[Xander – 12 years]

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

"Yes," I try to make sure I'm loud enough to be heard, but not loud enough I'll get beaten for yelling at him.

"Can I come in?"

Why would he ask that? It's not like I own the room or anything, it's his house. I would very much prefer if he didn't come in but I know there's no choice. He can enter regardless of my wants.

"Yes."

Mr. Caldwell opens the door and stops almost as soon as he's inside the room.

"Are those your savings?" Mr. Caldwell asks.

I currently have all of my savings spread out on the floor. Normally, I would try to keep the money hidden but Mr. Caldwell's made it pretty clear that he knows I have it and he probably knows where I keep it. He could take it any time he wanted and there's nothing I could do to stop him.

"Yes," I answer.

"What are you doing?" Mr. Caldwell asks.

"Um… counting?" I answer. "I-I'm sorry! I'll put it all away! Please don't confiscate it!"

"I'm not going to confiscate it," Mr. Caldwell sits down on the other side of the money. "I'm just curious, it's not what I was expecting you to be doing. You're counting how much you have?"

"Y-yeah," I nod.

"Mind if I ask?"

Is this actually him wanting to know or am I able to not answer?

"Um… I don't know?"

"Oh," he says. "Did I interrupt your counting?"

"I… keep messing up," I feel my face heat up.

Why am I so bad at this?

"Would you like some help?" Mr. Caldwell asks.

I really don't want him touching my money because he'll probably take some of it. At the same time, though… it might take me another hour to figure this out.

"O-okay."

"You have the money scattered around," Mr. Caldwell tells me. "Rather than organized in some fashion. I see you have mostly ones, fives, and tens, but also plenty of twenties as well. Hm. Actually, that's a lot. Before you started going to the bowling alley, were you putting twenty into your stash each week?"

"U-usually."

There were other sources from it as well, such as Christmas and my birthday and the occasional bonus allowance I or everyone at the home received.

"Alright," he says. "It looks like you put the cash to the bundle or pile or whatever whenever you add more to it. You do have the bills lined up neatly in rows for counting, but you probably put them down in the order they were in for your stash. Is that correct?"

"Y-yes."

How could he tell all of that? Is Mr. Caldwell psychic? Then he probably came in here to stop me. Now I'm mad at myself. I should have just asked if I could go to the store and hoped I had enough money.

"Are you trying to count it by adding up the numbers in the order they're shown?" Mr. Caldwell asks. "Starting from one side and going to the other?"

"Y-yeah."

"And you're doing it without a calculator?"

"I'm allowed to use one?"

"You can use your phone as you see fit as long as you aren't doing anything illegal," Mr. Caldwell says. "It should have a calculator on it. However, another way that may end up faster, Xander, is to organize the bills. Why don't you gather up the ones and put them in a pile, gather up the fives and put them in a second pile, gather up the tens and put them into a third pile, and gather up the twenties and put them into a fourth?"

Though I'm not really sure why Mr. Caldwell wants me to do that, I follow his instructions. Once I have the four piles created, Mr. Caldwell tells me to separate each pile into smaller piles, those piles having ten bills in them each but only for that number. If I have extra bills that can't make up a pile of ten, they receive their own pile, but only with others of the same value. Denomination. That's the word he uses and I think it means value.

"Now," Mr. Caldwell says. "Does this look a little chaotic to you?"

"Y-yeah."

"Let's make it more simple, then," he says. "How many full piles of twenties do you have? That is, how many of them have ten bills in them? Exclude the one with fewer."

"Um…" I count the piles. "Seven."

"There are ten bills in each pile, right?" Mr. Caldwell asks.

"Yeah," where is he going with this?

"What's seven times ten?"

"Um…" I can't remember.

"Remember, when multiplying a whole number by ten, put a zero at the end."

"Seven… and zero… sevenzero? No. Seventy?"

"Seventy," Mr. Caldwell nods. "And how many bills are in the pile of twenties with less than ten?"

"Eight."

"What's seventy plus eight?"

I think for a few moments.

"Seventy-eight?"

"Correct," Mr. Caldwell answers. "So you have seventy-eight twenty-dollar-bills. Do you want to try doing the math in your head for this, or use the calculator on your phone? It's seventy-eight times twenty."

