The final bell snapped sixteen-year-old Jack Graystone back to reality. Images of numbers and symbols stopped racing through his head. With both elbows resting on the desk, he closed his eyes as he leaned forward and dropped his face into the palms of his hands.

“Time’s up. Bring your exams forward and place them on the corner of my desk. For those of you who passed, have a nice summer. For those of you who didn’t, see you next September.”

There was a pause before the screech of twenty-two chairs sliding across the terrazzo floors filled the classroom. Jack’s body remained tense as he rose to his feet and joined the other students walking toward Mr. North’s desk. A bead of sweat ran down the left side of his chest. It made him shiver.

Mr. North, a gray-haired skeleton of a man who should have retired a decade ago, smiled and nodded at each student. As they passed, he said one of two things: An enthusiastic “Have a nice summer!” or a crestfallen “See you next fall.” The smart students got the first and the ones having trouble got the second. This was typical behavior for Mr. North. Jake wondered if this was Mr. North’s warped sense of humor or if he was just plain mean. Most of the time, he thought the latter.

“Mr. North, you’re killing me here,” Jack said as he placed the Algebra exam in the pile. “This was the hardest test I have ever taken.” He faked a smile and pleaded, “My father is going to send me to a military school if I don’t get an A.”

While Mr. North sat behind his desk compiling the students’ tests, he pulled his glasses toward the end of his nose, looked up at Jack, and then in his deep voice said, “Have your father call me. I know several I can recommend.”

Jack let out a quick laugh as he walked away. I’m sure glad that’s over, he thought.

Working his way through the mass of students, many of whom looked as if they were about to cry, he headed toward his locker. The main staircase was always a bottleneck. His head bobbed back and forth from students pushing and shoving on his slow descent to the first floor.

Jack made it to his locker with only one slap to the back of his head from an upperclassman. For the next ten minutes, he filled his backpack full of books and removed a school year’s worth of papers piled on the locker’s floor and pictures of his girlfriend, Courtney, taped to its walls. Jake’s locker was as messy as his bedroom. It took two trips to the nearby trashcan to clean out everything. On the last trip, he found the permission slip he was sure the school had lost. He chuckled to himself. I guess Mr. Henderson was right. I didn’t turn it in. With one last look inside, he shut his locker, closing the door on his freshman year at Worthington Preparatory School.

A sharp pain shot up Jack’s neck when he slung his backpack over his right shoulder. Head down, he began his trek to the student parking lot. Out a back door of Wilton Hall, through the student’s courtyard, and past the football field, he talked to no one as he quickly made his way to the far side of campus. A slight breeze did little to prevent beads of sweat forming on his face.

The student parking lot consisted of spaces along both sides of a road that served as the back entrance to the school. The school assigned these spaces by grade level. The seniors were the closest, followed by the juniors, and then the sophomores. Since Jake was the only freshman old enough to drive, they assigned him the farthest space. Today, it seemed farther than ever.

Jack tossed his backpack into the backseat of his aging Ford Explorer, and then jumped on its hood. He leaned with his back against the windshield, hands behind his head and eyes closed. He wanted to soak up as much of the afternoon sun from the cloudless sky as he could. The warm glass soothed his tense muscles. I hope every day this summer’s like this, he thought as he listened to the sounds of classmates talking and laughing, radios blaring and the occasional honk or yell from a passing car. Several minutes passed before he glanced at his iPhone. Ollie, its been ten minutes, where the hell are you?

Ollie was Jack’s best friend. His full name was Oliver Hamilton Culver IV, a name he greatly despised. Similar to Jack, Ollie was a day student, although a grade ahead. The day students made up half of the student body at Worthington Prep. The other half were boarders who came from all around the world.

As far as Worthington Prep students went, Jack and Ollie were about as opposite as they could be. Jack was the only child in a family with highly educated parents. His father, Thomas Graystone, was a well-respected real estate attorney; his mother, Elizabeth Graystone, was a dentist.

