[Xander – 12 years]

"Xander, wake up!" My body gets shaken. "Xander! Wake up!"

I wake with a start, finding that Mr. Caldwell is shaking me.

"You awake?" Mr. Caldwell asks.

"It was awful!" I cry out. "The muffins were trying to eat me!"

"The… muffins?"

"They grabbed me and the shoved a giant rod up my ass and it came out of my mouth and they hung me over a fire and they were dancing around and singing about how they were gonna eat me once I was cooked but they were also laughing at me for being so skinny 'cause I have almost no meat so I wasn't gonna fill them up very much and then they started nomming on me and it was awful! And to make it worse, they were chocolate muffins! And they had chocolate chips in them, too! I don't wanna be cooked and eaten by chocolate muffins with chocolate chips in them! I just wanna be a booooy!"

"It's alright," Mr. Caldwell climbs up onto the bed and sits sort of beside me. "You're okay, Xander. The muffins aren't going to eat you, I promise."

"But they already had me skewered and on a fire, and they already started nomming me, too!" I cry.

"It was just a dream, Xander," Mr. Caldwell says. "Just a dream. You're okay. No muffins are going to eat you for real."

"But they already were!"

"Here," Mr. Caldwell presses a tissue into my hand. "Blow your nose, Xander. You're leaking snot."

I accept the tissue and blow my nose, but it takes me a few more tissues than that to take care of the snot. Mr. Caldwell also has me use some for my tears but it's hard for me to stop crying. That just frustrates me more and makes me feel awful.

"Here," Mr. Caldwell hands me a cup, and that's when I realize that Ms. Katie is in here. I think she just came in here. "Take a small sip of the water."

I do as Mr. Caldwell tells me. There's a security guard in here as well. That's bad news.

"Alright," he says. "Now take a deep breath… not so fast, Xander."

"Sorry!"

"It's okay," he says. "Try again. Take a deep breath, but slowly… okay, good. Now, slowly let it out… alright, good, do that twice more… alright, now take another sip of the water."

He has me repeat this three times.

"There we go," he says. "Do you feel calmer?"

"I-I'm sorry for waking you," I say. "I-I thought the nightmares weren't that bad anymore."

"It's okay, Xander," Mr. Caldwell says. "I'd rather get woken up by your screams so that I can wake you up so that your nightmare ends than you be quiet but still suffer just as bad. You're not in trouble for waking me up. Remember what I said yesterday?"

He told me a lot of things and I'm pretty sure I've forgotten most of them. Stupid fucking worthless brain. Why did Mr. Caldwell even let me stay the night instead of sending me back after the first incident?

"Um… maybe?" I respond after failing to figure out what he wants me to remember.

"I said that if you ever woke up during the night and wanted to talk, play a game, or something to help you calm back down from a bad dream," he says. "Just wake me up. Do you want to tell me more about the dream?"

"I-I-I can't remember it! I'm sorry, Mr. Caldwell! It was really scary and I'm really scared but I can't remember the dream!"

Me and my stupid memory. It's always a struggle for me to remember my dreams even though they scare me so much.

"That's okay," Mr. Caldwell says. "It's normal to forget dreams after you stop thinking about them. And… I think remembering that one is better off done when you're much more calm."

While I don't remember what I told Mr. Caldwell was in the dream, I guess it was really bad. Even now, I still feel fear over what happened in it. It's probably a good thing I have such a bad memory and can't even remember what I said about the dream as I don't think I'd get any sleep if I remembered the nightmares.

"Do you want to play Go Fish for a little bit?" Mr. Caldwell asks. "Until you think you can fall back asleep?"

Mr. Caldwell probably wants to go back to bed instead of staying up with a pathetic, worthless loser like me but I don't want to lie when he's already mad at me for waking him up. Me winning every game before dinner probably upset him, too, so that happening again would probably make him even madder. I know it's not good to be happy when I do better than other people and they lose to me but it makes me feel good even with that fear.

