Since it had been at least ten minutes since the break bells had rung, Mr. Livingston was surprised upon reentering his classroom to see one of his students still in it. The ten year old boy was reading intently, and did not hear the teacher's footfalls as he approached.

"Horatio? Why aren't you outside with the other boys?"

The boy looked up but did not close his book. His eyes gleamed bashful beneath his head of curls. "I like it better here, sir."

"Nonesense. It's a fine day, my boy. Best not waste it, eh?"

"Please sir, I don't think of it as wasting."

Horatio's tone was earnest, almost pleading, and Livingston almost took pity on the boy. It truly seemed he was at his happiest when reading a textbook or solving a problem alone at his desk, but then again all that heady stuff couldn't be good for him. Livingston had never seen Horatio talk to any of the other boys for any longer than it took for him to answer their questions.

Livingston made up his mind, adopting a gruff tone that he was sure Horatio would obey. "Enough of this talk. A young boy like you shouldn't be cooped up at every hour, crouched over a book." He took the book from Horatio's hands and slapped him on the shoulder with it. "You'll get a hunchback. Come on, out you go!"

The sunlight burned Horatio's eyes, acclimated to straining in the dark classroom. His right arm felt limp and awkward, yearning for a book to be tucked under it. He'd gone out with the boys for their play times before, and he actually preferred to read in the scrappy shade of one of the schoolyard trees. But that course of action hadn't ended well for him, and so one bloody nose and bruised jaw later he stayed inside the schoolhouse for his reading, far out of reach of any greedy fists.

His classmates were all gathered around a tree that had split lengthwise a few nights before in a wild spring storm. Half of it lay on the ground, wide enough and long enough for at least three boys to fit easily in a row upon it, as in a rowboat. They were taking turns climbing on to it and pushing each other off, giggling madly. Horatio approached, a smile playing at his lips, when Jack Martin stepped one foot on the wood. Horatio stopped cold.

"Enough of this! If you want to do this proper, half of us has got to be pirates." Eagerly a handful of boys chattered and hopped foot to foot. Jack pointed to them. "You lot, and Bobby too. Now, the rest of us'll be the East India Company, and you'll fight us." Jack thumped the trunk. "This here's our ship."

"Where's our ship?" One of the pirates asked.

"Somewhere away," Jack said. "We've got to see you coming in the distance." Skeptical as they were about their nonexistent ship, the pirates moved away a few paces on the grass, displeasure quickly fading to excitement.

"Now we've got to get on our ship," Jack said, making to climb onto the trunk, but his friend Richard stopped him.

"But what about our captain?"

"We don't need a captain. Get on!"

"What kind of ship doesn't have a captain?" There were murmurs of assent that quickly grew louder and louder until the boys were all arguing at once with Jack, who now seemed to agree that there should be a captain and it should be him. None of the others, however, were keen to relinquish their shot at power.

Meanwhile Horatio felt his heartbeat rise in his ears. For the first time they were playing a game that made sense, that interested him. It was just like in his favorite book, Gulliver's Travels. They would sail the sea together and ride through adventure after adventure. A soft wind rustled though the trees, but to Horatio it already carried the warm salt scent of the ocean. This was his chance. He swallowed heavily and weighed his words, making sure they would come out just as he intended.

"I can be your captain."

Instantly, the boys stopped quarreling and looked around, shocked, for the source of the noise. Jack's grey eyes found Horatio's and locked on as he smirked. "Look it's H-h-h-horatio H-h-h-hornblower," he said, mocking the stammer that all to often came about when Horatio answered questions in class. "Come to be our c-captain." The rest of the boys, as though trained, laughed as one.

"Yeah, what makes you think we want you?" Richard added. "D'you even know how to give orders, like a real captain?"

"No." Horatio felt himself go red as they laughed again. "But I can guide your ship. I'm good at maths and geography. I can sail us anywhe-"

The boys sniggered and turned away. Jack smirked. "You could never be a captain, H-H-H-Horatio. Don't be stupid."

A few of the boys looked as though they wanted to say something, but Jack's presence was enough to keep them in line. Knowing well enough when he wasn't wanted, Horatio turned his back to walk away.

"Wait!" Jack called, and again Horatio stopped. "I'll tell you what you can do!" Horatio held his breath for the answer.

"Swab the poop deck!"

The chorus of harsh laughter that followed made Horatio's ears ring louder than if he had been punched. He felt a sharp pain somewhere behind his shoulder blades and turned his head just in time to see another small rock fly at him. He hurried back toward the schoolhouse, keeping his head down and watching the placement of his feet just to give his eyes something to do instead of crying.

He'd have liked to go back inside the classroom, to sit in the peace of his desk and forget that the rest of the boys had ever existed, but he didn't want to make Mr. Livingston angry on top of at all. So Horatio sank against the brick exterior wall of the schoolhouse, pulling up blades of grass as he imagined ripping Gulliver's Travels apart, page by page. He couldn't help it when tears clouded his vision, though he tried to blink them away. The other boys were right, and he was so foolish. He would never make a good captain. Not at all.