peter but thinner with lighter hair and dark blue eyes. As Peter's sidekick, he was playful, whimsical, cruel--a little like the pixies of old who flitted from village to village, spoiling milk or ruining freshly hung linen by leaving behind their muddy little footprints and infuriating all the farmers by misplacing much needed items. The more miserable the people were made the more the pixies liked it--this love of mischief definitely shone in Tom's eyes now as he relished the look on Devon's unhappy face.
"Please, dear God, leave my hair alone!" cried Devon. "I mean it, Ted. I've got an important party tonight--I'm the guest of honor!"
"Should I let him go?" said Ted, holding Devon tight. "Peter? Tom?"
Ted waited for them to respond as Devon looked up at them, pleading with his eyes.
"Come on, Peter!" whined Devon. “Make him let me go!”
Peter glanced at Tom who smiled back at him, nastily. Tom never cared for Devon, either. Devon was a mean-spirited boy who spied and tattled on everyone and many boys had been severely punished over the years because of Devon's pointing finger. There was not one kid that liked him, even though Devon never knew it. He was so vain he couldn't conceive of anyone not liking him. He thought it was Peter who had turned everyone against him for Peter was well-liked by most everyone and could win just about anyone over to his side. At least once a week, Peter succeeded in making him the laughingstock of the entire school and Devon despised Peter for this.
Now Peter was rubbing his chin, as if seriously weighing whether or not he should let Devon go. "I don't know, Devon. You were pretty rude to me just a few minutes ago. I think you ought to apologize."
Devon's face went red with fury. "Drop dead!" he shouted.
"Well," said Peter, throwing up his hands. "I guess that's a go-ahead for Ted to mess up your hair. Ted, go ahead--"
"No! Wait!"
"What was that, Devon?" said Peter, cupping his ear. "Tom, I think I heard him say something."
"I didn't hear anything," said Tom, impatiently. "Go ahead, Ted--"
"No, please! Okay! Okay!"
Devon was so upset he was about to cry. Ted held his knuckles close to Devon's face and Devon winced, looking at them.
"I'm sorry, Peter," Devon whimpered.
"You're what?" said Peter, smiling and nudging Tom. "I don't think I heard you."
"He said he's sorry!" called out a gruff masculine voice coming up from behind them. It was a cold, familiar voice that caused all of them to cringe. Ted let Devon go and they all stood at attention with Devon briskly smoothing down his beloved hair.
Professor Loftiess peered down upon them, his dark eyes piercing under black, bushy brows. He was one of the housemasters for the Upper Hall who was in charge of the older boys ages twelve to fourteen. A very formal, no-nonsense, humorless sort of man, he was sadly under the impression that he could cast fear and trepidation in all the boys with just the slightest glimpse of displeasure, but who, in reality was only given a surface respect. When he turned his back, the boys would go on to repeat the same offense. The students were getting so unruly over the years that he felt he was becoming more of a prison guard than a teacher, spending more time breaking up fights and preventing property damage than he ever spent in teaching an actual class.
Today was certainly no exception and he looked down upon Peter as if he could wring his neck. It was no surprise to him to catch Peter, yet again, taunting Devon whose father’s contributions to the school were hefty and generous. Loftiess knew that if Devon told his father one more time that he was being mistreated, Devon would be pulled out and all of the funding would stop. Loftiess had been warned many times by the Senior Headmaster to get control of Peter, but so far it could never be proven conclusively that Peter was the culprit. Even now, Peter stood there innocently, looking like a bystander that happened to be walking by.
Loftiess continued to frown at these troublemakers while beside him stood the new boy, looking on at everyone with serious blue eyes, his lashes still glistening with tears.
"What do you think you boys are doing?" snapped Professor Loftiess, looking fiercely at them all. "Your parents are waiting for you. I suggest you get up those stairs immediately before I lose what little patience I have left. Now, go!"
Loftiess lifted his brow and Tom, Ted, and Devon instantly bolted for the stairs. They were gone in a flash.