Ollie was one of four children in a family that viewed education as a status symbol, not a means to make a living. Both parents attended Ivy League schools, where his father had earned a degree in psychology. A degree he only used during arguments, which happened quite often. His mother never earned her degree. The surprise of Ollie’s older sister stopped her before she could finish.

The differences continued with their attitudes toward school. Jack was mostly an A student who tried hard to get the best grade possible while making time for several sports. Ollie took pride in being an average student and not much of an athlete. The only sport he played was croquet, if you can call that a sport.

Ollie’s lack of study skills or desire to sweat primarily came from the fact that his family was extremely wealthy. His great-grandfather had started a successful munitions company many years ago, which his grandfather sold and dispersed the profits into trust accounts for each family member. When Ollie was thirteen, he overheard one of his trust managers say, “That’s one rich little bastard. He’ll never have to work a day in his life.” That was probably the worst thing for Ollie to accidentally overhear. Instantly, he developed a new philosophy regarding schoolwork. Since a C average was the minimum required for Worthington Prep, he would study no more or no less to maintain that average. Ollie did not want to get D’s, because the school would expel him. But he also did not want to get B’s, because that meant he had studied too much.

Jack was not so lucky. There was no old family money. One grandfather was a butcher, the other a barber. Although his father made a comfortable living, supplemented by his mother’s part-time job, the Graystones’ wealth paled in comparison to the Culvers’.

One of the few similarities the two shared was the fact that they were both a year behind in school. Jack started school late due to living out of the country for a year when he was younger. Ollie was a year behind, because, as he had said many times, he was “unfairly held back.” Ollie, however, would never explain why.

The sound of Ollie’s voice made Jack open his eyes. You could hear him halfway across the parking lot. As he approached, the differences in the two became more obvious. Both were of the same approximate height and weight, but their overall appearances were at both ends of the spectrum. This was especially noticeable in the way they each wore the school uniform—a white shirt, gray pants, blue blazer, and maroon school tie. Jack’s starched white shirt remained tucked into his pants, his tie was not loosened, and his short hair was perfectly combed. Ollie, on the other hand, had the front right side of his wrinkled shirt untucked, his tie unloosened and thrown over his left shoulder, and his shaggy hair was desperately in need of a brush.

“’Sup?” Ollie asked.

“Not much, just trying to recover from Mr. North’s Algebra exam. Man, it was it hard.”

“Well, you don’t have to see that old fart or another math problem for the next three months.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Unless I have to go to summer school.”

“Come on. If I can pass Algebra, I don’t think you’ll have any problems.”

Jack laughed. “Let’s go to McDonald’s. I’m starving.”

“Okay, but we have to wait for Lip.”

“Why do we have to wait for him?”

“I told him I’d give him a ride home.”

Jack sighed. “Why’d you do that?”

Ollie looked at the ground. “He asked and I couldn’t say no.”

“You really need to learn how to say no to people.”

“Well, he’s my friend.”

“Well, you really need to learn how to say no to your friends.”

Ollie paused. “No, I will not learn to say no to my friends. See, I just said no to a friend.”

Jack’s forehead wrinkled. “You’re an idiot.”

Ollie countered with an exaggerated smile.

Lip, whose actual name was Phillip Simpson, was in the same grade as Ollie. He got the nickname ‘Lip’ two years ago on his first day of school. When his homeroom teacher asked what name she should call him, he said “Phillip.” Without thinking, the teacher made the comment that she overheard his mother call him “Lip.” His reply was, “Only my mother calls me Lip. I want everyone else to call me Phillip.” Try telling that to a bunch of teenagers. From that point on, everyone called him Lip.

Jack, however, would call him “Mr. Negative” behind his back. The reason? Lip viewed everything negatively. If someone said, “That’s a nice car,” Lip would say, “It probably gets bad gas mileage.” Or if they said, “Let’s go to the beach tomorrow; it’s supposed to be a nice day.” Lip would respond with something like, “I bet it’s going to rain.” No matter what you said, he had a negative response.

“You need to stop calling him Mr. Negative, Jack. One of these days you’re going to say it in front of him and he’s going to throat-punch you.”

