Peter felt like he was on a Viking ship carnival ride, rocking back and forth in wide arcs that whipped the wind past the outside of the cloth he was trapped in, the arm of whatever person had grabbed him and was currently gripping him tightly into the fabric swinging absentmindedly at their side.  It was an average, unassuming motion; Peter figured whoever it was wanted to stay inconspicuous as they strolled onward, but to a boy of only a few inches of height, each swing of the arm was a stomach-flipping excursion. 

                Normally Peter, being adventurous, would have enjoyed such a thing for the thrill, but not at this moment, when someone had very purposefully tossed a cloth over him to conceal him before scooping him like a doll from that desk in the math classroom.  Whatever was going on, Peter had a feeling it wasn’t going to go well for him.

                “Why?” whispered Peter to no one in particular under his breath, wrapping his arms around his legs in a crouched position to avoid being slammed too hard against the firm fingers clenching his body into the cloth.  “Why today, of all days?  The one day Mom needed to see that everything was going to go okay.  I couldn’t get through one day without something going wrong…” he whispered bitterly, growing more angry and frustrated with every passing second.  Through the cloth, which Peter had a feeling was a scarf of some kind, he could feel the fingers shifting their grip on him before, at long last, the swinging motion of the arm stopped.

                Before long, Peter could hear the bell ringing, signifying lunch was over and it was time for fourth period.  In no time, Peter heard the sounds of backpacks jostling, tennis shoes stomping, and muffled voices in rapid-fire conversations as all the students proceeded en masse to their next class.  He sighed, cursing his luck again.  Crying out for help would almost certainly register as but a whisper compared to the thunderous booming of the voices around he and his mysterious captor.

                Peter pressed his ear against the scarf fabric, hoping to be able to get a better idea of what was happening to him.  Despite the thickness of the material diluting most of the sound, he could make out a thin, metallic clicking noise.  To Peter, it sounded like a door handle or latch being undone.  A moment later, he heard the slapping of plastic against rubber before hearing a soft metallic clanking, different than the one before, ringing out.

                “What is going on?” groaned Peter, a thin layer of perspiration forming around his forehead, both from the heat generating inside the balled up scarf and the fear slowly building up inside of him.  Peter was used to feeling at least somewhat powerless in a variety of situations.  From his necessity to be carried around by everyone to the technical reality that he could very easily be killed on accident by so many things, the fact of his inability to act effectively in dire situations was apparent to Peter.  However, this was different.  Never before had the boy been deliberately and maliciously snatched up before by an unknown person, clearly with the intent of something, at best, thoroughly against the school rules.  Peter really couldn’t fathom what might happen to him, but at the same time, he felt optimistic that whatever was about to happen could be worked through if he just focused well enough.

                “Okay… just keep it together…” breathed Peter, wiping his forehead, his hands shaking anxiously.  He waited, hardly daring to inhale, for a few more seconds of silence before receiving a jarring jolt from his surroundings as he was suddenly plunged forward again.  Unable to process what was happening, so quickly did it take place, Peter found a crack of light appearing in the cloth as the long, restrictive fingers slowly released their calculated grip on his body, forcing him to slip toward the opening gap in the edge of the scarf.  Yelping, Peter grasped his arms around his shoulders in fear before plummeting head-first out of the scarf and into the blinding light.  As his eyes had adjusted to the darkness of the scarf, Peter didn’t even have time to figure out where, exactly, he was before diving directly back into darkness.  Skidding down a long, cold, metal slope, Peter crashed down at the base of a long and dark tunnel.

                Wincing from the impact, Peter tried to wriggle himself into a position where his body wasn’t angled downward, but soon found it to be impossible, so constrictive were the dimensions of the tunnel.  To Peter, it was like sitting in a dark, to-scale MRI machine.  Almost immediately, the slightest wave of claustrophobia began settling in, but the miniscule freshman forced himself again to stay calm.  “Breathe… breathe… you’re okay, you’re okay,” whispered Peter to himself, praying that he wasn’t lying to himself about this hope.

                As his eyes readjusted to the darkness, Peter could just barely make out what was around him.  The tunnel appeared to be made of brass, with dark red splotches of rust beginning to form along parts of it.  “Is… this a pipe?” whispered Peter, trying again to squirm into a more comfortable and less precarious position, but again finding it to be impossible.  Finally calming himself again, Peter tried to reason through his mysterious predicament.  His best guess was that he had been dropped into some kind of pipe, either in a wall or in a janitorial closet.  Either way, thought Peter, it was far better than what might have potentially happened, being at the total mercy of his still anonymous captor.  For all he knew, he might’ve ended up in a garbage can or an abandoned locker.  With a cold shiver, Peter uncomfortably found himself considering the unfathomable possibility of being dropped on the floor before being mashed into a scarf-wrapped pulp by the falling crash of a rubber-soled sneaker.

