[Sig – 13 years]

One big upside to today is that I get to play with a dog for a little while. I kind of need that after waking up and finding out my parents ate the entire pound of bacon I bought yesterday. Bacon I bought using money I'd earned. They also ate the entire dozen eggs I bought to go with it. That was going to be several days' worth of breakfasts for me.

I hope cholesterol clogs their arteries. Why the heck did two adults consume a full pound of bacon and a dozen eggs for just one breakfast? Especially when it was food they hadn't even bought!

Unlocking the door to the house with the dog, I quickly enter and close the door behind me before I'm assaulted by a happy dog that takes me a full minute to calm down. He's a mix of golden retriever and husky and is a very energetic boy.

"Good to see you again, too, Rusteo," I scratch the dog behind his ears. "Let me make sure the dispensers are working properly."

Rusteo belongs to one of Sam's dad's coworkers and she went camping for the weekend. The usual sitter for the dog ended up canceling yesterday (unknown reasons) and the coworker mentioned not being sure who to ask to Mr. Richardson. He suggested asking me and I'm gonna get paid a hundred dollars for this. I've met Rusteo a few times so the big boy already knows me, his owner already knows me, and Mr. Richardson knows I'll get the job done.

I check the dispensers to make sure the food and water dispensers are still working. They automatically replace any food or water that's removed from the dishes on the ground, which means that Rusteo can eat and drink whenever he wants rather than needing to wait for someone to feed him. The dog doesn't have an issue with excessive eating so his owner's okay with this.

The next thing I check is to make sure Rusteo didn't go to the bathroom in the house, then I let him out into the back yard. He takes off running and starts doing laps around the yard before picking up a stick that fell from a tree and running around with it. I play fetch with him for a few minutes, then he goes to the bathroom.

"Want to go for a walk?" I ask, and Rusteo lets out a happy woof. "Come on, let's go for a walk!"

We return inside the house and I make sure to lock up the back door, then I locate a tennis ball and the leash and hook Rusteo up before leaving. As with the back door, I make sure to lock the front door as well, then we start going down the street.

Unlike a couple of other dogs I've taken for walks for their owners, Rusteo is pretty well-behaved. He doesn't pull on his leash at all even when he gets excited about something and he doesn't try to knock down the little girl who squeals and approaches when she sees him in his own excitement.

"Hold on," I step between Rusteo and the girl. "Gotta ask permission before you can pet him."

"Can I pet the doggy?"

"I don't have an issue with it," I say. "But you've gotta ask your mom, too. And you shouldn't run off like that, what if a car was coming down the street?"

"I'm getting ready to put a leash on her," her mother says once she catches up to us. "Cynthia, stop running off! You were supposed to be holding my hand, remember?"

"Sorry, Mommy," the girl says. "Can I pet the doggy?"

"You're allergic, remember?"

"But it's a doggy!"

"Remember what happened last time you pet a dog?" Her mom asks. "The rash you had for a week? Remember how uncomfortable it was."

"Worth it," the girl tells me, and I snort.

"You're not his owner," the woman tells me with a slight frown. "Or his dog sitter."

So she knows the owner, then. Or at least, she recognizes who he's normally with. It's understandable she'd be a little bit suspicious.

"The sitter canceled yesterday," I explain. "Ms. Kolbeck asked me if I'd check in on him twice a day while she was gone. I'm a friend of the son of one of her coworkers and we've met at a few events. I usually mostly do yard work but also some babysitting and dog sitting. We're going to the dog park, isn't that right, Rusteo?"

"Woof!" Rusteo agrees, tail wagging in his excitement.

"Aren't you a bit too young to be doing all that work?"

"Never too young to start earning money!" I proclaim. "And it's not uncommon for tweens and teens to do yard work for some cash. The babysitting has only happened a couple of times and recently, and I first started taking dogs for walk while their owners were away about a year ago? It was for a classmate I used to be friends with. Found out I really like dogs but my parents won't let me get one. Anyway, I think Rusteo's ready for the dog park, so we're going to get going. See you around!"

I give her a wave, then continue on down the street with Rusteo. We soon reach the dog park, which is fairly large, has some trees in one section of it, a walking trail that goes through a wooded area bordering it, and fencing that sections off the actual off-leash area itself. Only a couple of other dogs are here so I take Rusteo to one section, remove his leash, and start tossing the ball.

