Disclaimer: RENT is Jonathan Larson's.

June:

At eight o'clock in the morning, Angel Dummott-Schunard-Collins stood at the counter, leaning over the sink as she bit off half what remained of her sandwich. The sink caught the crumbs. Melted fat smeared onto her chin and lips, but that was a risk she took with a bacon and egg sandwich. In fact, perhaps no risk, perhaps it was simply an advantage, in addition to the innate deliciousness of the combination. It had taken Angel a grand total of two minutes to eat her sandwich, and now she swallowed the last bite and hollered up the stairs, "Roger!"

Upstairs, in his bedroom, Roger groaned. He had packed his bag the previous afternoon. Everything was tidy. After nine months, his room maintained the impersonal quality that upset Angel. His stomach twisted whenever she looked in his room and her eyes glazed over, but a part of Roger couldn't leave a permanant mark. What if, just if they decided they wanted a baby, or a girl, or something, and someone else needed the room?

Whenever Roger had these thoughts he smoothed the quilt that was his and only his, and wondered if Angel would stop loving him. It was an improvement over two months ago, when he wondered if she loved him at all.

Now he had his new belongings spread over the bed again. The family took a vacation at the beach each summer, the entire family: Joanne, Maureen and Mark; Benny, Alison and Mimi; Angel and Collins, and now Roger. The beach meant a handful of new things for Roger. He needed a swimsuit and a towel, sandals, and according to Angel he needed sunglasses. ("Hey, you chose the short hair, honey. And let's face it, everyone loves a bad boy.") She had a great time buying him shorts and T-shirts, until Collins rescued Roger by saying no trip to the beach was even endurable without a good book. In fact, several.

Roger still laughed at his swimsuit. Aside from being the baggiest shorts Roger had ever seen, they were blue with little wave/flame red pieces. Roger thought he would look hilarious in them. Collins said that white boys always looked hilarious no matter what they wore. Of course, he had said this to Angel, but Roger overheard and still giggled about that, sometimes.

"Roger!" Angel called again.

He turned and hurried out into the hall. "I'll be right there!"

Then he ran back into his room and hurriedly shoved his things into the bag. He hauled the bag down the stairs, dropped it, then doubled back to meet Angel in the kitchen. Roger's glance was momentarily drawn to the 4.0 report card on the refrigerator, then Angel tapped him on the shoulder and reminded him to eat. "Sorry," he murmured, concerning his tardiness. "I had to pack."

"I thought you packed last night," she said, not accusing, just curious.

"I did," Roger said. He grabbed his breakfast off the counter and bit into it.

Angel laughed. She ruffled his hair. "All right. Are you ready now?"

Roger nodded. He licked runny egg yolk off his hand, took another bite, and asked, "Eee'sad?"

"Hm?"

Roger swallowed. "Where's Dad?" he asked. He had never exactly gotten comfortable with the concept of referring to Collins as 'Dad'. The title had just sort of leapt out one day, and now Roger could barely fathom addressing him as anything else.

"Buying petrol," Angel answered. "Tom prefers to get the driving over with all at once."

"Why can't you drive?"

"Because. Eat your breakfast."

Roger heard a little voice in his head say, That's not a coherent answer. The truth was, he was a naughty child at heart--endearing, cherubic, but naughty. It would be a time before he allowed his naughtiness to take control. He took a big bite of his sandwich and chewed.

Collins was home by the time Roger finished his sandwich, and when Roger wandered out of the kitchen looking for his bag, it was gone. "Ready to go?" Collins asked.

Roger nodded. He wasn't sure if Collins could understand the mix of eagerness and nerves, or the relief that Mark had to stay home for a pre-college course.

"M-my bag..."

"In the car. C'mon, Rog, we can get to the beach by two."

"One tank of gas can last for six hours?" Roger asked. He immediately gasped and ducked his head.

"C'mere." Collins hugged Roger tightly and kissed his hair. "Yes, it can." He released him. "Are you excited to see Mimi again?" he asked, carefully shepharding Roger out the front door.

"Sure."

"Excited to be out of school?"

"Yes!"

A year of high school was enough to teach Roger that he couldn't wait to graduate. But that brought up the college question... Roger began to gnaw on his thumb. He twisted to watch the house, staring like the harder he looked the longer it would last with him not in it. Would college mean having to leave forever?

But he couldn't live with Collins and Angel forever, even though they had adopted him, even though he'd legally gotten a hyphenated name.

"Roger? Are you okay?"

Roger turned and sat properly in his seat. "Yeah," he said, grinning. "I'm fine."

The End!

...yes, I notoriously have bad endings. For anyone still reading, thank you!

And, shamelessly: please check out 'rentfichallenge' on livejournal!

I started this work of fiction after hearing one too many true stories. It became Roger's story about his grades, but I heard it thirdhand about an eleven-year-old girl who came into school crying. The events described by Roger in this story are drawn from real life. The horrible abuse described in this story is inflicted on hundreds of children, in all countries, in all neighborhoods. All children deserved to be loved. If you know of someone in this situation, please report it.

Also, there are good foster homes and adoptive homes with loving families.