What was the way to do bigger numbers? Break it down into smaller parts? Seventy and eight, plus two and zero. Um… seven times two is fourteen. Add a zero. One hundred forty. Then eight times two is sixteen, plus zero. That's one hundred sixty. Plus… what was the first one? I just had it… I'm so fucking stupid. I can't even do simple math. Why am I so awful?

"Xander," Mr. Caldwell says. "You can use your phone's calculator if you're having trouble."

I don't want to admit I'm stupid to Mr. Caldwell but I don't think I'm going to be able to solve this otherwise. Pulling out the phone, I unlock it and access the calculator. Since the calculator does it all, I don't need to break it down. Seventy-eight times twenty is one thousand five hundred sixty.

That's not right. Wasn't my math only in the hundreds? What did I do wrong? I break the problem down on the calculator. Seventy times twenty is one thousand four hundred and eight times twenty is one hundred sixty. What did I have when I did it on my own? I can't remember, I'm so fucking stupid!

Mr. Caldwell interrupts my frustration to have me move on to the tens. Four full piles of ten-dollar-bills and a pile of six of them. Forty-six. This one, I can do in my head since I just add a zero to the end. That's four hundred sixty. I still do it on the calculator to be sure but find that I was correct.

Next are the five-dollar bills, with two full stacks and nine in the third. Twenty-nine. I fail the math on that one and the calculator tells me that it's one hundred forty-five. The last one doesn't need more math than adding up the whole stacks and the partial. Two whole stacks and three additional. Twenty-three, but that's times one so it's the same number. Twenty-three dollars.

Then, Mr. Caldwell has me put all of it into the phone's calculator to get the total amount. Well, he suggests trying it in my head first but I fail that so I switch to the calculator. Two thousand one hundred eighty-eight dollars. That should be enough for what I want to buy.

"Xander?" Mr. Caldwell says my name in an asking fashion as I gather up the bills.

"Yes?"

"You seem satisfied," he says. "I get the impression you were wanting to buy something? Mind if I ask what it was?"

"New clothes."

"New clothes?"

I get scared here but I know I have to be honest so I try to explain it in a way that won't get me into trouble.

"Luke was looking in the closet yesterday and got really confused about me only having around ten sets of clothes," I tell Mr. Caldwell. "And he mentioned that he'd bought twenty-three new outfits last week. Well, he said fifty, I think? But Parker said twenty-three. I think it was twenty-three. I might be wrong. Sorry. Then I remembered that most of the other boys at the home have more clothes than I do, too. Nick's dresser was packed full of them right after laundry day while mine had plenty of extra space. And you only bought me two outfits when we went shopping. And I was thinking that maybe it's because I'm such a really bad boy and that maybe it would be okay if I spent some of my savings and allowance on it and-"

"Breathe, Xander," Mr. Caldwell tells me. "Take deep breaths. You're getting worked up. Deep breaths. In… out… like that. In… out… and again. In… out… Feeling calmer now?"

"A-a little."

"Xander," Mr. Caldwell says. "I tried to get you to pick a third shirt and pair of pants you liked. You were uncomfortable with me spending so much money on you even though it was just a few pieces of clothes."

"I'm sorry."

"It's just the way you are, Xander," Mr. Caldwell says. "And it reminds me of the reason I was looking for you."

"S-sir?"

"Don't be so worried," he says. "I wanted to know if you wanted to come with me to buy bowling shoes. That way, you don't have to use a pair from the alley every time you go and let them hold your shoes. And no, this won't come out of your allowance or savings, Xander. This is an expense for your bowling hobby. We can get you more clothes while we're doing that if you want."

He'll let me buy me more clothes?

"Okay."

I pick up my emergency stash and tuck it away, and within five minutes, Mr. Caldwell and I are on the way to a store. It's a large clothing store and not the one we went to before. The first place he takes me once we're inside is to the clothing department so that I can examine some outfits. Seeing the price tags makes me nervous about the price.

Even though Mr. Caldwell didn't tell me that there's a budget or count limitation, there has to be, right? He made sure I knew on the way here that he was definitely buying me more clothes today since I want more.

"Xander," Mr. Caldwell says after I pass over another shirt. "Is everything alright?"

Everything is not alright. I don't think there has ever been a time in my life that everything has been alright.

