[Xander – 12 years]

"Xander?" Ms. Johnson says just as I reach the front door.

I freeze up. What did I do wrong? She never stops me on the way out of the home after lunch on Saturdays. Never, never, never, never, never. That means I messed up. I thought I had all of my chores done but I must have screwed something up or forgotten something. Now she's gonna beat me and-

"Could you be back by four this afternoon?" Ms. Johnson asks. "You have a meeting at four-thirty, so you need to be cleaned up and ready to go by then, okay?"

I nod to her, though I'm a bit confused about why I would have a meeting. Nobody wants to adopt a worthless piece of shit like me. Whoever it is probably doesn't know how stupid I am and how clumsy I am, but they'll probably figure it out really fast. If they're looking to adopt a twelve-year-old boy, there are plenty of others in this boys' home.

Ones who aren't undersized and scrawny on top not being stupid and worthless.

"Alright," Ms. Johnson says. "Before you go, I wanted to give you something, too."

A beating. It's definitely a beating. What did I do wrong? I cleaned my room and made sure the bathroom I was assigned to clean today was cleaned. Did I forget something? Probably a lot of things. She's holding out her hand now. Oh, crap. She's gonna jab me in the stom… huh?

I stare at the object in her hand. It's money. A ten-dollar bill.

"Don't tell the other boys, okay?" She whispers. "You're getting a little extra for your allowance this time for not running away again these last few months and for always getting your chores done. Get yourself some snacks or something, okay? But don't let the other boys know how you got the money."

Why is she telling me to buy myself something to eat while I'm out? I know I'm really skinny but am I really that bad? They did just have all us go through a checkup the last couple of days now that school is out for the summer. Maybe I lost weight again. Maybe even some height. That wouldn't surprise me, I'm just a waste of space so it'd make sense for the universe to remove some of me so that I waste less space.

No matter what the dork says.

"Alright?" Ms. Johnson asks, and I nod. "Good. Go have fun, Xander."

What kind of fun am I supposed to have? I don't even know what it's like to have fun.

More confused than anything, I leave the home. Ms. Johnson is definitely trying to make me not skinny anymore, that's the only explanation I can think of. Me being so skinny is probably part of why nobody wants to adopt me, on top of all of the other reasons. There's me being stupid, me being a klutz, me being a worthless piece of shit, me being a waste of space, me be scrawny, me being short, me being stupid, me only being good for getting beatings, me having platinum-blond hair that draws attention from pretty much everyone (though it's currently dyed brown so that it doesn't do that), me having blue-green-grey eyes that freak people out for some reason… and that's just the stuff I'm currently remembering.

I'll have to check my notebook for the rest of the stuff I've written down. There are other reasons, too, but I also have a bad memory so I have to write things down if I want to make sure I know them later. Of course, that also requires me remembering them when I finally return to the notebook to write them down, which is another problem with me.

Chances are good this isn't the first time I've thought I should bring a pen and some paper with me just in case I think of things while I'm out.

The walk to my first destination takes around forty-five minutes. It's a pet shop in the next town over and I use a bike trail to make the trip shorter than it would be otherwise. I didn't use the bike trail at first but I've since learned that it's also a walking path even though it's a bike trail.

That was a relief to learn because I wanted to find a way to shorten the trip without getting arrested. It was also confusing to learn because how is it a walking path if it's a bike trail?

Though the pet store is very large, I don't go very far into it. They would probably accuse me of stealing if I went into the aisles so I stick to walking straight over to the adoption area. The company allows a pet adoption agency to come out every Saturday of the year and I like to look at the dogs. Just like me, they're hoping for a good home that will treat them right. A home that won't hurt them.

"Hey, little man," the pet adoption worker greets me when I arrive. "Were you wanting to pet the dogs this week?"

I nod.

"Alright," he says. "Go on in but remember the rules."

I nod, then enter the sectioned-off area with the dogs up for adoption in it. Several kennels are set up along the back and side walls, each one with a different dog in it. There's a pair of workers in here as well and they let me look at each of the dogs and pet each one for a few minutes.

Most of these dogs are ones I don't know, but one of them is a medium-large dog with semi-long fur that's dark brown, black, and golden-brown in places. His name is Turtle and he's about a year old. Apparently, his previous owners thought he looked like one of the candies when he was still a puppy but I don't get it. Those are completely brown. They also have chocolate so I don't like them. I like Turtle. He's also not made of chocolate.

