"Roya? Roya!"
Roya jumped as a pale hand slapped the back of his head. He looked up. The tall, daunting Mrs. Smith was standing over him, a scowl on her wrinkled face.

She snatched up the piece of parchment on his desk. There was a mess of doodles sprawled in the corner, which only deepened Mrs.Smith's look of disappointment.

"You are a smart young man, Roya. It's time you started applying yourself."
Mrs.Smith crumpled up the parchment and threw it into the fireplace. The other boys in the class snickered, watching the paper blacken in the flames.

Roya turned back to his textbook, his face flushed red with embarrassment. He read the text that been assigned to him, but he wasn't truly taking in the words. His mind wandered, his eyes traveling to the classroom window, the trees in the courtyard, and the iron gate at the front of Sandra Smith's School For Boys.

A loud chime echoed through the school, the sound of the bell on Meadow Street being rung from its perch in the bell tower.

"Lunch!"
Mrs. Smith barked, dismissing the class. The boys bustled about the classroom, grabbing satchels, retrieving books, and gathering quarters to pay for a lunch. Roya slung his bag over his shoulder, making his way out of the classroom. As he entered the courtyard, he was fed into a crowd of boys, both his age and older. He skirted around trees, and analyzed benches in search of a place to sit. Finally he selected a shaded patch of grass, and he sat down. Roya pulled out a price of paper and a pencil, and began writing.

Dearest Jonathan,

I hope you are doing well. I'm sure the Davises are treating you well, seeing as they are the good people they are. I'm excited for you to join me her at Smith's, I'm positive you would enjoy it. There are lots of books (an entire library full!) and great teachers. The classes are demanding, but there is a lot to learn. There is free breakfast and dinner in the mess hall, and for lunch there is an amazing deli down the street. An entire sandwich and an apple for just one quarter! All the boys at school flock there for lunch. I only go on Thursdays, because most students have choir practice then. So there is never anybody there. I will keep sending money, so tell the Davises not to worry.  The town seems eager for newspapers lately.

With love,
Roya.

Roya sealed the letter in an envelope, and tucked away into his bag. He stood, glancing at the the clock tower on Main Street. It was only 12:15. He still had an hour left of lunch.

Roya pushed open the courtyard gate. The other boys of the school were either at the deli or in the courtyard, so he was alone on the cobbled street. He made his way down road, passing by shops and offices. The post office was on the other side of the neighborhood, past the high class houses and just beyond the deli. The storefronts slowly gave way to lush green trees, which guarded two story homes, with shining glass windows and pristine walls. All the rich folks in town lived here, glued together in one extravagant neighborhood.

Roya was walking past a particularly fancy house when he caught a glimpse of red in the corner of his eye. His gaze fell upon an apple tree, which was hanging over a fence. Roya's stomach rumbles. He didn't eat lunch most days, and an apple would make a good snack to last him through to supper. Glancing furtively around, Roya grabbed the hold of one of the tree's branches, and beginning to climb. He made his way through the greenery, until he was directly overtop of the home's backyard. There was lush green grass, a neat little flower bed, and a swing attached to another apple tree. Roya spent a good minute observing the picturesque space, loosing focus on the apples.

"Hey! What are you doing up there?"

Roya jumped. In his panic, he lost grip of the tree branch, and with a small, pitiful squeak, he fell.