Scared of his response, I give him a nod. Better get beaten for selfish honesty than for being a worthless liar.

"Alright," he says. "Do you want Katie to join us?"

He'll probably be less mad if I let his not-girlfriend girlfriend play with us, but I would have said yes anyway. Ms. Katie was really nice to me earlier even though I was bad and broke a glass.

"Alright," Mr. Caldwell says after I nod. "Katie, there's a deck in the nightstand over there."

The security guy closes the door as he leaves and Ms. Katie opens up the drawer on the other side of the nightstand from where everyone had been standing. She pulls out a deck of cards, then joins us on the bed. Mr. Caldwell and I move so that the three of us are sitting in a sort of triangle, then we start playing Go Fish.

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

[Sig – 13 years]

"Now… wave!"

Rusteo lifts up his right paw and shakes it a little.

"Good boy!" I scratch him on the head. "You're a good boy, aren't you? Here, have a treat!"

I toss a treat and Rusteo jumps to catch it. After he eats it, I give him a belly rub. I've been trying to see what kind of tricks he knows and only did the wave on a whim. Most dogs don't know how to wave and I was bored.

"That sounds like Mr. Thompson," I say. "Time for me to get going, Rusteo! See you this evening!"

"Woof!"

I leave and make sure to lock the door, then head over to Mr. Thompson's car. He pulled up into the driveway so I don't have very far to walk. When I climb into the back seat, Connor's in there and he immediately jabs me in the ribs.

"Hey!" I yelp, then jab him back.

"Seat belt first!" Mr. Thompson laughs.

"Aye aye, captain!" I buckle up. "Now it's time to get revenge!"

"Before you do that," Mr. Thompson starts pulling out of the driveway. "We're going to head to the zoo next weekend. Want to come with us?"

"Sure!" I answer. "Saturday or Sunday?"

"Saturday," Connor tells me. "We're going to do a sleepover at Sam's Friday night and then head to the zoo Saturday morning and try to get there when they open."

"Count me in!" I say. "Think Mr. Richardson will have an issue if we replicate the hot sauce experiment?"

"You mean the hot sauce incident?" Mr. Thompson asks and Connor and I grin at him. "Please don't. I don't want another phone call at two in the morning letting me know that my son's in the hospital with hot sauce in his eye."

"There was also pickle juice," Connor says.

"Not helping," Mr. Thompson says and we giggle. "And you boys never did explain how that happened. All four of you, too!"

Fortunately, saline rinses were all the doctors needed to do for most of us, though Isaac did have an infection for a few days.

"Don't worry, Dad," Connor says. "We think we know what we did wrong last time so we can avoid the explosion next time."

"First, there shouldn't be a next time," Mr. Thompson says. "Second, anything like that should be done in the back yard. It took almost a month to get the smell of your experiment out of that room."

"You know," I say to Connor. "If we up the amounts, we could probably make it even more difficult to get the smell out."

Connor snickers as his dad groans. We switch to talking about the latest episode of an anime for the rest of the drive, though that's mostly between Connor and me since Mr. Thompson doesn't watch any. When we reach the home improvement store, Mr. Thompson parks next to Mr. Michaels's truck and the three of us get out. Isaac, Sam, and their dads are already here waiting for us and the seven of us head into the store to get started.

This isn't a low-quality mass-produced store like a normal person would go to. Mr. Thompson has been saving up money for a little bit so that he could get the good stuff from a more premium shop. The dads give us boys a list containing the stuff we need to grab and they head off to the lumber section to get started on the bigger stuff.

"What's the first one?" Isaac asks.

"There's a bunch," Connor says.

"Let's do the stain first," I say. "Since they have to mix it and that takes awhile."

We grab a shopping cart and make our way over to the paint section, which is close to the front of the store and almost directly across from the service desk.

"How can I help you boys?" The woman behind the paint desk asks.

"We need two gallons of deck stain," Connor says. "Dad put the specific one and tint we need down. Do we just tell you which one it is or do we have to get the buckets? We'll need help finding them."

