At only sixteen, Owen couldn’t quite believe how much his life had changed over the space of just a few months. Barely a few weeks ago he had been sizzling under the Californian sun, but now he was on the way to what would be his new home for the next year. Everything he owned was crammed into a small suitcase, accompanied by his ever-precious binoculars. None of this mattered to him; in truth it was the least of his worries after everything that had happened.

England was noticeably colder and more inhospitable than sunny San Diego. His mother had told him stories about this small island and its time-honored traditions. From Excalibur, the sword of King Arthur to the arrow-clad tribulations of Robin Hood, the tales that breathed life into these rolling hills were no stranger to Owen. For over three hours he had been travelling in the back of a minivan with a man he could scarcely understand. He had tried in vain to engage in conversation when they set off, but the driver’s rasping Glaswegian intonations quickly put an end to that. Resigned to defeat, he switched on his Walkman and pondered the surrounding English countryside.

The view beyond had changed a lot during his journey. Autumnal hues lit the majestic oak and ash trees with swathes of orange and yellow, the thick canopy cloaking the forests’ mysteries from inquisitive human eyes. A shimmer of light caught his attention. Impatiently winding down the window, he grasped his binoculars and scrutinized what looked like an old stone building in the distance. A single tower protruded through the treetops, splitting the sky in two. A shiver ran down Owen’s spine. There it was.

“Little Rock.”

The minivan trundled through the imposing stone walls which barricaded the school grounds. Erected purposefully at the entrance was a striking sculpture of a horse, emerging from water. A credit to masonry, its meticulously sculpted eyes instilled respect and fear in equal measure. It had front hooves which appeared twisted from back to front, whilst the lower part of its body resembled something closer to a sea creature. Sharp horns protruded from its head, a menacing symbol of warning. A three-tiered edifice soared into the sky behind the statue, resembling the grand Georgian stately homes Owen had read about as a child. This was quite unlike any college he had seen in his life. The front face of the building was an imposing stone gray, whilst navy blue roof tiles encircled the pointed steeples above. Directly in the center rose the largest turret, dominated by a tremendous clockface which observed all that lay below. Had this magnificent estate once belonged to some affluent noble family? Who could begin to imagine the secrets that must lie inside? And that peculiar sculpture? Owen decided that as soon as he had settled in, he would make sure to explore every nook and cranny of Little Rock. The vehicle finally ground to a halt in the front quad. Without saying a word the driver climbed out of the minivan and popped open the luggage compartment to gather Owen’s belongings. At the top of the magnificent carved stairwell, which led up to the oak-paneled front entrance, an elderly gentleman frowned and consulted his pocket-watch one last time. Just behind him stood a much younger woman in patient anticipation, her hair tightly bound into a bun. The man’s dense ivory beard dominated his face whilst his eyes were covered by a set of reading glasses, an extra furnishing of sophistication. His jet black three-quarter jacket crisply enclosed the suit he wore underneath. With a stone-cold glare he studied Owen.

“Good morning Master Miller. I am Mr. Brown, the headmaster of this college. It is an unbridled pleasure to have the son of one of our most distinguished students join us at our venerable institution.”

“Appletoff Sir,” replied Owen.

“Excuse me?”

“I tend to use my mom’s name.”

Owen had decided some time ago that he would take his mom’s name instead of his dad’s. After all, it was his fault he had ended up at this school. At the very least, he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of having his name discussed with nostalgia at his old school.

“How unusual! Master Appletoff it is. Clearly you’re not one to take after your father. Allow Miss Kate to help you with your belongings.”

Beckoned over with a wave, Miss Kate stepped towards Owen to collect his luggage.

“A thank you wouldn’t hurt,” she mumbled, clutching his bag

and heading inside.

Embarrassed by his lack of manners Owen began to blush, before Mr. Brown broke the silence.

“Splendid. If you don’t have any objections then please follow

along with me. We’re already terribly behind schedule.”

