“You geek!” she taunted playfully. But he could tell she meant it as a compliment, which warmed him even more.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” He pulled the ribbon from the gun. “Here’s your favor. In one piece, as promised. Er, if you don’t mind a little black soot.”
She took it from him and pinned her hair back up. “My hero,” she joked, beaming at him.
“You know,” Sir Gawain remarked, stepping up to join them, “’tis customary for the fair maiden who offers her favor to bestow a kiss upon her knight, should he be declared the winner of the day.” He winked at Stu.
Stu watched as Sophie’s face turned bright red. A color, he was positive, that matched his own face. Still, he had to admit, the medieval knight made a darn good wingman and deep inside he was grateful for his boldness.
“Well…” Sophie said slowly. “I wouldn’t want to upset the rules of courtly love.” Then she smiled and, without warning, grabbed Stu by both sides of his head and planted a kiss on his lips.
Time went wonky and Stu was half convinced his heart had stopped beating altogether—the real world becoming better than his wildest dreams. Unfortunately, by the time he remembered he should probably kiss her back, she’d already pulled away, laughing awkwardly and breaking the spell.
“How’s that?” she asked, turning back to Gawain. But the knight was long gone.
So Stu answered instead. “Perfect.”
They faded to silence, Sophie chewing on her lower lip. Stu struggled for something intelligent and manly to say. What would the real King Arthur do at a time like this?
“Are you hungry?” he blurted out. Not exactly the most romantic of lines, but all he could come up with on short notice. Most likely because he hadn’t eaten this morning—too nervous about the fight—and hunger pains were now stabbing at his stomach.
“Actually I’d better get back to the Well of Dreams,” she said regretfully. “I’ve already stayed way too long.”
“Yeah, you’ve got your own mission,” he said. Funny how real life seemed so far away right now. He didn’t want her to go—to leave him here all by himself. At the same time, he reminded himself, the sooner she left, the sooner she’d be back. The sooner maybe, possibly, he could kiss her again. And this time he wouldn’t freeze up.
“Yup. Gotta get the scabbard,” she said with a grin. “And drag that pesky once and future king back home where he belongs.”
“All in time for the Snowflake Dance!” he cried happily. It wasn't until after the words left his mouth that he remembered he hadn't actually gotten up the courage to ask her to go with him yet.
She looked up at him with a surprised expression. “Um, right,” she replied, her smile vanishing from her face. “Heaven forbid you miss that.”
Stu looked at her, confused by the sarcastic edge to her voice. Was she still angry at him for wanting to go? “About the dance—” he started, his mouth suddenly feeling full of cotton.
“You know, I was thinking that I might go, too,” she broke in, before he could get the words out. “I mean, just to see how incredibly lame it really is.” She looked at him expectedly.
Ask her! he screamed at himself. After all, he'd just defeated a freaking medieval knight in shining armor. Asking a girl to a dance should be a cakewalk.
“Look, I . . . “ he began.
But try as he might, he still couldn't speak, managing only to stare at her with a stupefied expression on his face instead. What a loser.
“Hey, maybe I'll even see if that cute kid in my English class wants to take me,” Sophie added, in a forced light tone. “After all, he's been bugging me, like, forever.”
Stu took a step back, feeling as if he'd been struck in the face. First she didn't want to go to the dance at all. Now she wanted to take someone else? He suddenly had the nearly overwhelming urge to challenge Lot to a rematch. Just so he’d have someone evil to punch in the head a few hundred times.
“Um, great,” he said, staring down at his feet instead. “That'll be . . . cool.”
An awkward silence fell over them and when Stu dared look up, he realized Sophie was staring at him with furious eyes.
“Are you okay?” he asked, confused at what had made her so angry. After all, she was the one who just decided to go start dating some new guy. Shouldn't he be the one who was angry here?
“I'm fine,” she growled. “I've just got to go.”
And with that—and not so much as even a hug goodbye—she turned on her heel and stalked out of the courtyard, leaving Stu standing there, completely bewildered. Seriously, he would never understand girls.
