December 31st

"You're not serious," Brian said, staring at Ben in disbelief.

"You know, I get that a lot," Ben admitted. "And people are almost always wrong about me. What?" he protested when he heard a snort from Mart's direction. "I think I've proven how serious I am about being the Lord of Misrule."

"I guess," Brian grudgingly admitted. "But really, Ben? Christmas specials on New Year's Eve?"

"Can you think of a better time to remind ourselves of the true meaning of Christmas and how we should carry that meaning through the entire year?" Ben countered, doing his level best to sound sincere. In all honesty, he'd been completely stumped for ideas on what the Lord of Misrule should ask of his followers that day. Watching Christmas specials had been a spur of the moment idea brought about by Diana's nose. Her red, running nose. The Bob-Whites had originally planned a day of sledding and skating, but Diana's cold had made it impossible for her to participate, and they'd all been at loose ends trying to think of an alternate activity. Though he would never admit it, Di's red nose had reminded him of Rudolph, and the idea was born.

"But why do we have to start so early in the day?" Trixie questioned. "Movies are more of an evening thing, aren't they?"

Ben grimaced as Trixie fidgeted in her seat. She had been the one to suggest indoor activities when they learned that Diana wasn't up to sledding or skating, but he thought the forced inactivity might be harder on her than on any of the others. She simply had too much energy for one person to contain.

"Because if we don't start now, the adults won't get to watch any of the videos with us," Honey reminded her.

"Oh, right," Trixie mumbled, flushing.

"And really, we couldn't let them miss out on Elf, could we?" Mart asked, popping in the first of the videos.

"Really, Mart?" Jim asked. "Elf? That's what you want to lead with?"

Brian raised an eyebrow. "Were you hoping for Rudolph?"

Jim flushed. "Maybe."

"You're all amateurs," Matthew Wheeler said, striding into the room and carrying an assortment of DVDs. "We're going to do this right, which means that we're starting with National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation."

"Matthew!" Madeleine scolded. "Really? That movie is so, so…"

"Accurate in its portrayal of the human condition during the admittedly trying time of Christmas?" Matthew inquired, smoothly sliding the DVD into the player.

"Hmm…" she said, narrowing her eyes.

"Oh, just sit down and watch the movie, Madeleine," Mr. Wheeler coaxed, settling onto a love seat and gesturing for his wife to join him. "Besides, we won't get to watch your choice if we don't get started."

"Oh, we'll be watching Frosty," she informed him tartly. "And you can take that to the bank, Matthew."

"But not until we've watched Charlie Brown," Honey pleaded. "It's just not Christmas without that sweet, poor little tree!"

"Oh, cripes," Dan muttered. "I'm trapped in animated prison."

"Not a fan of Christmas specials?" Ben asked, settling in beside the dark-haired young man.

Dan grunted in reply, looking entirely too intense for a person who was about to spend the day in front of the television being served meals and snacks.

"Oh, come on," Ben chided. "It can't be that bad, can it?"

Dan pressed his lips together and turned away, leaving Ben staring at him in surprise. He'd known that Dan was the quietest Bob-White, and he knew him the least out of Honey's and Jim's friends. After all, Dan hadn't even moved to Sleepyside the first two times Ben had visited. Still, he hadn't expected quite this level of animosity.

"Sorry," Dan muttered. "I just...haven't watched a Christmas special since…"

Ben frowned, trying to figure out what he was saying. He hadn't watched a Christmas special since what? Since last year? Since before he came to Sleepyside? Why would that make him— Ben's eyes grew wide as he remembered the brief history Honey had given him on the various Bob-Whites. Dan was an orphan. Had he really not watched a Christmas special since before his mother died?

If so, it was no wonder that he was out of sorts.

And it was all Ben's fault.

