"Wake up, Arnold." The boy turned, eyes closed deliberately, trying to pretend - to believe - that he was still asleep. "You're getting too old for this, Arnold," teased the same voice, going along in a gentle murmur. "At nine, I'd suppose you could at least take responsibility for waking up in the morning."
With a decidedly fake yawn, Arnold sat up and ran a hand through his tousled blond hair. "It's much too early to get up, Mother," he moaned, with an abstract look toward his alarm clock. "Only 7! Much too early for summer," he said with a grumble, trying to go back to sleep.
"You're right," the woman responded evenly, "but today was your first day of school."
"Was?" Arnold shot out of bed, eyes now wide open. "Don't you mean is?"
"Was," she clarified with a grin, "if you don't hurry already. School starts at seven-thirty, and with a ten minute drive…" Her voice faded, but Arnold had already begun to get dressed, frantic beyond belief. "Aha. That's better," his mother said approvingly as she walked from the room.
"Sometimes," Arnold muttered to himself, halfway through putting his right shoe on his left foot and correcting the mistake, "I wish I was adopted."
"I heard that!" called his mother from down the hall. "And no, you don't. Goodness knows you'd have gotten stuck with someone like your father's parents." A short, mocking laugh escaped her lips and her husband began to utter a complaint. "Don't bother," she addressed him jovially, "but, you, young man," she continued, now calling to Arnold, "need to finish. Breakfast is ready."
Arnold ran down the hall, just as he firmly placed his hat over his unusually shaped head. "Thanks, Mother," he muttered, hastily devouring a piece of toast and half a glass of orange juice. First surveying himself in the mirror for signs of disarray, he sighed and turned to his parents. "I think I'm ready."
"Are you, now?" his father said curiously, drinking down his second cup of coffee without particular speed. He gave a suspicious glance toward his wife, then focused his eyes on Arnold. "Did she tell you school started at seven thirty?"
"Yes…" Arnold replied uneasily as he eyed the door. "Doesn't it?" he added with a hint of doubt.
"Eight, Arnold," his mother broke in gently, failing to hide a grin. "At least you're up early."
With a look of complete disbelief, Arnold looked at his watch. 7:20. "You mean you got me up at 7 for no reason?" he demanded.
"At least you're up early," she echoed in a singsong voice, handing him a bowl of cereal. "Would you have gotten up at seven otherwise?"
With nothing to say to this, Arnold gave his parents a dark look and glared into his cereal. It was his first day in a new grade, in a new school…and already his parents were tricking him. "Figures," he scoffed to no one in particular, his usual optimism outweighed by weariness.
"Cheer up," his father said, making eye contact with Arnold. "This time it'll work out. We're going to stay here for a long time."
"Sure, Dad," Arnold replied politely as he continued to study his breakfast. With a sharp, meaningful motion, he looked at them and grimaced. "But do you mean it?" His parents were adventurers, taking him anywhere and everywhere and leaving him to start a new life year after year - and sometimes even more often.
Sure, he wasn't exactly going to the depths of the world, but facing the reality he might be in England or France in less than a year was painful. Not to mention his social life - whenever he'd make new friends he'd be moved to find others. If he could stay for more than a year - if he could stay forever - in any new place, it would be all he could desire.
"We'll try," his parents chorused, typically reassuring and halfway honest. Arnold knew as well as they did that if some adventure caught their eyes that he'd be across the world without proper notice. With a sigh, Arnold stood.
"It's nearly eight," he reminded them, drawing up his backpack and turning his grimace into a half-smile. After all, no matter what the circumstances, this was Arnold, determined to be optimistic in the worst situations. Perhaps they weren't lying this time. Perhaps he could call this place his home. "Come on, Mother."
She gave him a warm grin; glad her son was back in a good mood. He was nearly always such, and so when Arnold was plagued with depression it truly worried her. Silently, she and Arnold got into the car and set off toward the school. "So…" she said awkwardly, trying to make conversation, "you'll be in fourth grade now."
