The Magic Brush and Enchanted Paintings

Chapter 5

Chapter 3

The school was enclosed by a grey fence, five or six metres high, with an intricately crafted wrought-iron gate. In the schoolyard, yellowing clumps of grass alongside the concrete basketball court marked the boundaries of the football pitch, and two ping-pong tables and four or five scattered benches stood farther away in the shade of the plane trees and pines. Beyond those was an area with some desks and chairs used for outdoor lessons and where students could hang out during free study periods.

Ben didn’t exit through the school gate but headed instead for the benches. He had enrolled at St. George International School only the day before. There had been just a brief discussion with the headmaster, a short, serious man with a greying beard. The headmaster had leafed through the new boy’s report cards, took down his details, and after some consideration recommended that he join year eight, adding that Ben would have the opportunity to catch up with his studies during the summer so he could take exams in those subjects which hadn’t learned at his old school.

Ben, just about to turn fourteen, paced back and forth between the ping-pong tables, full of bitterness and anger. His mother had forced him to come to Budapest after the divorce and had torn him away from his friends back home, and he resented her for it. He felt that she couldn’t care less about what was best for him.

Ben kicked a pine cone next to him, then another, and then yet another. The pent-up, violent energy of the kicks sent them flying great distances.

“What have you got against pine cones, new boy?” came a voice. The blond boy who had complained loudest about the extra homework was sitting comfortably towards the back edge of a deep bench, and a friend sat there with him. The boys’ backpacks were lying on the ground not far away, along with a football from the sports locker. Ben now had a better look at the boys than in class: The one who’d called over to him was wearing the green and white strip of a local football team. He was tall and broad-shouldered and looked to be fifteen or sixteen, or was maybe just mature for his age. His friend, also with blond hair, was shorter. He wore skater trousers and a baseball cap and looked like a real troublemaker.

“Don’t stand there like an i***t,” the tall boy motioned for Ben to join them. “I’m Robbe,” he introduced himself from a distance, “and this is Lucas.” Ben noticed the boy’s strange accent. Definitely not American. He was wary of the boys, and didn’t move any closer.

“What do you want?” Ben asked suspiciously.

Lucas and Robbe leaned back into the bench as if upon a throne, acting as if the schoolyard were their kingdom, and Ben one of their subjects.

“We just want to get to know you ... the cheeky, new kid.”

Ben stood where he was, saying nothing in return.

“Where are you from?” the other boy spoke at last. He was smiling, had a nicer-sounding voice, and less of an accent. He seemed to be sincere.

“New York.”

“New York ... Wow!” It sounded like genuine enthusiasm, and this put Ben a little more at ease. “We’re from Brussels. We’re here because our parents are diplomats. What’s your story?”

Ben’s thoughts returned to his stepfather’s announcement of a new job posting at the U.S. Embassy in Hungary. The knot returned to his stomach.

“None of your business,” Ben replied, perhaps a little too harshly.

Robbe and Lucas exchanged weird glances.

“Hey, take it easy! No need to take offence.” Lucas paused for a moment. “Care for a lemon beer?”

Up to that point, Ben hadn’t noticed the green tins in their hands. He looked up in surprise, and Lucas repeated the question.

“I know you Yanks aren’t allowed to drink alcohol till you’re twenty-one, so maybe you don’t even know what beer is.”

“I know what beer is,” Ben scoffed. His father liked beer, he remembered.

“Have a drink with us, then. You really could do with some loosening up,” Robbe joked and pointed to the black backpack on the ground. “Help yourself.”

Ben hesitated. He was torn between his mother’s insistence to be on his best behaviour and this sudden pressure to be ‘cool’. The two boys obviously sensed his discomfort and indecision, and his mom didn’t seem to care, anyway.

He went over and rummaged in the bag until a cold, hard tin slid into the palm of his hand. He spent a few clumsy moments trying to open it but didn’t dare ask for any help. With persistence he managed to force his finger under the aluminium tab and the tin opened with a brief, loud hiss. He turned back with some pride to face the boys.

The bench was unoccupied, but standing next to it was a grey-haired, short-bearded man in a suit. The headmaster appeared to be more surprised than angry.

“Mr Parker, are you aware that the consumption of alcohol on the premises is prohibited under the school rules, and if a minor is involved, may be prosecuted with the full force of the law?”

“I ... I didn’t drink any of it ... and it’s not even mine,” stammered Ben.

“You just happen to accidentally have a tin of beer in your hand?”

“Well, no ... it was ...”

Ben realised in mid-sentence why Robbe and Lucas had so generously offered him the beer. It was no good protesting or explaining. He’d walked into well-designed trap.

“I’m sorry, sir. I made a mistake.”

The headmaster seemed to soften.

“Come, let’s have a little chat.” The headmaster turned and indicated for Ben to follow him.

Ben had expected to be dragged into the office and threated with disciplinary action or expulsion, but instead the man dusted some footprints from off the bench and sat down.

Ben sat down beside the headmaster, who stretched out his legs and turned to the boy with a smile.

“So, Benson.” His voice was calm and reassuring.

“Just ‘Ben’, if you don’t mind.”

“Well, okay then, Ben. It’s been a long day, hasn’t it? How are you getting on here?”

“Fine, I think,” Ben answered unconvincingly.

“I hear you had a little dispute with Mr Keller in history class.”

“I just...” Ben couldn’t find the words to explain his volatile reaction in class. The headmaster looked at him with a mixture of cold disapproval and respectful sympathy, but didn’t press him further.

“Your mother didn’t tell me a great deal. She only said that you moved to Budapest for family reasons.”

“Not my family,” Ben retorted.

The headmaster raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“I wasn’t made aware that they’re your foster parents.”

“That’s not it,” Ben cut in sharply. “We moved here because of Greg. I didn’t want to move here, but mom said the family’s more important. But Greg isn’t part of my family. I wanted to stay in New York with dad and my friends.”

“Now I can understand why you decided to drown your sorrows in drink.”

Ben looked up in surprise at the headmaster’s apparent jest. The teacher had it in for him, Maya felt sorry for him, and Lucas and Robbe had pranked him, but the headmaster was treating him like a normal person. Someone you could talk to openly, even share a joke with. Ben hadn’t expected that.

“It was Lucas and Robbe,” Ben admitted. “They tricked me into it.”

The headmaster nodded.

“I suspected as much. I saw them here on the bench and thought they must be up to no good. They’re no strangers to causing mayhem, and they like to put one over on all the new boys. You’re not the first.”

Ben felt stupid for being so naïve. How could he have believed those jerks just wanted to be nice?

“If you won’t be needing that,” the headmaster nodded towards the tin of beer on the dusty ground, “I don’t think we need to take this matter any further. It’s probably best you get home now, before your family starts worrying.”