Ben sat on the couch beside Dan, a hollow pit in his stomach. Since the Lord of Misrule had dictated that everyone was to watch the movies, it would be awkward if he were to suddenly excuse Dan from the festivities. And yet, it seemed unnecessarily cruel to make him do something that obviously upset him. He rubbed at his temple, attempting to dispel the tension he could feel gathering. Was it really possible that the most innocuous order he had come up with to date was the one that was going to bother someone the most? Or had he just never noticed how much some of his other pranks had bothered people? Considering the types of things he had done over the years, it stood to reason that he had made plenty of other people feel just as uncomfortable as Dan now did.

Ben stared at the flickering screen, and for the first time in his life, wished that he lived in an entertainment-free world.

   

"The Santa Clause, Brian? Really?" Trixie hooted. "That's your favourite Christmas movie?"

"What? It's funny and it has a decent message. A better message than Elf, at least," he muttered, shooting his brother a dirty look.

"This does look good," Mrs. Wheeler said, studying the cover of the DVD. "Isn't that the actor from Home Improvement? I always liked him."

Ben felt his jaw drop, but was powerless to stop it. His aunt knew what Home Improvement was? And liked it?

"Oh, Matthew," she said, "couldn't we stay and watch it?"

Mr. Wheeler hesitated. "What about the Country Club?" he asked, checking his watch. "Aren't we supposed to be there in an hour?"

Mrs. Wheeler blinked. "Really? Is it that late? I hadn't realized. Oh, let's stay home," she suggested impulsively. "No one will even notice if we don't make an appearance."

Mr. Wheeler laughed. "I'm more than willing to stay home," he said settling himself back in the over-sized leather arm chair he'd been using all day as they made their way through the stack of everyone's favourite Christmas movies. "But don't kid yourself—everyone from Mr. Lytell to Mrs. Bower will have a theory about why we aren't there."

Mrs. Wheeler waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, pooh. Let them speculate all they want. It will be old news by next week."

"True," Mr. Wheeler agreed. "Well?" he asked, looking pointedly at Brian. "Are you going to put the movie in or not?"

Brian scrambled to comply, leaving his spot beside a very confused Honey.

"Who are you?" she blurted, "and what have you done with my mother?"

It was almost a relief, Ben thought, to know that he wasn't the only one who felt that he'd slipped into an alternate universe.

Mrs. Wheeler raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying that you would prefer we go to the Country Club?" she asked, her voice cool.

Ben winced at the familiar tone. When his own mother asked questions with that degree of careful disinterest, it was time to backpedal. He glanced nervously at Honey, worried that she would be hurt by her mother's question.

"Of course not," Honey exclaimed, rolling her eyes and shocking Ben, who was still anticipating an awkward scene. "It's just that you haven't missed a New Year's Eve at the Country Club since we moved here," she explained.

"Well," Mr. Wheeler said, "this year we're being smart enough to take advantage of a better offer."

Honey's answering smile was bright enough to light the entire room.

   

"Was that the last one?" Trixie asked, sounding disappointed and tired at the same time.

"The last brownie?" Mart asked, looking pointedly at the gooey treat in her hand. "Yes, I'm afraid it is."

"Oh, hush," Trixie scolded him, popping the last bite of brownie into her mouth before he could force her to share. "I meant the last movie, lame brain."

Her almost-twin snorted. "According to my calculations, we've already spent more than ten hours rotting our brains in front of the television. Are you really so anxious to drive out the last of the information you memorized for the end of term exams?"

"I haven't forgotten anything, I'll have you know," she retorted. "One movie marathon isn't nearly strong enough to cancel out three months of trigonometry," she lamented.

"One more movie," Dan informed her, wiggling a DVD case in front of her in order to distract her from whatever escalating insult Mart was concocting.

Ben eyed him suspiciously. "Are you sure?" he asked, keeping his voice low so the Bob-Whites wouldn't overhear.

