Everything hurt.

Quentin packed books into his bag as slowly as he was able. The last echoes of the bell sank beneath the waves of footsteps as children from all classrooms poured out into the corridor, eager to be the first in line for lunch. He couldn’t possibly keep up with them, and he didn’t wish to be trampled in the rush, so he hung back and made a fuss over ensuring his pencil case was stowed neatly until there really was no further excuse.

It was a serious effort to stand. He placed his hands flat against the desk and pushed himself to his feet with immense willpower, but the pain it brought made his arms tremble, and so he leaned against the desk a while, breathing hard, until the wave of nausea subsided.

“Hurry up, Banbury. I haven’t got all day.”

Quentin steeled himself for one final push. After a double English Literature period, his body felt like it had turned to stone, and it took preparation to get going. “Sorry, sir,” he breathed. “Won’t be a moment.”

“Bloody lunch will be cold by the time I get there,” Mr. Hargreaves muttered. “What’d you do this time? Fall off a sodding horse again?”

“Yes, sir.” So Mama had told him, anyway. He rarely seemed able to remember his accidents.

He propelled himself upright and snatched up his satchel in a single motion, then forced himself toward the door. His arms and legs were stiff, and they complained every step of the way. He’d learned a long time ago not to try shouldering the satchel when he was this badly off, so it hung from his fist.

“You want to try learning to ride the damn things before you go bolting off across the countryside.” Mr. Hargreaves followed him out and slammed the door at Quentin’s back, then Quentin heard the rattle and scrape of keys as his teacher locked the room.

“Yes, sir,” was all Quentin could say.

Mr. Hargreaves stepped around him and walked briskly off down the corridor, leaving Quentin with a formidable decision.

Was lunch worth sitting down for?

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d gone without food. Sometimes sitting was not an option, and others he simply wasn’t hungry. Today, as he limped along the centuries-old corridor, he decided that his hunger outweighed the pain, and made his way to the refectory. The longer he took, the more likely other children would have already eaten and gone out to play in the sunshine.

Quentin dawdled at every stage. He stopped off to use the boys’ room. He pretended to read things on the notice board. By the time he collected lunch half of the options were already gone, but so had half the school’s children, and he was able to settle in a quiet corner to pick at his salad.

“All right, Thickie?”

He sighed and lay his fork down as Bingo landed heavily in the chair by his side. “Get lost, Bingo,” he muttered. “I’m not in the mood.”

Grenville ‘Bingo’ Spode was, like Quentin, in his final year at this particular preparatory school. Unlike Quentin, Bingo wasn’t set adrift the moment Mr. Hargreaves used a word of more than three syllables. The school uniform sat ill on them both, so at least they had that in common.

“Not in the mood.” Bingo huffed at him as he splayed out in his chair like a dead spider. “Oi, Knobby! Thickie Icky isn’t in the mood!” He bellowed it across the half-empty refectory so loudly that a dozen faces turned toward him.

Footsteps came up on them from behind. Quentin flinched. All it would take was a heavy hand against his back right now and he would squeal like a stuck pig, which would only earn further mockery.

“Piss off, Bingo.” Freddy’s voice was a lifeline to a drowning man.

Bingo turned clear blue eyes up to Freddy, and his idle smile slowly faded away. “Freddy? Nothing going on here, I swear.”

“Then you won’t mind leaving, will you?” Frederick’s hand came to rest against Quentin’s shoulder, but so lightly that it was barely felt through the layers of clothing and dressings. “Go on, take your smell with you, or I’ll wash it off you myself.”

Quentin snorted as Freddy all but threatened to pee on Bingo right here in the refectory, and Bingo looked rightly appalled at the inference.

“And if I catch you calling him Thickie again,” Freddy drawled as Bingo stood, “I’ll give you a damn good thrashing. Now shove off.”

Bingo eyed them both, but turned on his heel without another word, and Freddy dropped into the vacated seat with a grin.

“You really must stand up to these imbeciles, Icky,” he chuckled. “Are you all right?”

Quentin smiled softly and took up his fork. “Yes, thank you. I would, but I’m just so…” He waggled the fork in the air, then speared a piece of cheese with it. “Tired.”

Freddy shrugged. “To be expected, I suppose. Still, you’ll be back on your feet in no time, and at least we’ll be off to a proper school after the Summer.” He glanced around quickly, then leaned in. “Guess what arrived this morning?”

“I couldn’t have less of a clue,” Quentin murmured before he popped the cheese into his mouth.

“Ha. Shh, don’t say a word.” Freddy dipped a hand into his blazer, and when he snuck it out again he kept it below table level.

Quentin’s pulse raced. Freddy couldn’t have looked more guilty, which meant whatever he had in his hand was against the school’s rules. If they got caught, it could be a swift trip to the Headmaster’s office for them both, so he looked around just as quickly, then peered down past the table’s edge.

Freddy held a small, black, rectangular slice of metal. It wasn’t until his thumb slid along the edge and flipped it open to reveal a bright screen and a number pad did Quentin realize it was a mobile phone.

“Christ, are you trying to get us expelled?” he hissed.

“What does it matter? We’re out of here in a few weeks anyway.” Freddy grinned at him. “Anyway, look! Thinnest phone ever, it’s got a camera built in, it’s got a color display. You can even transfer files to it from a computer. No more boring ringtones, you can actually use music!”

Quentin blinked at him. “If that thing goes off in class, Hargreaves will have your arse.”

“It won’t, it’s on silent. You should get one, Icky! Ask Mama, she can have it sent here for you.”

He crinkled his nose at the thought.

This was a boarding school, although fewer than half the students here actually boarded. Both Quentin and Freddy did, though, and only went home at weekends or for birthdays. The very idea of having a mobile phone here was a horrible one. The school was Quentin’s only break from his life at home, and the very last thing he wished for was for his relative peace and quiet here to be interrupted whenever anyone wanted to call him.

Father would pitch a fit if Quentin got his hands on a phone, anyway. And the very idea of Father angry was enough to make a fellow wet the bed at night.

“No,” he sighed. “I don’t want one.”

Freddy snorted at him. “You’re allergic to the twenty-first century, that’s your problem,” he muttered as he snapped the phone shut. “I can’t look after you forever. You know that, don’t you?”

Quentin eyed him as Freddy tucked the phone back into his blazer, then cracked a smile. “You don’t bloody look after me anyway!”

Freddy laughed and lounged against the table. “Come on, eat up. We’ve still got time to get outside for a bit. It’s such lovely weather, I think I’ll go punch Bingo for you!”

“Freddy, no!”

Freddy just laughed, and Quentin ate as slowly as he could to save Bingo’s nose from being broken.

Everything still hurt, but it wasn’t so bad with Freddy by his side.

Together, they could face anything.