We play fetch with the tennis ball for a little while, then Rusteo starts playing with another dog that's here before her owner has to leave. Then we play fetch again until Rusteo starts looking a bit worn-out. I take the dog back to his house and he immediately rushes to the water bowl to start drinking, then switches over to the food bowl to eat before back to the water bowl.

There's still plenty of energy left in the dog, so I play tug-of-war with him using a rope bone that was chilling on the floor of the living room until Rusteo is finally worn out and collapsed on the ground.

"You're a good boy, aren't you?" I rub his belly. "A big, fluffy, good boy! Who's a good boy?"

"Woof!"

"That's right! You are! Let's get a picture for Ms. Kolbeck. Play dead!"

Rusteo plays dead and I snap a picture of him, then sit down as I send the image to Ms. Kolbeck. The dog shifts up to a sitting position and I pull him in for a hug from the side so that I can take a selfie of us. Just as I do that, Ms. Kolbeck sends me a panicked text asking if he was like that when I got here. Giggling, I send her the new picture and explain that he's just worn-out from playing and that he behaved himself at the park, didn't go potty in the house, and the food and water dispensers are still functional.

Once I receive her relieved response, I give Rusteo a scratch on the head, then leave. I'm still annoyed that my parents ate my breakfast so I don't want to go home right now even though I know they're both probably at work. That leaves either the park or hanging out with my friends, so I shoot off a message in the group chat to see if anyone's available to hang out.

All three of them are, so we decide to meet up at a nearby store to buy some junk food before heading over to Isaac's for video games.

----------------------------------------

[Xander – 12 years]

"Xander?" Mr. Caldwell says when he comes out onto the back deck. "Is everything alright?"

No, everything is not alright. I'm a worthless, useless piece of shit and I still can't understand why he would want to adopt me. He's definitely planning on hurting me and doing even worse stuff to me, just like the last family.

Unsure of how to respond, I decide to pretend like I didn't hear him. Which isn't that hard since it just means that I continue staring into the yard. This isn't really lying since I didn't say anything and he probably knows I'm just not answering the question. Better to get a beating for ignoring him than the beating that'd result from being honest about how I know what he's planning.

He might also get angry at me for being honest about myself. There's nothing good in me at all and I'd be better off dead but I'm too horrible at doing stuff to even succeed. I know that for a fact as I've tried. Even jumping off a bridge didn't work. The water was just like 'here, Xander, cool off a bit' and I realized that I can't even do something that simple. What a stupid, worthless, pathetic piece of shit I am.

"You've been sitting out here ever since we got back," Mr. Caldwell says. "We do have toys if you want to play with them in the yard, and I did buy a few video games for you as well."

We went clothes shopping earlier and Mr. Caldwell told me to pick out three outfits, then also had me try on a suit. Well, he phrased it as 'why don't you try on some clothes and I'll buy you two shirts and two pants that you like, along with a new pair of shoes', but I know it wasn't really a choice. I have to do as he wants me to do or he'll beat me.

Though lunch was nice. Mr. Caldwell asked me if there was somewhere I wanted to eat for lunch since we were out shopping. It was the first time in a long time that I sat in a restaurant and I was surprised they didn't kick me out. Mr. Caldwell probably paid them to let me stay inside but it was still nice. Ordering was scary for me, though, so Mr. Caldwell picked my food.

I'm still waiting to get into trouble for gagging and spitting up the first bite of the first burger. It had mustard on it and I can't stand the taste of mustard to the point that my body rejects it upon taste. That wasn't voluntary at all and I got really scared but Mr. Caldwell was just like 'was something wrong with the food? I'll ask them to remake it' and he actually did that once I admitted I don't like mustard.

Telling Mr. Caldwell that I think they messed up the second burger scared me enough that I didn't. The workers made it with two patties and two slices of cheese instead of just one. It was definitely more filling and I was scared of getting beaten and kicked out for stealing again.

"Xander," Mr. Caldwell says. "Do you want to toss a ball around with me? What's wrong?"

"I-I-I don't know how to toss a ball around! I'm sorry, Mr. Caldwell! I-I-I'll try my best if you really want me to, though!"