"The shirt was ugly," I mutter.

That was truth.

"It can be hard to find long-sleeved shirts that aren't dress shirts right now," Mr. Caldwell tells me. "But they do carry some. I think I see them there."

I follow Mr. Caldwell to the spot he mentioned and confirm that there are some long-sleeved shirts. After touching them and their insides, I determine that their texture is one I won't be comfortable with, so I move on. It takes awhile, but I finally find some pants and shirts that I'm comfortable with. Nothing to bold or bright, their textures nice against my skin, and three outfits total. Or would it be more if I mixed and matched them?

Mr. Caldwell seems bothered by something, so I stop at three outfits. Picking a third one was just to see if he'd be okay with it and it seems he's not but won't say anything. Four would definitely push it. I'll wait a week or two, until he's had enough time to forget that he prevented me from spending my emergency stash, and then ask if I can have Quinn take me to the store.

After the clothes I pick out are put into the cart, Mr. Caldwell asks if I want to try them on but I shake my head. These are the ones that felt right to me so I know they'll fit. Better to wash them before putting them on.

We go to the shoe department and Mr. Caldwell first has me look at new shoes for everyday wear. I'm not sure why, but I settle on a pair of black and grey sneakers with some dark green bits. Not too bright or bold and they look nice. They might go with my outfit. Or not. I'm pretty sure I have bad taste.

Next up are bowling shoes and to my surprise, I find myself drawn to a pair that are mostly black and dark grey, but which has a bright green stripe-like pattern on them. It stands out a lot but I think it looks really cool and now I'm conflicted. Standing out isn't allowed.

They're what Mr. Caldwell gets me, then he looks for a pair for himself. Not in the same style as the ones for me to use, which relieves me. That would be really creepy.

Once the shoes are picked out, Mr. Caldwell takes me to the front so that he can pay. It seems like he wants to say something but he doesn't. I'm glad for that because it's probably over me picking three outfits instead of two.

"It's almost time to go bowling," Mr. Caldwell tells me after he pays and we're heading out to the SUV. "Do you want to go tonight? We can head straight there if you want instead of going back to the house to drop the clothes off."

"I-I can go even though I was bad?"

"Are you talking about the hot sauce incident?" Mr. Caldwell asks, and I nod. "You punished yourself plenty for that, Xander. You felt guilty, you made it up to Luke when you saw him again, and no real harm was done. If it hadn't been for what he'd done yesterday, he'd have brushed it off as you attempting to pull a prank on him but not understanding how pranks really work. Yes, you can go to bowling tonight."

"Okay."

"Do you want to drop the clothes off first?" He asks. "Or head to the alley now?"

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

"C-can we go now?"

Mr. Caldwell nods, then we put the cart away and get into the car. When we reach the bowling alley, Mr. Caldwell removes the tags from both pairs of bowling shoes, but tells me to carry them inside so that we don't wear them in the parking lot. I'm not sure why that is bad but I do as he says.

"Hey, Xander," Lena says. "Are those your own bowling shoes?"

"Y-yes," I answer. "Mr. Caldwell bought them for me."

"They look cool," she says. "You look like you have a question?"

"I haven't seen Erik again."

Even though I've only been here twice since the time I saw him including this time, I feel like I should have seen him again when either arriving or leaving. Despite that, I haven't.

"He was fired," she tells me. "He was constantly rude to younger guests and we don't allow that here."

That's a relief. I got bad vibes from him. It's wrong of me to say that, though, because then people think I'm accusing them of things.

"So," she says. "What'll it be today?"

"Two players for two hours," Mr. Caldwell tells her.

They do the transaction while I look around. My gut says there's something interesting here and… is that Ms. Johnson?

"Mr. Caldwell?" I whisper when he's ready to go to our lane, a little scared.

Asking for things is bad. It's very, very, very bad. But I really want to do it.

"What's up?" He asks.

"Can I go say hi to Ms. Johnson?"

"Ms. Johnson is here?" He looks over. "Sure, we can go say hello."

We walk over to Ms. Johnson, who's on Lane 9 at the moment. She's most of the way through a game and is mostly scoring 5s and 6s with some 4s and 7s. I think that means she's an okay player? But I don't think she bowls very often.

