True to John’s word I had to start school again the next morning. We were up early and John had breakfast laid out-- one that felt like the last meal of a condemned man. We filed out to John’s little SUV and started the slow trek to school. It doesn’t take all that long from his house, I could have walked there faster. Morning traffic sucked, as always, the buses and commuters clogging up the works. We finally arrived in front of the school, and John paused in the semi-circular driveway to let us out. I stood outside the vehicle, as Joe and Scott heckled one another on their way through the doors. I looked at the mostly brick structure-- forbidding and almost terrifying in its presence.

People were looking at me, no doubt knowing who I was from the spectacle I had made just a few days before. I felt very small just then, wishing I could go back in time and just be a face in the crowd once more. Events were now in motion that had changed my world dramatically; the only real question was how I would face that new world.

“Adam, it’ll be all right. Go on, get to your homeroom,” John said encouragingly. I looked back at him and gave him a grim smile before closing the door and taking that first step towards the building. The first step is the hardest one to take. After that you have momentum on your side and the rest seems a whole lot easier. I kept repeating that in my head as I trudged through the front door and on to my homeroom.

Now, here is a dumb concept if there ever was one. Homeroom is where you go and sit for something like ten minutes and all they really do is take attendance. Do we really need to go to a separate place just to get counted? I mean, really. How about we go to our first class, get counted and just get on with things? I sat heavily in the chair, waiting for the teacher to arrive.

I heard snatches of conversation, gossip about what had happened to me two days prior. I guess it was one of those events where people who hadn’t been there would have claimed they held the door open for me just to be part of the so-called spotlight. It was absurd and a little embarrassing, but if that was all it was going to be I could handle it. My homeroom teacher walked in and sat at the desk, class list folded in her hand.

“Mr. Castle? Mr. Coleman would like to see you; you are excused,” she said formally after completing attendance. I hate being singled out and spoken to in class, which is probably why I wouldn’t pursue a career as a public speaker. I nodded at her and left the room to the hushed conversations of the bored masses. I walked down a flight of stairs and onto the granite slabs of the main floor, meandering towards the office.

“Where are you going, Castle?” Coach Canfield asked.

“Office,” I replied, showing my annoyance at being questioned.

“Where is your hall pass?”

“She didn’t give me one. Just told me to go to the office. Said Bernie wants to see me.”

“Not supposed to be in the hallway without a hall pass. I’ll see you in detention this afternoon,” Canfield noted my name on his pad.

“You’ll see me in your dreams,” I retorted.

“Think you’re a big man now, huh?” He asked me.

“Better than you.”

“You better learn to show respect when I talk to you. I’ll have a talk with Mr. Coleman about your attitude.”

“Be hard to do with my dick in your mouth,” I replied coolly. His face flushed red and he ordered me to follow him to the office. Funny, that’s where I was going when he stopped me purely for the opportunity to harass me.

I was told to sit down in a chair in the waiting area while Canfield went in to make his case to Bernie. I love how adults do that, they don’t want a balanced story. They want their version to come out first, then the punishment to be decided before I even walk into the room. I sat quietly, Mrs. Teetling giving me an evil glance once in a while, just for the sake of it. I waited for her to look at me and I returned her nasty stare. Evil bitch.

“Adam, come inside, please,” Bernie said as he emerged from his office and waved me towards his open door.

I walked in and stood in front of his desk, Canfield standing behind the desk and to one side like some athletic harpy, a smug expression on his face.

“Coach Canfield tells me you are off to a rough start this morning,” Bernie said as he took his seat. “Sit down, please.”

“I’d rather stand, thanks. I don’t care what Canfield says. I was fine when I got here, fine when I left homeroom. My problems started when he decided he could harass me in the hallway.”

“Well, you are aware of the hall-pass policy,” Bernie began.

“Then punish the teacher who failed to give me one,” I replied.

“Watch your tone,” Canfield growled.

“Kiss my ass,” I countered.

“Gentleman, gentleman. That’s quite enough from the both of you. I do not condone any student breaking the rules; however circumstances must be taken into account. Adam will have detention with me this afternoon for his language,” Bernie stated.

“He shouldn’t be treated differently than any other student,” Canfield argued.

“That’s absolutely right, and you should keep that in mind, Bill. He will have detention for his mouth, but I will not tolerate your baiting a student.”

Canfield looked shocked at Coleman’s statement as his mouth worked soundlessly. I was actually kind of impressed, not that Canfield didn’t deserve it, but more that Bernie had the nuts and the character to do it.

“Adam, go to first period please, Mrs. Teetling will provide you a hall pass. Bill? Go to class.” Bernie looked down at the stack of paper on his desk, dismissing us both. I collected my pass and headed to my locker for my book for first period. I stepped into the class and, after handing the teacher my pass, took a seat. The period was uneventful, despite a few veiled glances from the rest of the class. American History washed past me as I sat, somewhat uncomfortably, but I was determined not to let these gossiping assholes get the best of me.

I finally saw Randy in third period, and Canfield’s shitty attitude and comments were totally forgotten as Randy began to talk about how his dad was lining up things to get custody of me and how much his mom wanted him to be sure to say hello to me from her. Mostly he was pretty normal though, and that helped to take some of the surreal feel off the day.

