Son of Stone (Stone Barrington 21)

“Funny,” Peter replied, “he looks very familiar.” He sank into a wing chair across from Stone.

Stone steeled himself; he knew the question that was coming, and he didn’t want to answer it. “So what’s this plan of yours for after you graduate?”

“It’s like this,” Peter said. “I know I can handle the courses in college, but at sixteen, I’m not ready to be in a freshman class where everybody is two or three years older than I am.” He paused. “For one thing, no attractive girl is going to give me the time of day.”

“That’s an interesting observation,” Stone replied. “Have you considered an alternative?”

“Yes. There’s a prep school on the Upper East Side of Manhattan called Knickerbocker Hall.”

“I’ve heard of it, of course,” Stone said. “What attracts you to it?”

“It’s performing-arts oriented, and they have a good film school,” Peter said. “I could study film, then, in two years, I could enter a good university as a junior.”

“You’ll still be only eighteen,” Stone pointed out.

“Yes, but I’ll look older. I’ll have achieved my full height by then and filled out some, and I’m already shaving. I’ll lie about my age to the kids at Knickerbocker, though the administration will know my age, of course, and I’ll continue to do that in college.”

“Have you given any thought to where you want to go to college?”

“I think I’ll want to go to the Yale Drama School.”

“Are you interested in acting?”

“No, but I’m interested in actors, because that’s who I want to work with. And they have a director’s program. I already know a lot about film, but I want to learn about the theater, too.”

“That sounds like a very good plan to me. Do you think your mother will let you go to a boarding school in New York?”

“Knickerbocker isn’t a boarding school,” Peter replied, then sat silently while he let that sink in.

Stone got it almost at once. “Well,” he said, “I’ve got plenty of room here.”

“Thank you,” Peter said. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

“You knew I would, didn’t you?”

“Not until just a moment ago,” Peter replied. He held up the photograph of Stone’s father. “When I saw this.”

Stone took a deep breath. “Do you have any questions, Peter?”

“All my questions have been answered,” Peter said, “some of which I’ve been asking myself for a long time.”

“Has your mother talked to you about this?”

“No, and if I got too close to the question, she adroitly changed the subject. Did she make you promise not to tell me?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you haven’t,” Peter said. “I suppose you could say my grandfather told me.” He looked at the photograph again. “I wish I had known him.”

“So do I,” Stone said. “You two would have gotten along famously. You’d have liked your grandmother, too. She was a painter; I expect you got your artistic bent from her.”

“There’s something else,” Peter said.

“What’s that?”

“I want to legally change my name to Barrington, for a number of reasons.”

Stone blinked. “What are y