I stop walking once we reach her lane and wait for her to finish the frame (Mr. Caldwell told me that's what each round of a game is called). When she turns around, she looks surprised to see us.

"Oh, hello, Xander," she says. "Is this the bowling alley you go to?"

I nod.

"You didn't know?" Mr. Caldwell asks.

"We'd assumed it was the one only ten minutes from the home by walking," she says. "Considering his situation and the fact that he always came back safe and sound, we decided not to press."

"Fair enough," Mr. Caldwell says. "Pretty surprising to see you here, though. Come often?"

"No," she answers. "I don't get to go out much other than my vacations, but one of the floaters is covering for me. An old friend asked if I'd like to go bowling with him and some friends here at eight-thirty tonight. We know each other professionally and I decided I could use a break. I showed up early so I could get some practice in before he shows up. Coming earlier now, Xander?"

"Y-yeah," I nod. "Mr. Caldwell rents the lane for two hours."

"That's nice," she says.

"Yeah."

"The boys liked the cinnamon rolls you brought us," she tells me. "I have to admit, those were pretty darn good compared to the ones we normally served."

"Yeah," I nod. "Ms. Katie said it's her own recipe, but she let me help her measure and do the filling and roll them up and cut them. And I didn't drop stuff too much."

Ms. Johnson laughs, though I'm not sure why. I don't think I said anything funny.

"Are you settling in alright?" She asks. "You like living there?"

"Mr. Caldwell hasn't beaten me yet," I say. "Even though I was a really bad boy."

"Xander," Mr. Caldwell sighs. "As I told you earlier, if it weren't for what he'd done to you yesterday, Luke would have thought that was you attempting a prank on him. You weren't 'a really bad boy'. Maybe a little bad, but not really bad. And do you remember the discussion we had after I returned from work today? About what is and isn't appropriate to do when you're mad? That's all I saw necessary for the situation."

"Mind if I ask what he did?" Ms. Johnson asks. "Is Luke a new friend?"

"I hired a couple of teachers from one of the private middle schools to help Xander get caught up on things," Mr. Caldwell tells her. "Including preparing him academically and helping him with getting into shape, since he's concerned about not being smart or strong. One of the things I suggested was swimming lessons so that he would know how to swim if he ever needed it, to reduce the risk of drowning."

"And he agreed?"

"He did," Mr. Caldwell answers. "And Luke is the son of a friend of mine and one of our neighbors. I asked if he and his friend would be willing to sit in on the lessons with Xander so that it's not just him and adults in the room and Luke agreed. Yesterday was the first swimming lesson and he grabbed Xander and jumped into the pool in an attempt at helping Xander get over his fears. He decided that the slow and steady approach we were going to try wasn't good and decided to try and make it happen faster with the head-on approach. Xander got angry at him… and gave him muffins soaked in hot sauce. Very hot sauce."

Ms. Johnson is quiet for a few moments… then she starts laughing. Even Mr. Caldwell chuckles a little, but I'm really confused. What was funny?

"We'll let you get back to your game," Mr. Caldwell says. "See you, Ms. Johnson."

"See you," she says. "Have fun. You too, Xander."

"Thank you," I say.

Mr. Caldwell leads me over to the concessions area and we place our food orders for tonight, then make our way down to Lane 20 and change into the new bowling shoes.

"Lena said we should make a few practice slides with our shoes before starting," Mr. Caldwell tells me. "So go through the steps as if you were taking your turn, but don't do it with a bowling ball. Do it a few times."

I'm not sure why I should do this, but I do as Mr. Caldwell says, then pick out a bowling ball while he does the same thing. Mr. Caldwell then picks out a bowling ball for himself, then we put our names into the computer and start the game.

The other boys show up at about eight-thirty, like usual, and they seem extra hyper today. Even the black-haired boy with more magic is more active than usual and he's the tame one out of the four.

"Alright, Xander," Mr. Caldwell says once we finish our first game. "I'm going to head to the restroom, I'll be back soon."

I nod, then sit down to snack while Mr. Caldwell goes to use the restroom. While he's gone, I try to subtly watch the other boys. Didn't the father of one of them give me their names last week? Even if I'd paid attention, I'd probably be struggling to remember them.