"So, Peter," said Loftiess, turning back to glare at him. "We meet again in the same setting in which I always find you. Amazing how we continue replaying this very same scene!"
Peter said nothing, just staring ahead with a faint smile on his lips. Loftiess shook his head in disgust and then turned his attention to the new boy.
"This is Malcolm McKinney, Peter. Malcolm, meet Peter Bradden. I want you to show Malcolm around, Peter. He'll be your roommate over the next ten days--once school resumes, you'll go back to rooming with Devon. Actually, Malcolm has never been to school before, Peter. He's been educated at home until now. His parents were concerned that he would need time alone to adjust to his surroundings. Headmaster Grimm suggested the Easter Break--and here we are!
‘Now, you could do Malcolm a great service, Peter, by showing him around and going over our day-to-day routine. You remember how our buddy system works. I'm sure you were assigned a buddy to show you around, weren't you? This is what you can be to Malcolm--a buddy, of sorts--someone to set an example, a guide, Peter, who can lead with moral excellence. In short, I'm really asking you not to get him into any trouble but simply help him along. Can you do that for me?"
Peter took a look at Malcolm and growled under his breath. He then smiled, and said with a mocking tone, “I’d love to show him around, Professor. Thanks for saddling me with the job.”
Professor Loftiess ignored the sarcasm in Peter’s voice and actually spoke almost pleadingly, “You’re the only one I can ask to help Malcolm. You know I can’t ask Byron, he’s abnormally shy, and Duncan is too, well, peculiar, and you know Theo is out of the question. I expect you to take on this responsibility and not give me any trouble--for once.”
“All right, sure,” said Peter, shrugging. “I’ve got nothing else to do.”
Loftiess gave Peter a wary look and then sighed, turning to face poor Malcolm who was looking up at the man with large, anxious eyes.
“You’ll be fine, my boy,” said Loftiess, gruffly, “This old place can seem a little spooky here at night, but as long as you two boys stay together, you’ll be just fine. In no time, you’ll be all settled in and will feel right at home. Now, you better run along, you two--and stay out of trouble, Peter!”
Peter then took off without another word, leaving poor Malcolm racing to join him. Professor Loftiess shook his head again at Peter as the boys disappeared up the stairs.
Groups of boys were coming down the dark oak staircase, their suitcases clattering behind them. Malcolm was having trouble managing his and even got it caught between his knees, tripping him.
Peter sighed as he bent down to pick it up. They started up the staircase with Peter hitting the boys coming down with the suitcase as they tried to pass. He laughed as each of them cried, "Ouch!" and “Oomph!”, scrambling to get out of his way. He nodded to a group of boys who greeted him as they passed.
"So, what did you do to get sent to Prydwen?" Peter asked Malcolm, as they continued up the stairs.
Malcolm detected an unusual accent in Peter’s voice. He thought a moment, trying to place it, and then realized Peter was an American. For some reason, this made him feel a little uneasy. He answered Peter in a serious tone, ignorant that Peter's had been mocking. "My grandfather made my mother send me. He told her this is one of the finest schools in the country and that it will turn me into a man."
Peter blasted out a laugh. "He said that? About this school?"
Malcolm was baffled as Peter continued chuckling to himself.
"Why are you laughing?," asked Malcolm. “Is there something wrong with this school?”
Peter didn't say anything, he just kept laughing and shaking his head, as if he were in on some private joke he wasn't sharing with Malcolm. Malcolm realized that Peter was just trying to be humorous so Malcolm smiled, pretending that he finally got the joke and Peter’s comment was very amusing. Peter shot him a dirty look, as if Malcolm was becoming too familiar with him, and moved away from him. Malcolm once again speeded up, attempting to stay near Peter’s side , a bit surprised that Peter was being so rude to him.