"Xander," Mr. Caldwell says. "I asked if you wanted to, you don't have to if you don't want to. And tossing a ball around isn't that hard. Let me go get one."

Mr. Caldwell returns inside for about a minute, then comes back outside with a tennis ball in one hand. That's when I look at him and notice that he's wearing shorts, a sleeveless shirt, and sneakers. This is the first time I've seen him not in a suit and it's weird.

I follow Mr. Caldwell to an open part of the yard.

"You've never tossed a ball around with someone before, have you?" Mr. Caldwell asks.

"I-I'm not sure."

"Well," he says. "All it is is just tossing a ball to the other person, or one of the other people if there's more than one playing. Don't worry about your aim, it's common to mess up the throws and the ball not reach the other person or go too far. And don't worry about not catching it, the goal is to have fun, not to always catch it. So if you don't catch the ball, it's okay."

"W-what's the punishment for not catching it?"

"There's no punishment for failure here," Mr. Caldwell tells me. "This is just for fun, Xander. That said, for every three tosses in a row that you catch, you can have an extra scoop of ice cream with dessert after dinner."

He's offering me ice cream for dessert? I bet it's really that he's got a set amount of scoops I can have, like three, and if I fail to catch the ball three times in a row out of so many tosses, then he'll remove one scoop. This is just him trying to make me think it's a reward rather than an absence of a punishment. That's how you earn someone's trust while also punishing them.

Mr. Caldwell tosses me the ball and I fail to catch it. The ball doesn't even make it to me because of how bad I am at catching, apparently.

"My fault," Mr. Caldwell says. "I tossed it a little too lightly. Grab it and toss it back."

I try to toss it to Mr. Caldwell but my aim is way off and it doesn't even travel that far. Despite that, Mr. Caldwell does his best to catch it, even running forward and reaching down in his attempt. He doesn't manage to catch it and for a moment I get scared that he's going to get angry with me, but he just picks up the ball and tosses it back to me after walking back a few steps.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

We toss the ball for a little while but I really really suck at this game. Mr. Caldwell tries to make me feel good by saying things like 'my fault' or 'good catch' or 'good throw' but I know he's just trying to earn my trust. It's not going to work.

"That's three in a row!" Mr. Caldwell says. "Good job, Xander. You'll get to have four scoops of ice cream for dessert if you want. You don't look like you're having very much fun, though. Do you want to stop?"

This is a trick question. He wants to keep playing this weird game but is making it seem like he's okay with stopping if I want to. Then, when I admit I do out of honesty, he beats me for not continuing. That's going to be a better punishment than what comes if I lie and say 'no', though.

"Y-yes."

"Alright," Mr. Caldwell says. "Here, toss the ball back to me and we can go inside. I'm sure you want something to drink, too. Didn't think about bringing something out and it's a bit warm out."

No, I didn't think about something to drink. He's scolding me for not being considerate of him. Stupid fucking piece of shit! I hate myself!

Hoping the punishment is light, I hand the ball to Mr. Caldwell and follow him into the house. As is the rule, I make sure to take off my shoes when entering so I don't track dirt and stuff across their clean floors. Mr. Caldwell didn't take off his shoes but he probably doesn't get dirt on them.

Ms. Katie is in the kitchen examining a piece of paper when we arrive. The house smells like cupcakes. Strawberry-flavored, I think.

"We have a few different things you can drink, Xander," Mr. Caldwell tells me. "Water, lemonade, soda, orange juice, apple juice, milk.

"Water, please."

"Just water?" Mr. Caldwell seems annoyed. Why else would he ask that. "That's a surprise. Was expecting you to say soda."

"I-I don't like fizzy things."

It was only a matter of time before he found out. The other boys at the home made fun of me for not liking soda but I can't help it. I really tried to like soda so that one of the weird things about me was gone but it just didn't work. No matter how hard I tried, the feeling of fizzy in my mouth was just too annoying.

"Ah," he says. "So that's why you got lemonade during lunch?"

"Y-yes, sir."

"Do you want lemonade now?"

"M-may I?"

"Of course," Mr. Caldwell says. "Would you prefer that over water?"

"Y-yeah."

"Let's get you some lemonade. Do you want strawberry lemonade or plain?"

"You can put strawberries in lemonade?"

