Chapter 4: Frogs and Princes
Hendon House, 1942
"What's in the bag this time, bookworm?"
Rough hands seized his shoulders and pushed him out of the way, snatching his book bag in the process.
Warren stumbled backwards from the impact and pushed his disoriented glasses back up on his nose. Being picked on was not something new to him.
It was the usual three: the biggest boy, Jackson Trelawney, cool, confident and condescending to the point of being infuriating; and two others, a redhead and a sandy blond that always tagged along with him and did the "work", smirking and snickering over every smart remark he made. Warren could never remember their names. (Not that he wanted to.) But Jackson was the leader, the "golden boy" who got A's without studying, won every rugby match and winked at the girls across the street. He never got caught.
Over time, Warren had learned not to care anymore and ignored them if he could. It was aggravating and he'd love nothing more than to develop some muscle and give them what-for; but the less response they got out of him, the less they were interested in tormenting him. And besides, he knew that if he tried to fight fire with fire, all he'd get was a bigger fire than the first one.
He sighed and watched in wounded silence as the three of them casually poked through his well-loved book bag, hoping faintly that they wouldn't find the present he'd bought for his sister. Her 8th birthday would be next week, and he'd bought her a gorgeous, brand-new illustrated book of fairy tales. He wished he could be there to see her eyes light up when she opened the parcel...but he was stuck here, at Hendon House, and the thought of anyone spoiling that book was very unsettling.
Hopes were in vain. The boys hooted gleefully as Jackson pulled it from Warren's bag with a smirk.
"Aww, what's this?" He clucked his tongue. "'The Frog Prince and Other Tales'... I didn't know you secretly read fairy stories and sucked your thumb."
The two other boys burst out laughing.
"Did your frenchie grandmother give it to you, bookworm?" jeered the redhead, a spiteful grin plastered across his freckle-face.
Warren clenched his jaw as a spark of indignation flared up in him. It was his one sore spot. His grandmother was French; a regal, quiet woman with busy hands and a gentle voice…and eyes that could pierce right through you. A glance and a word from Grandmere and they wouldn't dare throw their taunting names at her.
Determined to not give them the satisfaction of getting angry, he let the insult bounce off him and instead focused his attention on the book they were flipping through.
"Leave it alone. It's for my sister..."
"Does she suck her thumb, too?"
"Haha, look!" The blond-haired boy jabbed a finger at an illustration in the book. "The frog looks rather like the bookworm, doesn't he?"
The redhead snorted. "Big surprise. Ribbit, ribbit."
"Well of course he's a frog," said Jackson in his awful, calm manner, casting a mock smile of sympathy at Warren. "He hasn't kissed a princess yet. He couldn't kiss one even if he tried, the poor fellow."
Warren felt glum, and he couldn't help thinking ruefully of Phyllis. It was true; every word. He was a hopeless frog, doomed to be one forever. No "princess" would ever want him.
And just then, like golden sunlight gradually flooding a dark room...a vague idea came to him.
"That's...not how it worked," he said slowly, thinking furiously and processing the words as they took shape in his mind. A thoughtful smile played on his lips as little by little, the idea became clearer.
"Oh, listen carefully." Jackson winked at the other two. "The frog's having a revelation." Right on cue, they snickered.
A twinge of doubt pricked him. What was he doing? They'd beat him up for sure…oh, but the looks on their faces would be worth it…
Warren continued, amazed at what he was daring to say to them and feeling a tingle of triumph as he spoke.
"The frog didn't become a prince by kissing the princess. He was patient and persistent. He was kind and faithful to her and treated her right, even when she was awful to him. And it was only when she kept her promise and chose to give her love to the frog that he became a prince. I-It wasn't conquest; it was compassion."
He paused a moment to calm the adrenaline coursing through his veins, elation and fear battling within him, then gathered up his new-found courage and raised his eyebrows at them.
"I guess that makes you the frogs."
Jackson's face flushed slightly. The two boys cast each other a look as he narrowed his eyes and took a step forward, letting the book drop to the ground with a menacing thump.
Suffice it to say that Warren walked away with the book relatively undamaged…as well as bent glasses and the finest black eye you ever saw.
He felt immensely pleased with himself.
-:-
"Oh Susan, you'll never guess what happened with Jackson and Linda..."
Susan leaned her elbow on the windowsill, chin in hand, smiling as she listened to her friend's latest piece of chattering gossip. Mary-Lou's giggly obsession with who liked who in school had been maddening at first; but over the year, Susan had grown used to it.
Susan had changed.
The trip to America had been just what she needed to keep her mind off her troubles. The flash and excitement of New York, the buzzing streets, the Broadway dazzle and glitz, the cocky swing and swagger in all the voices...it was all so delicious; a new, refreshing delight from what she knew in her war-torn England. The distractions were a welcome relief for Susan and she clung to them tightly, making her mind too busy to dwell on unpleasant things.
