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The bell had rung, signaling the end of a day of learning. It was the end of the week, so for Peter it was also a weekend of helping his auntie in the sweetshop. She’d be working right now, actually, and she’d told Peter to go straight there. And Peter was a boy who listened to his auntie, he was!
Outside, where the children gathered on the street, the wind had picked up. Peter had exited the doors of the school just in time to hear the faint rumble of thunder. The rain quickly picked up after. Turns out it wasn’t the brief drizzle typical of an autumn afternoon.
“Take an umbrella with you, Peter,” his auntie Joan had said that morning, “I have a feeling you’ll need it.”
Of course, as always, she was right. Peter hummed, took a few steps down the stairs, but stumbled when someone gave him a hard shove.
“Move, Piggy!”
He glanced over his shoulder and was forced against the railing as a group of his classmates sped past him, snickering and pointing at him.
“He’s too slow! Like a real pig!” Another boy giggled. Peter sighed, looking down at his scuffed shoes.
The throng of boys squealed with joy and excitement, running out into the downpour with hands or books over their heads. Others opened their umbrellas and moved off much calmer than the crowd. Peter took the rest of the steps down and walked out onto the street, beginning to open his own umbrella. He looked about as he did, taking note of the fact that the crowd had dissipated.
But there was one standing alone, he noticed. Not a hair out of place, even in the frantic rush of a school day’s end, looking between the rain and his feet. Peter paused, umbrella open and over his head, rain beating down on the canvas. It was navy, like his coat, because Peter liked things to match, and he liked things to fit in.
The other boy was taller than him, lankier, with blond hair so golden that it reminded Peter of wheat. He’d heard the boy’s name was Ralph, because the girls in class giggled and tittered behind their hands about him. Peter had never been able to deny it, and most lads in their grade agreed: Ralph was the prettiest boy among them. Handsome in that sort of effortless, confident way that Peter found admirable. The confidence was what he found admirable, obviously, not his appearance! Why would he like a boy because he was pretty? That was more like a crush, and the grownups told him that a boy couldn’t like other boys that way; it was wrong and sinful. Peter shook his head, derailing that train of thought.
The fact that Ralph was alone despite his confidence is what surprised Peter. Where were his friends? Didn’t he have someone to give him cover?
Peter knew what it was like, or at least he thought he did, to not have a shelter; to not have an awning to stand under. He lifted his fingers to his mouth and began to chew at his nails, brows furrowing. His auntie always told him to help someone if they were in need, but the fear of rejection and mockery was heavy enough to make him hesitate. To Ralph, he was surely Piggy, and Piggy was the fat boy who sat in the front of class and got paper thrown at the back of his head. He wanted to be seen as Peter, a brilliant boy who had a good heart.
The urge to do what was right and kind was too great. Peter pulled his fingers out of his mouth and fixed his spectacles before his voice escaped him in a burst.
“Hullo!” Peter called, his voice a bit too loud.
The blond boy looked up, clearly surprised. “Hi,” he had replied, offering a small, perhaps tentative smile that Peter was immediately flustered by. But he pushed on.
“Waiting on some’un?” Peter asked, taking a few steps forward, back toward the schoolhouse.
“No,” Ralph shook his head, “I’m just waiting for the rain to stop.”
“You don’t got a brolly?” Peter questioned.
“No.” Ralph repeated simply, ducking his head.
Peter sniffed in a sharp inhale, his chest feeling rather tight from his nerves. His fingers twitched, hand furled then unfurled
“Well, if you want to you can stand under mine, and we can walk to my auntie’s shop. So you don’t got to wait out the rain in the cold.” Peter spoke, his words beginning to run together. He was rambling, though he didn’t notice it. It was just the way he talked.
Ralph looked thoughtful for a moment, before his smile widened into a grin. “That would be nice.”
Peter breathed a soft sigh of relief, feeling rather foolish now. “Then come on,” he said, beckoning with his free hand, “follow me!”
He watched Ralph smile and run to take cover under the umbrella, bumping up against him and wrapping his hand round Peter’s own. Peter’s cheeks heated up, his face turning a blotchy pink.
“So we don’t lose each other,” Ralph had insisted. “The street is very crowded.”
Peter ducked his head and mumbled, “Of course, you’re right.”
With their hands intertwined and their heads covered, they began to walk down the street. The rain fell down heavy around them, but they sat in a comfortable little pocket of dryness. Peter was mindful to be polite and reply to anyone who greeted him as they passed. When the moment was quiet save for the rain, he began to speak to the boy beside him.
“What’s your name?” Peter asked, though he was certain he knew it already.
“Ralph. I’m Ralph,” the other boy nodded.
Peter smiled slightly, and waited for Ralph to return the social nicety and ask his name in turn. When he didn’t, Peter frowned slightly.
“My name’s Peter,” he ventured shyly to fill the awkward silence.
Ralph grinned suddenly. It was one of those smiles that made something gnawing and heavy settle in the pit of Peter’s stomach.
“Peter? Like, Piggy Peter?” Ralph began to laugh.
Peter’s face went pink again, and he blinked rapidly. He was just Piggy to Ralph, and for some reason that hurt. “I’m Peter,” he repeated in protest, looking away at the street in front of him. “Just Peter, Ralph.”
Ralph seemed to quiet down. “Piggy” could feel the heat of the blond boy’s eyes settle on him, and the humiliation he felt increased tenfold.