Turtle was placed in the shelter a few months ago and has always been too hyper for someone to adopt him. That's what they say, but he's always calm when I'm petting him. The lady who let him out for me tells me that he's been a good boy this past week, so I give him a belly-scratch to reward him for that.

"Be a good boy," I whisper to Turtle when it's time for him to go back into his kennel.

"See you next week," the lady tells me as I go to leave.

I wave to her without responding. I can't know for sure if I'll see her next week and I don't like saying things that aren't certain. Lying is wrong and while it wouldn't be lying if I expect to see her next week now, I don't want to get punished for lying if I don't see her next week for some reason.

Now that my visit to pet the dogs is over, I start walking to my next destination. This one takes a little while to reach as I have to leave the shopping district. I pass by a park on the left where a bunch of kids are playing and notice one boy in particular among all of the kids playing at it.

He looks to be about my age but is more average in height, and he's taken off his shirt to play basketball with some other boys. Three others have their shirts off, while the other four have theirs on. I've never understood why people do that when it's warmer out.

It's not too warm out right now but I'm in an outfit that I'll probably wear even in the middle of summer, when it's really hot out. Baggy jeans and a grey long-sleeved shirt that's a bit big on me, along with my faded and worn-out sneakers. Wearing baggy clothes with darker or neutral/bland colors makes people notice me less. At least, during winter. People look at me more during summer but they usually look away just as quickly.

The boy who caught my attention has black hair and blue eyes and he seems to be better than the others at the game. At least, he's moving faster than they are. I switch to viewing magic and see that while he has a decent amount compared to most people, he's not using any. Most people never learn magic but I'm pretty sure there are boys my age who can do it.

Oh, crap. I was starting at him too long, wasn't I? He'll probably think I'm a freak if he sees that even though I was just curious if his speed and jump height was magical. Crap, crap, crap.

I look away and hurry my steps.

That boy stays on my mind though. That's the first time I've seen him outside of the bowling alley. Based on what little I saw, he's pretty good at basketball. I could just be stupid and thinking that when he's actually really bad, but it still makes me wish that I was good at something. All I can do well is tell if people have magic or not and also screw things up. The dork lets me help him with stuff but I think he's just trying to be nice. He's really weird.

Past the park is a wooded area, and after about ten minutes of walking once I reach that, I come across a parking lot. This one's on the left-hand side of the road as well and can fit about twenty cars in it. A short retaining wall was set up along the back and sides of it to help keep the ground from pushing into the parking lot or something like that, with a gap in the wall on the left-hand side leading to the path that takes people to the restaurant.

I cross the road and step onto the parking lot, then make my way up the path. It's a calming, quiet path that can fit three or four normal-sized adults side-by-side along it and it winds a little as it goes up the slope of the forest. Eventually, it lets out into a clearing with a restaurant. Tinted windows line most of the front with a small section at the front-right containing the door to allow customers to enter through.

Normally I wouldn't dare to enter a restaurant but I know I'm allowed to enter this one. They won't kick me out for doing that.

I enter through the front door, which lets customers into a small room with another door at the opposite side of it. I open up that door and step through, then approach the counter not far from that. To the left of the counter and entrance area are the booth tables that make up the seating area for the restaurant, while the right-hand wall between the door and counter has a bench for customers to sit on while they're waiting.

The lunch rush is over by now so there are only a couple of customers at the tables when I enter.

Standing behind the counter is a boy about sixteen years old, with sandy-blond hair and blue-green eyes. He's dressed in black pants (which I know because I've seen him not behind the counter in his uniform) and a dark green polo. Over that, he's wearing a black apron that has "CAL" embroidered onto it in neon green.

"Hello!" Cal greets me with a smile. "Welcome to the Wolf's Dragon. Will this be for dining in or carry out?"

He knows my order. He knows what it is and that I don't change it. But he always asks me that question and it confuses me about why. I don't show my confusion though because he might take it the wrong way and ban me from here.

"Carry out, please," I respond. "Could I please get a single slice of the red-white-and-blue cheesecake?"