"I've got a flatbed cart behind the counter there," she points at the back counter of the paint desk. "I can get the one you want. Can I see the notes?"

Connor hands her the paper and she examines it, then nods.

"We have that one in stock," she tells us. "Let me go get it real quick and we could double-check."

She leaves the desk and grabs the cart, then walks down one of the aisles. After a minute, she returns with two five-gallon containers of deck stain and a paint chip card, then asks us to check the buckets.

"Yup!" Connor says. "That's what this one says!"

"Is this the right tint?" She holds out a chip and Connor examines it and nods. "Awesome. It'll take a bit to get this made as they take some time to mix for the bigger ones. If you boys want to get the rest of your stuff while you wait you can or you can sit on the stools there to wait."

"We'll get the other things," Connor tells her. "You'll hold it if we're not back quickly, right?"

"We can hold it until close," she tells him.

"Oh, good!" He says. "We won't be gone that long!"

The worker smiles at us, then we set off to get other things on the list. Our first destination is the garden section to grab some bags of soil, sand, gravel, and grass seed, and we decide to switch the basket cart for a flatbed one since the bags are easier to load onto those since they're lower. The store has a section just for the basket carts out here as well so we don't even need to go back inside to put ours away. It takes us awhile to get everything on the list but Mr. Thompson was pretty specific on the stuff which made it easier for us. Once we finish grabbing the items we need, we return to the paint counter to collect the deck stain, then meet the dads to check out.

Mr. Thompson rented a second truck from the store as well as one of their trailers to help haul everything, since he's buying a lot of wood as well. The seven of us make sure everything is loaded up and secured, then Mr. Richardson drives the rented truck while Mr. Thompson and Mr. Michaels drive their own vehicles.

The drive back to Mr. Thompson's feels short, then we start unloading everything and get to work on the project. He's building a new deck and we tore out the old deck last weekend and prepared the land so that it's ready for the construction today.

Us boys aren't allowed to do too much of the work since some of it involves more dangerous things like saws, but they do let us help where we can and we all end up soaked in sweat within an hour. The dads keep their shirts on but us boys take them off and start smacking each other with them in a whip-like fashion while we wait for our next task.

"Boys," Mr. Thompson says while the four of us are doing handstands to see who can do it the longest while waiting for our next task. "I'm getting ready to order lunch. What do you want?"

"If you've got people helping you do construction work," I say. "You gotta order pizza and beer! That's the standard! You'd think an experienced dad like you would know that!"

"You're not getting beer," Mr. Thompson says.

"We're old enough as long as we have parental supervision," I tell him.

"And your parents aren't here, Sig," he snorts.

"What are you talking about?" I ask. "I've got three dads right her-whoa-oof!"

I lifted my hand up to gesture at the dads and ended up falling as I forgot I was doing a handstand. The other boys start laughing and end up falling as well, and we end up in a laughing fit for a minute.

"Yeah, you boys don't need alcohol," Mr. Thompson snorts. "We figured you'd all want pizza, is that correct?"

There's a chorus of agreements from us.

"Okay," he says. "The usual order or something different? And yes, there's ice cream for dessert."

We agree to our usual order, then he tells us the next thing they need us to help with so we get back to work.

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

[Xander – 12 years]

"Xander?" Mr. Caldwell asks after knocking on the door to the bedroom I'm staying in. "Are you in there?"

Oh, no. I'm in so much trouble. He realized it too and now he's here to punish me. Pretending I'm not in here is only going to make him more mad at me. That wasn't a question for him to see if I was, it was because he already knew I was and he's just giving me a chance to be honest and admit I'm here in.

"Yes."

Mr. Caldwell opens the door and looks in the room, then down at me.

"Why are you lying on the floor?"

I'm currently spread out on the floor, my arms stretched out to the sides and my legs creating a bit of a V from their own split as well. He went with the carpet that I liked a lot during our last meet at the group home and it really does feel nice. Even if I can't feel it too much since only my hands and neck-up are bare, I like it.