It’s always been like that with Randy and me, cheering each other and somehow realizing that we keep each other whole. Christ, how sappy is that? Don’t get any ideas about me putting on a dress or anything.

I finally got to see Nick at lunchtime, and we sat together with Randy amid all the stares I was continuing to get. We ignored them and did our own thing, and I have to tell you I was feeling pretty damn good for the first time today-- normality, at last.

**

“Have a seat, Adam.” Bernie gestured to a chair in front of his desk. “I called John to let him know you would be late. He’ll have to trust you to walk home, Scott has a dentist appointment I believe.”

“Trust! What a concept.” I muttered.

“Adam, let’s talk.”

“About what?”

“You. Events of the last few days. I want to help you.”

“You’ve done enough already, Bernie,” I replied acidly. “I lost my home, my friends and my freedom.”

“Oh, yes, I forgot. Home. Not where the home fires burn but where your mother hurls insults at you, constantly berates you and spends all her money on cigarettes instead of milk. Yes, that is a tremendous loss.” His voice was kind, but laced with sarcasm.

“So it wasn’t perfect, but now look at me. I have no home, I live in a state-run minimum-security penitentiary. A ward of the state is what they call me Bernie. Randy and Nick need permission to see me, I can’t even walk to school with them. Plus Canfield is on my ass twenty-four seven. I don’t have a whole lot to be thankful for right now, so forgive me if I don’t get too excited.”

Coleman leaned back in his chair and stared at the stained ceiling tiles. His eyes closed and then he opened them, allowing a tired sigh from his frame.

“Adam, I got into this field seventeen years ago to help educate children, with lofty goals and excellent ideals. I always thought it was a noble profession. I have turned into an administrator, one who pushes paper and has been largely relegated to the sidelines of classroom education. I haven’t taught a class in some time, and thus my ability to affect lives directly is diminished.” His eyes dropped to meet mine, tired brown eyes set in a face that was showing strain, perhaps from years of punks like me.

“In my position I don’t get the chance to make a difference very often. This is one of those few times. I met your mother at a PTA meeting, she approached me expressing concern for you, and I too had concerns. So we went out for coffee,” he stood up and moved around his desk, settling on the corner. “We had some memories in common, and at that time she was pretty nice. That was before I knew about the depression, the anger and resentment she had for your father. Adam, your mom is a very sick lady, someone who needs professional help. I could see that, but I was unable to do anything to help until she made that first move.”

My eyes were wide at his story, and I made an effort to school my face to neutrality. “Why?”

“Like I said, to make a difference, Adam. You’re not a bad kid, pretty smart and the trouble you get into is small stuff. But you’re on the fringes, maybe better to say on a precipice. I don’t know that you’ll agree about your mom, but you see how Randy’s house is and I am sure that the difference from your home and life with your mom must make it seem like night and day in comparison.”

I knew he was right, but I still didn’t like anyone running my mom down. I think he saw that and changed his tack.

“I don’t expect you to like me, I’m not your friend. But I do care, and I am trying to do the best I can to make your life better because that’s what I wanted to do with my life. Just realize…you aren’t alone.”

I sat in silence, but my mind was running along quickly. I’m not stupid, and I recognize an extended hand when I see one. “Thank you.”

He was quiet for a moment as he studied me. “You’re welcome.”

“What happens now?” I asked.

“Well, I think first you need to stay away from Coach Canfield. He’s not really a bad guy, but you two rub one another the wrong way and I just can’t protect you all the time. I can’t condone any student telling a teacher to kiss his ass, no matter how much the teacher may or may not deserve it. You can help me by keeping your tongue and temper under control, and I will try to help you get placed with Randy Proctor and his family.”

“How did you know about Mr. Proctor?” I asked with surprise.

“Jerrod Proctor and I go way back, he spoke to me about getting the school’s backing. Group homes, like the one you are in now are a stopgap measure. Kids go into a holding pattern because if they make progress with the structure of the home, they lose when they go back into the environment that produced them.

He shifted on his desk, not finding a comfortable spot before plopping down in the chair next to me.

“If staying with John was going to put you in the position of better grades and a better attitude with authority in the long run, I would advocate that.” I opened my mouth to protest, but he overrode me. “However, that isn’t the best possible placement for you. You see, John has a short term license so that means we need to find a more appropriate place for you, until such time as the court determines your mother is capable again, if ever.

“If you made progress at John’s, and then went back into that environment with your mom as she is now, you would revert right away to your old habits. But if we can put you into a stable home, long term, with people who care about you, well, that’s the best of all worlds there, with the exception of your mother getting the help she needs so she can be there for you.”

“I don’t feel any different, except maybe older. Why didn’t I get sent away before?”

“Well, like I said, most of your troubles are small-time. Nothing the school can do about that, but when I saw what was happening at home I had to wait for her to make the move that would let me help you. See, it’s not enough to say she was verbally abusive, then it’s her word against mine and you are still in the same situation. All that changed when she threw the ashtray at you, that was something verifiable. Now we just need to get you taken care of.”