She came back from that trip with an outgoing sparkle in her eyes and a trunk full of the latest fashions, her head too full of stars to have room for unwanted memories. It used to be hard for her to fit in with the groups of tittering, empty-headed schoolgirls, but the sociable imprint that New York had left on Susan now helped her to branch out more and learn what "worked" and what didn't.
"...and then Linda snuck back to her room and she had no idea that I'd seen them together. And she still doesn't know," Mary-Lou sniggered, covering her mouth with a mischievous hand and trailing off into mindless giggles. Susan chuckled (she wasn't quite into giggling yet) and took a moment to glance out the window. As always, the sky was cloudy and the lawn was smooth and green, a few hints of autumn-gray beginning to creep over it. Here and there, girls could be seen strolling arm-in-arm or talking in tight little groups; heads together, then apart again as they laughed over something.
One girl in particular caught her eye; a blond-haired figure doing carefree cartwheels across the grass, earning smiles from some and disapproving glances from others.
Susan clenched her jaw in irritation. It was Lucy.
"Oh Lucy, not again..." she murmured, exasperated that her sister never made any attempt to "restrain herself" unless she was around. Making a mental note to herself to talk to Lucy about it, she shook her head dismissively and let her gaze drift further out, across the road to where the boys' school was.
Squinting, she saw the boys heading outside for recess…as well as one group that seemed to be in a bit of a tussle. A flicker of concern crossed her mind. She could just make out three of them who were busy ganging up on another teen. It was all fists and arms and legs; Susan couldn't recognize any of them from this distance.
She snorted and rolled her eyes, deciding not worry about it. "Boys," she muttered.
"What was that, Susan?"
"Oh, it's nothing." She turned to her friend again and brushed it off with an easy smile. "Just talking to myself. What were you saying again? Something about Jackson?"
"Oh yes, he's such a charmer. All the girls are jealous of Linda for snagging him first. Personally, I don't know what he sees in her," sniffed Mary-Lou disdainfully. "She's not even that pretty."
"Oh? Are you one of those 'jealous girls,' then?" teased Susan.
"Not at all!" Mary protested. "I'm merely pointing out a fact."
Susan raised her eyebrows and smirked. "I see."
"Oh don't do that," giggled Mary, playfully batting Susan's arm as she stood up and sauntered over to the vanity to brush her hair.
"Here, let me," said Susan, taking the brush from her friend and gently loosening the few tangles.
A few moments of silence passed, and Mary Lou sighed.
"Linda has her man…I wonder if I'll ever find a Prince Charming of my own. Oh, I do hope he's as handsome as Jack. And princes aren't as easy to find nowadays."
Susan pursed her lips and said nothing. She continued to play with Mary's golden hair, now combing, now weaving intricate braids with deft fingers.
The words came out before she could think. "I had a prince, once. Almost."
"You did?" The mirror reflection of Mary's face lit up in interest. "What was he like?"
Susan clenched her teeth and kept braiding. What had she done? She promised herself that she'd leave it all alone! It was awful enough when Edmund and Lucy bragged about their last visit to…that place (with that rotten stinker of a cousin, Eustace; of all people!); the last thing she needed was…
"Susan?"
She sighed. "Well…he was kind. Unassuming. Chivalrous."
"What did he look like?"
"Um…" Susan squirmed, but she knew Mary never would let it go until she had all the details. "He was tall and strong, and he had…he had…I can't remember…" Susan bit her lip. She couldn't remember what he looked like…didn't want to remember…and then one image hit her like a thunderbolt. She flinched.
Mary watched her, concerned. "Susan, are you alright?"
"He had…d-dark wavy hair and dark eyes," Susan finally blurted, shaking herself and reaching for a hairpin.
"Golly," sighed Mary, a dreamy smile spreading across her face. "He really was a prince."
"Yes," said Susan, blinking rapidly. "He was."
"You said—'almost'." Mary raised her eyebrows. "What happened?"
Susan exhaled, closing her eyes. "Well…he lived very far away, and I…well, I'd rather not talk about it."
"Ah, a long-distance situation…alright. And I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry," added Mary with an apologetic pat on the arm.
Susan smiled and nodded, combing the last few strands of hair into submission and pushing away the awful squirmy feeling in her chest.
Mary's eyes widened as she looked in the mirror, and with reverent fingers she reached up to touch the beautifully woven twists and braids.
"Susan," she breathed, "where did you learn to do hair like that?"
Susan stared at her handiwork. Her voice was barely audible.
"I'm…not sure."
A/N: I'll give a pink, sparkly sugar cookie to anyone who caught on to the "Mary-Lou/Mary-blank" thing.