Physical education is what you learn from having your face in someone's
armpit right before lunch. Bill Watterson, Calvin and Hobbes
Three years had passed since they moved into the two-story Victorian house with gables and green trim, and Peter Davies had had a long day. He slammed his locker door shut and rested his aching forehead against the refreshingly cool metal.
He had aced another algebra test that morning, and the teacher had written his name on the chalkboard in bold, proud letters. Peter had felt a momentarily warm glow, but then the vague sneers and giggles had sprung up again. A strong kick to his desk had jolted him out of his deliberate pose of indifferent nonchalance. He had jumped, startled, and Ms. Gregory had looked at him with concern.
"Are you all right, Peter?"
"Yes, ma'am."
More titters. He had raised his head defiantly and stared straight ahead for the rest of the class.
But the hallway time between classes had been bad. Gary Hurth had violently jostled him just outside the geography classroom, sending both Peter and his armful of books sprawling to the tiled floor. "Oh, sorry there, chap, didn't see you," Gary had drawled in a voice that sounded like a dying elephant trying to mimic a British accent while Peter scrambled to retrieve his books. The lazy-eyed girls cluttering the doorway had giggled as Gary minced past them with exaggerated haughtiness, and the crouching Peter had sent his best glare after him. It didn't even matter that he had lost nearly all of his foreign accent, that he spoke almost just like them now.
Lunch had been just as awful, as he hunkered alone over his solitary brown bag lunch. Students approached him with sickening mixtures of macaroni, hamburger, milk, and ruined pizza remains on their trays. Smirking, they asked him if he wanted any, leaving their trays in front of the empty seat next to him even when he politely and dismissively said, "No thanks."
Perhaps the trays wouldn't have been left if he had been rude and crude in return.
Still, the plates piled up, huge mountains of quivering meat and mush, the uneasy smell of warm milk assaulting his nostrils. When he had stood up to leave the cafeteria, he had had to pass the Table, and everyone had heard Jim Howles' loud voice cry out, "Look everyone! There goes Peter Davies, the math whiz with the pretty eyes! Three cheers for good ol' Petey!"
But at least the day was over, Peter Davies thought as he escaped the brick building into the dazzling winter sunlight. Christmas vacation was starting. His eighth grade year was one day closer to completion. And then what? he asked himself. High school? Well, that will be a blast. Why be satisfied with having only kids my own age hate me, when it can be the whole bloody varsity football team?
He buried his gloved hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders against the bitter wind. He was walking down the snow-covered sidewalk to the elementary school where Annie waited for him everyday. Crystalline tree branches glittered in the air, and he shook his head to dispel the water drops that fell into his dark hair. The crisp scent of snow penetrated his brain, dispelling his moodiness. He took a deep breath, listening with satisfaction as the biting air rushed in and out of his lungs, flinging his head up to breathe deeper.
And a flash of red caught the corner of his eye.
He glanced discretely behind him and saw Gary Hurth and Jim Howles about fifty meters behind him, sauntering along in ski-jackets and sunglasses. His breath caught, and he hoped that there was some reason other than himself that they were walking this way.
"Peter Peter Peter! Merry Christmas, Peter!"
He looked up and saw Annie running towards him, arms outstretched and braids flying behind her. "Oof!" he grunted as her small body crashed into his, his arms automatically closing around her waist and picking her up to spin her around while she laughed gleefully. "Peter, it's Christmas!"
"I know that, twerp," he said, trying to sound annoyed, but grinning at her contagious enthusiasm. He plunked her down on the sidewalk and looked around him.
He had walked the quarter mile to the elementary school in a daze, and was now surrounded by chattering boys and girls swarming out from the school doors. Several of the little creatures waved goodbye to his sister, and Peter watched Annie wistfully as she easily waved good-bye in return to several colorful blurs that streaked past them towards open minivan doors.
Having said her farewells, Annie turned back to him with one of her bold, wide smiles. He grinned back and held his hand out to her, feeling her small, gloved fingers twine trustingly in his own as they started the way home. It was a half-mile to the Davies' house, past the high school where Peter had come from and down the hill to the valley.