Spinning elegantly on his heels, Mr. Brown strode through the great archway entrance. Taking a final deep breath Owen followed behind, stepping into the unknown.

The grandeur of the central foyer felt more suited to one of Henry VIII’s gluttonous banquets from eras of old. Glorious crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, sparkling over the meticulously carved mahogany paneling which filled the walls. Escorted along the largest cloister, Owen couldn’t help but marvel at the exquisitely rugged landscape paintings which lined either side. The artwork carefully complemented each of the four wings of the school, Mr. Brown explained, divided to reflect the four seasons of the year. A warm orange hue gently eased through the stain glass windows. Peace was at a premium however, as students bustled around him in every direction on their way to lessons. Some, when spying the approaching Mr. Brown, accelerated from a shuffle into a stride.

“Punctuality is of the utmost importance to us here in England. Classes start at 8:30am sharp, and not a second later. Is that clear?”

“Yeah.”

Mr. Brown’s eyebrows jerked skywards in surprise. Owen quickly realized his error. England was not the United States; it was getting pretty obvious things were done differently here. He revised his response.

“Yes, Headmaster.”

“Better.

It wasn’t until then that Owen noticed Mr. Brown’s unusual walking style. With every step he took his left leg seemed to drag, like a reckless soldier protesting against its general’s orders. His suspicions were confirmed when they turned the corner and started ascending the narrow oak staircase towards the boarding dormitories. Mr. Brown must have suffered some kind of accident which prevented him from walking normally. Without even realizing, Owen raised his hand to brush the scar which scissored through his right eyebrow. Although the wound had healed a while ago a thin line still remained, reminding him just how lucky he had been. Mr. Brown was of course oblivious to all this and was still blabbering away when Owen clicked back into reality.

“…Moreover, all the students at our college partake in an extracurricular activity to broaden their horizons. I have taken the liberty of assigning you under the watch of our new catering assistant. Every Monday and Thursday morning before breakfast, you will have the unequivocal pleasure of serving breakfast to the professors.”

Lucky me, thought Owen as the pair reached the top floor, squeezing into a much narrower passageway than the expansive cloisters below. An exuberant velvet carpet concealed the aged wooden floorboards below. It wasn’t hard to work out the reason for that lofty investment, the carpet dutifully masked the incessant din of stampeding boys for those below. Dormitories lined both sides of the passageway and some doors had been left ajar, allowing passers-by to peek inside. Boys were normally allocated to a boarding house based on the particular courses that they studied. Mr. Brown had already made it clear however that this wouldn’t be the case for Owen; given his last-minute enrollment he would have to share a bedroom with a boy in a different class. This was going be the first time he had shared a bedroom with someone else, and the idea was hardly appetizing. The sight behind one of the open doors caught his attention as they journeyed down the passageway. Two boys sat propped-up against their beds on opposite sides of the room, hardly giving the impression they were the closest of friends.

The first boy had ginger hair and freckles, and he peered up towards the school’s newest arrival with an expression of excited curiosity. The other in contrast couldn’t have appeared more indifferent, briefly eyeing Owen through his copper-brown hair before continuing to leaf through the car magazine placed on his lap. Out of nowhere, a third student appeared.

“Ah, master Woodford! Allow me to introduce you to your new classmate, Appletoff,” Mr. Brown exclaimed.

Owen couldn’t quite fathom how this boy with effortlessly smooth brown skin and black hair had been able to sneak up behind him without him realizing. They might have been the same age, but his athletic and muscular build suggested otherwise. His huge hazel eyes stared directly into Owen’s soul. It was hard to explain, but the way this boy examined him was exhilarating and unnerving in equal measure. Owen’s animal instincts kicked in; he felt like a hopeless gazelle being prowled by the most tenacious lion. What a ridiculous idea, he thought. All that was going on was that a fellow student was interested in meeting his new companion and he was letting his mind run away with him again. To his surprise, the boy brought forward his arm and offered out an open hand.