Dan nodded and started the movie. When the title "A Christmas Carol" rolled across the screen, Dan leaned just close enough to Ben to tell him, "Mr. Maypenny and I read the book last Christmas. I figured…" His voice trailed off. "I just really liked the message," he said. "The idea that when we indulge in selfish actions we're really making our own chains…" his voice trailed off again, and he shrugged. "It just spoke to me, I guess."

If Ben were the type of person who got emotional, the lump in his throat could easily be explained. As it was, he could only assume that some of the caramel popcorn Di had made was still lodged in his throat. The idea that Dan, one of the least selfish, most responsible teenagers he knew, indentified with Scrooge… Well, it was definitely food for thought.

January 1st

New Year's Resolutions

1) ……………………………………………………

He knew what he ought to write. Do not pull pranks. In fact, if he were smart, he would make three resolutions and they would read:

1) Do not pull pranks.

2) Do not pull pranks.

3) Do not pull pranks.

But apparently he wasn't smart, because he just couldn't bring himself to write the words. They didn't feel right. And it wasn't because he had a strong desire to do any pranking. In fact, if anything, the opposite was true. Being the Lord of Misrule was fun, but was also a lot of pressure. Pressure that he really didn't need. And adding the pressure of New Year's resolutions on top of it… He rubbed his temples, but it seemed to spread the pain further. Giving up, he let his hands fall to the desk. His head followed, making a solid thunk as it connected with the hard wood. Oddly, this seemed to help his headache more than massaging his temples had. He repeated the action, sighing as the dull pain of contact radiated away from his forehead and dispersed.

"Trouble?" someone asked from his doorway, and Ben made a mental note to always close and lock his bedroom door. In the Manor House, apparently anything else was a direct invitation to tea.

"New Year's resolutions," Ben explained shortly, and then realized to whom he was speaking. "You probably figured yours out at 12:01 last night," he groused at the red-headed boy wonder.

Jim snorted as he stepped, uninvited, into the room and pulled the door closed behind him. Ben groaned, realizing that Jim had once again proven his superiority—he, at least, had the sense to close a door when he wanted privacy.

"Don't be silly," Jim said easily. "We were still watching A Christmas Carol last night at midnight. And I think New Year's resolutions are a waste of time."

Ben blinked in surprise. Jim Frayne, the poster child for responsibility, thought resolutions were a waste of time?

"Almost all of them come from a negative point of view. Like resolving not to smoke, or swear, or eat unhealthy food." He shrugged. "I've learned that I have to concentrate on positive things, or I drive myself and everyone around me crazy. And I get tired of thinking about myself all the time. You know, inspecting my own behaviour every second of the day. Life's too short for that."

Ben stared at him, the wheel in his brain turning so quickly he almost felt dizzy.

"Sorry," Jim said when Ben continued to stare. "You can do whatever you want, of course. I just..."

"No, that's fine," Ben said snapping out of his stupor. "In fact, it's better than fine." Smiling broadly, he stood up, leaving his notebook on the desk.

"You've been a big help, actually."

"Uh oh," Jim said, laughing as he backed out of the room. "I'm not sure I like the sound of that."

Ben shrugged. "One can never be too careful around the Lord of Misrule," he teased. "Now, I think it time for the daily Misrule meeting." He rubbed his hands together, his headache forgotten in the wake of his epiphany.

   

"New Year's resolutions," Ben announced to the group gathered in the study. What with the Bob-Whites, the staff, and Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler, the room was filled to capacity. Not that it would matter—they wouldn't be there long. The chorus of groans and intrigued murmurs fell into line with what he had expected. In his experience, either you loved New Year's resolutions, or you hated them. A middle ground didn't seem to exist.

"Oh, I know!" Trixie exclaimed, her round blue eyes snapping with excitement. "We're going to write resolutions for each other, aren't we? I love it! And boy, do I have some doozies for Mart," she chortled. "I think he needs to resolve to only use words that he knows how to spell."