"Peter," Annie asked him solemnly once they had fallen into the crunching rhythm of walking, and Peter had been keeping a wary eye on the still- following Gary and Jim. "How was your day at school?"
Peter laughed at her sincere politeness, bringing his attention away from the two boys behind them to the little girl walking primly by his side. "It was great, sis. Got another A on a math exam."
"Ooohhh . . ." she breathed in happiness. "Mum and Da will like that."
"Sure, and it wasn't that hard, you know? How was your day?"
"It was awful!" she cried, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "That horrid Sammy asked me to his Christmas party. I have the invitation in my bag. No one else is going, you know, they all said no. Who would want to? He's so mean to all the girls, always teasing us and stealing our crayons. And he's always picking on poor Tommy."
"Doesn't sound like this Sammy's a cool kid. But have you tried being nice to him?"
"Peter!" Annie looked at him severely from her small white face. "You know I always try to make friends with everyone," she said reproachfully.
"Ah, yes." It was true. Annie did like everyone. And everyone adored Annie.
"But his parents told him he could have a party, so he's been asking everyone in the last few days and threatening them with the most horrible things if they don't come. I said I would, but it's going to be dreadful."
"The trials and tribulations of the second grade," Peter murmured, his attention drifting as she chattered on. He had just seen two large figures standing behind trees in front of them, lounging against the trunks casually. And Gary and Jim were still behind them. He wished Annie wasn't here.
"And then, Peter, Mildred said she bought me a Christmas present, but that she's waiting till I come over on New Year's to give it to me, and now I have to get her something and I haven't – "
"Hey, Petey!"
One of the dark figures had stepped out from the tree and was taking up an alarmingly large amount of side walk. It was Stan Winslow, another friend of Jim and Gary's. A large boy Peter didn't know was standing just behind and beside him, silent and smiling. A swift glance over his shoulder revealed that Jim and Gary were only a few steps behind him.
"Hey, Stan," Peter said, striving to sound friendly and cool. He pulled Annie's hand so that she fell back a step behind him.
"Awww, Petey," the unknown boy said, craning his neck. "Who's that with you? Your little girlfriend? Cute kid."
"Oh, shut up," Peter said in disgust.
"Hi, I'm Annie," his sister said brightly from behind his legs. "I'm not his girlfriend, just his sister. Who're you?"
Stan and the large boy looked at each other and started laughing. "Your sister's pretty cool, Petey," Stan gasped out. "Bet she'll be hot stuff in a few years. What d'ye say, sweetheart? How 'bout a date?"
Annie's eyebrows lowered and she looked up at Peter in puzzled confusion.
"Lay off it, guys," Peter tried to growl.
Jim and Gary were now beside them. "Hey there, Sir Peter!"
"Hi, Jim, Gary," Peter mumbled. "What's up?"
"Oh, not much, just working off a bit of winter frustrations, you know?"
"No, actually, I don't."
"Well, I'll tell you, Sir Peter," Gary draped his arm chummily on Peter's shoulder. "Life gets mighty dull once football season is over and the team ain't in the playoffs."
"Yeah, we don't have fancy things like math-e-mat-ics to keep us busy."
"We're more of the outdoors type, you know."
"Funny." It was hard to keep the sarcasm from his voice. He shrugged Gary's arm off in annoyance. "I always picture you as a couch and refrigerator type myself. Were any of you actually on the football team this year?"
"Shut up, Davies," Stan snapped. The four of them were standing in an arc before him now, and Peter's back was to the stone wall that surrounded the high school. No hope of sprinting past them. Annie was beside him, her small fingers tightening as she began to realize that no, contrary to all expectations, these people were not friends.
"Oh, Petey," Gary was gushing. "Look me in the eyes, just once, won't you Petey? You know I love you, man, you and your golden eyes. Pretty eyes, bird's eyes."
Peter blinked. His eyes. Everything was always coming back to his damn eyes! What was so wrong with them anyway? Sure, not everyone he knew had yellow eyes, but they were still just eyes; the same eyes his father had. Although thankfully he didn't have his father's brilliantly white hair and skin.
"Take your glasses off just once, won't you Petey?" Jim was crooning now. His large hand reached towards Peter's face.