As they entered the corridor of the Upper Hall, Malcolm noted the Persian rugs covering the floor and the blue wallpaper with dark blue velvet prints of leaves. There were oak tables, a few stately chairs, and ancient sconces upon the wall holding fat, gnarled candles. The lamps hung low from the high ceiling. It was cold, and Malcolm shivered.
"It's warmer in the bedrooms," said Peter, noticing Malcolm shuddering. "We have furnaces in there. There are also fireplaces but we're not supposed to use them, because they're over six hundred years old and could start a chimney fire that could burn down the whole school. I say let's start a fire tonight and see what happens, eh, Malcolm?"
Peter smirked, nudging Malcolm, but Malcolm was too preoccupied to respond because of all the negative attention he was attracting from the boys up and down the hall. As he and Peter passed by door after door of bedrooms with boys standing in the thresholds, saying their farewells, each boy gave Malcolm a curious glance and burst into hearty laughter, crying out to Peter their sympathy.
“Ah, Peter, you poor guy!”
“Oh, my god, Peter, good luck!”
Peter took their comments good-naturedly, smiling, but Malcolm could sense that Peter was angry. Malcolm realized Peter was humiliated. Malcolm’s face flushed red, he couldn't imagine what they must be laughing at, unless it was his size. His frame was smaller than Peter's, he could see, and his head only reached Peter's shoulder in height. He must look like a real weakling up against Peter's athletic frame and confident stride. Malcolm felt extremely hurt that Peter was now treating him with open disdain, keeping his distance from him.
Peter finally opened his bedroom door, revealing a snug, sweet little room of two small beds, the ceiling slanting low because of a small gabled window nestled in between. Malcolm was immediately drawn to the most fascinating fireplace he had ever seen. The large grey stone mantel was chiseled into the figure of a magnificent dragon with its wings spread from side to side. It was in rough condition with several chips in the stone and one of the ears had fallen off, but, it was impressive, nevertheless, and Malcolm went over to it, touching its splendid wings.
After admiring the dragon for a lengthy moment, Malcolm looked up and saw that upon the walls were strange old maps of countries Malcolm didn't recognize and upon a desk across from the beds was a model of a labyrinth. Malcolm could only assume that Peter had been working on it. It was made with thin pieces of wood and looked very intricate and well designed. Malcolm was surprised and pleased with this and ran over to it to take a closer look. Meanwhile, Peter tossed Malcolm’s suitcase on the floor, watching Malcolm with a scowl on his face.
Near the desk, Malcolm also noticed a low bookshelf filled with books such as these: "Monsters and Mythical Beasts," "The Horror of Ancient Weapons," "Journey to the Underworld", and "Mysterious Caves and Caverns." Elated, Malcolm selected this last one and sat down on the bed, looking through the book with intense interest.
Peter cleared his throat as he stood at the door. "Excuse me," he said, curtly, "that's my bed you‘re sitting on. You can put your things in that bureau and you can have the left side of the closet. I'll see you later."
Peter turned to leave.
Malcolm sprung up from the bed in alarm. "Wait! Where are you going? I thought we were going to be buddies."
Peter winced as he turned around. "Buddies? Are you serious?"
"That’s what the professor said, didn't he? That we were going to be buddies? Remember?"
Peter gave a short laugh. "Uh, I don't think so. You're not my type."
"What do you mean?" implored Malcolm, suddenly fearful that Peter was really going to leave him on his own.
Peter was now cold, not bothering to soften his remarks. "That just means that you’d probably fit in more with Duncan, Byron and Theo. I don't hang around little freaks. Sorry, but I have my standards."
Peter thought that this comment was going to make Malcolm dissolve into a puddle of tears, he was waiting for it actually. But to his amazement, Malcolm flew into a fury that made Peter step back in surprise.
Malcolm's eyes were murderous as he glared at Peter. "Fine," Malcolm snapped. “Get out!”
Peter was so shocked he almost laughed. Didn’t Malcolm realize that Peter could knock him out with one easy punch? Malcolm showed no interest at all, no fear whatsoever. He had incredible spirit and Peter liked that. It was a quality he hadn’t seen in a long time.