“May Merlin be with you . . . ” he called after her hopefully.
But she didn't reply. Just turned the corner and disappeared from view.
Chapter 23
“There he is!”
“Hey, Arthur! Over here!”
As Arthur followed Lucas off the school bus the next morning, he was immediately swarmed by the football team, all talking excitedly at once.
“Man, that was the most amazing catch ever.”
“And then that run! He left the Celts in the dust!”
“I had no idea it wasn’t Lucas. He looked just like Lucas.”
“We need him on the team for real!”
“Guys, guys,” Lucas cried, putting a protective arm around Arthur. “Back up. Give Arthur some space.”
The other players reluctantly drew back, allowing Lucas and Garrett to lead Arthur through the crowd and over to a “picnic table” that sat under a large oak tree not far from the school's entrance. Some of the players he'd met the night before greeted him warmly and Arthur sat down with his new friends, grinning from ear to ear.
After a wonderful night’s sleep in a warm, cozy bed, followed by a hearty breakfast cooked by Lucas’s sweet mother, he felt like a new man. And now, to be surrounded by such praise and appreciation for his efforts the night before? Well, let’s just say if he had to be stuck out of time somewhere, the twenty-first century wasn’t half bad.
Lucas turned to his teammates. “So listen guys! Coach called me this morning. He said the scout was real impressed by my last-minute game-saver. Said the two of us have a lot to talk about.” He gave Arthur a friendly slap on the back. “All thanks to Art here!”
“It was my honor to serve,” Arthur replied, feeling his face heat with pleasure.
“We gotta get you on the team for real,” Tristan chimed in. “We could use someone like you.”
“Yeah, maybe we'd actually start winning some games for once,” Garrett joked.
“At least we don't have to face the Celts again until January,” Connor added. “By then everyone will be off injury and ready to kick some major butt.”
“Hey, Arthur!”
Arthur whirled around at the sound of his name, his eyes falling on three girls walking down the grassy field in those short plaid skirts they all seemed to wear. He recognized one of them as Lady Ashley Jones, the cheerleader from yesterday. She waved and blew him a kiss, before walking on by. Garrett gave a low whistle.
“Nice,” he said. “I think she likes you.”
“Yeah, you should ask her to the Snowflake Dance,” Connor encouraged.
Arthur sighed, reality crashing in on that delightful fantasy. “I hardly think her father would approve of me.”
The knights looked at one another, then laughed. “Are you kidding?” Garrett asked in an incredulous voice. “Ashley Jones doesn’t give a rat's butt what her father thinks.”
“Maybe so,” Arthur protested. “But I'm still only a poor orphan. There's no way she'd want to be seen with someone like me.”
Graham patted him on the shoulder. “Dude, I don't know what dating is like back in England, but here in the good old U.S. of A. we're all created equal.” He grinned. “It even says so in the Constitution. Orphan or no—you have the inalienable right to date Ashley Jones . . . or anyone else at school. End of story.”
Arthur stared at him in disbe
lief. “Everyone's equal here?” he repeated, not sure he was understanding right. “I mean, even the serfs?”
“Sure. Even those of us who surf,” Tristan agreed. He made a gesture with his hand and fingers. “Hang tight, dude!” he quipped, and everyone laughed.
“Come on, we gotta get to class,” Lucas said, grabbing Arthur's arm. “The bell's about to ring.”
The two boys said their goodbyes and headed into the school, Arthur still overwhelmed by what he'd just learned. If this was true—if everyone was really created equal—that meant even he had a chance of becoming someone here. No, not just someone, but anyone! He could become whoever he wanted to be and never again be stuck on the sidelines because of his peasant birth. It was hard to wrap his head around.
As they turned the corner into a second hallway, Arthur's thoughts were interrupted as his eyes fell on a large, brutish man slamming a skinny, black-haired boy against a locker. He turned to Lucas in question.
“What's going on?”