Peter didn't think, and he was tired of pretense. His anger found its way unwillingly into his words. "Don't touch me," he hissed, tightening his grip on Annie's hand and moving back until his back pressed against the rough stone wall.
"Whoa there, man," Gary laughed as Jim staggered back in mock horror. "We aren't going to hurt you! We want to be your friends, Sir Peter. And your little lady's, too."
"Bloody hell, you do," Peter said quietly. He threw caution to the wind and opened his eyes wide, and stared at the four boys silently from behind his lenses. They wanted to see his eyes? Well, let them look at them, but they sure as hell weren't taking one step closer.
"The perfect little knight, aren't you, Sir Peter," Stan sneered, but with a thread of uncertainty undercutting the mockery.
"Stand back."
"Ooooo, we're scared. Being noble, isn't he, guys, protecting his dear little sister!"
"Shut up!" Annie cried furiously, her voice sending clouds of condensation into the crisp cold air. "Go away and leave us alone!"
"Aw, come on, sweetheart, don't be a sour puss like your big brother here. You're too pretty to be so boring."
Annie glared back. "My brother's much smarter than any of you could ever be! He's going to win the state math competition next month, just you wait and see!"
Peter groaned to himself.
"Is that so, Sir Peter? Going to win some silly little math game? How cute. And his little sister sticking up for him."
"Shut up, Gary. Let us pass, we just want to go home."
"Oh, I don't think you want to go home quite yet, Sir Peter," Gary hissed. "You see, we're tired of you, your freaky eyes, and your silly mathematics. We want a talk with you."
"Fine, just let my sister walk home."
"Sure, Petey, whatever you want."
The arc opened up and a space appeared leading out between Jim and Stan. Annie looked up at Peter with uncertain eyes. "Go on," he said, striving for nonchalance. "Go home. I'll be there soon."
"You sure, Peter?" she whispered.
"Yes, dammit, just get out of here!"
Annie jumped at the profanity, and gave him a swift, despairing look before darting forward on her white-stockinged legs. She was almost beyond Jim's grasp when the older boy reached out and grabbed her hood, yanking her back so she screeched in surprise and clawed at the hand restraining her. At the same time Stan took a large step towards Peter, his fist raised and cocked, and landed a right-handed uppercut on his cheekbone. The shock sent Peter staggering back against the wall, where his injured cheek received another bruising blow from the cold sharp bricks. But there was Annie, still struggling against Jim's hand restraining her. Peter shook his head and stepped away from the wall. He gathered himself and swung a fist back with a shout of fury, ready to fight.
And then, out of nowhere, a suit-clad arm reached out and grabbed Stan's shoulder, yanking the boy around and pushing him away from Peter. Another apparently disembodied arm grabbed Jim's collar, raising the boy and shaking him so that he let go of Annie's hood. The girl scrambled quickly away. Peter was shaking with anger, his fists still raised. Fury clouded his vision and he couldn't see clearly. But he saw a tall figure gently pick up Annie and stand her up against the wall behind Peter, and then step forward so that he was between Peter and his antagonists.
Stan was sprawled on the ground, rubbing his ass and looking as if he were fighting tears. Jim was also on the ground, whimpering and staring at the man before him with shock and dismay. Gary and the unknown boy were slowly edging away down the street, staring at the man who had come between them and their prey.
Peter was calming down now, the fury and fright melting away, leaving him shaking and empty. But he, too, now looked towards this strange, silent figure.
Except that it wasn't a strange figure. At least not to him.
"Will!" he gasped, relieved, amazed, and ashamed all at once.
And Will Stanton, his father's best friend whom they hadn't seen in the three years since moving to America, stuffed his hands in his suit jacket and turned towards Peter with a grin.
"Hullo, Peter," Will Stanton said cheerfully, as if they had just seen each other yesterday.
"Hey, man," Stan was stammering from the ground. "What's up with you? We were just playing around."
"Were you?" Will asked softly with his precise, academic accent as he turned back towards the fallen boy. The open friendliness he had greeted Peter with had melted into something infinitely more subtle and dangerous. "Please, forgive me."
"You can't just go around pushing people, my dad's a lawyer. That's battery! He'll be talking to you!"