"The room inspection hasn't happened yet."

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

"What room inspection?"

"To make sure it's clean and my bed is made."

"Xander… this isn't the boys' home," Mr. Caldwell tells me. "Your room isn't going to get a daily inspection. Whether it's clean or not is to up to you. The main thing is that you clean up any crumbs or food that drops, and drinks that spill, and don't leave food and drinks other than water sitting out in here. That's just to reduce the risk of mice, rats, and bugs. If you want to leave it a mess or your bed unmade, that's your choice."

"S-so the blanket doesn't have to be neat?"

"No," Mr. Caldwell says. "It doesn't… wait, is this where you've been all day after breakfast, apart from lunch?"

"Yes."

"You were waiting for your room inspection?"

"Yes."

"Xander," he says. "It's a bed. I couldn't care less if you make it after getting up. Are you comfortable down there? You looked pretty relaxed when I came in."

He's going to change the carpet, isn't he?

"Y-yes."

"Good," he says. "You did like the sample but I wasn't sure if you'd like it as a full carpet. I was mainly checking on you because it's past the time you normally leave to visit the pet store based on what Ms. Johnson told me. Were you not planning on going today? The weather's nice."

"I'm not allowed to go," I try not to sniffle.

"Who said that?"

"I didn't do my chores," I start crying. "I'm sorry I'm such a bad boy, Mr. Caldwell! I can't even remember what my chores are even though you only told me them yesterday! I understand you don't want me anymore! Nobody wants a stupid boy like me! Especially one who wakes up screaming like the pathetic shit that I am! And then I fell asleep during the game like the useless brat I am! And I kept winning when were playing games even though I'm not supposed to be better than other people! I'm so sorry for being a bad boy, Mr. Caldwell! I tried really hard not to be!"

I hate how stupid and forgetful I am. This is awful and I know Mr. Caldwell was only asking so that I'd admit my failure. Today is only my second day in his home and I've already fucked up in a major way and I just want to disappear for good. I just wish it would work.

"Xander, get up," Mr. Caldwell tells me as he walks past me.

As I obey his order, Mr. Caldwell grabs the box of tissues off of the nightstand on this side of the bed. Then he holds it out to me.

"Blow your nose," he tells me. "Then try to dry your tears, okay? But with a clean tissue, not the one you blew your nose with."

I follow Mr. Caldwell's instructions and make sure to throw the tissues away in the small trash can under the nightstand I'm closest to.

"Regarding your chores," Mr. Caldwell says and I flinch. "I never gave you any."

"W-what?"

"Chores," he says. "I never assigned you any chores. I thought it best to let you get used to living here a little before we started adding some responsibilities on to you, especially since it's summer break and you should be having more fun than work. That's why you couldn't remember being told any – you hadn't been."

Now I feel even stupider.

"Something Ms. Johnson told me," Mr. Caldwell says. "Was that you would sit in silence during attempted therapy sessions. You said some stuff there that concerned me, Xander, and I was wondering if you'd be willing to give therapy a try?"

What did I say that concerned him? All I did was be honest and therapy isn't for honest boys. Maybe it's because I was a bad boy and he wants me to get made good?

"No."

Crapcrapcrapcracpcrapcrapcrap! I said a banned word! I'm not allowed to tell people no! Fucking stupid worthless pathetic piece of useless shit! Why am I so awful?

"Can I ask why?" Mr. Caldwell's tone is scarily calm.

"Yes," I answer, then realize that this might be like the situation last weekend. The sort where they're actually asking the question instead of asking if they can ask it. "Um. All they do is tell me what's wrong with me. I already have a list and don't like being told it more."

None of the stores I go to will laminate it for me, probably because I'm not even supposed to be in them in the first place. Only boys with some value are allowed to go in, not one without any, like me.

"Then you must not have had a very good therapist," Mr. Caldwell tells me. "A therapist is supposed to help you understand your feelings, cope with bad situations, and not at all only tell you bad things about yourself. If you don't want to see a new one, though, I'll understand."