“Guess it’s Pick on Damon Day again,” Lucas remarked casually. “Poor guy. I swear he gets it at least once a week.”
Arthur watched, dismayed, as the black-haired boy—Damon—begged for mercy. But his enemy just laughed and continued to abuse him. A crowd began forming around the two, but no one seemed especially interested in stopping the fight. In fact, most of them seemed to be enjoying it.
“We must do something!” Arthur cried, turning to Lucas anxiously.
But his friend just shook his head. “Fights between the different cliques happen all the time here,” he explained. “It’s best not to get involved.”
Arthur stared at him, dumbfounded by his nonchalance. “But we’re knights.” Suddenly he remembered the fight back at Medieval Manor. Evidently chivalry wasn't a big thing here in the twenty-first century.
But still . . .
“Seriously, just let the teachers deal with it,” Lucas insisted, starting back down the hall.
But Arthur found he couldn't move, standing there and watching the boy get beat. He'd been there too many times in the past. Brutalized by his stepbrother and his friends, handcuffed by his humble birth, forbidden to stand up against them because they were knights.
But here everyone was created equal.
“Stop!” he cried, throwing himself between the attacker and his victim. “Leave him alone. Now.”
The lad raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Or what?” he asked snidely. “What are you going to do?”
Actually Arthur hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Or I will fight you myself,” he said, hoping he sounded confident and brave. Inside, his heart was beating wildly as the reality of what he'd just done started to sink in. The brute was at least three times his size.
“You and what army?”
Good question. Arthur slowly turned to the group of curious bystanders, hovering around the hallway. “Who will stand with me?” he pleaded. But not a single person stepped forward. He swore under his breath. Cowards.
“Guess you're on your own, new kid,” his enemy said with a chuckle. “I'm going to enjoy this.”
He grabbed Arthur by the collar and slammed him against the row of lockers. Arthur’s head crashed against metal and for a moment he saw stars.
But he wouldn't give up that easily. Shaking his head to clear it, he wound up his fist, just as Kay used to do back home, usually at Arthur's expense. Then, sucking in a breath, he went on the attack, throwing his entire weight against the bully, knocking him backwards, while at the same time smashing him hard in the jaw.
The boy waved his arms wildly, losing balance and going down hard, slamming against the stone floor with a loud thud. A moment later, Arthur fell on top of him.
Unfortunately, before he could deliver a second punch, the boy twisted, rolling him over and pinning him to the floor, crushing him with his massive weight. Arthur struggled to free himself, but his arms were trapped under the bully’s massive thighs. The boy slammed a fist into Arthur’s face. Again and again and—
And then, as suddenly as it began, it stopped.
Arthur’s eyes flew open and he realized the brute was no longer on top of him. The crowd had sprung into action, dragging the bully off Arthur and shoving him down the hall, telling him to “get out of here” and “pick on someone your own size.” Arthur smiled to himself. His actions had inspired courage. Justice. Just like a real knight.
“What’s going on here?” demanded an angry male voice, over the din.
“Uh, oh. It’s Mr. Moody,” Arthur heard Lucas say. A moment later, his friend, with help from Damon, lifted him off the ground and dragged him away. He glanced back to see the school guard yelling at the other students and throwing out something called “detentions” left and right. Lucas pushed him into an empty classroom and Damon slammed the door shut behind them and locked it.
“That was close,” Lucas said, letting out a huge breath. He turned to Arthur. “You okay?”
“Yeah, you okay?” asked Damon, peering at him anxiously.
Arthur laughed grimly, rubbing his head. “I should ask you the same question.”
“Sure, man. I get beat up all the time,” Damon replied with a bitter laugh. “Though no one’s ever stood up for me before.”
“Yeah, that was pretty awesome,” Lucas agreed. “Stupid, but awesome.”
“You know what else was awesome?” Damon added. “The fact that everyone jumped in to help.”
“Never thought I'd see that at this school.” Lucas shook his head.