“Daniel,” said the boy.

“Owen,” he mumbled, mesmerized.

For the first time in his sixteen years, Owen was utterly speechless. What was this unfamiliar sensation clouding his every thought? His movements felt clumsy whilst his heart began to pulsate. Daniel’s faultless smile only served to hike his levels of nervousness, whilst his firm handshake reflected a supreme confidence. His skin was softer than Owen had imagined and pressed gently against his palm. Before he had had enough time to gather himself Mr. Brown had ploughed on down the passageway, leaving the boys alone.

“Something scaring you?” he asked, with a sly grin.

“Not in the slightest,” replied Owen, trying to squirm away.

Carefully gripping his arm, Daniel lent in towards him until his mouth was in whispering distance of his ear. At this point, Owen was firmly trapped against the wall by Daniel’s powerful hands.

“Really. Then why are you shaking?”

“I’m not shaking,” lied Owen.

Their bodies were perilously close together now. Owen could feel Daniel’s warm breath tumbling down the side his neck.

“Why lie, little chap?” inquired Daniel, observing him with

measured concentration.

His hand drifted away from Owen’s shoulder, and paused to hover above his eyebrow. Just before he had the chance to touch it, Mr. Brown’s booming voice reverberated down the corridor, summoning Owen to follow. Ducking down, he picked up his suitcase and rushed away, leaving Daniel standing smirking. The headmaster had already disappeared around a corner, and when Owen caught up he found him standing by a meticulously carved blue wooden door, away from the other dormitories. Without hesitation, Mr. Brown pushed it open and strolled inside.

****************************************************************

The room was oval shaped, lit by an enormous window which traversed wall to wall, permitting the natural light to pour in. The surrounding forest views blew Owen away. Enormous antique wardrobes were stationed at either end of the room, alongside bookshelves replete with leather bound hardbacks. On one of the shelves stood a small radio, with various music tapes scattered around it. Two finely polished mahogany desks were positioned below each shelf, complete with leather chairs. Under the window, a small bedside table separated the two beds. An old portable iron stove sat lonely in the corner. In the center of the room, an antique rocking chair slowly brushed against the aged cotton rug below. A gust of piercing artic air suddenly rushed through the window, sending a chill down Owen’s spine. The figure couched in the rocking chair instantly struck him as a troublemaker. He had pale white skin and long blonde hair, from which he flicked out his ocean blue eyes to observe Owen. A half-finished cigarette languished between two fingers.

“Master Taylor! What a pity. How many times do I have to remind you that smoking on campus is categorically prohibited? Save us all the needless acrimony and discard it immediately.”

Taylor paused in reflection. He gave the cigarette a final rebellious drag before stubbing it out against the armrest.

“Marvelous. Now, where were we? Ah yes, I present to you your new dormitory companion. I have every confidence you will ensure he is made to feel right at home.”

Mr. Brown turned towards Owen and placed a firm hand on

his shoulder.

“Welcome to Little Rock.”

In a flash he had marched out the bedroom. The angelic face of his new room buddy disguised any first impressions he might have had about him. An awkward silence filled the air until Owen summoned up enough courage to break the ice.

“Owen Appletoff. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Taylor heaved himself up off the chair with a grin on his face and placed a hand on Owen’s shoulder. His delicate crimson lips contrasted with his pale skin, suggesting an international heritage.

“American AND good-mannered? You’re shaping up to be the

best room-mate I’ve ever had!”

Now he was on his feet, Owen realized Taylor’s sizeable height advantage. It wasn’t that Owen was particularly tall himself, but at one meter and seventy-eight centimeters he was rarely overwhelmed like this. Taylor’s slender figure allowed him to move with agility, reminding Owen of the ballerinas he had watched years ago in the theater with his parents. The handshake was more tender than Owen had expected, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on the boy’s comforting natural aroma. He could feel his heart pounding beneath his shirt as Taylor turned away towards the bedside table.