"Sure thing," Cal tells me. "That'll be five dollars, and you can pay once it's ready. If you give me just a minute, I'll go fix that up for you."

Cal goes into the hall to the right behind the counter and I step to the side to wait for his return. When he does, he's carrying a small, triangle-shaped box in his hands. He places it into a paper bag with the restaurant's logo on it, then rings up my order on his computer.

"Will that be all for you today?" Cal asks.

"Yes, sir."

"That will be five dollars, sir," Cal tells me, and I hand him a five-dollar bill instead of the ten-dollar bill that Ms. Johnson gave me earlier.

I think he was mocking me with the 'sir' because I said 'sir', too. If I looked into his eyes I'd probably be able to tell but I'm not allowed to look people in the eye. That's being defiant and I don't want to get into trouble for being defiant.

"Alright," Cal accepts the money, then hands me the bag. "Have a good day, Xander."

"Have a good day, Cal," I tell him, then turn and leave the restaurant.

Back at the parking lot, I sit down on the retaining wall and pull out the cheesecake I was given. Cal stuck a fork and a trio of napkins in the bag without me noticing it but I didn't sense any magic. He's fast. Not as fast as the dork, but I think the dork can teleport.

Three slices of strawberry sit atop the cheesecake but below the pink drizzle. When I first started ordering this there, they didn't have the strawberries on it. After about the first month, they started adding the strawberry slices and I like that. It somehow makes the cheesecake taste even better.

The cheesecake itself is purple but they call it 'blue' because the purple comes from blueberries. The drizzle on top is a strawberry cream cheese drizzle, and the crust is a… they call it 'white' probably because it's lighter in color than graham crackers are. I think I heard it was shortbread? With… white chips, I think it was. I'm not sure what white chips are but the crust tastes good so whatever they are, they're good.

I try to eat slowly instead of scarfing down the food. Every time I eat cheesecake super fast, I end up getting sick. My instinct is to eat this as fast as I can before anyone can tell me I'm not allowed to have it or try to take it away from me or yell at me for sitting here.

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Once I finish eating, I put the container, napkins, and fork back into the bag, then condense the bag as much as I can before putting it into a trashcan in one corner of the parking lot.

I usually go home after this but Ms. Johnson told me to spend ten dollars on food. That makes me nervous because if I do that, then I might not have time to get back to the home, take a shower, and get changed into a fresh and nice set of clothes in time to meet whoever it is who is coming to meet me.

Maybe she thinks that eating ten dollars' worth of food will shift me from being scrawny to not in an unreasonable amount of time? It won't help and I decide that she probably got things mixed up due to being a bit frazzled from trying to shift everything from the end-of-school stuff to the start-of-summer stuff.

I'll politely return the money to her later and hope she accepts it without beating me for saying she messed up.

Since I'm returning the money, it's time to head back to the orphanage and get ready to meet with whoever this person is. Just as soon as one person stops wanting to meet with me every week, there's someone new.

Upon reaching the orphanage, I hurry to my bedroom and grab a change of clothes, then quickly go to the showers. They're communal showers with three heads on the side and back walls, but no one else is taking a shower right now. Apart from before-bed stuff, we're only allowed to use the showers if we have a meet or if we got extra-sweaty from something like sports. Sometimes if we got extra-dirty from rolling around in the dirt or something.

The lack of anyone else in here makes me happy but I don't take my time, finishing the shower as quickly as possible while still being efficient in the cleaning. Then I dry myself off and dry off the mirror, then use the blow-dryer to get my hair dried. My roots are showing a little but I don't have time to touch them up as it's almost time for the meet. It probably would have been better if I had walked faster to get to the pet store and the Wolf's Dragon.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I know it's not good to lie but I don't get into trouble for the hair dye so I think that one's okay. It makes me stand out less, which is probably why it's permitted. Once, I got accused of trying to blind people with my hair and then I was beaten for it. I'm not sure how I was blinding people but I was really sorry for it. It wasn't until I was back in the home here that I was allowed to dye my hair.

It took me a lot of courage to ask Ms. Johnson about that.

Oooh. Maybe she gave me the extra ten dollars to cover the cost of the hair dye, but said it was for snacks so that I'd put it toward those and then use part of the rest of my allowance for that? That's nice.