“I owe you, man,” Damon said, grabbing a piece of thin white paper from a box and pressing it against his bleeding nose. He handed the box to Arthur. “And I promise, someday I'll get to pay you back for what you did for me.”
Arthur smiled. “No need,” he replied gallantly. “I’m just happy I was able to help.”
Because righting this wrong, he realized as he wiped the blood from his face, was only the beginning—in this wonderful, free world of the twenty-first century.
And suddenly Arthur wasn’t in such a hurry to go home anymore.
Chapter 24
If Sophie had thought it would be at all difficult to find the once and future king back in the twenty-first century, she quickly learned otherwise. By the time she returned to school the next day, Arthur was literally a legend. Everyone was talking about him—from the jocks to the student council, the art geeks to the future prom queens. And the rumors grew more unbelievable as the day went on. He was visiting royalty from England. A runway model for Calvin Klein. A James Bond–like spy under a witness protection program. Sole heir to the Post-it fortune. And so on.
At lunch he held court at the popular kids' table in the center of the cafeteria (ironically the only round table in the place) surrounded by jocks, cheerleaders, and other high school royalty deemed worthy of his inner circle.
“He's so cute,” Sophie overheard one girl say from the next table over. “Like a freaking rock star.”
“And so cool!” sighed her friend. “Did you hear he single-handedly won the football game last night?”
“And he stuck up for that goth kid this morning, too.”
“Yeah, that's amazing, in and of itself. Normally you'd have to be on fire for anyone to jump in.”
“And then they'd just use you to light their cigarette.”
Sophie rolled her eyes, watching everyone laugh at something Arthur said from across the caf. Truth be told, it made her kind of mad. Here Stu was risking his life to stand in for this twerp, while the twerp in question was having a blast at her school, holding court with his admirers, without a care in the world. Not exactly the King Arthur of legends. She tried to remind herself that he didn't know what he was doing; he thought he was just a peasant boy of no importance and he had no idea what this little time travel trip had set in motion.
And he certainly didn't know how much she was already missing her best friend.
She wondered, not for the first time, how Stu was faring. If the
re had been any more King Lots to fight or if he had finally gotten a chance to catch his breath and enjoy being king for a minute or two. It drove her a little crazy not to know what he was doing. After all, this was the first day since she could remember where they hadn't spoken before school over IM. She'd even gone to her computer, out of habit, before remembering he wouldn't be logged on. Seeing him offline made her heart hurt a little. Had she done the right thing sending him back in time? Was he going to be okay?
At least it was only temporary. All she had to do was approach Arthur, tell him the deal, and get him to repeat the Camelot Code and go home—hopefully before the end of the schoolday. Of course, that was easier said than done, seeing as Arthur had been surrounded by his little fan club since first thing that morning and they didn't seem intent on dispersing anytime soon.
She'd have to interrupt. To drag him away somehow and tell him the truth. But for some reason, her legs didn't seem to want to cooperate.
It's just Arthur, she reminded herself. The same guy you saw getting knocked around by his foster brother the other day.
So why did she suddenly feel so nervous?
“Get a grip,” she scolded herself, rising from her seat and walking over to the round table. But she didn't get within twenty feet before she was intercepted by football players Tristan and Garrett.
“And where do you think you're going?” Tristan asked, effectively blocking her path.
“I need to speak to Arthur.”
“Sorry, dude,” Garrett said apologetically. “Arthur's busy. If you'd like to make an appointment, he has an opening in . . . ” He looked down at a small notebook in his hand. “About two weeks.”
She looked over at Arthur, feeling her hackles rise.
“Tell him it's Sophie Sawyer,” she said through clenched teeth. “He'll see me.” At least she hoped he would.
Tristan sighed loudly, as if to prove what a burden she was being, but headed back to the round table, leaning down to whisper in Arthur's ear. Arthur looked up, his face paling as his eyes fell on Sophie. He gave a reluctant nod to Tristan who in turn nodded to Garrett who then gave Sophie permission to approach.