'That was wicked!’ Aar declared as he rested his hand on me, both of us panting hard and fast. ‘You are super brave and stupid, man!’

I couldn’t really argue. I am stupid.

‘You know Gaba's gonna kill us now, right?’

I recall nodding in agreement. Us, shaking hands. Giggling for no particular reason like silly little girls. I recall the incident clear as the moisture on leaves in autumn.

(See, I can be pretty poetic sometimes.)

(By the way, Uncle is snoring. So apparently, the flight will last a while longer than I’d thought, otherwise he won’t just doze off. Or he's just tired. That would be very unlike Uncle. But I wouldn’t be surprised. After all that I’ve discovered . . . Let's just return to the main narrative, shall we?)

I remember Aar clicking his fingers in excitement – you could practically see the light-bulbs glowing above his head. You always can when Aar gets an idea or realization or whatever. His face is rubber, very expressive and ductile. He is part of the Drama Club of our school. Or at least he was, until he got extricated. Why, you ask?

Because of me. But that part comes later.

Anyway, Aar said to me: 'You have to meet Bee. You'll love her. Come on, quick.’

'Who's Bee?’ I asked, struggling to keep up. Because Aar was apparently also very fast at running, and all but over his exhaustion. While I was still nursing the throb in my abdomen.

I was pretty intrigued, to be honest. I liked Aar. So if he liked someone, I’ll like them too, right?

You betcha . . .

‘Who is Bee, though?’

‘She’s . . . awesome. And she's my friend. Since kindergarten. Come on, you're a turtle.'

‘Do you even know where she is?’

Apparently, he did.

And out of all the places in all the galaxies in all the universes, where did Aar take me in order to introduce me to his friend?

The library, but of course.

Where else did you think?

Aar looked everywhere, on all the {Undisclosed} School of {Undisclosed} library seats, but his amazing friend was nowhere to be found. He creased his nose.

'That’s strange,' he said, rubbing his hair. ‘She told me she’d be here. Even if she hadn’t-' he told me as a bonus '-she usually is in a place where there’s a.) silence; and b.) guess what? Books.’

Now I’m all for books myself. As you must know by now, I am not of a prosaic soul and literature runs through my veins. But the way Aar talked of Bee, the way he was so eager to make me meet her – I couldn’t help but feel a little . . . I dunno, jealous? Can you be envious of the old friends of a person you just made pals with fifteen minutes ago?

I'm all for not knowing.

‘Where can she be?’ Aar said, stamping his foot. Like I said, he's expressive.

The library teacher – I’ll just call her Mrs. Lizard Thinny, or Mrs. L. T. for short, because that sums up how she looks; also, she's very sleek when it comes to catching troublemakers and book-hoarders, who are a different breed of troublemakers, really – dashed over to Aar and me.
(She's too spry for her age, maybe she's the seed of a witch too?)
She shushed him aggressively – I could imagine her barring fangs – and Aar broke out snickering. ‘Sorry,' he mumbled, and Mrs. L. T. started to walk away, scowling at my newly made friend.

‘Mrs. Lizard Thinny?’ Aar called out. (Obviously he didn’t call her that, but it's the name I’ve given her, so live with it). ‘Have you seen Bee around?’

Mrs. L. T.’s face lit up at the name. Why did everyone like this girl so much? (Yes, I guess I was jealous.) 'I saw Miss Bee just moments ago. She has quite a superb choice in books for her age . . . on the other hand, she chose you as a friend, so . . .’

‘Thank you, Mrs. L. T.’

Aar and I headed for the hunt for “Miss Bee,” which lasted for three whole minutes, terminating in the historical fiction section, where Miss Bee was sprawled upon the floor, a novel thrice the size of any encyclopedia I’d ever seen in her lap.

She was a wee girl, shorter than me by several inches, thinner than Mrs. Lizard Thinny. It was a miracle she could bear the weight of that book in her hands. She had hair like copper flames licking her head . . .

‘Wait a second,' I said. She was that same girl who had rushed to help Jason back then and tumbled down. The ginger.

‘Oh, hey, Aar,' she addressed him. Her voice was sharp and I did not like it.

'Hey, Bee. This is Marra.’

‘Did you know Sanskrit gave birth to all European languages?’ she said out of context, then turned to me. ‘Your second’s up, by the way.'

I simply stared, thinking carefully about my next words.

‘Well?’ Bee probed.

I couldn’t tell them, couldn’t remind them of the disastrous Buttwipe incident.

‘Wait, I know you,' Bee the copper-head suddenly said. 'You're that Buttwipe guy.’

Aar narrowed his eyes and mimicked Sherlock Holmes (he'd played the part in a school play before): 'Why, my dear Watson. My edifying company has certainly tweaked your observations skills.’

Then the two of them laughed like psychotic maniacs while I stood between them like their frustrated doctor. They didn’t hold the incident against me or treat me like an untouchable. It was all in good spirit. I decided I liked their amity just fine.

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