If I'm remembering correctly, his son's name was… Donner? No, that's a reindeer. But I suppose it's possible he named his kid after after Donner. It's not like Donner is a bad reindeer. He's actually really nice even to me, a boy who's always bad and getting into trouble.

Though getting him to stop licking my head is hard. I don't like that and it makes me uncomfortable and Santa usually has to step in and stop him. Then I discover that where he licked, the dye is missing, so I re-dye it in the morning before most everyone else wakes up.

What was I doing again? Oh, right, trying to remember the names of the other boys. There was the one I think is named Donner, and… Pam? No, that's a girl's name. Dan? Yeah, I think his name was Dan.

Those are the boys with brown hair. I think Donner is the one with blue eyes since I remember that the dad who spoke to me had blue eyes. I could be wrong, though. The other brown-haired boy has brown eyes, but I'm pretty sure that's the Dan.

Then there are the two black-haired boys. The one with less mana and the one with more. I think the one with less mana is named Zeke? Pretty sure his name had a 'zz' sound in it. So Zeke sounds right to me.

Finally, there's the black-haired boy with a little bit more mana than the rest, the one who catches my attention a lot. I don't know why he always draws my attention but he has ever since I first started noticing him, when his mana was lower and more normal for normal people.

Hm. No, that can't be right. My stupid, worthless fucking brain is telling me his name is letters. S.G. That's not a name, though, those are letters. Hmph! I hate my fucking brain. This is stupid. I probably got everyone's names wrong like the pathetic waste of fucking space that I am. I probably mixed all of the boys up, too.

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

[Sig – 13 years] → Starts during Xander's PoV

"And then, if you set fire to the brownie, it becomes the Flaming Brownie of Doom!" I exclaim.

"You boys had way too much ice cream," Mr. Thompson laughs. "And soda. How much candy did you put on the sundaes?"

"Yes," Connor and I respond, then burst out laughing.

We're currently on our way to the bowling alley, Mr. Thompson picking Connor and me up from my house while Mr. Michaels picked up Sam and Isaac. The dads let them stay over at my place until it was time to head to the bowling alley and they're probably remembering why we generally need supervision after twelve hours of being alone.

Three hours ago, we went to a store near my home and bought more soda, ice cream, candy, and other ice cream toppings. Then we plowed through it all in about an hour and a half. This is the reason why Mr. Thompson called Mr. Michaels to pick up half of us instead of taking us all in his car: we're a tad too hyper at the moment and four of us in crammed in a small space like this while we're like this?

Yeah, the dads have learned that lesson. One time was all they needed.

We continue telling Mr. Thompson about the imaginary game we played earlier as he drives us to the bowling alley, and once we arrive, we meet up with the other boys and their dads, who are waiting by Mr. Richardson's car.

"Alright, boys," Mr. Michaels says. "Remember, try not to be too chaotic inside. It's good to have a lot of energy, but don't disturb the other guests."

"Yes, sir!" We salute.

"This is going to be fun," Mr. Richardson mutters, and we giggle.

We go inside and rent the lanes, then order our food for the night before we begin making our way down to Lane 18. Xander is there with his foster-dad again. As we near Lane 12, a woman approaches us.

"Hey, Tiffany," Mr. Thompson says. "Already here?"

"Hello, Paul," the woman responds. "I wanted to get in some practice, it's been awhile since I went bowling."

"Hi, Ms. Johnson!" Connor waves to her.

"You know her?" I whisper. "She your dad's girlfriend?"

"Ew, no," Connor makes a face. "But I've seen her at Dad's work with some boys sometimes."

"She works with foster kids," Mr. Thompson explains. "Works at a home for boys in the system. Their usual doctor can't do some of the things we can do at our office, so they usually take the boys to us if needed. I felt she might like a break and asked if she wanted to come hang out with us this week. After asking the other dads, of course."

The other dads nod, clearly having expected her presence.

"Speaking of the boys," she says. "One of our more difficult placements is here, down at the end. It does seem he's settling in well to his new home."

"Xander was one of your boys?" Mr. Thompson asks. "I'll admit, I actually wanted to ask about him. Just wasn't sure how to do it… subtly."

"Oh?" Ms. Johnson asks.