Malcolm tossed his suitcase on the bed and started unpacking.
Peter cleared his throat and then said, a bit awkwardly, "Look, I'm sorry, Malcolm. I shouldn't have said that."
"Shouldn't have said what?" Malcolm looked very busy, as if he couldn't be bothered.
"You know what I said."
"I don't care what you said."
Peter laughed at that. "Cut it out, will you? Hasn't anyone ever insulted you before?'
"That's none of your business," said Malcolm, his back to Peter, wildly stuffing socks in his drawer.
"Well, you're a spunky little guy," said Peter, sitting on his bed, watching Malcolm put his suit on a hanger. "I think we could be buddies, after all."
"No thanks," spat Malcolm.
Peter grinned. "Oh come on, now. You're going to need a buddy. And I'm afraid you don't have any one else to hang around with, Malcolm--I'm your only hope."
Malcolm put his suit on a rack. "What about those other boys--Duncan and Byron and Theo? I could play with them--I mean, hang around with them."
Peter waved him away, as if the idea was out of the question. "You don't know what you're talking about. They're like the sons of Frankenstein."
"You said they were my type!" yelled Malcolm, outraged.
Peter laughed. "Uh--yes, that's true, I said that, but that was then and this is now. What do you say? Do you want to be my buddy?"
Peter gave him a winning smile, and Malcolm stopped unpacking. He returned to Peter an icy stare. "Alright, I'll be your friend--only if we understand something."
"What's that?" said Peter, amused that Malcolm could still be so serious.
"That you're begging me."
Peter flew to his feet. "Begging you! You're out of your mind!"
Malcolm sniffed, hands on his hips. "Fine. I'll go find Duncan and Byron--you can hang around yourself."
"Fine!" Peter shouted, fuming. "You'll be sorry!"
Peter stormed out of the room, grumbling to himself as he went.
Malcolm ignored him, emptying the rest of his things onto his bed including his treasure box filled with smooth blue and purple rocks, craggy shells, a spy glass, a map he drew of an imaginary kingdom, a silver whistle and two shiny coins. He then brought out his most cherished possession--a medal presented to his mother for his father's bravery in the war. It was given to him the day of his father's funeral and Malcolm handled this holy relic very carefully, placing it back into the box as solemnly as a priest.
Just as he had gotten everything put away, the door opened. It was Peter.
"Alright, I'm begging you!"
He slumped onto the bed, miserable.
Malcolm gave him a look of awe, astonished that Peter came back. "I never thought you'd agree to that!"
"I'm desperate," mumbled Peter, under his breath. As much as he hated to admit it, even to himself, this place was unbearable without a sidekick. He couldn‘t imagine being by himself for ten days. Peter was far too sociable for that.
"What did you just say?" asked Malcolm, sitting down next to him. "I didn't hear you."
Peter swung his head around. "Uh, I said your friendship's worth it, I guess."
"Really?" said Malcolm, beaming. "Do you mean it?"
He was overjoyed.
"Sure," said Peter, with a heavy sigh. "Why not?"
Malcolm smiled at him, relieved that they were going to be friends.
The sunlight suddenly peeped into the little window making a chirpy pattern upon the floor. Peter rose to his feet.
Peter walked to the door, wanting to get this scene over and done with. He opened the door wide. "Well, come on, then. I guess I'll give you a tour of the school. That'll take us all afternoon. This place is huge."
Malcolm popped up. "The land around this place looks like it goes on forever.”
"Believe me, it does go on forever. But there is a little forest nearby. I’ve got to warn you, though, everyone believes it's haunted. That doesn't bother you, does it?"
Malcolm's eyes widened with alarm. He then shrugged. "No, not really.'
Peter smiled knowingly at Malcolm as he led him through the door. Their voices faded as they traveled down the hall, leaving their little room silent and tranquil behind them with sunlight flickering across the bed with a soft fairy light.
Surprise me!