Ben grinned at her enthusiasm. "That's not what I had in mind, but it is a good idea," he complimented her, envisioning the fun they could have had deciding what other people's resolutions should be. It would certainly be one way of finding out how others really saw you. Hmm… Probably it was best that he hadn't thought of it himself…

"No, today's edict as the Lord of Misrule is that each person has to make one New Year's resolution."

"That doesn't sound too terrible," Di said, smiling at him. "I think New Year's resolutions are fun."

"Ah, but there's a twist," Ben continued. "Your resolutions cannot include a negative, and the main goal cannot be to improve yourself."

His statement was met with utter silence.

"I don't get it," Trixie said, frowning. "Isn't the point of a New Year's resolution to improve yourself?"

Ben shrugged. "Not this year."

Tilting her head to the side, Honey regarded him thoughtfully. "I think I get it," she said, and a slow, small smile spread across her face. "Oh, Ben, what a brilliant idea!"

Ben smiled back, relieved that he had at least one supporter, someone who understood what he was getting at.

"Do we hand in our resolutions to you?" Brian asked, sounding as if he'd rather do anything but.

"No," Ben responded immediately. He hadn't actually given much thought to the question before Brian asked, but it took him only a second to realize that, Lord of Misrule or not, he had no desire to compel anyone to share their private thoughts with him.

Quite frankly, he didn't really care what anyone else's resolution was. They were none of his business.

"That's it," he said flatly, dismissing the group without the usual fanfare of groans and squeals over whatever cockamamie idea he'd come up with. Ten minutes later, in the privacy of his bedroom with the door closed and locked, Ben stared at the paper in front of him.

New Year's Resolution

1) Think about why people react and feel the way they do. Not because it will make me a better person, but because people are way more interesting and complex than I give them credit for.

Flipping the notebook shut, he leaned back in his chair and smiled. People had been surprising him left and right since he'd arrived in Sleepyside; if anything, this resolution would almost be too easy to keep as he continued to interact with them.

January 2nd

Being called in to the headmaster's office had always been a bit of a lark. Sure, he'd always been in trouble, but watching the highly intelligent, dignified man repeatedly lose his temper had provided a certain amount of entertainment. Being summoned to his father's study had been less enjoyable, but still amusing as Ben attempted to anticipate precisely which threats his father would make, and what privileges he would take away.

Having Miss Trask inform him that Mr. Wheeler was waiting for him in the study? Not entertaining. Not in the slightest.

Had he finally gone too far? Was his uncle going to kick him out of the Manor House? He wasn't exactly sure where he would go; he supposed that his parents wouldn’t forbid him to come home, but tensions had been running awfully high when he'd been sent away, and he was pretty sure a week wasn't enough time for that to have changed.

"Ben?" Miss Trask said, standing in the corridor at the door to the study. "You can go right in; he's expecting you."

Ben swallowed. "Right."

"Relax, Ben," Miss Trask said, squeezing his shoulder as she walked past him, leaving him to the wolves. "Just because someone wants to speak with you doesn't automatically mean that you're in trouble."

Obviously she didn't know him very well at all, he thought bitterly.

"Right," he said again, this time to himself as he rapped on the slightly ajar door and pushed it open.

"Ben!" Mr. Wheeler said. "Come in!"

"Yes, sir." Ben winced, wondering where that honorific had come from. Mr. Wheeler had certainly never insisted on formality, and Ben had been always been loath to give it before, to anyone.

"You wanted to see me?" he asked, moving into the room. He stopped short as movement by the window caught his attention. "Oh!" he exclaimed, startled. "I didn't realize that you had a guest. Should I—?"

"Have a seat, Ben," Mr. Wheeler said kindly. "I'd like to introduce you to Mr. O'Connor."