With my hair fully dried, I dry myself off again, then get dressed. A pair of nice black pants that make my skin tingle and itch a little, a white button-up shirt that was recently cleaned and ironed, and a pair of black dress shoes. I hate this outfit because it's uncomfortable but we have to dress up for the meets. It's one of the rules and we get into a lot of trouble if we don't.

I make sure to put the used towel and my dirty clothes away, then I go to the meet room and knock on it. The first knock I perform is right at four-thirty. This was definitely cutting it close and Ms. Johnson is definitely going to scold me for taking too long later. At least she hasn't given me a beating yet but it's only a matter of time. I think she's trying to build up my trust first. Two years is way too long and it's making me way too anxious.

"If that's Xander, you can come in," Ms. Johnson says through the door.

I open the door and enter the room and almost freeze upon seeing the man sitting on the other side of the table in there.

He's forty-one years old and 6'2" in height, making him really tall compared to most people I've seen. His dark brown hair is combed neatly to the side and his blue eyes are probably looking at me with the same friendliness he's had the last seven times we've met. Mr. Caldwell is dressed in his usual outfit of black pants and a white button-up, his dark grey suit jacket hung over the back of his chair and his sleeves rolled up. The tie today is dark green, sort of emerald but not quite. I like that color.

When we didn't have a meet yesterday, I had assumed that he had given up talking to me. He showed up the seven Fridays before that, though, and I don't think he's here to look into adoption. I think he's a really rich man who's going to put money toward renovating the home and is asking all of the boys here some questions about what they like.

I haven't seen him talk to the other boys, but that's the only explanation I can come up with for the questions he's been asking and why it's taking weeks for him to ask them all. Two weeks ago, one of the questions he asked was what type of bathroom I wanted – the kind where the tub and shower are one unit, the kind where the tub and shower and two separate units, or the kind where the shower is for cleaning and is off to the side while the tub is bigger and meant for soaking. That was a really weird thing to ask, but I guess the renovations are looking into stuff like that as well. We don't even get tubs here so we can't soak to relax. I liked bubble baths when I was little.

"Hello, Xander," Mr. Caldwell greets me with a small wave.

"Hello, Mr. Caldwell," I respond.

"Please," he says. "Call me Trey."

I enter the room and close the door, then take a seat beside Ms. Johnson at the table. A few items are set out on the table, including one of those white boxes I sometimes see on TV that are used to carry office supplies when someone gets fired. Mr. Caldwell usually has one of those with him, to show samples of things.

Another of the items on the table is a decorative glass plate with a bunch of pale cookies with whitish chunks and what looks like nuts in them. A glass of milk is set beside that, though I think Ms. Johnson put that there.

"How are you?" Mr. Caldwell asks.

This is usually a trick question people ask because most aren't really interested in answering. If I answer honestly, no one likes it and I usually get yelled at or beaten. If I lie, though, then I'll probably get into trouble as well. It's hard for me to avoid answering with Mr. Caldwell and if I lie to him he might reduce how much money he gives to the home. Then I'll get into trouble for ruining things. If I tell the truth, though, then he'll probably reduce the money and efforts put into the renovations, which will also get me into trouble for ruining things, and-

"Ms. Johnson said you might be a few minutes late since you went for a walk," Mr. Caldwell says. "Did you enjoy your walk?"

That's a much better question and I'm glad he decided to ask that instead.

"Yes, sir," I answer.

"Did you go to the park?"

"No, sir."

"Mind if I ask what you did?"

"No, sir."

"Xander," Ms. Johnson softly says. "That was him asking what you did on your walk if you were okay with answer."

"O-oh," my face heats up. I screwed up again. I'm such a fucking waste of space. "I-I went to a pet store to pet dogs. Then I went to a restaurant and bought myself a slice of cheesecake and ate it."

"It's Xander's usual Saturday routine," Ms. Johnson tells Mr. Caldwell. "He does it as long as he's free to go out and the weather's nice."

"Oh," Mr. Caldwell says. "Well, if you're not too full from cheesecake, you can eat some of the cookies while we talk, Xander. They're white chocolate macademia nut."

White… chocolate? I didn't know chocolate could come in a white variety. Sneaky demon food, disguising itself as something else to trick innocent people into being its victim.

"The flavor's different," Ms. Johnson tells me. "Why don't you give one a try?"