“Ollie, you ever heard the saying, positive people see the glass half full, negative people see the glass half empty? Well, Lip sees the glass half empty and containing poison.”

“I’m just saying. If he hears you, he’ll throat-punch you.”

Jack glanced at his iPhone. “Where is he? School’s been out for a while. He should’ve been here by now.”

“He said he had to talk to Mr. Monroe.”

Jack shook his head. “Great. Who knows how long that’ll take? McDonald’s will be packed by the time we get there.”

McDonald’s was the only fast-food restaurant in the coastal New England town of Worthington. The town council had fought hard to keep them out. They said these types of restaurants detracted from the town’s ‘quaint New England charm.’ Besides the Worthington Diner, McDonald’s was the only place most teenagers could afford. The other restaurants were tourist traps with big prices for small portions.

Another ten minutes passed before Lip jogged up to the Explorer.

“Sorry, guys,” Lip paused to catch his breath. “That took longer than I thought.”

“We’re going to McDonald’s. Wanna go, or do you want me to drop you off first?”

“I’ll go, but I need to ride with Jake. I have to talk to him about next year’s football team.”

The three jumped in the cars and headed out the back entrance. The Ford Explorer led the way, followed by Ollie’s new BMW 640i. This was Ollie’s second 640i. He had totaled the first one when he hit a telephone pole on Oceanside Drive. Ollie never told anyone exactly how he wrapped the car around the pole. His only explanation was, “I had to swerve to miss a dog.”

Jack wasn’t thrilled that Lip was his passenger. It wasn’t that he didn’t like him, he just wasn’t in the mood to listen to Lip’s complaining. The ride was silent at first. Finally, Jake asked, “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Nothing. I didn’t want to ride with Ollie. His driving scares the crap out of me.”

Jack nodded in agreement.

By the time the three arrived at McDonald’s, Ollie had already changed his clothes. He was out of his school uniform and into his typical attire; a tie-dyed T-shirt, khaki shorts he had made by cutting off the legs from a perfectly good pair of pants, and leather sandals he referred to as his Air Jerusalems.

“Ollie, how’d you change your clothes so fast?” Jack asked as they walked to the restaurant.

“Magic, my friends. A simple wave of my magic wand, and poof, my clothes were changed.”

Ever since Ollie was a child, magic had fascinated him. He constantly studied magicians and their tricks. He even had his own routine, calling himself Oliver the Magnificent. If Ollie studied one-quarter of the time he spent practicing magic, he would have straight A’s.

“Ollie, did you change your clothes while driving?” asked Lip. “No wonder why you ran your first car into a telephone pole.”

Ollie grinned. “Lip, I have another magic trick for you.” Ollie placed his balled fist in front of his mouth and blew into it several times. Each time he blew, he raised his middle finger.

Jack shook his head. “You’re an idiot.”

The three brought their trays to the back of the restaurant, and for the next two hours, sat at the table laughing and discussing their plans for the summer.

“So, Ollie, do think you passed this year, or are you going to be ‘unfairly held back’ again?” Jack asked.

“Unfortunately, I studied too much. Mr. Taylor’s history exam was so easy I stopped seventy-five questions in. I left the last twenty-five blank, so I wouldn’t ruin my C average.”

Jack rolled his eyes, as Lip said, “You’re full of crap.”

“Ollie, you’ve never told us what grade you were in when you were unfairly held back,” Jack said, nudging Lip under the table. “Was it kindergarten? A lot of kids’ parents hold them back if they don’t think they’re ready to start school. I actually went to kindergarten twice, once in Russia, then again in the United States.”

“It really doesn’t matter,” Ollie said in an attempt to change the subject. “Why don’t we go to the movies tonight?”

“Seriously, Ollie, what grade was it?” asked Lip.

After a pause, Ollie reluctantly said, “Second grade.”

“Second grade,” Jack said as he started to laugh. “How do you fail second grade? Were you still eating paste?”

“Or were you still peeing your pants?” Lip asked.

Obviously annoyed by the conversation, Ollie said in a raised voice, “I was too smart. I got bored in class and didn’t pay attention. So, I got bad grades. Also, my teacher told me that she liked me so much, she wanted me in her class for another year.”

