I dressed slowly, finding jeans and long sleeved shirts in my dresser along with the silliest collection of underwear I’d ever seen. Khalid watched me holding them up as he was making his bed.
“What was I thinking?” I murmured and shook my head. “These are a five year old's boxers.” I eyed his, silk and hand sewn if I was any judge.
“I think you did it to ward off Glenellen and Chelmsley,” he said. “They laughed till they nearly pissed their own.”
I balled them up, smiled, and looked down the row of beds. Most were now empty and made up. We were obviously late for whatever was next.
“Which one’s his bed?” But from the stack of booty piled near, I picked his out. Threw the lot of kiddie shorts on his mattress and pissed on it.
“Going to declare war,” I grinned at the Saudi prince, “It’s got to be all out warfare and unconditional surrender. Let’s go get breakfast. I’m hungry.”
He led the way to the stairs and we trooped down the two turning flights, emerging on a broad corridor that was painted pale green and funneled everyone towards the dining hall. The buzz from the room was an all-pervasive hum heard all the way past to the first floor to where we stood.
I heard shrieks of laughter, the clatter of trays and adult voices shouting to quiet down.
Behind us, a man cleared his throat and made me jump. “Mr. Argent, Prince El Melek. Breakfast is over in ten minutes. Unless you want to forego food or risk being tardy for first period, I suggest you hurry in.”
I turned and saw a tall man, dressed in a conservative suit and tie, with neatly cut hair grayed at the temples and fair blue eyes.
“Mr. Compton-Baird,” his name was suddenly in my head. “Math and Science teacher.”
He watched me gravely. Khalid answered. “Pay no attention, Mr. C-B. Aidan’s a little---” and he circled his head with one finger.
“I am not nuts,” I defended, punching him. Laughing, he ducked and raced down the hallway. I followed more sedately with the teacher right behind me.
The dining hall was huge, the size and height of a gymnasium with rows of windows along three sides of the perimeter. On the fourth wall were the food cases and cafeteria lines with women dressed in chefs clothes and neat caps over their hair. They served us.
The food was typical British fare, over cooked, bland with little seasoning. Lots of veggies, salad, and desserts. An alarming number of the 300+ occupants were overweight. It was plain that sports were not a big item on the curriculum.
“Pudgy lot,” the teacher muttered. “Spoiled rich blighters, most of them.”
“Which one’s Chelmsley?”
“Big brown haired boy over in the corner. In the Rugby shirt. Bit of a bruiser, likes to pick on the younger boys. Like Prince Khalid.”
“Glenellen?”
“Ginger head near the flag stand.” He was shorter, whip thin and fierce with long arms and strong wrists. He wore designer jeans and an expensive watch, was shoveling food in at an impressive rate of speed.
“Go get something to eat, Aidan,” he said. “Before they shut the line.”
I hurried, ducked in behind Khalid, and apologized to the other boys for doing so. “Thanks for saving my spot, Khalid,” I said to their grumbling complaints. I eyed the selection of food left. Rubbery eggs, cereal or a few bran muffins. Toast or biscuits. Porridge congealed to glue. Dried out kidneys, no more bacon, some kippers. Orange juice, milk or tea. I settled for toast, marmalade, and tea. The chef plunked it down on my tray and I carried it over to a free table with Khalid and three other young lads. Two were fair with ruddy cheeks, the third was dark haired and brown eyed.
“Terence and David Temple,” Khalid introduced. “Eduard Bergeron. This is Aidan. Argent.”
“How do?” they said and watched us eat. “We heard you were admitted months ago. First time we’ve seen you eat in the hall. You generally eat alone in your room.”
“My room?” I looked at Khalid.
“I told you. Man of mystery. You have a room up in the attics where you hang out and hide. Eat there, too. No one can find you. Bit of a maze this place. That’s how you avoid our two resident monsters. We have five minutes to eat and make it to Mrs. Pummelo’s class.”
I shoveled down my toast and tea. “You in my class?”
The Saudi boy shook his head. “Physics. See you for lunch?”
“What’s on the menu?”
“Steak and kidney pie or roast beef with Yorkshire pudding,” the twins offered. “Only decent meal served here. Beef is prime. Cryllwythe Farms Angus.”
I smiled at that, stood up, and deposited my dirty dishes wandering until my instincts kicked in bringing me to my required classroom. Well, that and I followed the twins to it.