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Edmund chewed the tip of his tongue as he circled the final answer on his quiz, and glanced over the page just as a bony hand shoved a small chalkboard across his desk with a grating scrape of wood.
He glanced up at Roger Morton seated beside him, the blond boy's sharp blue eyes flicking down to the board scrawled with messy, chalky letters.
"Answer to question 12?"
Edmund shook his head and shoved it away, but before he could get up to turn his paper in, the chalkboard scraped back to him, this time crossed out and written over.
"15?"
Edmund rolled his eyes, snatched the chalk from Morton's hand, and scrawled "do your own work" before shoving it back again.
He stood just as something crashed at his feet and dusty chalkboard pieces struck his boots, skittering over the schoolroom floor out of their broken frame.
Edmund's eyes flew up to meet Roger Morton's defiant glare, and Mr Fletcher called from the front of the room.
"What's going on over there?"
"Pevensie broke my blackboard!" cried Morton before Edmund could so much as open his mouth. "He tried to cheat off me and broke it when I wouldn't let him!"
Edmund grabbed the boy's collar on reflex. "Why, you little—"
"Pevensie!" snapped the schoolmaster, and Edmund froze, glancing up hesitantly to find every set of eyes in the classroom fixed on him in fear or surprise, expressions he had once so easily elicited from smaller boys now striking through his chest with a stab of self awareness.
He straightened up and let go of the boy.
"Don't think I've forgotten your old tricks, young man," said Mr Fletcher, shrewd brown eyes pinning him from behind narrow spectacles. "You'll not so easily get away with them this term."
Edmund almost opened his mouth to say Morton was lying, to say he wasn't like that anymore—but he clenched his jaw and held his tongue. It wasn't worth arguing while his deskmate watched him with that subtle, satisfactory smirk, no matter how desperately he wanted to knock it clean off his face.
"I'm sorry sir, it won't happen again."
Morton blinked.
Mr Fletcher sighed. "It's only the second day of term, I'd rather not start this year off with a detention. Don't make me change my mind."
"Yes, sir."
The clock chimed one and the schoolmaster glanced up, then checked his watch. "You're dismissed to lunch."
The classroom burst into motion, boys grabbing bags and pulling on coats as Edmund walked stiffly to Mr Fletcher's desk, handed in his quiz, and turned around without a word as the classroom doors opened to a blast of early winter cold.
He filed out ahead of the rest, stuffing his hands into his pockets as the school grounds stretched out before him, white and fresh, icy motes drifting lazily through the air as he struck out toward the common building. Several other boys followed at a distance, spreading out over the lawn, though some of their chatter still reached his ears.
"I thought they were friends," somebody said behind him, and Edmund sighed.
They had been friends, he and Morton, before the bombings closed down the school two years ago and scattered most of the boys across the countryside. Or, perhaps friends wasn't exactly the right word. Bullies might have more accurately sufficed. But he hadn't seen any of these kids since before Professor Kirke's house. Since before Narnia. And now it seemed he'd been the only one to change in that time.
He slowed halfway across the little stone bridge spanning the creek which ran lazily down the middle of the school grounds; frozen now, the bank hung all with icicles, and it reminded him for a moment of the little streams off the Great River, where the smaller creatures made games of sliding back and forth across the slippery surface, mice and moles spinning with squeaky giggles through tiny snow drifts.
He breathed out and collected his nerves, breath turning to steam and vanishing away against the dull grey sky.
Perhaps he would talk to the schoolmaster later… try to explain…
He'd almost moved on when a snowball struck him upside the jaw and he spluttered, derisive laughter barking from below as his hand flew to his stinging face and he glanced down over the edge of the bridge to where Roger Morton stood in the middle of the frozen creek.
"Morton," he spat, "what are you—"
"High and mighty, now, huh? That's how you wanna play, Pevensie? You think you're too good for me or something?"
"I don't know what you're talking about. And get off the ice, it hasn't been cold long enough to—"
"Don't tell me what to do," snapped the sharp-faced boy, "I'm already sick of your attitude. What happened to you? You used to be fun! Now you wanna be, what, teacher's pet?"
