AN: So I changed my mind. I couldn't leave it as is. In other news, it's another freaking boy. Don't tell him I said that. Also, I have 3 months of reading to catch up on. Any suggestions?

Chapter 18

"Cora and Chet go to the grocery store to buy apples," Troy read. "Cora buys 12 apples, and Chet buys 17. Cora gives Chet some apples, so that Chet has 23 apples. How many apples does Cora give to Chet? How many apples does she have left over?" He sighed. "Kev, are you paying any attention at all to me?"

"How come kids in math problems have such stupid names?" Kevin demanded, frowning. He was irritated with Cora and Chet already. "What are they buying apples for? Why can't they figure out for themselves how many apples they have?"

"Kev. . . I don't know," Troy sighed. "But your teacher really wants you to get this work done before school starts, and so it would be better if we just concentrated on the problems."

"How come they can't count their apples themselves?" Kevin asked.

"The faster we get them done, the more time you'll have to do whatever you want," Troy pointed out.

"Who, in the entire world, needs twenty three apples?" Kevin scowled.

"Chet has twenty-two friends coming over," Troy supplied. "They're going to bob for apples."

Kevin rolled his eyes. "See? See how stupid they are?"

"Kevin. . ." Troy groaned.

"Chet buys twenty-three apples. . . wasting a bunch of money. . . when all he and his friends are going to do is go over to Bob's four apples," Kevin explained. "What in the world do they need twenty three apples for, if Bob already has four?"

"KEVIN!" Troy slammed the math book shut and smacked himself in the forehead with it.

"I just don't get it," Kevin went on. "What does Bob want with apples? If I were Bob, and I had Chet for a friend, I'd make new friends. I couldn't stand anyone as dumb as Chet." He shook his head. "And you know what? How much do you want to bet that Chet makes Bob count all his apples for him? Because we all know Chet's to stupid to do it himself."

"Kevin," Troy said, struggling to stay patient, "Let's not worry about this now. Let's spare ourselves the strain of dwelling upon it for even a moment. Let's just forget about Chet and Cora and do the math."

It was December twenty-seventh, the day after the boys had gotten back from the half-way house. Sharpay had returned to work, Zac was taking a nap, and Andy was playing an elaborate game that involved Baby Manda being kidnapped and hidden behind the couch, while all four Ninja Turtles struggled to rescue her. It was a quiet afternoon, the perfect time, Troy thought, to catch up on the packet of worksheets Mrs. Schafly had sent home with Kevin. Had he known what he was getting himself into, he probably would have reconsidered. After half an hour, they had completed three problems, with Kevin complaining every step of the way. Troy, who had never been much of a math person either, was ready to throw in the towel and get Sharpay to help Kevin. In fact, he was about three seconds away from doing it.

"I don't care how many apples they have," Kevin grumbled. "Or how many apples Bob has. Or how many friends they're going to have over for dinner, either."

"Okay, so don't think about it." Troy gritted his teeth. "Kevin. Let's write this down. You have 17 apples. How many apples do you need to add to that to have twenty-three apples?"

"What do you need twenty-three apples for?" Kevin demanded.

"Because you have to do math problems!" Troy bellowed.

Kevin looked up at him. "Are you mad?"

"No," Troy assured him, through clenched teeth.

"You sound mad," Kevin observed.

"I'm not mad!" Troy insisted.

"But you sound-" Kevin began.

"Kevin," Troy told him, calmly but forcefully, "I am not mad. I'm frustrated. I'm sure you're frustrated, too. There's a difference between being frustrated and being mad."

"Jeez," Kevin observed, shaking his head. "I never thought you'd get mad at me." He said this pleasantly and with absolute conviction. There was no trace of malice or accusation in his voice. "You'd need five apples. And twelve take-away five is. . . eight?"

"One less," Troy told him, feeling guilty, on one hand, that Kevin thought he'd been angry with him. On the other hand, Troy reflected, Kevin's feelings obviously weren't hurt. In fact, he didn't seem to mind at all.