I'm hesitant because it's chocolate, but it's not brown so it doesn't look like poop. Ms. Johnson suggesting I try one also means that not doing so will probably offend Mr. Caldwell and he'll reduce the funds he donates. He was probably really offended by me not eating the brownies he brought last week, or the chocolate-chip cookies the week before that. The week before that, he brought lemon cookies and the one before that saw banana-nut muffins on the dish. I'm not sure where he's buying these but rich people probably have special bakeries they can order from.

More than a little anxious, I reach out and accept one of the cookies, then take a bite of it where one of the chunks of white chocolate is. Ms. Johnson was right, the flavor is different. It being chocolate still makes me hesitant, but at least it's not poop-colored. Something about the flavor is familiar.

Oh! Maybe it's white chocolate chips that were crushed into the crust of the cheesecake I get at the Wolf's Dragon?

Mr. Caldwell opens up the binder he has on the table and pushes it toward me a little while I munch on the cookie. Today's session seems to be starting with picking out stuff for the beds. Sheets, blankets, pillows, and such. Once I point out the ones I think look nice, Mr. Caldwell has me look at paint slips and asks me what colors I'd be interested in my bedroom being. I try to think about what Nick, my roommate, would prefer so that he doesn't get mad at me if Mr. Caldwell actually listens to this piece of shit's statements. Choices for shades and curtains for windows are also presented to me, along with furniture options.

The last thing Mr. Caldwell has me look at are carpet samples. They're all really, really plush and I like the way they feel. If I were alone, I would probably be rubbing them against my face. I didn't even know that carpets could be this soft!

"If you want to rub it against your face, you can," Mr. Caldwell startles me.

"I-I-I-"

"It was pretty evident," he chuckles. "You can do it, Xander. I did the same thing when I first received the samples. Not those ones, a different set. Same company and plushness, though."

For a moment, I stare at the sample in my hand. It's a dark green carpet sample. Then I put it against my cheek and rub it. This really does feel nice. Mr. Caldwell chuckles a little and I feel my face heat up and quickly put the sample down.

"You can keep that if you want," Mr. Caldwell tells me. "It was nice meeting with you today, Xander. I would have been here yesterday, but there was an emergency with my company that I had to take care of. Do you mind if Ms. Johnson and I have a few minutes to talk?"

"Go wait outside the room, alright, Xander?" Ms. Johnson asks before I can respond to Mr. Caldwell's question.

I nod, then hurry out of the room and let out a heavy breath of relief. That was way too intense for me. Why even bother asking for my opinions on the renovations? It's not like I matter at all. Ms. Johnson is probably going to scold me once Mr. Caldwell leaves. This is probably where she reveals that she's done letting me off with lighter punishments and beats me for screwing up with Mr. Caldwell. I even ate all of the cookies he brought! I just realized that!

Oh, no! This is bad. This is really, really bad.

Maybe if I give her the money back, she'll be nicer? Or the rest of my allowance. How much do I have left? Um… I spent five dollars at the Wolf's Dragon today, and twenty at the bowling alley on Tuesday, and… um… um… fucking stupid piece of shit. I can't remember what all I've spent money on since getting my allowance at the start of the week!

Mr. Caldwell and Ms. Johnson leave the meet room as I try to remember how much I have left.

"-should be ready by Thursday night," Mr. Caldwell says. "How early would be too early to come on Friday?"

"How early is too early for you?" Ms. Johnson asks.

"I usually wake around six to six-thirty," Mr. Caldwell answers. "But I'm sure before breakfast would be too early."

"Xander typically wakes around five," Ms. Johnson says. "Though he stays in his bed and tries to fall back asleep. Breakfast typically starts around seven during the school year but with it being summer it's anywhere from seven to nine as most of the boys sleep in."

They're talking about me but I don't understand why. What does it matter what time I wake? Maybe it's so that he can personally beat me for my screw-ups but not have to deal with the other boys seeing it?

"If you want to come before breakfast, you're free to," Ms. Johnson continues. "Just let me know the day before and I can make sure he's ready."

"Alright," Mr. Caldwell says. "Then assuming everything goes well, let's say Friday."

"Alright," Ms. Johnson responds. "Let me know if things change."