"I don't."

Admitting that worries me because it sounds like he wants me to see one but all they do is tell me to stop doing stuff and tell me all the bad things about me.

"Alright," Mr. Caldwell says. "Do you still want to go to the pet store to look at the dogs?"

"Y-yes."

"Want me to take you there?" He asks. "It's a bit of a walk but you can walk if you want or Quinn can drive you. Just remember that I need to know the places you're going whichever one it is."

Mr. Caldwell probably wants to check out the places I like to visit so he can 'judge' whether or not I'm allowed to keep going there.

"Y-you can take me."

"Alright," he says. "Get your shoes and we'll go."

I locate my shoes and put them on, then join Mr. Caldwell in the garage. He drives the SUV again and I sit in the back seat, behind him, just like I did when he picked me up from the boys' home yesterday and again for the shopping trip.

Other than me telling Mr. Caldwell the name of the pet store, the drive is pretty quiet. I like that because it means I don't need to worry about saying the wrong thing but I also don't like it because his silence scares me.

"Do you want me to stay out here while you play with the dogs?" Mr. Caldwell asks once he parks.

Very much so but he probably wants to come in with me so that he can supervise and make sure I behave.

"I-i-if that's o-o-okay."

"It is," Mr. Caldwell tells me. "This is a magitech car, it runs on mana crystals, so don't worry about me wasting fuel to stay cool and take as long as you want."

I nod, then leave the car and head into the pet store. It gets hard to breathe and my head gets very light as I enter but I try to make it to the dogs without passing out. Mr. Caldwell is probably really upset with me for not wanting him to come in.

By the time I've pet half of the dogs that are available for petting, I've started to calm down some. Turtle is still here and is the last one for me to pet today and I'm a lot more calm while doing so than I was when I arrived.

"Be a good boy for the shelter, okay?" I ask Turtle, who gives me a quiet woof in response. "Okay. Bye, Turtle."

Turtle gives me another quiet woof, then he's returned to his kennel and I start leaving again. Worry about the coming punishment fills me and opening the door so I can get into Mr. Caldwell's SUV is difficult due to how much I'm trembling.

"Did you have fun?" Mr. Caldwell asks as he puts his phone away.

"I-I pet all of the available dogs."

"Did you want one?"

"No."

"You pet them most weekends but don't want one?" Mr. Caldwell asks.

"Yeah."

"Mind if I ask why?"

This is like that other situation, right? But what is the question? I don't know if he's asking me why I don't want a dog or why I pet them. Maybe I can try asking, I just hope I don't get beaten for not knowing the question. This one is a really hard one for me.

"Um… what's the question?"

"Let's start with why you like to pet the dogs," Mr. Caldwell answers.

"Oh, um… they're all just wanting a happy home and someone to love them," like me. "And so I like giving them friendly attention. That usually makes them happy and feel good and they like it."

"I see," Mr. Caldwell says. "How come you don't want a dog?"

"I don't like dog fur on everything."

"You don't end up covered in it after petting the dogs here?"

"I'm not good enough for it to stick to," I say. "But I wouldn't want it on the bed or the carpets or stuff 'cause then it'd be a pain to get cleaned out."

And I don't want to get into trouble for not having things clean.

Mr. Caldwell turns around and looks at me, frowning slightly as he does. Oh, no. What did I say wrong? He's upset with me.

"You… don't have dog fur stuck to you," he sounds confused.

"I'm not good enough for it to stick too," I repeat. "Even dog fur doesn't like me."

"That's not how-" he starts, then stops and lets out a breath. "Ms. Johnson said last week that you normally go to a restaurant after. Want me to drive you there or do you want to walk and I can pick you up later?"

He probably wants to judge the food to see if I'm worthy of it or not.

"Y-you can drive me. It's the Wolf's Dragon."

"The Wolf's-huh," he says, then starts driving. "That's a pretty hidden place. Mind if I ask how you found it?"

So he already knows about it, then.

