Disclaimer: Most of this belongs to C.S. Lewis

Author's Note: Ah, characterization. It's the part that's most fun about writing a story. Hope you enjoy it! And please review.

Peter Pevensie met Jack Hopewell under auspicious conditions. It had been a dismal January morning at the Hendon House. The snow was thick on the ground and the sky was a churning, bleak grey. As usual, Peter had bundled himself up for lunch. Lunch was a social gathering, and Peter preferred not to associate himself with most of the Hendon boys. He found them brash and immature, and too often he clashed with their type. So, the young Pevensie ate lunch outside every day, come snow, hell or high water.

On this day, the girls had been plotting a way to undo the Hopewell girl. Stealing her shoes hadn't worked. Gluing her seat hadn't worked. They needed something that would really get her into trouble. The girls were far too classy to get their own hands dirty; they were looking for a way to have someone else to their dirty work for them.

The girl was violent. They learned that quickly in History once when they had stolen her book. Beatrice wondered if her wrist would ever feel the same after that beastly girl twisted it so. And yet, what better way to really get her in trouble than a fight? But the Finbar girls didn't fight, that was something only boys did. Then it hit them. How delicious would it be if she were get into fight with a boy? And so their plan went into motion.

On the bet that she'd receive three pounds if she managed to come back alive, Jack snuck past the gate of St. Finbar's, looking for a prospective opponent. She was certain that she could take a good portion of the boys from Hendon House with one arm tied behind her back and so she boldly crossed the street. But how to instigate such a match?

Peter saw the girl enter Hendon grounds and was immediately confused. What was a girl doing here during school hours? He abandoned his lunch and crossed the yard.

"Hey!" Peter called and the girl froze in her tracks and whirled around to face him. "Are you lost?"

"No, of course not," the girl answered. He instantly recognized that she had a accent and that it was clearly American.

"Well, what are you doing here?"

"Looking for a fight," she answered smoothly, as if it were the most natural answer in the world. There was a pause and then Peter broke out into a fit of laughter.

"I'm sorry," Peter choked out as the girl frowned at him for laughing as if she'd made a joke. "For a moment, I thought you were being serious!"

"I am being serious!" The girl's face hardened even more, planting her hands on her hips. Peter stopped laughing, appraising the weird girl with a baffled expression.

"All right, see those girls over there?" And she jerked her head across the street where Peter saw three girls standing just inside the gate at St. Finbar's. "They bet me three pounds that I couldn't beat up a boy."

"Three pounds?"

"Oh, and the shining reputation for being the best fighter at school," she added with an awed grin.

"Um.." Peter seemed to be at a loss for words. This may have well been the strangest girl he ever met — or ever would meet — in his entire life.

"Aha!" The girl pushed up her jacket sleeves and Peter took a step back. "Do you want to fight me?"

"I — I'd rather not," said Peter precariously as she approached him with her fists raised.

"You're not scared, are ya?"

"No, but... but you're a girl!"

"So what?" she shrugged and the grin returned. "Come on, I'll go easy on you."

"Wait just a mo —" But Peter was stopped by a quick right to the abdomen that immediately doubled him over. She sure could hit hard. Suddenly Peter pitied anyone who got on her bad side, and then wondered how he had accomplished that. Holding his stomach, he stood straight again. He managed to block her next blow with his forearm, but was sure he'd have a bruise.

"Well, come on! Take a swing!"

"I won't fight you!" Peter said incredously. Was the girl stark raving mad? She pouted at him, dropping her fists.

"Why not?"

"Are you..." Peter just could not wrap his head around this. He may have been in some strange situations, but this had to have topped them all. The girl actually looked upset at the fact that he wouldn't punch her back.

"Hey! I have an idea!" And just as instantly as she'd been down, she brightened again. "If you at least pretend to fight me, I'll split the three pounds with you."

"What?"

"I promise!" the girl promptly crossed her heart. There was apparently no arguing with her.

"Fine. Deal," Peter agreed half-heartedly, then raised his own fists. She advanced on him again, feighting with her left and then hitting him in the gut again. It was a great deal softer than her first hit, it didn't hurt at all. He began to canter back to her.

"You have to make it believable," she chastised when he tapped her in the shoulder. But Peter just couldn't believe he was in a hand-to-hand spar with a perfect female stranger. Jack noticed the hesitation and figured she'd have to carry this little act on her own. She lunged forward, catching his legs and pulling up hard.

"All you have to do is yell," the girl instructed after Peter fell flat on his back into the snow. She jumped on top of him, gently hitting his chest and cheeks. Peter yelled out for help, for the girl to stop and it took about three seconds for half of the Hendon House cafeteria to empty into the yard.

"What's going on here?" a teacher's voice boomed out from within the crowd of crowing boys. Peter and Jack had resorted to a fake wrestling match, rolling each other over and screaming to egg the group on. Finally the teacher broke through.

"Hold it there! Stop!" He yelled in outrage. He ran over and pulled Jack away by her shoulders. She fought him a moment, kicking and yelling and still reaching for Peter. He had to admit, the girl was a good actress.

"That's enough out of you!" The teacher announced, then tossed Jack over his shoulder. Passing Peter, she smiled brightly at him and winked.

"My name's Jack, by the way!" She called from the gate.

"I'm Peter!" he called back, despite thinking that this was an odd time for introductions. He watched as the teacher hauled her back to St. Finbar's where another teacher waited looking furious. Jack smiled at the haughty and disappointed-looking girls and rubbed her thumb against the pads of her fingers, the universal sign for money. She waved across the street at Peter before she was dragged inside by one of her arms.

A week later, when Jack's detention was up, she snuck across the road again. She placed a pound and a halfpence into Peter's hand and sat on the bench next to him. They ate lunch together and wondered aloud if she could make some real money out of play-fighting. They were friends ever since.