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((Triple Saturday -- Page 1 of 3))
As the days went by, they spent more and more time together, mainly because ‘Peter’ followed Parson around at every opportunity.

What an obnoxious brat. Parson wondered if this was what it was like to have a little brother. Peter claimed to be older than him, but when Parson asked the boy’s mother directly, surprise, surprise, that turned out to be a lie. Parson had a full year on him.

Parson’s next encounter with Damian was at the summer festival. All the boys in the town had gathered to play a game of tag. Some of the girls tried to join in, but the boys chased them off. Parson wouldn’t have minded their company, especially not that of Alisa Brandt, but oh well. He hoped he would find an opening later so that he could kick dirt on that stupid pink dress she was wearing. Where did she even get a dress like that, anyway? She couldn’t have made it herself. It was way too nice.

Damian tagged Parson while he was distracted.

Agh. Stupid Alisa and her stupid dress. What was she laughing about, huh? It really bothered him.

He had to tag Damian back. For some reason, no one else would do. It had to be Damian. So Parson chased him down and ignored everyone else.

The other boys took notice fairly quickly, but Parson didn’t care. Maybe it was because he wasn’t feeling quite so timid, anymore. He’d been in a fight. He had this weird little minion following him around. Parson’s confidence had grown. And he absolutely didn’t want to lose to Damian, lord’s son or not.

Eventually, Parson managed to tackle him. It was rougher than they were supposed to play, but that was how these games went. The boys all knew that. And so did the girls, probably, watching them the way they did.

But Damian didn’t seem to take it that way. He socked Parson in the jaw, and then they were rolling in the dirt, kicking and screaming, punching and clawing.

The other boys had to pull them off of one another before the adults showed up.

And that was the strangest moment of all. Everyone understood without any words being spoken that, regardless of what they had just been doing, the grownups couldn’t find out. Parson just didn’t want to get punished. Were the other boys the same way?

It seemed to be working. They could pretend. He didn’t even mind acting like Damian was his best friend.

But just as the adults were turning to leave, one of the girls ratted them out.

“They were fighting!” she said. “We saw them! Didn’t we, girls?!”

The other girls all agreed with her--even Alisa, who scrunched her face up and stuck her tongue out at Parson in particular.

Traitorous wenches.

This was why girls couldn’t be trusted.

The boys were all punished. Parson’s mother whipped his ass so hard that it hurt to sit for the next few days.