(There's a reason this chapter is so long: it was my favourite thing to write. absolute high school fluff. Also, I wanted to be original but I could not resist using Cloudy's idea for the end of this chapter...)

Are we there yet? CHAPTER EIGHT.

In Steven's first year at Welton, he shared a room with Charlie.

"I'm bunking with this kid?" The boy with the floppy hair and determined mouth entered the dorm room with as much swagger as a thirteen year old in pressed trousers could muster.

Steven looked up from where he sat cross-legged on his bed, reading the latest edition of his favourite comic, but the boy didn't appear to be addressing him in particular. He didn't appear to be addressing anyone. It was just a question to the world, as he threw his suitcase on the empty bed and sat down with a bounce.

Steven wasn't exactly intimidated by him – despite Steven's glasses, his skinny frame, and his overwhelmingly nerdy nature, he was rarely picked on, so he never learnt to be scared of people (his mother said it was because he had 'kind eyes', whatever that meant) – but he was certainly curious.

"Charlie Dalton," said the boy, extending his hand and leaning back on his suitcase at the same time; a move that would have forced Steven to get off the bed to shake his hand, if Steven hadn't decided to stay where he was.

"Steven Meeks," he said, smiling politely. Charlie raised his eyebrow, and studied Steven openly. Apparently the fact that the boy didn't leap up to shake his hand had him intrigued as well.

"How old are you?"

"Twelve," said Steven.

"You look seven," said Charlie. "Aren't you too young to be in this grade?"

"I skipped a year," said Steven, simply.

"So – you're smart."

"Yes."

Charlie frowned. "Whatcha reading?"

Steven held up the magazine so Charlie could see the cover. This was a particularly great issue – nearly half the pages were printed in colour, and the green of the sea dragons was particularly gorgeous, Steven thought.

"Well, that's definitely for babies," said Charlie.

"If you say so." Steven smiled. He had long known that smiling was the most annoying thing one could do to a potential bully.

"I bet you don't smoke either." He pulled a single cigarette from his pocket. Steven supposed he had probably nicked it from his father.

"No. I don't."

Then another boy appeared at the door – Steven recognised him from the assembly. He was a friendly kid; looked like he was made out of pipe cleaners and soap bubbles.

"Dalton!"

"Perry!" Charlie slid off the bed and the two gave each other an elaborate handshake; one they'd probably been working on all summer.

"Who'd you get?" asked Neil.

"This is Steven Meeks. He reads comic books and is very smart."

"How do you do?" said Neil, bounding across the room to shake Steven's hand. "I'm Neil Perry. Hey, is that the edition where – "

"Come on, Perry. Let's go." Charlie wafted the cigarette in front of Neil's face, and Neil laughed.

"Wanna join us?" Neil asked.

"He doesn't smoke," said Charlie. "Let's go."

"I'll see you around," said Neil, waving goodbye. Charlie gave Steven another long look, that Steven didn't quite understand but made him feel like an overexposed photo; then he left.

It was going to be an interesting year.

Steven didn't see much of Charlie in those first weeks – Charlie mostly hung out with Neil in every spare moment, right up until Lights Out when he would saunter back into the dorm room. Steven didn't mind – he had quickly become friends with a tall giraffe-like boy named Pitts who shared his love of science and blowing things up; and he did his Latin homework with a fellow red-head named Cameron, though he suspected they had less in common than Cameron liked to suggest.

Still, Steven remained curious about Charlie, from what little he saw of him in classes, across the dining hall, and last thing at night. He was of a medium build, but somehow seemed much taller; smart, but gave the impression of not caring; licentious, but Steven saw him slip leftovers from lunch to the caretaker's dog one afternoon.

It was a Sunday night, the end of a long weekend of sleeping late, pretending to study, and generally mucking about; Steven sat on his bed, reading peacefully, but Neil had gone to his parents' house for dinner and Charlie was forced back to the dorm room early.

"You still at it?" he asked, unbuttoning his shirt with the kind of nonchalance that he would never grow out of.

"Yes," said Steven, not bothering to look up.

"What is it?" Shirtless, Charlie grabbed the book from Steven's hands and sat on the edge of the bed. "'Greek Mythology'?" If Steven had been reading the phonebook, Charlie could not have sounded more dubious.

"I enjoy it," said Steven. He reached out to take the book back, but Charlie leapt out of his way, bounding onto his own bed. Steven sighed loudly.