"Yeah," Mr. Thompson nods. "Connor, Sig, and I have been coming here for years and started noticing Xander around Christmas two years ago. Always alone. Figured his parents were dropping him off or something. Then last week, we saw him with another man and he seemed especially afraid and was avoiding being too close. The hope was that you could let me know your thoughts and maybe look into it, as when we talked to them, they both claimed the man was his new foster dad and Xander was insistent he wasn't being beaten by him."

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

"How much did Xander tell you?" Ms. Johnson asks.

"That he broke his arm skateboarding," Mr. Thompson answers. "Won't say more with the boys present."

"I won't say too much with them here," she says. "However, I can say with confidence that he's taken to Mr. Caldwell. Maybe doesn't fully trust him and isn't aware of it, but he's trusted him enough to tell him about this place that's safe for him. And he looked pretty happy with the bowling shoes Mr. Caldwell bought him."

"Xander can look happy?" Us boys ask at the same time.

"Yes," Ms. Johnson laughs. "It can be hard to believe, but he can look pretty happy when he is. It's a slight shift to his expression so it might not seem it, but it's there and he had it while showing me the shoes."

"I wanna see his shoes now," I say.

"You boys go on down to your lane," Mr. Thompson tells us. "We'll start our bowling."

We head on down to Lane 18 and start getting everything set up, then start bowling. The bowling shoes that Xander's wearing look really awesome on him, though it's also kind of funny because they're way too bold compared to his outfit. He's always worn dull-dark colors and neon green is not his preference. They still look cool, though.

Mr. Caldwell leaves after their game ends, probably to use the restroom, and I notice between frames that Xander's 'subtly' looking at us, a look of concentration on his face. It looks like he's muttering as well, and at some point, he huffs and starts cramming nachos into his mouth. Something annoyed him?

The others told me a couple of weeks ago that I should talk to him and while I haven't yet… maybe I can go see what's wrong?

"Guys," I say. "I'm gonna go say hi to Xander. Back in a minute."

I'm off to Xander before they can respond and his gaze snaps to me before I'm even two steps away from our section. A suspicious look fills his face as he watches me approach.

"Hi!" I greet him. "I'm S.G.!"

"So that was it?" Xander asks.

"Huh?"

"Your name?"

"Well, no," I say. "It's actually Sebastian Greyson Bellman, but I prefer S.G., my first two initials."

"Oh," he says.

"You looked annoyed by something," I say. "Were we bothering you? If so, I do apologize. We had a lot of ice cream earlier."

"No," Xander answers, then looks hesitant for a few moments. "I was trying to remember what the man said your names were."

"Oh!" I exclaim. "You're talking about Mr. Thompson, right? Connor's dad? He's the one who came over here last week."

"Connor?" Xander asks. "So it's not Donner."

"Donner's a reindeer," I grin at him. "But close enough! If I tell him that you thought his name was Donner, he'll probably pretend to be a reindeer. He's a bit goofy."

"You put a shoe on your head."

Xander immediately looks worried after saying that. Is he scared of getting into trouble or that? Why? He was just mentioning us goofing around.

"Hey, I didn't say I wasn't goofy," I grin. "Just that he is!"

Now Xander looks even more scared. What did I say? Did I say something that could be scary?

"Anyway," I say. "I was just curious if you were alright since you were looking really annoyed. Were we bothering you?"

"No," Xander's quiet for a few moments. "I couldn't remember everyone's names. I hate being stupid. Are their names… Zeke and Dan?"

"Isaac and Sam," I say. "So you were close! And why do you think you're stupid? Because you couldn't remember names you heard one time? Please. Most people can't. Mr. Thompson told us your new dad's name last week and I was thinking it was Blackwell until he mentioned it again."

"Really?" Xander seems confused.

"Yup!" I say. "So we really weren't bothering you?"

"No," he's quiet for a few moments, but I can tell that he's thinking about saying something. It seems he decides not to say whatever it was, though. "You weren't bothering me."

"Alright," I say. "Hey, wanna bowl with us next week? Sam's going to be at his mom's so there won't be as much chaos. We'll also try not to eat two gallons of ice cream before coming."

"You ate two gallons of ice cream?" Xander looks incredulous, even shifting back a little.

"Well, I had about half a gallon," I say. "But we had two gallons of it between the four of us. Also a lot of soda and candy, so we're a bit extra hyper today. That's why I was worried that we'd bothered you."