“What happens to my mom now?” I asked while studying my hands.

“That’s up to the court. I know with the display she put on in front of the judge and the prosecuting attorney, she will have an uphill battle to get you back.”

“So what now then?”

“Well, first you go home to John’s, be good in school and give us time to make the legal system work for you.” He stood and walked back around his desk, “We’ll do the best we can.”

I stood and walked to the door, then turned halfway back, “Coach Canfield really is a peckerhead.”

“We all have that capacity, Adam. Our worth can sometimes be determined where and when we choose to apply that ability.”

I nodded and walked out, all the while thinking he didn’t say Canfield wasn’t a peckerhead. I smiled as I headed out the front door. Maybe things would be all right.

**

I walked in the bright day, winter’s icy fingers wrapping around any exposed skin. The wind was the worst thing about winter, in fact I enjoyed it when it snowed just because it would warm up a bit! Bits of ice and salt crunched under my feet as I walked, lost in thought. Bernie was not exactly the person I thought he was, and I still had a hard time getting my mind around that.

My book bag thumped against my leg as I walked and every once in a while a sharp book corner would nail me. I felt….cautiously optimistic. With the school on my side, I stood a chance of going to Randy’s permanently. If I won John over, I’d have more ammunition in my favor. I resolved to be as good as I could be in order to achieve my goal.

What of my mother, though? I admit the idea of going back to her, while unappealing, gave me a sense of the familiar. I knew what to expect, even if I didn’t like it. Randy was cool with Nick and me, but how would it be taking place under his nose? How would he react if he walked in on Nick and me making out on my bed? Oh, now that’s a thought I’d like to meditate on, some real alone time with Nick!

I crossed Second Avenue and came up onto the back porch of John’s house. I toed off my sneakers and went inside to the smells of a roast in the oven. John was just closing the lid when I came in.

“You and Mr. Coleman have a nice talk?” he asked with a frown.

“Actually, yeah, we did.” I said with only a moment’s thought, “there is a lot more to Bernie than I gave him credit for.”

“Such as?” John asked.

“I think he really does want to help, weird as it sounds to admit.” I told him as I set my book bag on the floor. “He told me the long-term goals and where he is trying to do for me. I didn’t like everything he said,” I frowned as I thought of his comments about my mom, “but I think he was honest with me.”

“Sounds like real progress then,” John’s frown melted into a smile. “Have a lot of homework?”

“Not too bad, want me to do it now?” I asked.

“Have a snack, if you’re hungry, I bought some really easy-to-peel tangerines at the store. Not too much though, dinner is on as you can see.”

I picked up my book bag and headed for the stairs, passing Joe who was typing away on his laptop. That thing was like his security blanket. I climbed the stairs and went into my room, setting my things on the desk and turning on the table lamp. I wondered if Nick was doing his homework now. I found that happening a lot, Nick just popping into my thoughts at odd times. Is that love? Infatuation? Early senility?

I opened my math book and stared at its pages, seeing no problems to be solved, just Nick’s smiling face in my mind’s eye and his kiss on my lips. Algebra never felt so good. Eventually I gained some control of myself and started in on the work, struggling as I always did. When did they put letters in math?

After I completed that I opened my social studies book and John called us down for dinner. The roast was good, if a little dry. Scott and Joe continued to pick at one another to provide entertainment, and John supplied the straight man act telling them to stop, behave and all that. It was a home, of sorts; John seemed to try pretty hard to make it a comfortable, safe place.

“So, what time will Randy be here?” Joe asked.

“I don’t know,” I replied.

“I’m afraid you can’t have visitors tonight, Adam. You lose privileges for having detention.” John said absently.

“That’s not fair! I got punished at school already!” I exclaimed.

“House rules, you behave in and out of the house or you pay the consequences.” John said in a tone that said he expected no argument.

“But that’s bullshit!” I exclaimed as I stood from the table; so much for resolving to be good. “How do you expect people to be good if you aren’t fair?”

“It is fair,” John said calmly, “Your behavior directly reflects on this house. If you act that way, people judge Scott and Joe as well. Or any other person that comes to live here. You have to follow the rules everywhere, and if you don’t, then there are consequences for your actions.”

I turned and left the table, went to my room and beat my pillow with useless anger. Why did it seem as though every time I made some progress, something else reared up to pull me backward? I began to tear up and that made me angrier, and more upset. I hate to cry. I hate it almost as much as I hate throwing up, I’d rather my stomach was upset.

“Adam?” John asked from my doorway.

“Go away,” I muttered through my tears.

“Adam we should talk about this,” he said.

“John, you go talk about it, there is no reason for me to. Rules from you, rules from the school, I get it, ok? Conform or else we take you from your home, you need to toady to get to see your friends…why don’t you guys just put bars on the windows? Screw you.”

“Well, when you are done with the self-pity we’ll talk.” John left the doorway and I flipped him off.

I didn’t care if I was being an asshole, things hadn’t been too hot lately and I needed a few breaks. I wrapped my mind around the hope of seeing Nick the next day and Randy as well. I hoped for a release to someplace better.

I hoped for hope’s sake.