                “Don’t be stupid,” wheezed Peter, shaking his head to clear his thoughts.  “Just nerves.  Just nerves.  Don’t think things like that.  You can figure your way out of this one.  You always do, and…”

                Peter didn’t even have time to begin formulating a plan as he heard the clashing cacophony of rubber and plastic, before hearing a metallic creaking just outside the pipe.  Confused, Peter began squirming to try and find a better position from which to move, before the tunnel began shifting as if from some twisted funhouse game, the rippling rust patterns twisting around Peter’s vision and making him dizzy.

                “Hey!  Hey!  Is… is someone out there?” gasped Peter meekly, attempting to get ahold of the swirling pipe to no avail.  “HEY! CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?”

                There was no reply as the metallic clacking continued, followed by an eerie twisting of vinyl and cold copper.  Peter trembled, realizing fear of the unknown was taking over against his better judgment.  Swallowing hard, Peter struggled against the strange dip in the pipe, realizing he wasn’t going to fit down the hole behind him.  The only way was back up the way he had come.  Gathering his breath, Peter prepared to begin pushing himself back up the pipe, when this was made impossible by the sudden, jolting shift of force downward, instantly turning the pipe vertical and stranding Peter at the bottom.  The pipe vibrated as if being handled from the outside.  Peter even heard the soft clacking of foam, although he couldn’t be sure of what was causing it.  All the uncertainty was quickly taking a toll on the boy, and all he could do was clasp his clammy hands together in worry, waiting it out.

                It didn’t take long to get his answer.  Cold air rushed through the darkness for a split second before a shrill, lyrical sound whizzed through the pipe like an intangible bullet, and suddenly all of it became clear.

                Peter was wedged upside down into a musical instrument that was currently being played by a fourth period band class student.

                “HEY!  SOMEONE, I’M STUCK IN HERE, HELP!” screamed Peter, but soon found his already feeble yelling voice outmatched by the uncaring, musical march of a C major scale being pumped through the black metallic pipe of what Peter assumed must be a clarinet.  Outside the pipe, Peter could hear the rising sounds of other instruments: raspy blurts and squeaky pops alike from students warming up for the first class of the year.  Already, his chances of being heard seemed less and less likely.

                Peter spent the next ten minutes vocally battling with the roar of the band’s musical practice with no effect.  And eventually, the boy could tell just how badly he was losing the fight as he felt a cold, wet dribble pop against his back.  Spit was draining through the instrument steadily as the warm, misty breath of the clarinet’s player was chilled in the tight environment of the instrument’s body.  Peter flinched as he felt more drops trickle down the pipe, his legs and arms feeling cold and unclean as more and more of the unknown player’s icy saliva splashed against his skin and clothes. 

                As a tickling drip of it slid down his back and onto his head, soaking his head disgustingly in the muck, Peter was on the verge of tears, and bitterly remarked to himself.  “So… THIS is school.  THIS is what I was in such a rush to see for myself.”

                Peter didn’t have much time to linger on this before he felt his entire body being sucked partially back up the pipe upside down, the air current switching directions entirely.  Confused for a moment, Peter gasped as he realized the player was taking a very deep breath, no-doubt in preparation for a fortissimo blast.  He clenched his muscles and shut his eyes, tucking his head against his chest to protect himself just as the air came barreling down through the clarinet.  Feeling himself jostling loose, Peter watched as the light came nearer and nearer, the foam pads moving up just in time to avoid smacking into him.

                Peter was fired out of the end of the clarinet like a cannonball, a few stray droplets of cold spit from the player spraying every which way in his wake.  Too terrified to make any sound beyond a meek whimper, Peter bounced once on the carpet of the band room, his vision blurred, his head in a great deal of pain.

                He heard a few gasps from up above, and, already blushing from timidity, Peter rolled over onto his side to stand up, and blinked in surprise to find his face a few inches away from a large bare foot, the arched, pale sole scrunching against a worn-out pair of lime green flip-flops, the long, emerald-painted toes extending majestically. 

                It was a source of embarrassment to Peter to admit to anyone, but as he often found himself at ankle level with people, he had sort of by accident learned to identify most people by the sight of their feet rather than their faces.  As it happened, Peter recognized this particular foot he found himself in front of.