O'Connor? Ben blinked, trying to figure out why the name sounded familiar. He'd heard it recently, he was sure of it. But where? His eyes grew wide as the memory of the conversation he'd overheard in that very study came back to him. Mr. Wheeler had been attempted to broker some sort of deal with Mr. O'Connor, but it had all fallen apart when Mr. Wheeler had used an Irish accent.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Ben said faintly, feeling sick. Had Mr. Wheeler called him here to rub his face in the fact that he'd cost him a business deal? That didn't sound like something he would do, but...

"What is it?" Mr. Wheeler asked, frowning. "Ben? Are you unwell?"

And there it was. The out he'd been waiting for. If he said yes, no doubt he'd be shuttled off to his room, allowed to stay out of sight for the remainder of the day.

"No, sir," he said, though really, "yes" might have been the more accurate answer based on the churning of his stomach. Closing his eyes briefly in order to summon his courage, he turned to Mr. O'Connor.

"Sir, I apologize for Mr. Wheeler's accent when you talked to him on the phone a few days ago. It was entirely my fault, and I hope that you won't hold it against him. I'd hate to see him suffer because of my ridiculous edict." He pivoted to look his uncle in the eye. "And I'm very sorry for listening in on a private conversation. I was walking down the hall, and..." He shrugged. "There's no excuse. I'm sorry. Not only for eavesdropping, but for embarrassing you in front of your colleagues."

"This is the boy who's been suspended from Wilson's?" Mr. O'Connor boomed. "Whatever for? If half of my employees had his sense of personal responsibility, I'd be a happier man. More successful, too."

Mr. Wheeler nodded. "Agreed."

Ben sank weakly to a chair when Mr. Wheeler gestured to the seat across from him.

"Ben, Mr. O'Connor has an offer for you," he said, leaning back in his chair and studying him carefully. "I want to make it clear that you do not have to accept. Your aunt and I would be happy to have you stay in Sleepyside, and I've already talked to Principal Stratton—you'll have a place at Sleepyside Junior-Senior High if you want it."

Ben shifted uncomfortably, wishing that he hadn't sat down. He didn't know what to do with his legs, and as for his hands… He wiped them on his trousers, grimacing at the tacky feel of perspiration.

"What Matthew is doing such a brilliant job of butchering," Mr. O'Connor cut in, "is telling you that I think you'd be a good fit for my alma mater. Ever since Matthew told me about the Lord of Misrule, I've been keeping in touch. I like how you handled it," he said, giving Ben a sharp nod. "It's harder than it looks, and you tackled it with grace. Not an easy feat for a sixteen year old boy. Or anyone, for that matter."

Ben nodded vaguely. It had been challenging. He'd wanted to keep the holidays fun, but had to give the pranks enough of an edge that they'd be memorable. But not harmful.

"And now you're butchering it," Mr. Wheeler said, shaking his head. "What O'Connor is trying to say is that he's contacted his school. He's agreed to recommend you, and so you've got a place there if you want it."

"I don't have any sons, you see," O'Connor explained. "And it's a school for boys." He moved to stand beside Ben's chair. "I'd be proud to sponsor you."

"I...I..." Ben stammered, trying to process the information. "Mr. Wheeler said you went to school in Europe?" he asked, recalling part of the overheard conversation.

"Ireland, of course," O'Connor told him.

Of course.

"Your father..." Mr. Wheeler hesitated. "He's agreed to let you go."

Of course he had. He'd probably thrown a party when he'd been informed that his son had the opportunity to complete his schooling overseas.

Where news of his exploits would take longer to reach him, and perhaps have less of an effect on him.

Ben nodded, indicating that he understood. Mr. Wheeler held his gaze, and if Ben wasn't mistaken, he was attempting to conceal something that looked an awful lot like anger. Not his usual blow-up-and-yell anger, but something deeper and darker. More dangerous. And though he couldn't say why, Ben sensed that the anger was not directed at him. In fact, he was almost certain that his uncle's anger was on Ben's behalf.

And he didn't know quite what to do with that.