"Will do," Mr. Caldwell says. "See you, Ms. Johnson. See you, Xander."

He's the only one who's ever met with me who's actually said goodbye, and I think he's just being nice to all of the boys. I want to try to ask them about their meets with him but get too nervous that they'll be upset that a nothing like me would ask about them.

"Goodbye, Mr. Caldwell," I remember to tell him before it's been too long for me to respond.

Mr. Caldwell gives me a small wave and leaves, then Ms. Johnson looks at me and I flinch in fear.

"Xander," Ms. Johnson says. "I tried telling you before, but I don't think you were paying too much attention-"

"I'm sorry," breathing starts to become difficult for me. "I try really hard but I-"

"Hold on, Xander," she says.

I interrupted her. Fuck. No!

"SorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorryIdidn'tmeantointerruptyouI'mreallysorrypleasedon'tbeatmeitwasanaccidentI'msorrysorrysorrysorrysorryso-"

"What do you think Mr. Caldwell was wanting to meet with you for?" Ms. Johnson's question makes me pause and I realize that she asked it three times before I caught it.

Fucking stupid piece of shit me. I'm in so much trouble!

"Xander," Ms. Johnson says. "What do you think Mr. Caldwell was wanting to meet with you for?"

"Um… because he's going to have the home renovated and is asking all of the boys their opinions on some of the changes?"

Ms. Johnson thinks for a few moments, then nods.

"Xander," Ms. Johnson says. "I can see why you'd think that if you didn't catch me saying it-"

"I'm sorry!"

"But Mr. Caldwell wasn't asking you about how you'd like things set up the first few times," she tells me. "The first three meetings were just to see his interest in taking you in."

"In… taking me in?"

"Yes," Ms. Johnson says. "Mr. Caldwell was looking into adopting you, Xander. That's why he's asked a lot of questions about you, especially those first three weeks. The last four weeks and today? That's been to prepare to take you in. Some of it is just to continue seeing if you're a fit for his home while some of it is to actually prepare the home. You'll be getting your own bedroom and bathroom, and even an office of your own so you can do schoolwork in it when the school year starts back up.

"That's what some of the questions he's been asking you have been," she tells me. "The stuff about the bathroom and the tub and shower? That was because you're getting your own bathroom, Xander. Those questions were so he knew how to have it set up. The questions today were because they're almost done setting up your room. He's going to present the choices you made to his contractors and they're going to do the paint and carpet based on those choices. You also just picked out things like the style of furniture for your room, the bedclothes, and the curtains."

Ms. Johnson goes quiet for a few moments but all I can think about is how this is weird and confusing. I even dared a peek into her eyes so I could tell if she was lying and she's not.

"Any questions?"

"Why would someone want to adopt me?"

"I know you're probably nervous and scared," Ms. Johnson is absolutely correct about this. "But we did a lot of looking into Mr. Caldwell before letting him meet with you even once, Xander. If it turns out that we're wrong, just let us know and we'll pull you back. The state requires that you live with him as a foster child for eighteen months before the adoption can be finalized, so there's an eighteen-month period where it can be easily reversed, okay?"

"Eighteen months?"

"It's specifically so that the case workers and courts can see if the child is a fit for the home," Ms. Johnson tells me. "And for the family and child as well. So you have up to eighteen months to figure out if you like living with Mr. Caldwell, okay? If anything happens and you feel unsafe, you can let me know and we'll remove you from there and bring you back here, alright?"

I'll probably get into a lot of trouble for screwing things up. Finding out Mr. Caldwell wants to adopt me scares me, too. It's only going to be a matter of time before he says I wasted his money on renovations and sends me back here.

"Go get changed, Xander," Ms. Johnson tells me. "I've put in an order for pizza and it should be here soon. There's enough for everyone to have four slices if they're that hungry, and I even ordered wings, bread sticks, cheesy bread sticks, cinnamon sticks, and soda. And after, there's going to be ice cream."

Whoa. She doesn't even go that all-out when someone turns eighteen and moves out. Something really good must have happened. Did one of the donors send some extra money so we could have an end-of-year celebration?

Wait. She ordered enough pizza so that everyone could have four slices? And she ordered all of that extra stuff? And there's ice cream after?

Whoa. I might actually get to eat two slices this time.