“Sorry,” he heard Ralph hum, and Peter relaxed slightly. Ralph wasn’t really sorry, but “Piggy Peter” didn’t need to know that.
“S’alright. You didn’t know no better.”
It was quiet again for a long time, and the silence was so distracting that Peter almost walked past the sweetshop. He caught himself and quickly pivoted, Ralph letting out a soft grunt of surprise with the sharp movement. Peter let go of Ralph’s hand, opened the door to the shop and comfort immediately washed over him. It was all wonderfully familiar: the smell of confectionaries and candies, the warmth compared to the autumn breeze, and the tinkling of the bell above the door.
“Auntie Joan?” Peter called as he shook off and closed his umbrella. It was quiet for a brief moment, save for the faint chatter of a radio, before a bustling woman came to the front counter.
“Peter, love! There you are,” Auntie Joan smiled wide, her red lips framing white teeth. “Oh, and you brought a friend! How nice. How was school, lovely?”
Peter smiled, hanging his umbrella by the door. “It was good, auntie,” he replied softly. He felt the displacement of air as Ralph shifted awkwardly beside him, and glanced the blond’s way.
“Auntie, this is Ralph,” Peter introduced, trying to keep the silence away. The rain was still coming down hard outside.
“Well, he seems like a dear. It’s wonderful to meet you, Ralph. I’m happy to see my Peter making friends.” Auntie Joan cooed.
Ralph seemed to glow at the compliment, and he puffed out his chest, grinning. “Nice to meet you too, Miss Joan!”
Auntie Joan smiled fondly, before beckoning the both of them forward. “You boys come behind the counter— you’re standing in the way of the register! And Peter, love, do you mind keeping watch for a minute? I’ve got to unpack some inventory.”
Peter nodded obediently and scrambled behind the wooden countertop, Ralph in tow. He knew that ‘inventory’ was very important business, and he knew that he was capable of holding down the fort. “Yes, auntie!”
He watched his auntie disappear into the back room, where the radio chattered still, and then he reached for a stool in the corner. Auntie had it there just for him.
“Does your auntie always let you watch the register?” Ralph’s voice echoed rather suddenly in the quiet shop.
Peter jumped at the sound, then glanced over to Ralph. “Yes, it helps me practice my sums.”
Ralph didn’t seem to know how to respond to that, and opted to glance at the jars lining the shelves. The sweets and confectionaries seemed to call to him. “Do you ever sneak sweets when your auntie isn’t lookin’?” Ralph blurted, an impish smile spreading across his cheeks. It was an ear-to-ear expression.
Peter blushed, squinting so hard at a spot on the counter his eyes ached.
He remembered evenings when he’d slide open a jar of lemon drops or mints and pick himself a candy or two. The shame was always immediate, even if he had never quite been caught yet. “No,” he lied, “I’d feel bad if I did.” And he did feel bad.
”Isn’t it technically your candy, too?” Ralph whispered mischievously.
Well, when someone put it that way…
“I dunno,” Peter twiddled his thumbs, “but still! It isn’t proper.” He lifted his chin then, as though a slight tilt of the head could make him appear more mature in the face of a charming, vibrant boy like Ralph.
”Proper, my left shoe! I want some barley-sugar twists.” Ralph huffed and crossed his arms. At least he hadn’t stamped his foot.
”Well, then you gotta to pay for them!” Peter rebuffed, his brows furrowing.
”I don’t have any pocket money on me! And you’re right there!” The blond boy whisper-yelled, looking utterly indignant.
Peter began to bite at his thumbnail with an indecisive whine, glancing nervously behind himself and then out at the window, watching the rain fall. Just this once. Just for a friend. A very winsome friend. Peter turned rosy-pink, fixed his specs, for they were sliding down his sweaty nose, then swiveled around on his stool. Two clammy, pudgy hands reached out to pick a jar off the shelf.
“Don’t say nothin’ about this,” Peter muttered, picking up a paper bag from the counter and depositing a few of the hard-boiled, amber candies inside it. “I’ll get in some hot water with my Auntie Joan if she catches wind of it.”
Ralph beamed, taking the bag from Peter with a small giggle. “Thank you, Piggy!”
Peter’s expression fell slightly as the demeaning nickname slipped from Ralph’s mouth. “You’re welcome. An’ it’s Peter, not Piggy.” He corrected insistently, but even as he did so he couldn’t deny the warm fuzziness he felt when Ralph smiled at him with such focus and gratitude. He quickly put away the jar and turned back to face Ralph.
Ralph had turned to look out the window and beamed even brighter. “Lookit there, the rain’s gone!”
Peter followed Ralph’s eye and hummed. The rain wasn’t gone, but it was now a bearable sprinkle rather than a downpour.
”So you’ll be leavin’, then?” Peter asked quietly, not wanting to sound too sad about it.
”Yes. My father’s probably wondering where I am!” Ralph turned to look at Peter with that eager smile of his. “I’ll see you next week, Piggy!”
”It’s not Piggy! It’s-“
But before “Piggy Peter” could correct him, the blond was already out the door with a tinkle of the bell. Peter sat there on the stool, listening to the sound of the bell echo. He could still smell the sugar twists in his nose, and the sight of Ralph’s smile was imprinted on his brain. He’d see him next week, of course, but Peter couldn’t help but miss him already.