My face heats up the moment I realize I said that out loud. I've heard of pink lemonade but that doesn't have a strawberry flavor to it. He was asking about putting strawberries in the lemonade, too. As soon as I think about it, I realize that it's obvious we could put strawberries in lemonade since Mr. Caldwell suggested it. That makes me feel even more stupid.

"Sure can," Ms. Katie says. "Slice them up a little first and let them soak for a minute and they'll even add some flavor. Some places will soak them in sugar for a couple of minutes, then add them."

"O-oh," I say. "Um. P-plain, please."

Ms. Katie fixes up a lemonade for me while Mr. Caldwell starts to fix himself some tea. As scared as I am, my trembling fingers lose their grip on the glass and it falls and hits the ground. The glass shatters and terror fills me at both the loud noise and at the realization that I broke his dish. He's not gonna believe me that it was an accident and is going to beat me for abusing his generosity and throwing the glass!

"I'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'm-EEP!"

A pair of hands suddenly grab me and I know this is it, this is where I get beaten. Only… I just find myself lifted up and moved to the counter… which I'm set onto. Well, my butt is, so I'm sitting on it now. Sitting on counters is absolutely forbidden but Mr. Caldwell just put me on one. Now I'm going to get into extra trouble for breaking a rule.

"Xander," Mr. Caldwell says. "You're not in trouble. Accidents happen and that was partially my fault. I saw you were shaking a bit and didn't think you might drop the cup so didn't let Katie know to use a plastic one instead. I'm sorry for touching you without permission, but I wanted to move you out of the glass and lemonade so that you don't accidentally step on the glass – or curl up on the ground on the glass. Grabbing and moving you was faster than trying to ask since you were starting to drop down to the ground and I wouldn't have had time to ask. Ms. Katie is going to clean up the glass and lemonade. Why don't you take off your socks and use this to dry your feet? Some of the lemonade soaked into them and it's better not to track that through the house."

Mr. Caldwell's handed me a roll of paper towels as he spoke, so I'm assuming that's what he wants me to dry my feet with. The whole roll, though? That would be a massive waste of paper towels and I don't think it would take that much, anyway. He takes my socks away once I pull them off, probably to put them in the laundry. I do my best to not use more paper towels than what's needed, and Ms. Katie works on cleaning the floor. She even mops it a little bit, then dries it using some paper towels.

"Here you go," she hands me a new cup of lemonade, this one a plastic cup. "Sorry about that, Xander. Let me know if the lemonade is too strong and I'll add a little bit of sugar to sweeten it some."

This is really confusing. Aren't punishments supposed to be immediate? Why is Mr. Caldwell just trying to make sure I'm okay instead of punishing me for breaking the glass?

I stare at the cup of lemonade for a few minutes, not really sure if I should drink it anymore. I already dropped one cup of it and I'm scared of dropping another. Am I even worthy of drinking lemonade? Water is all I'm worthy of. If even that.

"There's still a little time until dinner," Ms. Katie tells me. "Have a cupcake, Xander. It's strawberry with vanilla buttercream frosting and some sprinkles on top. And before you wonder if you're allowed to have them, they weren't made for dessert. Trey asked me to bake some for a friend of his who's in the hospital, but also asked me to set some aside for you in case you wanted them. I asked him about dessert and he told me 'just if he wants them, we'll do ice cream for dessert'."

This is very suspicious but my stomach is very hungry after trying to toss a ball around with Mr. Caldwell. Resisting the urge to accept is too hard and I fail it, giving Ms. Katie a nod. She grabs one of the cupcakes from where they were cooling and offers it to me and I make sure to carefully set down the cup before accepting the treat.

The cupcake turns out to be really delicious. It's not as delicious as the red-white-and-blue cheesecake I order at the Wolf's Dragon, but it's still delicious.

I do my best not to let the crumbles fall while I eat so that I don't get into trouble but Ms. Katie doesn't say anything even as some of them do fall. She offers me a napkin so I can wipe my mouth, and I find myself needing a drink as well so I pick up the lemonade, making extra sure I don't drop it this time.

"Have you calmed down a little now?" Ms. Katie asks after I finish taking a drink and I nod. "That's good. In the six years I've worked here, I can assure you that I've dropped quite a few dishes. In fact, I dropped an entire casserole back in January. The dish shattered all over the floor. Do you want to know what Trey did?"