"Nuh-uh, Meeks." Charlie wagged his finger. "Not till I know what's so great about Greek mythology. Hey, that rhymes. Meeks, Greek."

"If you want to know what it's about you could try reading it. You do know how to read, don't you?"

Charlie glared at Steven. "Fine." He settled onto the bed, still in his trousers, and opened the book to the first page.

Steven waited – then yawned – then reached over to turn the lamp off.

"Oh no. You wanted me to read this. You keep that light on."

Charlie sat up for two hours after Lights Out for the entire week. Steven couldn't sleep with the light on, and supposed this was some kind of weird bullying technique to make him tired and stupid in the mornings.

Finally, at 11 o'clock on the following Sunday night, when Steven had just resigned himself to the fact that he would be unable to answer any questions in maths the next morning, Charlie slammed the book shut and threw it back on Steven's bed.

"Thank goodness," Steven grumbled. He leant across to the desk lamp – then caught an odd look in Charlie's face. "What?"

"Your mind must be an interesting place," said Charlie.

Steven frowned. It was probably the strangest thing anyone had said to him, and he wasn't quite sure how to take it. "Wait – did you actually read it?"

"Of course I did."

"But why?"

"Because the characters are cool and do cool things?" Charlie raised an eyebrow.

"No, I mean – why did you read it? It's nine hundred and thirty-six pages long."

"Because you dared me to."

Steven still hovered with his hand over the lamp switch, unsure of what to do. Clearly his roommate was a complete idiot. That, or – something else. He turned off the light.

"Yaaugh!"

With all the grace of two mountain goats, the two boys fell off the wardrobe and onto Charlie's bed in a tangle of limbs.

"Quick quick! To the boat!" yelled Charlie, leaping from his bed to Steven's. Steven jumped the gap, and nearly didn't make it.

"Save yourself!" he gasped, clinging to the edge of the bed and waving a hand in the air.

"Not if I can help it!" Charlie grabbed Steven's hand and pulled him aboard. Once Steven was safely off the floor, Charlie threw his pillow across the room. "Look out! Sharks!"

"Mosquito sharks!" said Steven.

"Mosquito sharks?" Charlie looked puzzled.

"They're like sharks, but they can fly, and they buzz in your ear. They're very annoying."

"Nggh – gah – back!" Charlie swatted his hands in front of his face, and this time Steven really did fall off the bed, laughing. "Nooo! Meeks!"

"What's going on?"

Simultaneously Charlie and Steven looked to the door, where Neil was standing with Knox behind him, staring in bewilderment at Steven lying on the floor and Charlie leaning over the edge of the bed, their hair rumpled and their shirts untucked.

"What does it look like?" asked Charlie, seriously.

"I can tell you what it looks like," said Cameron as he joined the group.

Red-faced, Steven got to his feet and sat on Charlie's bed. He adjusted his glasses and smoothed his hair back.

"Meeks stole my homework," Charlie said. Steven nodded solemnly.

"Oh," said Neil. He frowned. He wasn't the only one who thought that was completely implausible.

After a long, silent, awkward pause the interlopers left the doorway. Steven threw the pillow back at Charlie, who caught it neatly.

"You're insane, Meeks." He grinned. "How did you even come up with the idea in the first place?"

Steven shrugged, and flopped back onto Charlie's bed. It felt different to his own; smelt different. It was strangely comforting. He shuffled around and kicked his legs up against the wall. "Well, when you're a genius like me…"

Outside, the rain poured. Steven closed his eyes, content with an afternoon well spent playing 'The Floor is Made of Lava'. It was nice seeing this side of Charlie; for all their differences, something had just clicked between them and they seemed to get along well after all. Then he heard the creaking of bed springs and felt the mattress sink as Charlie joined him, so that they lay side by side on the bed.

Funny, thought Steven. This is the sort of things best friends do. But Steven didn't consider Charlie his best friend. Maybe it was because Charlie already had Neil for that. But in some indefinable way, he didn't want Charlie to be his best friend. He turned and studied the side of Charlie's face – the slope of his brow, his nose, his pouting chin. There was something in the line of his profile, something classic, timeless.

This boy – Steven realised – this boy was the only person he had met in his twelve years of existence who had enough swagger and bravado and stupidity, the only person who had enough guts to play the hero in the epic tale of tragedy and triumph he was writing for his life.

He wasn't quite sure what it meant then, in the grey dormitory room with the rain drizzling down the window, but he knew it was the beginning.