                “Peter!” hissed the familiar voice of Lena from above.

                Groggily, Peter scrubbed his fingers casually through his hair to try to rid himself of the excess dampness still nestled there and looked up between the valley of Lena’s long legs and up to her face far above, which was staring down at him worriedly through her silky mane of chocolate brown hair.

                “Uh… yeah, hi, Lena,” mumbled Peter, unsure of himself, completely aware that the eyes of a couple dozen seventeen-year-olds were zeroed in on him at this moment.

                “Is there a problem over there?” came the distant call of the band conductor from the podium at the front of the room.

                “No problem, Ms. Stinger.  None at all,” smiled Lena good-naturedly up at the front of the room before frowning back down at Peter.  “What are you doing here?” she whispered.  “Were you just…”

                “Yep,” nodded Peter knowingly.

                She placed a hand over her mouth, looking terrified with herself.  “Oh my God.  I… I…”

                “It’s fine, you didn’t know,” said Peter, waving a hand.  “I just… I’m kind of supposed to be in…”

                “Algebra, right?”

                “Yeah.”

                “Right,” nodded Lena, brushing her bangs out of her eyes and looking up to the front of the room again, raising her voice so she could be heard.  “Ms. Stinger?  Sorry, may I be excused for a minute?”

                “Be quick, honey,” the conductor called back.

                “Thanks!” responded Lena, lowering a cupped palm down to the carpet level in front of Peter.  “Want a lift?” she smiled.

                “Totally,” groaned Peter, already complete out-adventured for the rest of the day, as he clambered over the fingers of his older sister’s best friend, and settled in nicely as she raised him back up to the height of her stomach.  Although it wasn’t terribly frequent, Lena had held Peter on several occasions, and had learned how to keep her hand steady as well to keep him comfortable.  She stood up cautiously, placing her clarinet on the seat behind her, and slowly made for the door, careful to keep her fingers curled protectively around the boy.  Peter kept his head down, keeping his eyes trained directly on the intricate creases in the warm skin of Lena’s palm, hoping he wouldn’t have to look at any of the shocked eyes beaming onto him.  Even though he couldn’t see him, he could just feel every single head in the room turned and gawking at him.

                Shutting the door behind her as she made her way down the hall, Lena cleared her throat, and Peter breathed a sigh of relief, feeling far less self-conscious.

                “So… I guess I was kind of wondering why you were in there?” said Lena hesitantly as she made her way slowly toward the math hallway.

                “So was I,” said Peter wearily, looking up into the teenage girl’s face.

                “You mean… someone just… PUT you in there?” gasped Lena, her eyes bulging.

                “Yeah.  But, listen, you…”

                “Who?” she continued breathlessly.

                “I don’t know, Lena, I’m sorry, they just kind of grabbed me when I wasn’t looking, but…”

                “Peter, we need to go see the principal, or… or, something, I don’t know, maybe talk to your teacher, but you have to…”

                “No, Lena.  Please?”

                “Why?” frowned the towering teen girl, stopping in her tracks for a moment.

                “Because if my mom hears that I got randomly snatched off a desk and stuck down a clarinet, I’ll be out of here faster than they can get the enrollment withdrawal forms signed.  Seriously.”

                Lena sighed as she continued walking.  “I get that, Peter, but…”

                “And I really want to be here, Lena.  So freaking badly,” moaned Peter in emotional agony, a decade’s worth of dreams pent up in his words.  “I just want to be normal.”

                Lena bit her lip, sighing in frustration, but she could hear the anguish in the tiny teen’s voice, and she could almost feel her heart breaking at the sound of it.  Against her better judgment, Lena nodded.  “Okay, okay, Peter, look, we’ll take you to algebra and say you… needed an extra bathroom break or something, I don’t know.”

                Peter exhaled with relief.  “Thank you.”

                “Don’t thank me yet, buddy,” said Lena, rolling her eyes as she turned a corner in the hallway, heading toward the algebra classroom.  “Your mom would be upset if she found out about this for a reason, you know.”

                “Yeah.  I know.  I just… need to pay more attention, I guess.”

                Lena gripped the handle of the door to the classroom, pausing for a moment before leaning her face in closer to her friend’s little brother.  “Peter, I hate to have to tell you this, but… seriously.  If someone decides to do that to you again, and no one’s around, you knowing what’s going on isn’t going to make a bit of difference.  They’re going to do it again, and… you might not be as lucky to find someone you know right after it happens.”

                Peter sighed dejectedly.  Deep down, he knew she was right, and it scared him.