"Alfred, save a spot for me!" a young blonde girl shouted across the cafeteria, causing a sea of heads to turn.

Alfred was beaming. "Of course, Sherri," he said, winking seductively at her. He was having an insanely hard time keeping his dad's promise, especially being without adult supervision and around so many girls. But Alfred Jones was a hero, and heroes always kept their promises. He sat down to his first lunch at camp, at the very center of the most crowded table in the room.

On the other end of the spectrum and the lunchroom, Matthew Williams sat alone with Kumajirou, his bear. "Who?" the bear asked.

"Matthew," he mumbled in reply, his mouth full. See? Even Kumajirou didn't remember who he was. The only person who even seemed to care about him at all was his father, and he was miles away. He was suddenly overcome with homesickness, and figured that this would be a good time to write a letter.

Dear Francis,

Camp is different. Nice is much warmer than Paris, so most of my jeans need to be rolled up. I also haven't worn my sweatshirt yet, because at night we sit around a campfire, and it gets very warm.

Nobody here plays hockey like I do, except for a very scary kid named Ivan who is very intimidating. He challenged me to a match, and then he grew very angry when I won. I'm not sure if my hockey stick can be repaired, but the bruises on my arms will surely be gone by the time I return.

Anyways, I am enjoying the weather. Most of the kids here aren't too friendly, though. Actually, I'm eating lunch alone right now. But, really, it isn't too

His letter was suddenly interrupted by a puddle of diet soda that ran down the table and soaked the bottom of his paper. The mess originated from a loud American who had just plopped himself down across from Matthew. "Sorry about that," he said through a mouth full of hamburger. The Canadian would've replied, but he was too busy staring.

The popular kid looked exactly like him, all the way down to the glasses slowly sliding down his angular nose.

"H-hi," Matthew managed. "Um- excuse me, but... why are you over here?" He craned his neck to look at the table that Alfred had just left. A gaggle of kids were looking over, mouths wide, as the cool kid conversed with the invisible boy who talked to his bear.

Alfred laughed loudly. "Can't you see? I'm the hero, and heroes never let anyone get left out, even though you are kind of weird, kid." He punched Matthew lightly in the arm, but his recent encounter with Ivan made the contact hurt a little bit more. The Canadian whined.

"My name is Matthew Williams," Matthew said awkwardly, sticking out a hand. Alfred shook it fervently.

"Well, hey there, Matthew. I'm Alfred F. Jones," he replied. "Hey, did you ever notice that we look a lot alike? That's funny, huh?"

The timid boy blinked a few times. Hadn't he noticed it at first sight? Wow, he really was thick, Matthew thought. He tried not to be judgemental, though. After all, Alfred had the courtesy to come over and sit with him, and that sure hadn't happened before. "Yeah, it's funny. Maybe your parents look like mine or something- but no, that's impossible. I'm French," he stated proudly.

"That's awesome!" Alfred suddenly burst out, thumping his hands on the table. This caused more diet soda to spill on the table and all over Matthew's near-ruined letter. "Do you speak French or whatever?"

"Oui," Matthew replied nonchalantly.

Alfred gave his new acquaintance a blank expression. "That means 'yes' in French," Matthew prompted.

"Oh!" the American said, enlightened. "That's pretty cool. I only speak English. That's what my dad speaks. It's funny, though, because I look more like you than I do like him." He chuckled, not really amused.

Matthew pretended to be interested to his rant. "Oh, really?" he asked, wanting his new acquaintance to keep talking so he wouldn't have to reply. "Where's your mom?"

"Oh, I was the product of a summer romance," Alfred announced. "My dad always said that he fell fast. I don't have anything but one picture of my other father. Actually, I have it back in my cabin."

Not really listening, the Canadian nodded. Before they knew it, lunchtime was over and it was time to go back to the cabins to get ready for their afternoon swim session. This was Matthew's least favourite part of the day, because everybody seemed to kick and splash him in the overcrowded pool without even noticing. Perhaps he'd finish his letter to Francis-

Then he realized that his letter had been completely spilled over with diet soda, courtesy of Alfred. He should've been annoyed, but really, nobody else had even noticed him, and he almost felt a strange connection with the obnoxious boy. Sighing across the cafeteria, where Alfred had rejoined his friends, Matthew took his ruined letter and shook it, trying his best to preserve his words.