Jack shook his head. “Let me get this straight. You were too smart. So, instead of moving you ahead a grade, they held you back. Wow. That does seem unfair.” Jack rolled his eyes.

“Well, are we going to the movies tonight or what?” Ollie asked through clenched teeth.

“I’ll go,” said Jack.

“Me, too,” said Lip.

Jack checked the Fandango app on his iPhone. “It says the movie starts at ten. So, let’s meet there around nine thirty. I heard they got a new racing game in the arcade. That should give me enough time to beat Ollie in a few races.”

Ollie laughed. “In your dreams.”

“Does that work for you guys?”

Both Lip and Ollie agreed.

Jack looked at his phone again. “I have to go. My parents are having some people over for dinner and my mom wants me home early to clean my room.”

“What time are they coming over?” asked Ollie as he looked at his watch.

“Six thirty, I think.”

Ollie laughed. “Jack, there’s no way you can clean that pig sty by then.”

Jack entered his house through the back door to find his mother putting the final touches on the night’s meal. He sniffed the air as he walked into the kitchen. “What’s for dinner?”

Knowing what she was going to say, Jack mouthed the words as she gave her usual reply. “Escargot, pheasant under glass, and crepe suzettes for dessert.”

“And what does that translate to today?”

“Chicken Marsala, mashed potatoes, mixed vegetable, and a salad. I also made two pies.” She laughed. “Mr. Hendrix at the bakery was nice enough to give me two boxes to store them.”

Jack smiled.

“Honey, how’d your exams go today?”

“The Algebra exam was hard. Mr. North said to have Dad give him a call. He knows several military schools he can recommend.”

His mom chuckled. “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that. Listen, the Andersons will be here around six thirty. Make sure your room’s clean.”

“I will.”

“I’m serious. Don’t just throw your dirty clothes under the bed or in your closet.”

“Mother, you know I’d never do that,” Jack said sarcastically.

His mother rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Grab your dry cleaning from the back porch before you go upstairs.”

Jack grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator, got his clothes, then headed to his room.

“I’ll be up shortly to check on you!” his mom yelled from the kitchen.

“Can’t wait,” Jack mumbled as he shut his bedroom door. He stepped over a laundry basket full of either clean or dirty clothes (he could not remember) on the way to his closet to hang up his laundry. Then, after a big stretch and a yawn, he fell face-first onto his bed.

By six thirty, Jack was sitting with his father in the living room while his mother finished some last-minute details before the dinner party. His dad glanced up from his magazine. “What did you do today?”

“Took two exams. Oh, by the way you might want to start looking for military schools. I went to lunch with Lip and Ollie. Talked to Courtney on the phone for a while. Stuff like that.”

The sun reflecting off a silver Porsche sports car pulling into the driveway caught Jack’s attention and he jumped to his feet. “They’re here.” He stood at the living room window and watched as their guest exited the car.

“Wow, Dad, you should see this guy’s car. You should buy one.”

Mr. Graystone stood and looked out the window with his son. “Love to. Let’s see, I could use your college fund to pay for it. You don’t really want to go to college, do you?”

“Maybe you should keep driving your Buick.” Jack patted his father’s back and then walked toward the door. “What does this guy do?”

“He owns a bunch of car dealerships. One’s a Porsche dealership.”

“Cool.”

“Be nice to him. He might have a summer job for you.”

“How’d you meet him?”

“My law firm closed the sale of his house.”

“Where’s his house?”

“Oceanside Drive.”

“Really? What’d that cost?”

“Twelve million.”

“Must be nice,” Jake mumbled to himself.

“Liz, the Andersons are here,” Jack’s dad yelled on the way to the front door.

The Anderson family consisted of Robert and Christina, and their only child, fourteen-year-old Ian. They had only lived in Worthington for a few weeks, having moved from an apartment on Manhattan’s Upper East Side.

“Hello, Robert,” Mr. Graystone said extending his hand.

“Thomas, this is my wife Christina and my son, Ian.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you. This is Elizabeth and my son, Jack.”

