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"However, he's Mr. Popularity, class president, and consistently voted most likely to become state senator. which I imagine he will, if my father has any say in it.

"How many brothers or sisters do you have?"

"None," I said.

"Lucky you, all Mommy and Daddy's attention comes your way. Were they happy you were chosen by the queen to be here?"

"Yes, they were. Of course, they were. I wouldn't be here if they weren't."

He ignored me, knelt to open my violin case, peered at it and whistled.

"Stradivari, impressive."

"My uncle bought it for me."

He rose like a jack-in-the-box. Watching him move about was like watching someone flip channels on a television set.

"Ironically, my mother bought a piano to dress up the Grand living room and never expected her toddler would wander up to it one day and actually begin tapping out sensible sounds. At first, everyone thought it was a novelty, and then my daycare teacher decided I might be a genius, because all I had to do was hear a melody to reproduce it. At the age of five!" he emphasized, throwing his hands in the air. "Thus, the boy with the Mozart ear! Get it?

"Where are you from?" he asked. New thoughts just popped out of his mind and mouth at random, it seemed.

"Ohio. We just drove into the city."

"I'm from Syracuse." He marched toward the door, paused, and walked back.

"You meet any of the others vet?"

"No, I was literally just brought up here by Miss Fairchild."

"Ms. Fairchild," he corrected. "Please, get that right. She corrected me with an electric cattle prod when I made the mistake. Your parents drove you all the way here?"

"Yes."

"Mine just put me on a hopper flight. My mother wanted to come, but my father said. 'The boy's a genius, isn't he? He can take care of himself."

A sudden burst of loud laughter flowed down the hallway to my door.

Steven spun around abruptly.

"That's this weird girl Cinnamon Carlson and Howard Rockwell the Third or Fourth. I can't remember what he said. Howard's from Boston, one of those families that goes back to the Boston Tea Party or something. Don't worry, he'll make sure you know. Cinnamon is from just north of the city, some small out-of-the-way town close to Yonkers."

"Why is she weird?"

"She looks like a relative of the Munsters or the Addams Family-- remember them?"

Who was he to make fun of the way someone else looked? I thought.

"She's an actress," he said, as if actress meant someone strange anyway. "And Howard is an actor, or should I say thespian. That's what he calls himself. There are two other is here. but I haven't met them yet."

Again we heard laughter.

"Let s see what they're up to. Ms. Fairchild made the mistake of telling them where the costumes are stored, and the next thing I knew, they went up to the third floor and carried on like a couple of kids in a candy store. C'mon."

"I've got to unpack still."

"You've got time. This isn't exactly a military camp, you la-low. No one's coming around to inspect your room, despite what Ms. Fairchild says. CI-non," he insisted. "You've got to meet them sometime."

He reached for my hand and practically tugged me out the door.