"I saw the parking lot and got curious," I answer. "And wasn't sure what the sign meant. So I followed the trail thinking maybe it was just a walking trail and found a restaurant at the end."

Which explains why the parking lot was full that day. Well, also because it was a holiday. I was very stupid and anxious and I also felt like I had to order something since I was there and that was how I discovered the deliciousness of cheesecake.

The drive to the restaurant is a lot faster than the walk from the pet store is, and Mr. Caldwell gets out of the car with me instead of asking me this time. He definitely wanted to go into the pet store with me and isn't giving me a choice this time because I didn't say he could come in. As if it was really my choice. He could have just ignored me and gone inside anyway.

When we enter the restaurant, Emily is behind the counter today instead of Cal, though I'm sure he's here somewhere since he usually works Saturdays. Emily has brown hair and blue eyes, her hair put up in in a ponytail, and she's dressed in an outfit similar to Cal's last week. Her apron has "EMILY" embroidered on it in bright pink, green, and blue. She's in her early twenties, so a little bit older than Cal is, and she's the manager for the front.

I only know that last bit because a really mean customer demanded a manager while I was waiting for my order a few months ago and it was her the waitress fetched.

Emily was looking in a different direction when we entered but looks over a few seconds after the bell rings.

"Hi, welcome to the Wolf's Dragon," she greets us with a smile. "Oh, hello, Trey! Been awhile since I saw you."

"Hello, Emily," Mr. Caldwell says. "Has been awhile, been a bit busy with some stuff the last few months."

"Do you mind if I get Xander's order real quick? His doesn't take that long."

"I'm here with him, actually," Mr. Caldwell tells her. "You want to eat it here or take it to go?"

That question was directed at me and now I'm not sure what to do. I hadn't thought this far ahead! I always ate the cheesecake at the parking lot since I'm not allowed to eat in restaurants but I don't think Mr. Caldwell would be happy sitting there while I ate and eating in cars isn't allowed. The only reason I got to eat in a restaurant for lunch yesterday was because Mr. Caldwell let me but that was just an exception. He'll be mad at me for asking to take up a table just to eat a slice of cheesecake.

"He usually eats it in the parking lot," Emily says before I can figure out what to do. "Unless it's raining or hailing, but he doesn't come in on those days."

"What about snow?"

"Depends on how good the paths are for walking," Emily answers. "Snow doesn't seem to stop him."

Snow is nice. I like watching snow fall and eating cheesecake while doing it makes it even better. It's never hindered me from going places, though Ms. Johnson didn't let me go out if there's heavy snowfall or very heavy snowfall. Or if things were icy or it was hailing. Or under a bunch of other conditions, but they don't usually matter for snowfall.

I guess the strong winds that usually happens with the very heavy snowfall is annoying. It likes to blow me around.

"Well," Mr. Caldwell interrupts my thoughts. "It's a bit too hot to be eating cheesecake outside, Xander. Want to take it home or eat in here?"

I think that means he wants to eat it either at his house or here. Either way, that means eating it outside will get me into trouble and I don't want to get into trouble. I've already had way too many screw-ups since he let me into his house yesterday.

Since he wants to eat inside a building and he apparently knows the workers here, I think he wants to eat here.

"H-here," I answer.

"You guys can have a seat at the first table past the door," Emily tells Mr. Caldwell. "Let me grab you some menus and silverware."

We sit at the table and Emily puts down a menu in front of each of us as well as a roll of silverware.

"Do you want to wait a minute to order to see if there's anything else you want, Xander?" Emily asks.

This situation is too confusing and stressful for me and I end up blurting out a question I've had for awhile.

"How do you know my name?"

Emily just blinks at me a few times for some reason her smile fading for those few seconds. Oh no. I'm in trouble. They're going to kick me out and ban me!

"End of August last year," her smile returns. "You came in after school one day and had your school ID on. You ordered two slices of cheesecake that day. I remember it pretty clearly because it was all unusual – happened on a Wednesday instead of a Saturday."