"It's a fine school," O'Connor said, breaking the tense silence. "You'll work hard, but when you graduate you'll have the finest education possible. Doors will open for you, my boy. Most importantly, you'll have options."

Options? For all the harping his parents and teachers had subjected him to about planning for his future, Ben had never really given it serious thought. He'd always assumed that he'd end up attending whatever college his father decided was appropriate, and that he'd stumble his way into a career of some sort, most likely warming a desk as a vice-president of his father's company.

Was it possible that there really were other options? Futures in which he made his own decisions? Decided on his own goals and worked toward them?

The Bob-Whites, he realized, would have rolled their eyes and stared at him like he was dim if he ever admitted that this really was a brand new concept to him. They all seemed to have been born with the ability and drive to determine their own futures. But he'd never taken himself seriously enough to believe that he could do the same.

"It's a big decision," Mr. Wheeler said when the silence lengthened. Ben flushed, knowing that the two men probably expected an immediate answer. They were, after all, men of action capable of making decisions with far-reaching consequences in an instant.

"What do you think I should do?" he asked, trying to gauge his uncle's expression. Would he be honest with him, Ben wondered, or would he merely spout some platitude about looking into his own soul for the answers? He almost scoffed at the thought—Matthew Wheeler spouting philosophy was about as likely as Madeleine Wheeler shopping at Wal-Mart.

"You have two options," Mr. Wheeler finally said, sounding as if he were addressing his board. "You can stay here and attend Sleepyside Junior-Senior High, or you can attend Dovercroft in Ireland." He hesitated. "You've asked for my opinion." Ben nodded. "Sleepyside has been good for both Honey and Jim," he said. "It was the right place for them. It could be the right place for you, too."

He moved out from behind his desk until he stood at the front corner, only inches from Ben. Not an action, Ben thought vaguely, that he would have taken had he been addressing his board.

"Boarding school wasn't the right choice for Honey or Jim. Not now. For Honey, it probably never was," he admitted regretfully. "They needed family. You, however…" He hesitated again and Ben swallowed nervously. "Ben, if you choose to stay here, Madeleine and I will support you. Fully. But my instincts tell me that a separation from family might be just what you need in order to thrive."

The concept of "thrive" was so foreign to him, at least as it related to himself, that it took him a moment to process the statement.

And then he discovered something about himself that he had never realized. Or had it not been true until that particular moment? It didn't matter. All he knew now was that he wanted to thrive. And he didn't want to play the role of a jokester any longer.

"Yes," he said, and he didn't have to say aloud which option he was agreeing to. A satisfied nod from his uncle and a grunt of approval from Mr. O'Connor told him that perhaps the two men understood him and his situation better than he would have thought.

"I'll make the arrangements," O'Connor promised, griping Ben's shoulder firmly as he passed him. "Might even take you there myself," he said thoughtfully. "I haven't been back in years."

"And I'll make a phone call or two myself," Mr. Wheeler said, and Ben nodded gratefully, knowing that his uncle would take care of informing his parents. He'd have to talk to them himself at some point, he knew, but… not yet. Once he was settled at Dovercroft would be soon enough. He left the room in a daze, nearly knocking into Honey as she hurried down the corridor.

"Ben!" she laughed, placing a slender hand on his arm to steady herself, "what's going on? You look as if you've seen a ghost!"

Ben blinked and attempted to return her smile. His mouth felt odd, as if smiling were stretching it into an unnatural position. It wasn't that he wasn't happy—it was more that he was numb, both body and mind.

"What's wrong?" she demanded, her eyes wide. Her gaze darted to her father's closed office door. "Were you talking with Daddy? Is everything all right?"

Ben shook his head to clear it, and suddenly, it no longer felt unnatural to smile. "I'm going away to school," he told her, still getting used to the idea.

"Of course you are," Honey said, frowning. "You're just here for the Christmas holidays."

"No," he corrected her. "I'm going away to school. Overseas. To Ireland."