"Oh," he's quiet for a few moments ago. "No, you weren't bothering me."

"Cool," I say. "Oh, and you don't have to decide about next week right now! If you want to think about whether or not to join us first, you can take time to think about it."

Xander looks contemplative. For some reason, the next part is hard for me to get out. Why does it sound like my heart is pounding in my chest? Saying this next part feels wrong, like it can make everything go bad, and I don't know why.

"In fact," I try to push through the sudden and weird anxiety I'm having. "If you want to give me your number, you can just tell me by, like, seven on Tuesday. At night. Not in the morning."

Why does it feel like everything will change depending on his answer, regardless of what it is? I guess probably because it will. I've seen him here for a year and half but we've never actually talked before and now I'm asking him if he wants to be friends. If he says no, then that means that while we don't annoy him, he doesn't want to hang out with us ever. If he says yes, then we might be adding a new friend to our group. This shouldn't be that big of a deal but it feels it and I don't know why.

The fact that Xander actually looks a bit worried has me concerned, too.

"O-okay," Xander says, then rattles off a number.

"Huh?" I ask, then it clicks. "Wait, was that your number?"

"Yeah."

"Hold on," I pull out my phone, feeling weirdly excited. "I didn't catch it. Let me get a contact set up, and… what was the number?" Xander repeats it. "Cool! Alright, and your nickname is set to Xander so that's what it's gonna show. Is it cool if I ask your real name, too? So I can put that in? It's cool if not."

"Alexander T. King," Xander responds. "I don't like my middle name. And I prefer Xander."

"That's cool," I say. "Wait, King?"

"But not one of those Kings," he says. "I can't heal in a few days."

The Kings he's referring to are the ones from the family that owns the Lumaria Group. They're a family of powerful mages with extraordinary abilities and absurd physical toughness and regeneration abilities. If he was a Lumaria King, Xander's broken arm would have been healed within a day or two instead of taking ten weeks.

Though a Lumaria King wouldn't have even broken their arm in the first place. Not from a skateboarding accident.

Jeez. No wonder he's so scared of everyone. I've heard about people changing their kids' last names or their own last names to try and pretend they're a Lumaria King, especially if they're blond and have blue, green, or grey eyes. It's only hell for the kids once people discover they aren't a Lumaria King.

That's probably what happened with the home that abused him – they probably thought they were getting a kid with extraordinary magical abilities and then found out that he wasn't the gold mine they expected and desired and punished him for it.

"Dude," I tell him. "If I could heal a broken bone in a few days… I'd probably be more of a daredevil. It's probably a good thing. But hey, don't look so down about not being a Lumaria King – you're a king of bowling! I've never heard of someone able to get strikes so consistently before!"

Xander's face flushes red a little and I don't think it's being embarrassed by the compliment so much as not being used to a compliment like that.

"Oh," I say. "And if you do decide to bowl with us, don't be worried about kicking our butts – we don't bowl for the scores, we just bowl to hang out and have fun. So as long as you're having fun, that's all we'll care about, 'kay?"

Xander thinks for a few moments, then nods.

"Cool!" I say. "Hey, can I get a picture of you so I can save it as your contact image? That way it's not a generic 'X' in a circle?"

Xander looks a bit confused but consents, so I take a picture of him and save it to the image. Then I ask if he wants my number and let him take a picture of me for my contact image. Though he looks a bit annoyed and when I ask what's wrong, he shows me the picture. It's a little bit blurry.

"Here," I shoot him a text. "Touch a finger to that picture for a few seconds, then tell it to save, then you can upload it as the image."

Nodding, Xander checks the text, then does as I suggested. It's a selfie I took earlier and I made sure it was a tame one instead of one that showcases my chaotic energy. Pre-ice cream topping face paint.

"Alright!" I say. "We're all set! It was good talking with you, Xander! See you next week!"

"Bye," Xander says, then I hurry back over to my friends.

"So?" Connor asks, all three of them crowding me.

"We weren't annoying him," I say. "He was apparently trying to remember what your dad said our names were and got annoyed that he couldn't," I giggle as I look at my friends. "He got my name right, but thought you were Dan, you were Zeke, and you… were Donner!"

"Ooh!" Conner exclaims. "I'm one of Santa's reindeer!"