"Really? It wouldn't be the first time. Odd how situations seem to repeat themselves. My brother Stephen would love to meet you and your father."
Stan looked confused.
"I don't think I have to tell you boys never to bother Peter or Annie again." Will's voice was cold, with none of the friendly politeness that Peter remembered so well. "For your own good."
Peter could see Stan struggling with himself before muttering, "No, sir. Of course not." Jim glanced at his friend, "No, sir. It won't happen again."
"Very well. Then get out of here."
The two boys picked themselves up and ran. Gary and the unknown boy were already well away. But Jim stopped about fifty yards away and yelled back: "YOU'RE A FREAK, DAVIES! JUST LIKE YOUR FREAKY FATHER!" And then he was gone.
Peter waited until they were out of sight before turning to Will with an expression wavering between humility, pleasure, and shyness on his face. He was startled when he saw the older man's countenance; it held a harsh, disturbing solemnity, and Will's mouth was grim as he stared at the spot where Jim had been standing.
But then he turned towards Peter and Annie, and the harshness transformed swiftly into an easy smile. He looked exactly as Peter remembered him: stocky and solid, with a serene British face and one solitary strand of brown hair that flopped across his eyes that he kept reaching up to brush away. He was wearing a brown, academic tweed suit, suitable for his profession as a literature teacher. Overall, he appeared safe, comforting, and – under the circumstances at least – utterly terrifying.
"Well, Peter and Annie Davies. It's good to see you again," he said lightly
Peter flushed. "I'm sorry, Will," he stammered. "Really, I am. But . . . but, please don't tell Mum and Da about what happened. Nothing was going on, honest. I . . . I think they were just joking, just having fun. I shouldn't have let them get to me . . . But what are you doing here?"
Will deliberately ignored Peter's question. "What makes you think I was worried about your safety, Peter?"
"Well, sir, I mean . . . you sent them running, sir. Running faster than I've ever seen them run before."
"Ah, yes." Will Stanton frowned. "But, I think, Peter, that if those boys had pushed you much further, they would have found themselves facing more than they expected." A slightly foolish smile replaced the frown. "It wouldn't have done for you to have been faced with four angry sets of parents threatening lawsuits for bruised heads now, would it?"
"No, sir, I guess not," Peter said, a little dazed.
Annie had so far been silent, standing at Peter's side looking at Will with a puzzled look in her eyes. She spoke now.
"Excuse me, sir," she said. "But who are you? How do you know Peter and I?"
Peter was startled. "Don't you remember Will, Annie? He's Da's best friend. Mum and Da talk about him all the time. We stayed with him when you were four years old in the Lake District. Right, sir?"
"Right, Peter. You two were marvelous company. Although you, my little lady," Will bent down so he was looking Annie straight in the eye, "were a little too fond of running away on the fells. I remember one time I couldn't find you for a whole morning, and I nearly tore my hair out thinking about how Jane would terrorize me for losing her precious girl. As I recall, you said you had followed a sheep who was a new friend of yours."
Annie grinned back. "I'm sorry, sir."
"Of course, m'dear. But please, both of you, stop calling me 'sir.' You did quite well at first, Peter. 'Will' should be good enough."
"Yes . . . Will," said Peter, biting back the forbidden word at the last minute. There was something in Will's manner, though friendly enough, that seemed to demand extra respect.
"Well now," Will straightened back up and went to pick up a suitcase that Peter noticed for the first time was lying abandoned several yards down the road. "How far is your house from here? You're parents aren't expecting me, but I've had a long journey and I doubt they'll deny rest to a weary wanderer such as myself."
"Not far," Annie volunteered. "Just a ten minute walk."
"Then let's start walking." Will held his hand out to Annie, who clutched it without hesitation. With a pleased look, Will Stanton swooped down and lifted her easily into his arms.
"Peter, come on," he ordered, holding his free hand out for Peter to take.
Peter shoved his own hands in his pocket and glared at the older man without saying anything.
"Ah. Hmm. Yes," Will murmured, abashed, with a sidelong glance at the boy. "Well, come along then." He shifted Annie into a better position and strode off along the street, Peter marching resolutely at his back.