"What?" Her grasp on his arm tightened and she looked up at him with confused and frightened eyes. "Ben, what are you talking about?"

He was scaring her, he realized, though he couldn't fathom why the thought of him going away to school would bother her. "It's okay, Honey," he said, placing his hand over top of hers and squeezing it. "I didn't say anything when I got here, but..." He hesitated, feeling a pang of shame that he'd been exiled from both his school and his parent's home. "Well, I was in some trouble at Wilson's. And you know my father..."

Honey nodded sympathetically. "Oh, Ben," she whispered. "Were you expelled?"

"No," he assured her quickly. "Well, at least not yet," he admitted sheepishly. "There was supposed to be a meeting in January to discuss whether or not I would be allowed back."

"And you were going to stay here until then," Honey said, understanding the situation immediately. "Oh, Ben," she said, "I'm so sorry."

And she honestly was, Ben realized. It didn't matter to her that he deserved the expulsion. She still felt sorry for him.

"I'm going to miss you," he realized, surprising himself. It was the truth, though. Even stranger, he knew that he would miss all of the Bob-Whites.

"You'll be back," she informed her briskly. "For holidays, and whatnot."

Ben nodded immediately. Yes, he would be back. And Sleepyside would be his destination of choice, instead of the place his father sent him when he didn't feel like dealing with him.

January 6th

Ben fiddled with his cuff links, running his thumb over the insignia etched in silver. They were part of his new uniform, and more formal than anything he'd been required to wear at his former schools. The trousers and blazer, however, held the universal familiarity of private school uniforms, even if the cut was slightly different.

He examined himself in the mirror, and felt a sharp pang of worry. He didn't look different. At least, no different than when he'd arrived in Sleepyside almost two weeks ago. What if he wasn't any different? What if he messed up at his new school, just as he'd messed up at every other school he'd attended? What if—

"Good! You're ready."

Ben pressed his lips together and attempted to calm his suddenly racing heart. He'd forgotten to close his door again, he realized, and all but hung out the welcome sign. Though he suspected that even a closed and locked door wouldn't have deterred his visitor for long.

"You look very sharp," Miss Trask informed him, nodding in approval at the crisp lines of his uniform.

"Right," Ben muttered, scowling down at the perfectly pressed trousers. Why she'd instructed him to wear this monstrosity to dinner was beyond him. It was his last night in Sleepyside and the Bob-Whites had been invited to dinner. Trixie had wanted everyone to come to Crabapple Farm, but Miss Trask had vetoed that for reasons he hadn't been made aware of, and so everyone was expected to gather at the massive dining room table in the Manor House.

It wasn't all bad, Ben told himself. To his surprise, he found that he actually wanted to spend his last evening with the Bob-Whites. Not to mention the fact that Mr. Wheeler had delayed a business trip so that he and Mrs. Wheeler would be on hand for his last evening. In an even bigger surprise, his uncle had informed him that he and Mr. O'Connor would both be escorting him to Dovercroft. It was probably overkill—after all, he was practically of age and certainly didn't need anyone to hold his hand on the plane—but he appreciated the gesture.

"Surprise!"

The chorus of shouts caught him off guard, and Ben started violently.

"Ha!" Trixie chortled, her blonde curls dancing as she fidgeted with excitement. "You didn't see that coming, did you?"

Recovering quickly, Ben raised an eyebrow. "See what coming? The decibels of your melodious shriek?" The excitement in the room was contagious, however, and Ben couldn't help smiling even as he teased her. "What gives?" he asked, taking in the decorated room. "And what on earth are you wearing?" he demanded, noticing the clothing of the people for the first time.

"Mr. O'Connor is such a dear!" Honey gushed. "I called and asked him to describe the uniforms at Dovercroft, and not only did he describe them, he sent us some of his old uniforms!"