“This ain’t too bad,” said Owen, trying to make conversation.

“It’s a piece of crap. But don’t worry, you’ll get used to it,” responded Taylor.

Regaining his composure, Owen began to unpack his luggage before his eyes were caught by a strange poster, on which was written “2 unlimited – No limit.”

“Please tell me you’ve heard of them?” scoffed Taylor.

“Honestly … no,” replied Owen.

“Those god-awful American schools teach you lot nothing!”

Grinning, Taylor approached the radio cassette and turned it up to its highest volume. Owen’s ears were invaded by a highpitched roar which increased with intensity each passing second.

“What the hell is this!” he yelled.

“Techno!” Taylor whooped.

Never had Owen experienced a feeling like it. Taylor had already started to leap around the room without the slightest inhibition, leaving Owen stood awkwardly like a librarian in a Metallica concert. Something in the depths of his body nibbled away at his anxiety, coaxing him to dance with the golden-haired boy who bounced around the room. It was as if Taylor could read his mind, and he suddenly beckoned Owen over to dance. His left leg led, his right followed, and just like that his body was swept away in the din before he could contemplate what was going on. The bodies of both boys swiveled and contorted around each other as a whirlwind of emotion dominated their every thought. It was an ephemeral moment of peace for Owen, a blissful opportunity to forget everything that had haunted him over the last few months. His whole being was filled with relief, transporting him to a new realm with his deepest thoughts and desires. The sensation was interrupted when Taylor turned away, only to return seconds letter with a bottle of what looked like whisky in hand.

“This deserves a toast,” declared Taylor passing him the bottle.

“I … don’t drink,” murmured a red-faced Owen.

“Have you ever even tried the stuff?”

“Well, no.”

“There we go. How do you know you don’t like it if you haven’t tried it?”

Taylor swigged from the bottle before raising it to Owen. Nervously, he brought the rim to his lips and gently sipped.

“Don’t panic. It will be our little secret.”

It had a bitter but intense flavor that invited him to take a second, more generous, gulp. A warm jet of euphoria filled his soul as the fluid permeated his body. Taylor watched him with intrigue before lighting up a second cigarette from the window-sill.

“Tell me, how have you ended up in a place like this?” he asked through a prolonged inhalation of smoke.

This was the very question that had haunted Owen. What could he say? He couldn’t keep ignoring what had happened a few months ago. He had to trust in others if he was ever going to confront his past. He took a deep breath and looked at Taylor head on. Gazing into his ocean eyes, he knew this unknown figure could be trusted.

“My dad sent me here,” Owen scowled.

“Why on earth would he do that?”

This was the crux of the matter, the thing he had battled to avoid. It almost felt like when he forgot about it nothing had ever happened. The words weighed down his tongue as he formulated his answer.

“My … my mom died,” he sighed.

There it was, after all this time, he had finally said it. Owen stared at the ground and gently raised his hand towards the scar on his face.

“My father and I don’t get on so well. He’s always away for work.”

Owen lifted his head to see Taylor stood right in front of him.

“I am sorry, Owen.”

His words were full of sincerity, and instantly comforted Owen. A sudden knock at the door shattered the intimacy. A muffled voice came from the corridor.

“Taylor, you have a call.”

“Cheers Mark, on route now. Owen, I will be back in a

jiffy.”

Departing through the bedroom door into the central corridor, he walked towards the unhooked phone. Although students were forbidden from making calls to the outside world they were allowed to receive them. Owen sneaked towards the open door as Taylor picked up the phone.

“Hi Evelyn.”

Owen could barely make out the muted conversation.

“I miss you too.”

Who was this girl at the other end of the phone, he wondered?

“Yes, he’s arrived. American.”

American! Were they talking about him? His heart rate elevated.

“Oh yes, we’re going to get along famously.”

Taylor turned towards the door to see Owen’s head poking out. Conscious he’d been rattled, he stumbled back towards his bed to salvage what little dignity he had left.