Old Secrets, New Discoveries

Chapter Five

The woman threw her hands in the air, “That nephew of mine is impossible! At any rate, enjoy your day, and try to do so without causing trouble.

Grinning, Tristan nodded with an exaggerated bow. “I shall do my best, Madam.” Missus Smith scoffed and continued her walk, while he called after her, “Good day!”

“What did she mean?” Peter demanded the second they were alone.

“Oh...” his companion looked suddenly uncomfortable, “Not much. This town can be rather boring at times...a few of us like to...stir things up, so to speak.” Peter quickly caught on, shaking his head and looking greatly amused.

“What have I gotten myself into?” He muttered, trailing after Tristan to their as yet unknown destination. They had left the town and found themselves walking through the trees by the side of a bubbling creek before he knew it. Fears of being lost or found by some wild creature began to work their way up inside of him, for he'd never spent any time in a real woods before and knew not what to expect of it. Tristan's steady, purposeful steps were reassuring though, and there was no way he was going to speak a word of his fears.

The creek fed into a pond, heavily shaded by tall, strong trees. A rope hung from one of them, and not even pausing to jerk of his shirt, Tristan grabbed it, jumping and swinging out over the water. He fell in with a splash, resurfacing quickly. “Come on!” The words were spoken like a challenge, and a challenge was something Peter would never pass up. He followed eagerly, biting back a yelp at the shock of the freezing water as his hands slipped from the rope, dumping him unceremoniously beside his friend.

“Ouch...” he muttered, glaring at his rope burned hands while he kicked, barely managing to stay afloat. Tristan didn't look overly concerned.

“Your hands are soft. You'll get used to it.” With that said, he struck out, swimming easily to the bank. Peter followed with a little more struggle, vaguely wondering when the last time he had gone swimming was.

“Why do you hate her?” The question caught him off guard, but there was no doubt of who Tristan was refereeing to. A heavy silence hung between them, until Peter finally raised his eyes to meet Tristan's curious pair. Something about them assured him that he would not be judged, and so with a sigh, he decided to explain.

“It might sound silly,” he mumbled, frowning as he struggled to put words to the feeling.

Tristan shrugged, “It might sound it, but I think anything to prompt such a strong reaction from someone can't be entirely silly.”

Peter stared into the water for an instant before jumping back in, anything to occupy his mind. “I've been playing second fiddle to her since I was born,” he snapped at last, “I'm sure my mother would trade me for her in a heartbeat, and I've always been in the shadow of a girl I don't even know.”

Tristan was silent for awhile, swimming calmly. Then he shrugged and struck out for the rope, splashing in once more. “Thank you for explaining that,” he said at last, and that was the end of the conversation. Feeling relieved that the topic was dropped, Peter determined to simply enjoy the rest of the day- not to mention freedom from her. He had noticed, with some surprise, that she was easier to avoid here than she ever had been at home. A fact he planned to take full advantage of.

“Heads up!” An unknown voice shouted from behind, and he didn't even have a chance to turn to see it's owner before a wave of frigid water washed over him, droplets flying everywhere.

“Bryan, you're dead!” Tristan's exclamation surprised him even more. He sat back, watching in amusement as the pair tackled each other, wondering who Bryan was and why the name was vaguely familiar, until he remembered the night before, and the incident with the snake- Bryan's snake, she had said. And Bryan was Tristan's...brother? Friend?

“How in the world can this idiot be my cousin?” Ah, cousins. Peter found himself looking at an annoyed Bryan, who's head was covered in mud, and merely grinned in response. He dunked under, and came back up not only a tad cleaner- or at least enough so that he could see- but with an armload of an oozing brown and green substance, most likely off the pond floor. Instead of flinging it at Tristan, as Peter expected, Bryan threw it through the air, and it landed with a loud plop right on him.

“Hey!” Peter exclaimed, staring with shock at the now more than spoiled white shirt. Bryan raised his eyebrows slightly, taking in his reaction.

“Come on, even the rich boy can have some fun in the mud.”

Peter stiffened, glaring angrily. Any response died on his tongue, but that didn't stop him from bristling at the implied insult.

“Bry shut up,” Tristan snapped, narrowing his eyes. Then, lightening his tone he flipped his gaze to Peter, “Care to help me get him back?”

“I didn't mean it as an insult!” Bryan protested, “It's just tru- Agh!” for the sentence did not get a chance to be finished, as Tristan assaulted him. Peter snickered, watching with satisfaction as he went under the water. Hearing the sound, his friend shot him an easy grin. “I said, you care to help?”

This time Peter burst out laughing, “Naw, I'd say you got it under control. More amusing to watch.” Even as he said it, the pair traded places, Tristan let Bryan up, and the latter promptly knocked the former over.

After a moment's hesitation, Peter pushed himself back into the water, swimming to Tristan's aid. It was a wonder with all the yelling and laughing than none of them drowned, but half an hour later they all crawled out of the pond dripping and muddy, tired and content.

The rich boy was realizing just how much he'd missed all these years, never really spending time with real friends. And he dreaded leaving the place that he had loathed coming to. Perhaps Rachel's existence wasn't such a problem, for he doubted whether his mother would have been so eager to come here if there were no Rachel.

As if reading his thoughts, Tristan stared at him hard, “Give her a chance,” he insisted quietly, “You may be surprised.”

Peter started, and turned to scowl at his new friend, “How'd you know I was thinking about her?”

Bryan coughed, looking uncomfortable and confused, causing Tristan to glance his way, “Peter and Rache like each other about as well as a cat likes swimming,” he clarified before turning back to Peter, “Since I've met you, she's been the only thing to upset you. I know that hasn't been long, but I figured that was a safe guess as to why your expression darkened,” he shrugged, stood, and stretched, casting off the matter easily.

“I've seen enough of her to know I don't like her,” he grumbled, also rising to his feet.

Tristan raised his eyebrows and shrugged carelessly, “Then just ignore her. It would seem to be time for dinner. Care to come back with Bryan and I?”

Peter grinned, dropping the topic of Rachel as easily as the other had, and nodding in agreement. As they walked, drying slowly, a spontaneous question popped into his mind and out his tongue, “How old are you, anyhow?”

Tristan glanced at him curiously, “Not quite twenty. And yourself?”

Peter paused, then shrugged, “Seventeen.”

No more was said on the topic, indeed, no more was said at all until they reached Tristan's home. If his mother was surprised by the additional boy, she did not show it. She merely smiled, welcomed him cordially, and retreated back to her needle work.

The next several days passed in similar fashion, Peter's time occupied with various activities, some interesting and some not, alongside Tristan and Bryan, the latter of whom he began to be acquainted with more slowly than the former. He avoided Rachel determinedly, and neither so much as looked at each other, though he didn't notice that she was also ignoring him, since he was so bent on not noticing her. He even forgot the third prank that he had had in mind, and that was saying something. Much to his annoyance, however, his mother seemed convinced that the two of them were the best of friends, and he couldn't seem to find a gentle way to tell her just how wrong she was.