Everyone shook hands and talked in the foyer for a moment before Mr. Graystone said, “Jack, why don’t you take Ian up to your room? Show him your yearbook and tell him about the school. You two will be schoolmates next year.” Mr. Graystone led Robert and Christina into the living room.

“Okay, follow me.” Jack waved Ian over to the staircase and the two disappeared upstairs.

“Why don’t you grab the desk chair,” Jack said as they entered the room. “Just step over all that stuff.” Jack grabbed his school pants that he had draped over the back of the chair and tossed them on the floor. He then reached for the yearbook on the shelf above the desk. It was under a stack of car magazines, several of which fell to the ground as he placed it in front of Ian.

“Here,” Jack opened the yearbook, “look at this.” Jack flipped through the pages and pointed out the different buildings on the campus. He told Ian which teachers he liked and disliked, and explained which sports and activities were the most fun.

Ian said little at first, answering questions with just a few words, if not only a “yes” or a “no.” His eyes never left the pages of the yearbook. It wasn’t until Jack asked, “Do you play video games?” that he came out of his shell.

He looked up at Jack and said, “Yeah. Assassin’s Creed’s my favorite. What about you?”

“Forza Motorsport, but I play a lot of Call of Duty with my friend, Ollie, online.”

“I love that game. Here’s my online name.” Ian grabbed a pen and a scrap piece of paper and wrote Reilly1234. “Let me know when you’re playing. I’m online all the time.”

For the next ten minutes, the one-sided conversation was entirely about video games. Ian would not shut up. “I’m getting real good at Assassin’s Creed. I almost beat the guy that runs the video game store over on Main Street. Uh, what’s it called?”

“GameSpot. My friend Ollie says he’s the best player around. I guess if your job is to sell video games, you should know how to play them.”

“Boys,” Mr. Graystone yelled up the stairwell. “Seven o’clock. Time for dinner.”

“It’s about time,” said Jack, “I’m starving.”

“Me too,” Ian said as they bolted from the room. The sound of their footsteps filled the house as they ran down the stairs.

When they entered the dining room, everyone began taking their seats at the table. After a quick blessing of the food by Mr. Graystone, the conversations began.

“Jack, I understand you’re looking for a summer job,” Mr. Anderson said with genuine interest.

“Yeah. They’re hard to find around here. Most of the local college students get them before the high school kids finish school.”

“Well, I talked to Burt Chambers, the general manager of my Porsche dealership. He has an opening to clean cars and do odd jobs around the dealership. It’s part-time and you should get about thirty hours a week. Would you be interested?”

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

“I’ll talk to him again on Monday. He’ll want to interview you, but I have to warn you, he’s kind of a jerk. So be prepared.”

Not knowing what to think, Jack replied, “Okay.”

The conversations continued for almost two hours. Since Jack had plans to meet his friends, he was anxious to leave. Since Ian wanted to walk his dog, he was anxious to get home. So, after what turned out to be a big production, the adults agreed to let Jack drive Ian home while they continued to talk.

“See you later, Mom and Dad. Nice meeting you, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson,” Jack said quickly as he and Ian jumped up from the table. “Ian, wait here. I have to get my keys.” Jack dialed Ollie’s number as he ran to his room. The call went to voicemail, so he left a message saying he was on his way. Then, with a quick wave to their parents, the two boys bolted out of the house and headed to the Explorer. The screen door closed with a loud crash behind them.

A few minutes later, they arrived at Ian’s front gate. Wow, this is impressive, Jack thought as he stared at the wrought iron gate and ivy-covered stone wall that protected the property. “Two, nine, eight, six, seven, open,” Ian gave Jack the code. The electric motors hummed as the large iron gates slowly opened. Jack eased along the crushed stone driveway toward the house. The stones crackled beneath the Explorer’s tires.

“Now that’s a house.” Jack smiled as he looked over the two-story limestone mansion.

“Yeah, it’s big. It’s a lot bigger than our apartment in Manhattan. Want to see my room?”

