An older boy

'Good afternoon,' the intruder said with a bright smile. He was a tall, well-toned blonde boy, which turned my sandy hair to shame. He had bright blue eyes, full of mischief, but I saw that he could hide that if he wanted to because my parents seemed to be instantly warming to him. I guessed him to be a little older than me, but no more than two years. 'How fine a blessing that God brought you here on this hot summer day.' He smiled warmly at my parents, who in turn smiled graciously at him.

'And to you,' my mother said. 'Are you staying here as well?'

'Yes, my parents have set up camp just a short walk up from here,' he answered politely, looking both of my parents in their eyes as he spoke. This guy had a lot of charm, I remember thinking, and I couldn't help but warm to him instantly as well. 'They would love to have dinner with you later this evening, if you would be so inclined.'

'That's a very generous proposal,' my father told him with a warmer smile than he had ever given me. 'What is your name, boy?'

'Isaac, sir. Isaac Walton. Very pleased to make your acquaintance.' He extended his hand for my father to grab, and they shook hands. Then he continued to do the same to my mother and my two siblings. 'What's your name?' he asked my brother and sister each, and they responded enthusiastically, my brother's mouth still full of half-chewed bread. Finally, he came to me. 'And you are?'

'Stephen,' I answered simply, struggling to keep my cold disposition towards him. The last thing I wanted was to become friends with an overly religious goodie two-shoes. I shook his hand, and he looked at me with a strange smile, as if he knew what I was all about.

'Well, Stephen, would you like to come to the reception area with me?' he asked then. 'I'm sure all the other kids would love to meet you.'

'Oh, Isaac, you are a god-send!' my mother exclaimed. 'Please take this little sulk with you. I'm sure you can talk some sense into him.'

Isaac turned around to address my over-joyed mother. 'I can certainly try, Mrs. Pratchett.' I didn't like to be talked about as if I wasn't here, and said quickly;

'Stop controlling me, mom! I'm eighteen now!'

'That's still very young, son!' my father then snapped at me. 'And until you're 21 you'll do as we tell you!' I looked down at my legs, a sulking expression on my face like it was set in stone. 'You will go with him, Stephen, and I won't hear a thing about it!'

And so it was foretold. Irritated and unwilling, I got up from my seat and said to Isaac; 'Well, you heard my parents. Let's go.'