prince ♛ cole mackenzie

09 | princes

Silas arrived in class earlier that morning to see Cole. The boy was sitting on the same log as the day they had first met, with the same sketchbook in hand.

"Hi," Silas said.

The blond boy's eyes lit up instantly. "Hello."

"You won't . . . tell anyone about yesterday. Will you?" Silas looked at the ground in shame.

"It's okay, I won't tell anyone. Thank you."

"Thank you?"

"For sharing it with me."

Silas raised his eyes to Cole. His friend's face was as benevolent as it had been the afternoon before. How could he, of all people, have been granted a friend as considerate as Cole Mackenzie?

The moment was robbed by the arrival of more students. The pair followed Anne and Diana inside after the bell tolled and took seats at Cole's desk, shared with Henry Thompson.

"Do you think Mr. Phillips would let me sit here instead?" Silas asked.

"You'd be expelled," Cole answered as he placed his sketchbook on the table in front of him and dug in his pocket for a pencil.

"That wouldn't be so bad. I could start my life as a professional bird-watcher."

"Is that what you want to be?"

"Not particularly. I don't really know. Something singular and extraordinary."

Anne's exclamations broke over the quiet conversations of the classroom. "Stop it! Just give it back!"

Cole and Silas turned their heads to see Billy Andrews holding a letter in his hand, too high for Anne or Diana to reach. They leapt to their feet at the same time; Cole swiftly took the parchment from Billy's upraised hand.

"Ooh. What a gentleman," Billy said. He glowered at Cole for a second more before turning away with his annoying loyal gang following. "Pfft. Just more girl stuff."

Cole awkwardly handed the letter back to Anne, who gratefully accepted. Silas smiled to himself at the exchange.

"Do you wanna go back into the woods today?" he asked Cole quickly before Mr. Phillips reached the teacher's desk.

"Okay," Cole grinned.

*   *   *   *   *

Silas waited after outside class for Cole to clean the dusters. After a while, he began to walk towards the entrance to the building when he heard Mr. Phillips's voice. Cole appeared moments after, looking flustered.

"I despise him," he declared.

Silas smiled quietly. "I agree."

They ventured into the woods, further than the log house. There was nothing they could not discuss. From Cole's interest in painting with real paint, the stuff real artists used, to Silas's stories of living in the city.

A thought sprung to Silas's mind. "Do you know Jane?"

"Billy's sister?" Cole said.

"Really? That's disappointing."

"How so?"

"She's nice."

"I guess."

The two walked on in silence for another stretch of time. Silas did not ask about Jane again. Cole's answering with 'I guess' usually meant he was uncomfortable.

Cole stopped walking. "Follow me," he said, turning to a large clump of trees grown close together. Silas followed him through the ferns and bushes and through another of thickets.

"How much farther?" Silas's arms were scratched to pieces by now from thorns and nettles combined.

"Almost there."

The trees dissipated into a wide clearing, filled with wildflowers and complete with a stream rippling down at the far side of the meadow.

"Woah," Silas muttered, "How did you know this was here?"

"I found it two summers ago. Isn't it perfect?"

They looked at each other and smiled, a smile that was enough to say they understood one another's thought. Without a word, they sprinted forward, and seemed to awaken another world as they ran.

A thousand butterflies lifted from the grass of every colour imaginable. They danced across the air in a vivid ballet like polychrome stars in the sky.

They reached the water and spun around to admire the fluttering creatures. Silas angled his head slightly to watch Cole. He was unaware of Silas's gaze, completely taken by the view. He had never looked so happy.

Silas reached into the stream behind them and splashed Cole lightly with water. He swivelled, laughing, and returned the favour. Once they were thoroughly soaked —mostly Silas, from falling into the stream backwards—, they raced each other to the middle of the meadow.

There they lay for the next million hours. Cole retrieved his sketchbook from its careful distance from the water and drew the meadow while Silas struggled to create crowns out of the wildflowers.

"Make a hole with your nail and feed the stem into it," Cole tried to explain.

In the end, Cole had made a delicate flower-crown in shades of red and orange. Silas had a not-so-beautiful multicoloured string, but Cole insisted it was lovely.

"Here." Silas placed it on Cole's golden head.

"We have to do it properly," Cole said. "You should kneel."

Silas obeyed and lowered his head.

"I pronounce you Prince Arroway of Avonlea, first of your name."

Cole touched his hand to Silas's shoulders, each for a second, and finally placed the crown on his dark tangle of hair. The pair lay side by side on the grass and laughed once more. The butterflies had by now flown into the forest and were to return later that night to their meadow, leaving the clearing still but for the stream.

"Perfect," Silas whispered to answer to Cole's first question.

His hand went without thought, slowly moving across the grass and resting on Cole's. The boy jumped ever so slightly at the touch but did not pull his hand back. Perfect was an understatement for that moment; Silas would have given the world for time to stop then.

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be than here with you," Cole whispered in return.