"He's weird," Gilbert decided.

The other heads at the lunch table swiveled to Alfred, who was playing with his sandwich and watching the newcomer. Alfred's father had told him to be nice, but Gilbert was right—he was weird.

But, more importantly, he was the focus of the whole school. The shy boy had walked in, head ducked and hands clenched at his sides. He was too tall, too pale, and too blond. He couldn't speak English. He had followed after Alfred the first few days, until Gilbert drove him off.

"He's from Russia," Alfred said loudly, squinting, "They're just weird there."

Gilbert laughed, and the rest of the children followed suit. "He's totally weird. Why was he following you around, anyways? Is he your friend?"

The heads turned to Alfred, who was watching the Russian fidget at the front of the lunch room; without Alfred, he had nowhere to sit. The rest of the school had joined in Gilbert's scorn, moving to fill up seats whenever the boy attempted to sit with them.

Alfred's father had dressed him up, brushing back his hair and telling him tobe a good boy. The family that walked through the Jones' front door wasn't like the usual people; they looked too stiff in their clothing, and they touched the nice furniture when they thought no one was looking.

There was a boy, Ivan. He followed after his family like a lost dog, constantly being shooed away by his mother. According to his father, this boy was going to Alfred's school. Alfred made a face. The boy was too old to be going to the Academy, but he still showed up on Monday.

"My father's sending him here," Alfred finally answered, shrugging. "Some of his family came over, and we had a dinner together. There were cameras an' stuff, so it was probably one of those things."

Gilbert and the rest of the table nodded sympathetically; they all dreaded the dinners, the parties, the boring speeches their fathers made. The boys on the television didn't have to go to those, they played football and soccer. Alfred was the envy of everyone because he got to play sports while they had to go home and help with paperwork.

Alfred watched from afar as Ivan suffered. Gilbert and his gang would tease the boy, saying nonsense words and pushing Ivan around when he didn't understand. Kids avoided him, the weirdo who didn't have nice clothes and was too short for his advanced age.

But still, Alfred had those dinners with Ivan's family. He and Ivan would be seated across from one another as Alfred' father—Congressman Jones—would laugh with Ivan's father. Ivan would stare beseechingly at Alfred, who wanted nothing more than to go to his room and ignore this whole affair.

This evening was no different, Ivan's and Alfred's family talking loudly at one end of the table as the reporters buzzed around and Ivan and Alfred staring awkwardly at each other. Alfred messed the order of the silverware up; Ivan used the same fork for every meal.

"Is Gilbert your friend?"

Alfred gaped at Ivan, who ducked his head. "Dude, you can speak English? Why don't you talk at school?"

Ivan shrugged, looking down at his empty plate. Why was he wearing a scarf? It was already spring. Silence overwhelmed them again, and Alfred slumped in his seat. One of the cameras focused in on Alfred, and the smile his father had taught him jumped onto his face.

When the reporter walked away, Alfred saw Ivan looking at him curiously. Alfred made a face, and was surprised to see a warm smile on Ivan's face. Alfred found himself grinning, and Ivan made a face back.

When summer came, Alfred was relieved. Without the Academies overbearing teachers, Alfred finally could relax. Ivan disappeared from his life, and was all too soon forgotten.

Alfred saw Mattie and his mother, which was strange. His father dropped Alfred off with his overnight bag, telling him to be a good boy, and drove off. His mother and Mattie lived in a tiny house, but it was warm and cozy. Matthew toys weren't limited to his room, but all over.

Alfred loved it. He quickly made a group of friends and roamed the neighborhood with them on his bike. Just like at school, the boys would look to Alfred for leadership in their exploits.

Unlike Gilbert, however, Matthew usually put a stop to their more mischievous adventures. Whenever Alfred was dared to ride his bike over the stream, Mattie would be there, telling Alfred he would break his arm. When the neighborhood boys were throwing rocks at stray dogs, Matthew would whip pebbles at Alfred's head.

Soon, September crept back through the trees. Alfred was returned to Congressman Jones in subpar condition; his mother had let Alfred grow wild. No longer would he sit through his piano lessons—he wanted to play the guitar. He wanted to watch cartoons, like Mattie did. He wanted pancakes and a bike and not to help with paperwork. Alfred would stick his tongue out at the camera man. Matthew was forced over for sleepovers, bringing more of his heretic ways with him.

When Alfred was sent to the Academy's middle school, he ripped off the uniform's tie and threw it in his backpack.

Alfred no longer fit in with Gilbert's group. They teased kids who were smaller than them, and made fun of smart girls; all Alfred could think about were pebbles.

Alfred quickly found more friends. There was Kiku, who was the son of an ambassador, who would help Alfred on his math homework and play videogames with him. There was a grumpy boy named Lovino who taught Alfred swears and the geography of Europe.

But, more important, there was the boy named Toris.

Alfred wasn't the only one who had changed over the summer. Ivan had shot up like a weed. Technically a sophomore, Ivan was huge in comparison to the tiny seventh graders. The shy boy who had made faces with Alfred was gone; in his stead was a bully with a vengeance.

Gilbert got into fist fights with Ivan often, losing and being hauled off by the nurse and the principal. Other boys—one named Berwald, who was nearly as large as Ivan despite being an eighth grader—would stare down Ivan as he walked down the halls. Ivan would have been king, had he not picked on Toris.

It was why Alfred had become friends with him, actually.

Alfred was walking through the halls, minding his own business, when he had spotted Ivan leering at Toris. Surprisingly, they were talking in a language Alfred couldn't understand. Something about the scene didn't seem right, so Alfred waltzed over.

"Everything alright here, Ivan?" Alfred asked loudly, stepping up next to the pair.

Ivan smiled, glancing over. "Yes, Alfred."

"Hey, your English got better!" Alfred nodded, slapping Ivan on the back. "Hey, buddy, I'm proud. What're you doin', talking in Russian?"

Ivan turned on Alfred, glaring down at him with that smile taped to his face. Alfred crossed his arms, looking up at Ivan and frowning. There was a moment of silence as they stared at one another, Toris looking between them.

Alfred tilted his head, eyes flicking up and down Ivan's torso. "What happened, dude?"

Alfred never found out, nor did he really care too. Ivan turned his focus on Alfred's group of friends, pushing them or knocking their books onto the ground. Toris especially was tormented, and Alfred began to defend and then befriend him. Alfred was the one boy who stood up to Ivan.

However, the whole school did wonder. For claiming only to want to help his friends, Alfred was oddly antagonistic towards Ivan. The Russian, meanwhile, was surprisingly peaceful towards Alfred—only a handful of black eyes, as compared to Gilbert and Berwald.

It became slightly more apparent when the school opened up a debate class. Alfred joined as soon as he heard Ivan had. Regardless of the subject, each boy would choose opposing sides. More debates ended in near fistfights than could be counted.

Midway through the year, Alfred realized that his grades were slacking. He began to bring his homework in on time, and his hand was one of the first ones up in the air. Ivan, who was in several of Alfred's classes, began to shape up, too. His English skills grew, and he was just as good as Alfred in math and science.

The first day of eighth grade, Alfred introduced himself as "Alfred F. Jones, future president of the United States of America."

No one in the class noticed when Alfred grinned and winked at Ivan.