Jack glanced at his iPhone. Nine o’clock. I really need to go. Ah, screw it. “Yeah. I have to make it quick though.”

The Explorer’s doors closed one after the other with a “thunk!” and Ian bolted toward the house. Jack followed, leaping up the front steps to a massive double door. After reaching into his pocket, Ian removed a keychain containing three identical keys. They jingled as he inserted each one into the lock. “I never know which one it is,” he said with a glance toward Jake. When the door opened, he said, “It’s always the last one,” then ran to silence the alarm. As he disappeared into the darkness, he tossed his keys and phone onto a table in the foyer. The phone landed on the table, but the keys slid across, landing on the floor with a clank. Jack followed, taking two steps inside. The light spilling in through the open front door cast a dim glow over the two-story foyer. It was bright enough, though, that Jake could make out white marble floors and a double staircase. Ian flipped several light switches on his way back into the room. Jake looked around. This house looks like a museum. Before he could say anything, he heard what sounded like someone running in the hallway upstairs.

“Reilly!” Ian yelled to a dog that was barreling toward them at full speed. The medium-sized tan dog’s paws hit every other step on the way down. In a matter of seconds, he was jumping on Ian with his tail wagging so quickly his entire body shook.

“Jack, this is Reilly.”

“What kind of dog is he?”

“A soft-coated wheaten terrier.”

Jack ran his hand over Reilly’s coat. “Yeah, he sure is soft.”

Ian grabbed his keys from the floor before the two boys, followed by the dog, headed to his bedroom. Their footsteps resonated through the silent house as they hurried up the staircase, past the landing, down a wide hallway, then through a set of double doors. Ian flipped a light switch as they entered a room furnished with a couch, a couple of chairs, a table, many bookshelves, and a large-screen television.

“Cool room.”

“This is my ‘boy cave’ as my dad calls it.”

Jack walked over to a bookshelf and inspected Ian’s video game collection. “You need to meet my friend Ollie. You two like the same games.”

“That’d be great. My bedroom’s through here. Follow me.”

They walked through another door into a large bedroom that looked like something from a magazine. The walls were dark blue and covered with pictures depicting English hunting scenes or men playing polo. Centered in the room was a perfectly made bed, its linens matched the drapes. Above its headboard were two polo mallets hung in the shape of an X. There was nothing out of place.

Jack glanced around and thought, let me live in this room for a few days. It won’t look like this for very long. “Where do those doors lead?”

“I’ll show you. This one goes into my bathroom.” Jack followed Ian into a massive bathroom. “And this door leads to my closet.” He then followed Ian into a closet the size of his own bedroom. It was so large that Ian’s clothes filled only a small portion. When Jack’s eyes scanned the closet, he noticed something on the sleeves of Ian’s shirts. They were monogrammed with a large A, flanked by a small I and C.

“Ian, are all your shirts monogrammed?”

“Most of them. My mom had them done before I went to boarding school last year. This way I knew which ones were mine.”

“What does the C stand for?”

Reluctantly, Ian said, “Claybourne.”

“Is that a family name?”

“No, it’s kind of embarrassing. It’s the name of my dad’s first dog.”

Jack laughed as the two walked back into the bedroom. “My middle name is Furthur.”

“Furthur?”

Jack shook his head. “My mother’s maiden name.” He looked at his phone and realized that he was running late. “Ian, it was nice meeting you. I’ll give you a call tomorrow. Maybe we can go hit some tennis balls.”

“Cool. I’ll look for my racquet tonight. I’m sure it’s around here somewhere.”

Ian and Reilly followed Jack through the front door. As Ian began to lock the door behind him, he turned to Jack and said, “Oh, crap. I forgot something. I’ll see you tomorrow. Okay?” He turned to Reilly, and shaking his index finger at him, said, “You stay here,” before he disappeared into the house.

Jack jumped in the Explorer, started the engine, then reached for his phone. He called Ollie to tell him his tank was on empty and he had to stop to get gas. The conversation lasted only a minute or two, then Jack put the Explorer into gear and set off for the movies. In his rearview mirror, he could see Ian leaving for Reilly’s walk.