How he treats his girlfriend will be a lot different than how he treats a pathetic waste of space like me. I still nod anyway because I'm curious for some reason.

"He heard it shatter from his office and came running out to see if I was okay," Ms. Katie tells me. "Then he said that he can just order something since it would take too long to remake it."

"But you're his girlfriend, he's supposed to worry about you," I accidentally mumble, then immediately get scared because I talked without permission again.

"I'm not his girlfriend," Ms. Katie chuckles. "His ex-wife hired me six years ago to cook for them as Trey started getting busier with work around that time and wasn't home to cook as often and she didn't really want to make anything. I wasn't actually live-in until he started considering adopting you. Then, he asked if I'd be willing to move in and become a more full-time chef just in case you needed food at random times."

They love each other and she lives here but they aren't dating? This is confusing. I guess I'm too stupid to understand how that works.

"Do you want to know something?" Ms. Katie asks me after a few moments of silence. I'm not sure if I should say yes or no so I nod in the hopes that's the safe response. "Trey is extremely nervous about you."

Why would he be? I'm not scary at all. I'm weak and pathetic and stupid and a worthless waste of space.

"When he started looking to adopt," Ms. Katie tells me gently touches my chin and lifts it up so that I'm looking in her eyes. I guess that means it's okay. "It was because he wanted a child and decided he'd rather adopt one who could use a home than to sire one. He wasn't expecting to come across a boy with your past and isn't really sure of how to handle a child who might get scared of anything that happens. What he's nervous of is scaring you. He wants to provide a place for you to feel safe and he knows it's going to take time to learn everything that he might do that could scare you so that he can avoid it. He did ask the staff at the home as much as possible but there are nuances that aren't always caught or thought about. You can be sure that the reason he hasn't come back yet from putting your soaked socks in the wash is because he's worried that grabbing you to keep you from falling in the glass scared you enough you don't want to be here anymore."

She's… telling the truth. I know it because I'm looking in her eyes and I'm not getting the feeling that she's lying. That means it's true. Unless that part of me broke. It never has before but it might have now.

"Also," she pulls her hand away from my chin. "We know about that little gift of yours," she lightly taps me on the nose. "Trey said you don't like looking people in the eyes, but if you ever want to know if he or I are lying, you can look in our eyes. The only other people here who were told about your gift are Quinn and the security leads, but you can look any of the staff in the eyes if you want to be certain. Those who don't know about your gift will just think you're gaining confidence. For those of us who know, we won't think you're accusing us of lying, I promise. You're in a new situation and it's normal to have doubts. So if you're ever wanting to know if we're lying or being truthful, just look us in the eyes, okay?"

This is scary but she's also being honest. Completely. Ms. Johnson must have told Mr. Caldwell that I can tell if people are lying when I look them in the eye. I'm scared of the reason why she told him that, and also that they're saying it's okay for me to look people in the eye. That's a big No.

"Alright, Xander?" Ms. Katie asks, and I nod. "Now. Do you want a second cupcake? Mr. Caldwell told me to let you have up to two before dinner."

That is… a truth. I nod, and Ms. Katie grabs a second cupcake.

"And don't worry so much about the crumbs," she tells me. "They'll clean up easily enough."

I still eat this one carefully to avoid dropping crumbles as much as possible, drinking the last of the lemonade I was given to help wash it down.

"Do you want some more lemonade?" Ms. Katie asks, and I nod. "Let me get the cup real quick and I'll fill it up. Was it too tart for you?"

I shake my head. It was too weak for me, but I don't want to say that. That would just mean asking for more powder to be put in and I don't want to get into trouble for using too much of the lemon juice powder. Ms.

Ms. Katie hands me the cup once she's refilled it and I take a long drink.

"Can you try to remember something for me in the future?" Ms. Katie asks.

"I-I can try," I tell her. "B-but I have a b-bad m-memory."

"That's fine," she tells me. "When you'll need to remember it is when you're freaking out, so it will take time for you to start remembering it during that since your mind goes straight to defense. If you ever drop something and it shatters and is glass or ceramic or the like, don't drop down and don't walk away. Yell for someone, call someone, text someone, or something to get someone else to come over so that we can get the pieces cleaned up, okay?"

"I'll try to remember that."