Ben's eyes grew wide as he took more careful note of Jim, Dan, Brian, and Mart's clothing. It was identical to his own, though it didn't look as if the fit was quite as precise as his own. Jim, in particular, looked as if he was only seconds away from ripping off the navy and grey striped tie and throwing it to the floor.

"Dovercroft doesn't have a uniform for girls, of course," Honey continued, "but Ella Kline whipped up a design in no time, and we split the sewing between us, and—"

"And came up with this," Trixie said ruefully, picking at her pleated skirt. "I tried to tell them that girls are allowed to wear pants even at private schools now, but—"

"The skirt looks perfectly darling on you and you know it," Honey said sternly. "And girls still don't wear trousers at the more traditional schools, which I think Dovercroft is." She glanced at Mr. O'Connor for confirmation, who nodded.

"Quite so, quite so," he said. "Very traditional." He cleared his throat. "Which brings us to the topic of the Lord of Misrule."

Ben swallowed. He'd thought that Mr. O'Connor had been amused by the stories of his tenure as the Lord of Misrule. Had he offended him more than he'd realized?

"The tradition of the Lord of Misrule as all about the balance of power," O'Connor continued, and Ben relaxed when he saw that though his voice was stern, his expression was amused. "For twelve days, power is handed over to a student, who is given free rein to dictate to his peers and professors. At the end of those twelve days, however…" His voice trailed off dramatically, and Ben noted with amusement that every member of the audience, including Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler, was giving him their full attention. The silence in the room seemed to grow, waiting for the completion of the statement.

"The power is returned to the professors," Ben finished, sensing that Mr. O'Connor would welcome his input.

"Exactly so," O'Connor agreed, beaming. "And so it has. Benjamin Riker, you are hereby relieved of your duties as the Lord of Misrule."

He hadn't realized the weight he'd been carrying until it was removed. Now that it was gone, however, he couldn't keep from beaming at the resulting rush of freedom.

"And we're more than happy to take that authority back," Mr. Wheeler said, smiling in satisfaction when the Bob-Whites groaned. "And you are all hereby instructed to make Ben's last night in America a memorable one."

And with that, Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler and Mr. O'Connor stood up, leaving the Bob-Whites and Ben to their own devices.

"Oh, and one last thing," Mr. O'Connor said, his accent richer and deeper than it had been earlier. "You're all to speak in with an Irish accent tonight."

The Bob-Whites and Ben groaned good-naturedly, though Miss Trask looked more thoughtful than amused as she followed the other adults out of the room. "Have you seen the lake yet, Mr. O'Connor?" Ben heard her ask. "If you haven't, I'd be happy to give you a tour…"

Ben's eyes widened. If he didn't know better, he would have thought that Miss Trask was... No. Surely he was mistaken.

"Well," Honey said, whispering to Trixie, though Ben was close enough to overhear her, "at least she's showing better taste this time. As long as it's not a Scottish brogue!"

Trixie giggled in response, and Ben had the horrifying feeling that his suspicions had been correct.

"Come on!" Diana called. "If we're having another accent night, we could watch a Jane Austen adaptation!"

"Di," Mart objected, "those would be British accents, not Irish."

She stared at him blankly. "Mr. Darcy, Mart. Mr. Darcy," she said, as if this made up for the fact that the movies she was suggesting were most certainly not Irish.

"Close enough," Mart sighed. "But we're throwing a Bond movie in, too. Sean Connery is Irish, right?"

"Scottish," Jim muttered, leading the way out of the dining room. "But we're going to call it close enough."

Dan rolled his eyes and gave his friend a good-natured shove. "I'm going to pretend that I didn't hear that," he said, his Irish accent perfect.

Ben stared after the retreating group, shaking his head. They really were a crazy group, he decided. But it was a kind of crazy that he could see himself getting used to.

And get used to it, he would, he told himself, rousing himself and following his friends to the media room. Because he'd be returning to the magic of Sleepyside every chance he got. Especially for Christmas.

As Lord of Misrule, he decreed it.