I came in on a Wednesday at the end of August of last year, with my school ID on and I ordered two slices for some reason? That must be another thing I forgot. Oh, wait! My birthday! All of the boys at the home receive a little bit of money for their birthday as part of their present from the home and I asked Ms. Johnson before school if I could come here after school ended for the day and buy cheesecake with some of it. She said I could so I did, and I was really hungry and bought two slices. At least, I'm assuming I was really hungry. I can't remember the reason I bought two. It might have just been because I felt brave enough to try celebrating.

"S-sorry," I apologize. "I didn't mean to blurt that out."

"It's okay," she tells me. "And just so you know, we called you 'cheesecake boy' until then. Why don't I give you a few minutes to see if there's anything else you might want to try?"

Mr. Caldwell thanks her and she goes to check on the only other customer in here. I look through the menu but notice something that makes me feel awful once I find the desserts section. We came all this way for nothing.

"What's wrong, Xander?" Mr. Caldwell asks. "You look upset."

"I'm sorry," I say. "I didn't mean to."

"That's not something to apologize about," Mr. Caldwell says. "You were frowning at the menu pretty hard, though."

"They… they took it off the menu."

"The cheesecake?" He asks. "It's still on there."

"Not the one Xander gets," Emily tells him, then looks at me. She returned to us just as Mr. Caldwell said that. "Xander, the red-white-and-blue cheesecake is actually a secret menu item most of the year. We only have it public on Memorial Day, Independence Day, and Labor Day. There are a few items on our secret menu and to be able to order one, you need to meet two requirements. First, you have to know about the item. Second, you have to be on our 'great customers' list. Your first time coming in was Memorial Day, just-over three years ago so you saw it on the holiday menu you were given. I made an exception for you the next few times you came in since I had the discretion to do it and you were so polite, and you ended up earning your way onto the special list of customers who can order from our secret menu."

I'm on a special list? And it's not a bad list? How did I manage that?

"So if you want your usual order, you can have it," Emily tells me. "Okay?"

"Okay."

"Now," she says. "Are you ready to place your order?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"What would you like?"

"May I please get the red-white-and-blue cheesecake?" I ask. "And, um… can I ask a question about it?"

"Shoot."

"Shoot what?" I ask.

"It means go ahead," Mr. Caldwell tells me.

"Oh," I feel my face heat up.

Stupid fucking piece of shit me. I should have known that, I'm sure of it.

"What's your question?" Emily asks. "I'll answer it if I can."

"Does, um… does it have white chocolate chips in the crust?"

"Not chips," she says. "But yes, there's white chocolate in it. I think Amy grinds up some pieces of premium white chocolate into the shortbread she uses for the crust."

Brave time is over. I don't want to push my luck with questions. Just being courageous enough to ask that has scared me. At least I have confirmation now after my curiosity last Saturday.

"Would you like anything else?" Emily asks. "Any sides? Entrees? Drinks?"

"No, thank you," I say.

"Alright," she says, then looks at Mr. Caldwell. "How about you, sir? What would you like to order?"

"Could I get a slice of the caramel-swirl cheesecake and a glass of lemonade?" Mr. Caldwell asks. "Along with a side of onions rings and mozzarella sticks, please."

"Sure thing," Emily says. "I'll be back with the drinks and cheesecake in just a minute and it'll be a few more before the apps are ready."

Apps? Restaurants give people apps to go with their meals?

Emily leaves and Mr. Caldwell clears his throat a little. I look at him.

"You looked confused," he says. "Want me to see if I can try to clear it up?"

This is a trick question, isn't it? I don't want him to try and help with my confusion because then I'll owe him but if I say no he'll know I'm lying and punish me. If I say yes then he'll be upset with me for being ignorant and also punish me. I don't want a beating!

"Restaurants give apps with your food?"

"Apps?" Mr. Caldwell frowns and I flinch. Instead of beating me, he just laughs. "No, Xander, not apps for your phone. Apps as in short for appetizers. The onion rings and mozzarella sticks."