"Good," Ms. Katie says. "Now. What do you want for dinner? Trey told me it was your choice tonight."

"W-what are the choices?"

"You tell me what you want and I'll tell you if I can make it or order it," she says. "If I can't, then we move on to the next thing on your list. Don't worry about it being expensive or complicated or strange, either. If you want a steak, I'll grill up some steaks."

She wants to grill?

"Burgers?"

"We can do burgers," she tells me. "What do you like on yours?"

"Um… pickles, onions, cheese, ketchup and lettuce."

"Do you the pickles in circles or cut lengthwise?"

"Long ways?"

"Do you want the onions grilled or not?"

"They can be grilled?"

"We'll do not for this one," she says. "What kind of cheese do you want on the burger?"

"There are different kinds?"

"Sure are," she says. "Hold on just one sec."

Ms. Katie grabs a plate, then does something in the fridge. It takes more than one second, but when she comes back over, she hands me the plate, which now has several small pieces of cheese on it. Some of the pieces are yellow while others are white. They're all lined up in a row.

"Try these," she tells me. "Then let me know which one you'd like on your burger."

I didn't know there were so many types of cheese. I knew there was shredded cheese and sliced cheese like they had back at the boys' home. Maybe I'll look in the cheese aisle next time I'm in a store on my own? At least, if they have a cheese aisle there. They probably do.

After trying each of the cheeses, I let Ms. Katie know which one I liked the most.

"That's the Swiss cheese," she tells me. "If you go to a restaurant and order a burger and it's not a fast food joint, they might ask you which type of cheese you want on your burger. Most will offer Swiss cheese as one of the choices, alright?"

Some proper restaurants let people choose the type of cheese they want? I'm glad I learned that now and not after Mr. Caldwell decides to take me to one someday. The chances of me panicking over the choice and getting into trouble for that would be high.

"Okay."

"Is there anything you want as a side for the burgers?" Ms. Katie asks.

I'm being allowed to pick the sides? She didn't say that so even if I was still looking in her eyes, I wouldn't know for sure. Asking if I'm actually allowed to pick is too scary, too. Questioning people isn't allowed.

"French fries?"

"You don't know what other sorts of sides there are, do you?" Ms. Katie asks.

"I'm sorry!"

"It's okay," she says. "You'll learn them over time. Some things we can do are salads, potato wedges, baked potatoes, macaroni and cheese, onion rings, corn on the cob, baked beans, and your face said 'no' to that one so we'll take that off the sides list. Anything else sound good to you?"

"I've never had onion rings before."

"Then we'll do those," she says. "I'll also fry up some french fries just in case you don't like the onion rings. Would you like to try grilled tomatoes?"

I don't like tomatoes but I'm not sure if I'm allowed to say that. She's probably asking because Mr. Caldwell likes grilled tomatoes and I should eat the same thing as him. Mr. Caldwell has also returned and is standing at the entrance of the hall leading down past the garage.

"If you've never had grilled tomatoes before," Ms. Katie tells me. "They do taste a little bit different from raw tomatoes, and I'll be adding some seasoning to them as well. If you try them and don't like them, then you won't have to eat them."

"O-okay."

"Xander," Mr. Caldwell says as he enters the kitchen. "Could you come with me?"

I nod, then he asks if I want some help getting down from the counter. I really don't want help but I'm scared I'll fall and crack my head again if I try so I accept the help. Mr. Caldwell helps me off of the counter, then I follow him out onto the deck. He has me sit down at one of the tables on the deck, then he returns inside and returns after a minute with a tray that has the lemonade I was drinking on it, the tea he had been fixing himself, and a pitcher of each.

After setting that on the table, Mr. Caldwell pulls out a pack of playing cards and sets a twenty-dollar-bill down on the table, setting a quarter on top of it.

"Ms. Johnson said you like playing Go Fish," Mr. Caldwell tells me. "I like to think that I'm pretty good at it. Let's make a deal. We'll play until Katie serves us dinner. If I win more times than you do, then you can only get two toppings on your ice cream tonight. If you win more times than I do, then you can have that twenty as a bonus to your allowance."

Getting to have two toppings for an ice cream is amazing. Even if I lose this, I think I'll be happy. I'm nervous about what he'll do if I win but I don't like not trying my best. That's why I don't like doing competitive things – because people get upset with me for winning.