"I used to be a childish prick, Morton, and as far as I've seen this year, you still are."
"Excuse me?"
"Oh, get off the ice, will you?"
Morton took a step back and opened his arms in challenge. "Make me."
"No," called another boy behind Edmund, "he's right, you shouldn't walk there yet, it's not—"
"Nobody asked you, Brown."
"Boys!" called Mr Fletcher from across the lawn, "I think we've had quite enough excitement for the day, move along."
Morton glanced over his shoulder and ducked sharply toward the bank before the schoolmaster could spot him, but a web of cracks shot out from beneath his boot with a deep crunch, and he froze.
"No," snapped Edmund, "don't—"
But the boy had already taken a step backward into the middle of the creek again, and another crack snapped beneath him as the ice broke and slipped out from under his unsteady feet.
A chorus of gasps and shouts rippled back through the onlooking boys as Roger Morton lurched and crashed through the frozen stream, vanishing with a cry and a sickening splash.
Edmund leaned hurriedly out and stared into the frothing patch of water lapping dark over snow, and a second later he caught sight of bony white fingers still clinging to the edge of the ice.
He shed his jacket and flung one leg over the stone rail as someone shouted "Pevensie!" But he ignored them, flung his second leg over, and dropped for one heart-stopping second before he plunged straight through the ice.
A shock of freezing water crushed the air from his lungs and paralyzed him in an instant, current tearing him downstream just as he lashed out through screaming nerves and shoved off the shallow riverbed, digging his heels in and grasping blindly for Morton as his fingers closed around cloth and he dragged himself back up to the surface.
His elbow locked over the edge of the ice and his head and shoulders burst back out into freezing wind, hauling with all his might until the other boy's hand grasped further out and his head broke the surface too with a gasp and a violent cough.
Figures poured down around the edges of the stream in the periphery of Edmund's blurry vision, and he kicked off the bottom again, inching desperately along the sharp edge of the ice as the current nearly dragged him back under.
He kicked and clawed and at last he struck the edge, grasping somebody else's hand as it reached down to him and he hauled himself up the bank, dragging Morton behind him, the boy flailing and struggling in the cold as others crowded to pull him up.
Edmund collapsed onto solid ground, snow crunching under his knees and stinging his fingers, solid ice invading his body like knives through his muscles, shaking so violently he could barely even move, and the rush of voices parted overhead as Mr Fletcher crashed through the crowd.
"What on earth do you think you're doing?" he thundered. "You could've been— Edmund Pevensie, if this is your doing—"
"He didn't do anything, sir," piped a smaller boy, and Edmund glanced up to him, freckled and spectacled and hanging back meekly. "He jumped in to save Morton."
"He—? You—? Jumped in—?"
"It's true," said another boy, and a flood of affirmation echoed through the crowd.
Edmund just barely managed to nod through his stiff, lockjawed shivering, mind frozen blank for a second as the schoolmaster dropped beside them and took the dry jacket passing quickly through the gathered boys, wrapping it around his soaking wet shoulders.
"Is that right, Morton?" he asked, and the boy only stared, face ghostly white, yellow hair dripping, school uniform soaked against his body as his shoulders shook and his pale blue eyes locked onto Edmund in sheer speechless bewilderment.
Edmund's teeth chattered, stiff fingers closing around his jacket and clutching it tighter as the schoolmaster looked back down at him, confusion churning in brown eyes.
"I d-don't suppose," chattered Edmund, "you'd b-believe me now? Ab-bout the blackboard?"
The man heaved a deep sigh. "Come on, we'll talk about this inside. Boys, help Morton up." And he clutched Edmund by the shoulders, steadying his trembling figure as he struggled to get his legs working again.
Several of the smaller boys stood back and watched him with wide eyes, fear replaced all at once by confusion or awe as he stumbled to his feet, and their faces reminded him for a split second of tiny woodland creatures for all their timid staring.
He caught the eye of the freckled, spectacled boy, and smiled in silent thanks.
The boy smiled back.