"Oh," I feel my face heat up again.

Why am I so stupid?

Emily brings out a glass of water for me, a glass of lemonade for Mr. Caldwell, and the slices of cheesecake we ordered, then lets us know to let her know if we need anything else. Cal comes out a minute later and walks over.

"Hey, Trey," Cal greets him. "Hey, Xander. Eating inside today?"

"Mr. Caldwell wanted to."

"Did he?" Cal asks. "Surprised to see you with him, though."

"I'm in the process of adopting him," Mr. Caldwell says. "He moved into my house yesterday morning."

"Oh, cool," Cal says, then looks at me. "Didn't realize you were a foster kid, Xander. My brothers and I are, too."

"Really?"

Cal has brothers?

"Yup," Cal says. "Our dad died about nine years ago, when the twins were only a year old, and our mom abandoned us almost five years ago. David, the owner of the Wolf's Dragon, took us in after finding out back in November."

That's not long after Cal started working here, he started last October.

"He's in the process of adopting us," Cal tells me. "But has to wait awhile yet since the state requires eighteen months. I'll be almost eighteen by then but I'm happy since my brothers don't have to worry about stuff."

"Worry?"

"Yeah," Cal's face tints pink for some reason. Isn't that for when people are embarrassed. "I didn't report the abandonment when it happened and instead tried taking care of everything on my own. Forged papers so that we could keep going to school, came up with excuses why our parents weren't available, and so on. That's part of why I started working as soon as I turned sixteen – I wasn't sure how much money was left in the bank account that bills were coming out of and I knew the emergency cash reserves wouldn't last forever. We needed money so I could get my brothers some better stuff as well. New clothes, school supplies, more food, and so on. None of them knew our situation was bad or anything and so weren't worried, but Travis – the oldest of them – was starting to reach the age where that sort of thing would start coming up. Extra expenses, I mean. I wanted to make sure he didn't have anything to worry about so he could focus on school and whatever activities he wanted to do."

"That's nice of you."

"I try to look out for my brothers," Cal tells me. "Taking on a job turned out to be too much for me on top of everything else I was handling and… I kind of had a breakdown during a shift about a month after I started here. Admitted everything to David and he looked into taking us in.

"Honestly," Cal lets out a small laugh. "Now that I'm out of that situation, I'm kind of surprised it actually worked. A twelve-year-old shouldn't have been able to do everything I managed and I sometimes feel as if there was someone else doing something to make sure it worked. I've asked the youngest brother if he knows anything about that, but he just says 'it's a mystery' when I push. Which kind of indicates he knows something… but getting information out of him is like trying to pull a dragon's teeth."

Dragons have dentists? I thought their teeth were among the most resilient materials on Earth? The dork wasn't lying when he told me that, though I suppose it may have just been something he believed to be true.

"How do you like living with Trey?" Cal asks me.

"He hasn't beat me yet."

"Beat you?" Cal asks. "Did you get beaten at your old home?"

"No."

"The home before that," Mr. Caldwell tells him. "It's understandable that he'd be nervous in a new home and I know it will take time for him to adjust."

"Did they at least get arrested?" Cal asks. "The people who beat you? I hope they were blocked from fostering ever again."

"Arrest warrants were issued," Mr. Caldwell tells Cal. "But the family vanished without a trace before the officers showed up. No one really knows what happened to them and I think Xander's still scared that they're going to find him and try again."

Very much so.

"I was told they got eaten by a griffin."

Oops. Didn't mean to say that.

"By a griffin?" Cal asks. "That seems pretty random."

The dork is very random sometimes and he's the one who told me that. I like to hope something like that is true, though, because it would serve them right for all that they did to me. Bad Xander! Having mean thoughts about people gets you beatings!

"Well," Cal says. "I'm going to get back to work. Enjoy your food, Xander."

"T-thank you."

Cal leaves and I return to eating my cheesecake. The whole conversation has me confused but also a little bit scared. I just want to curl up in a ball and hide under a blanket now.