Andrew's first years at Appleton Academy weren't easy ones. He was constantly at the top of his class, constantly working to make sure he stayed there. It left very little time to make friends.
The girls had started to take great interest in him, which made the boys all the more jealous, and making friends got harder.
Still, he tried. He had to.
"Be friendly with everyone at Appleton, son. They come from important families and you never know who you might need in your pocket for a favor down the road," his father's advice echoed in his head.
He didn't like the idea of using people that way, but it wasn't personal. Just politics...right?
A lot of the other students received the same direction from their fathers, after all. When the other boys weren't whispering about him behind his back, they were flattering him to his face, all because of his last name.
School was just another political playing field. Just another place that hardened his heart.
At least, until a transfer student from a nouveau riche family changed the tides of his fate.
He sat alone in the cafeteria, pouring over his books, when his light was suddenly blocked by a looming shadow. He looked up to see the smiling face of the loud, coarse and boisterous blonde transfer student.
"Hey there, name is Frank!" he said, extending a hand, which Andrew shook curtly. "Mind if I sit down?"
"Be my guest," Andrew said disinterestedly. He was expecting another heap of shameless currying of his favor.
"What's your name, man?" Frank asked happily.
"That's hardly a way to address a new acquaintance," Andrew started. He instantly regretted how coldly the words came out. He reminded himself of his father and shuddered at the thought.
Softening a bit, he went on, "My name is Andrew Hanbridge, it's a very great pleasure to meet you."
"Yeah, you too," said Frank. He either didn't notice Andrew's first comment or was too gracious to point it out. He started in on lunch, as comfortable as could be, as if they were already old friends.
"So, you're the transfer student from the United States," said Andrew, trying to strike up friendly conversation.
"That's right! How'd ya know?"
"Well...your loose elocution, lack of subtlety and choice in hairstyle are all dead giveaways," said Andrew, trying and failing to avoid saying something mean.
"Oh, yeah, ya like it?" said Frank, turning his head this way and that, showing off the various angles of his pompadour.
He just wouldn't be budged by coldness or insults. Andrew was completely thrown off balance. He decided to change the subject.
"What are you eating?" he asked.
"Just peanut butter, man-whoops sorry-I mean Andrew," he replied. "Having trouble getting used to all this Brit food. You guys boil everything over here. And no offense, Andrew, but tea is gross," he laughed.
"You must be out of your mind," chuckled Andrew. Frank was so obtuse, so ignorant of all the politics and fakery around him, it was endearing.
He was quickly growing fond of the loud blonde boy. But there was something he just had to ask.
"Why are you here right now? You make friends so easily, like most Americans do. What do you want from me?" he asked sincerely wishing to know.
With a mouthful of peanut butter, Frank considered him for a moment. "You look like you could use a friend, Andrew," he finally said. Then he went back to his lunch as if the question had never been asked.
The ugly thorns shrank back, just a little.