Another Pan by Daniel Nayeri

working on a project that even John secretly geeked out over). “I’m starting a new job today. John, let’s go.”
    “Why do
I
have to go?” John whined, and then caught himself.
    “Come on, little bro.” Wendy put an arm around her brother’s shoulder. “You love poking around in Dad’s junk. And if you keep me company, I’ll share the paycheck.”
    As they walked away, John again shrugged off her arm and said (loud enough to ensure the LBs heard), “Only ’cause I need the dough.” When they were out of earshot, John said, “That guy’s kind of a punk. He talked to me like I was five or something.”
    “He’s an RA. He’s just doing his job,” said Wendy.
    “No way. He rolls up like he’s 800 on the verbal. Look at the way he keeps looking at his shadow and fixing his hair.”
    “You fix your hair all the time!” said Wendy. “I don’t even think hair’s supposed to stand up like that.” She ran her hand over his spikes.
    “Whatever,” said John, for once not pushing away his sister’s hand.

    I’ve met that kid somewhere before,
Professor Darling mused as he watched his children through the glass of Marlowe’s giant double doors. He had been observing John’s conversation with the boarding boys, hoping that he would lose interest in that particular social group, when he had noticed the new RA. Now the old man stood watching Peter, wondering where on earth they could have met before.
    When John and Wendy had disappeared into the back entrance that led down into the basement, George Darling decided that he would introduce himself to this new Marlowe staff member. He strolled outside and approached the pack of boys that were still hanging on to Peter’s every word. As he stepped outside, he couldn’t help but notice the strange gloom hanging over the school.
Strange,
he thought, since New York was usually beautiful this time of year. The last few days had been bizarre. First a moth infestation, then the strange smell that seemed to permeate half the classrooms on the first floor, and now this dark, dreary weather.
    Peter stepped forward and offered his hand in that overtly deferential yet clearly superior manner that future politicians use with their elders when they are still rule-breaking, troublemaking teens. “I’m Peter,” he said. “Pleasure to make your esteemed acquaintance.”
    Professor Darling looked hard into the boy’s face. He pursed his lips, then looked away, coughing into his hand.
    “Have we met?” Peter asked suddenly. He peered at Professor Darling, trying to connect him to a place or time before this trip to Marlowe. Peter looked with disgust at Darling’s wrinkled face. He squinted, as if trying to take in the look of the man’s face while sifting out all the irksome signs of old age. “It couldn’t be. I don’t know any old people.”
    One of the boys grinned.
    Then another.
    Like a stroke of lightning, the sight of their missing teeth sent shock waves through Professor Darling. He stood dumbfounded a few feet away from the group.

    All I used to be is
Five times two
With nuthin’ to do
Just a kid on the stoop
Always lovin’ my troop
Always list’nin’ to Snoop
    LBs took mah teeth
So my nanny packed soup
    But I didn’t have a care
’Cuz I didn’t have a coop
I was quick to the hoop
My eyes didn’t droop
    If my daddy was rare
At least Peter was there

The city lights were like ten thousand little lamps keeping the bedroom monsters away. A night wind swooping across the avenue chilled the back of Peter’s soaked undershirt. He had woken up in a sweat again and needed to distract himself. Without really thinking about it, he headed toward the Darling house. From the street corner on the residential block, he could see Wendy’s window. The light was still on. She was reading at the window, probably something for class. Her hair was up in a bun, with a pencil holding it up. She had another pencil in her mouth and a mild scowl of concentration on her