Arnold nodded, facing out the window. Already the building - a large structure, one much similar to all his other east coast schools - was looming ever closer. As the car stopped, he focused his eyes on the name printed solidly on a sign outside: PS 118.
With a decidedly fake yawn, Arnold sat up and ran a hand through his tousled blond hair. "It's much too early to get up, Mother," he moaned, with an abstract look toward his alarm clock. "Only 7! Much too early for summer," he said with a grumble, trying to go back to sleep.
"You're right," the woman responded evenly, "but today was your first day of school."
"Was?" Arnold shot out of bed, eyes now wide open. "Don't you mean is?"
"Was," she clarified with a grin, "if you don't hurry already. School starts at seven-thirty, and with a ten minute drive…" Her voice faded, but Arnold had already begun to get dressed, frantic beyond belief. "Aha. That's better," his mother said approvingly as she walked from the room.
"Sometimes," Arnold muttered to himself, halfway through putting his right shoe on his left foot and correcting the mistake, "I wish I was adopted."
"I heard that!" called his mother from down the hall. "And no, you don't. Goodness knows you'd have gotten stuck with someone like your father's parents." A short, mocking laugh escaped her lips and her husband began to utter a complaint. "Don't bother," she addressed him jovially, "but, you, young man," she continued, now calling to Arnold, "need to finish. Breakfast is ready."
Arnold ran down the hall, just as he firmly placed his hat over his unusually shaped head. "Thanks, Mother," he muttered, hastily devouring a piece of toast and half a glass of orange juice. First surveying himself in the mirror for signs of disarray, he sighed and turned to his parents. "I think I'm ready."
"Are you, now?" his father said curiously, drinking down his second cup of coffee without particular speed. He gave a suspicious glance toward his wife, then focused his eyes on Arnold. "Did she tell you school started at seven thirty?"
"Yes…" Arnold replied uneasily as he eyed the door. "Doesn't it?" he added with a hint of doubt.
"Eight, Arnold," his mother broke in gently, failing to hide a grin. "At least you're up early."
With a look of complete disbelief, Arnold looked at his watch. 7:20. "You mean you got me up at 7 for no reason?" he demanded.
"At least you're up early," she echoed in a singsong voice, handing him a bowl of cereal. "Would you have gotten up at seven otherwise?"
With nothing to say to this, Arnold gave his parents a dark look and glared into his cereal. It was his first day in a new grade, in a new school…and already his parents were tricking him. "Figures," he scoffed to no one in particular, his usual optimism outweighed by weariness.
"Cheer up," his father said, making eye contact with Arnold. "This time it'll work out. We're going to stay here for a long time."
"Sure, Dad," Arnold replied politely as he continued to study his breakfast. With a sharp, meaningful motion, he looked at them and grimaced. "But do you mean it?" His parents were adventurers, taking him anywhere and everywhere and leaving him to start a new life year after year - and sometimes even more often.
Sure, he wasn't exactly going to the depths of the world, but facing the reality he might be in England or France in less than a year was painful. Not to mention his social life - whenever he'd make new friends he'd be moved to find others. If he could stay for more than a year - if he could stay forever - in any new place, it would be all he could desire.
"We'll try," his parents chorused, typically reassuring and halfway honest. Arnold knew as well as they did that if some adventure caught their eyes that he'd be across the world without proper notice. With a sigh, Arnold stood.
"It's nearly eight," he reminded them, drawing up his backpack and turning his grimace into a half-smile. After all, no matter what the circumstances, this was Arnold, determined to be optimistic in the worst situations. Perhaps they weren't lying this time. Perhaps he could call this place his home. "Come on, Mother."
She gave him a warm grin; glad her son was back in a good mood. He was nearly always such, and so when Arnold was plagued with depression it truly worried her. Silently, she and Arnold got into the car and set off toward the school. "So…" she said awkwardly, trying to make conversation, "you'll be in fourth grade now."
Arnold nodded, facing out the window. Already the building - a large structure, one much similar to all his other east coast schools - was looming ever closer. As the car stopped, he focused his eyes on the name printed solidly on a sign outside: PS 118.