I'm a terrible person. It seems that the more time I have to write, the less time I spend, you know, writing. It's awful, I know. I'd promise to have the next chapter up sooner, but I think that would probably be a promise I wouldn't keep. I'm not going to stop though, even though my updates will be rather infrequent over the this and the next month, I shan't abandon this.
Thank you to everyone who reviewed, you rock. =)

The Headmaster spoke for a time, and for the most part I tried to listen, but I couldn't keep my mind from wandering. I know I wasn't the only one that was distracted, I saw quite a few boys yawning and whispering. One boy near the back of the room was blowing spit balls. I knew because Piggy received one square on the back of his head. The sharp intake of breath and furious mutters as he wiped the soggy mess from his hair made the corners of my mouth twist in a cruel smirk. The smirk turned instantaneously to a scowl when Piggy turned to me and admonished their 'childishness'.

"Just like a pack of kids," he muttered darkly.

I nodded to appease him, and he took my scowl to be directed at their supposed immaturity. When he turned back to the Headmaster, drinking his words eagerly, I snickered. There was still wet paper stuck to the back of his head. Of course I wouldn't tell him. Rupert caught my eye and we shared a dark grin.

The spit ball, however, only gave temporary respite from the twisted train of thought my mind seemed destined to follow. The wink tormented me. What did it mean? Certainly I'd been winked at before. Cousin Seamus winked at me – at everyone, really – all the time, and of course that meant nothing. Mr. Andrews had a penchant for winking at students, and I knew that was perfectly normal. So why was I so preoccupied with this one?

I didn't realize when we'd been dismissed. Piggy nudged me and hissed "Didn't you hear the Headmaster?"

I pretended I had and got up to follow him wherever it was we were going. I didn't dare ask, for fear of him admonishing me. That was the last thing I wanted.

We were lead through a series of corridors, through a courtyard and into the Hanover dormitories. The other house dormitories must have been situated in other parts of the campus, because I saw no others around. The dormitory looked rather like a big house, with the Hanover coat of arms was emblazoned on the door. The inside was warm and friendly looking.

"The dorm rooms are upstairs," an older boy told us in bored tones, pointing towards the stairs, "When you're not in class you can spend your time in our common room," he pointed to the right, where an archway revealed a large room furnished with a number of comfortable-looking chairs and a table, "All your things should be upstairs already. If anything's missing... I dunno, find the Headmaster or something. Now sod off,"

I followed Piggy upstairs and found our things. Thankfully, nothing was missing. By the time everyone had unpacked their necessities it was late evening. The unhappy prefect who had directed us upstairs earlier returned to fetch us for dinner.

"I'm taking you down to the dining room for dinner," he told us, "You have ten minutes to change," he turned to leave, but one of the boys asked,

"Change into what?" he added, "Um...sir." as an afterthought

"Your formal clothes," he said, "You wear your good clothes to dinner every night, understand?"

There was a murmur of assent and the sound of boys rummaging through their trunks for the uncomfortable clothes they had hoped they wouldn't have to wear. Piggy, having no uniform, had to make do with a plain starched shirt and pleated pants.

Dinner was a painfully formal affair. It seemed we were disallowed from speaking loudly, and we had to follow strict rules of etiquette. It was terribly uncomfortable, and the only respite came from one of the boys, Maurice, I found out he was called, taking on a ridiculously posh accent, putting his nose up and eating his meal with a pinkie perpetually suspended in the air.

"Do you have to dress formal for all your meals?" I asked the boy beside me.

He shook his head, "Just dinner, thank God," he said with a sour snort before returning to his meal.

The next day dawned overcast and humid, and walking through the courtyard to the main building I could hardly breathe the hot, heavy air. All the new boys had been given maps of the school so that we'd know where everything was. The school was ridiculously big with, I thought, too many rooms situated down narrow, nearly invisible corridors. There was no doubt the maps were beneficial, but I still found myself lost more than once.

As if things couldn't get any more confusing, I found that in addition to being separated into houses, we were also separated into groups of twenty, and these were the people we would have every class with. My first class at Godstone was when I was introduced to my 'class group'. I didn't know if there was a formal term for it, so I just made up my own.

At first, as we were being introduced, I didn't think much of my group. I had Piggy, that boy Maurice from dinner and a number of others. Piggy sat obsequiously close to me and was whispering about lord knows what, which was why I hardly noticed when two boys rushed into the room, flushed, out of breath and grinning.

I looked up when Father Brannigan addressed the boys in his strange Irish lilt, "Jack, Roger, tell me, do you have a reason for being late?"

My heart nearly stopped; it was the redheaded singer and the boy he'd winked at. Their responses were drowned by my thoughts.

"... Lord does not like it when you lie, Mr. Merridew. Sit down," he directed this at the boy Roger, who was now looking dark, "Mr. Merridew, you will join me for detention tonight. Sit down. No, not there!" Father Brannigan snapped as he moved to sit beside Roger. Jack rolled his eyes and sat himself beside me.

When Father Brannigan had turned his back, Jack began, "I'm Jack," he seemed to puff out his chest, "Chapter chorister and Head Boy. Who are you?"

I couldn't deny that I was rather awed by him, but I tried not to show it. I didn't want to come off like Piggy, "I'm... Ralph, I dunno," I told him with a slight chuckle. He seemed to find this an acceptable answer, though I was mortified by it.

"Brannigan's got a real temper," he told me, then opened his notebook and began to write.

I followed his example, copying everything from the chalkboard, but if anyone asked, I couldn't have said if we were learning English or Astronomy. My mind was once again consumed with doubt. And who was I to tell? Everyone would think me batty if I told them what I was thinking. But it wasn't crazy of me.

Was it?

So tell me, how was it?