"Seven." Kevin wrote the number in the correct blank on the worksheet and read the next problem. "Flora has ten apples. Alice gives her three, Boris gives her two, Lance gives her three, and Xavier gives her seven. How many apples does Flora have now?" Dutifully, Kevin listed the numbers and began adding them together. "You don't have to help me if you don't want, Troy. I mean, I'm not really good at math? But I can do this stuff. It's just word problems."

"Are you going to do them?" Troy asked. "Or are you going to complain about the names of the people in the word problems?"

"I'll do 'em," Kevin promised.

"Okay." Troy nodded and rose to his feet. "Ask me if you need help on anything. And maybe you should take a break as soon as you finish this page. I mean, it's your vacation, too. You shouldn't spend the whole time working."

"It's okay," Kevin assured him. "It really is." He looked down at the paper and started on the next problem. He hadn't wanted to tell Troy, but it was hard to work when someone was standing over you, watching every move you made.

The phone rang. Troy glanced back at Kevin and turned to answer it. "Hello?"

"Hi, honey." It was Sharpay. She sounded like she had something to tell him. "I have something to tell you."

"What?" Troy asked.

"Well, I got a call from the social worker today." Sharpay took a deep breath. "They've found a program for Kathleen."

"I thought she was already in a program." Troy knew what was lying beneath Sharpay's words, the truth she hadn't told him yet. He didn't want to face up to it.

"This is a different kind of program." Sharpay paused. "This is a program for women who are working overcoming drug addictions and trying to get their lives back in order. Every part of their lives, Troy."

Troy swallowed. "What are you saying?"

"The focus of the program, in fact, what makes this program so different," Sharpay told him, "is that mothers can live with their children while they're completing job training and counseling."

"Oh. . ." Troy felt as if something inside of him had deflated. He could have kicked himself. He'd known, from the beginning, that this moment was coming.

"The good thing," Sharpay said, trying to sound cheerful, "is that it's a really good, really effective program. The failure rate is only fifteen percent."

"Is that good?" Troy wondered, aloud.

"Yeah." Sharpay's voice was quiet. "Yeah, they have an eighty-five percent success rate."

"When are they. . ." Troy began, wanting to know, and yet not wanting to know. It was like being informed of the date of your own death. You might think you wanted to know it, but you'd drive yourself crazy worrying about it beforehand. Either way, there was probably nothing you could do to change it.

"Not until some time in January." Sharpay took a shaky breath. "They said we were lucky, Troy. A lot of kids in foster care are moved from place to place very quickly, and without much warning. At least they're giving us time to be prepared. . ."

"Right," Troy agreed, softly.

"Troy. . ." Sharpay began, "We still have a few weeks."

"I know," Troy agreed.

"We knew this was going to happen," Sharpay repeated, without conviction. "We knew it."

"We knew it," Troy sighed. "We did know. . ."

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

Troy and Sharpay decided to tell the boys that night, to give them a few days to adjust to the idea before Kevin and Andy started back to school again. Zac was too little to understand exactly what they meant and telling five-year-old Andy that something was going to happen in three weeks was pretty much the same as telling him it was going to happen in a year or two, but Kevin had a lot of questions.

"What is this place, exactly?"

"What is she going to do there?"

"What are we going to do there?"

"Is she allowed to have a boyfriend while she's there?"

"What happens if she leaves us again, while we're there?"

No one knew what to tell him. Mary, the boys' social worker, was bogged down with a high number of cases and wasn't able to explain many specifics of the program, and no one had even told Troy and Sharpay what it was called. Kathleen was going through intense therapy and rehabilitation, preparing herself for life in a less structured environment, and could be reached only through another social worker, and only when she felt like responding.

For Troy and Sharpay, this was a difficult time, for the boys, especially Zac, a confusing one.

On the day Kevin and Andy started school again, Zac appeared in the doorway of Troy's work room while Troy was working. He leaned against the doorframe, his thumb in his mouth and his brown eyes solemn. It was awhile before Troy looked over his shoulder and realized Zac was standing there. "Hey, buddy. Whatcha doing?"

Zac took his thumb out of his mouth. "Am I going away?"

Troy took a deep breath. He held out his arms. "Zac, come here a second."

"Am I going away?" Zac repeated, climbing into Troy's lap. "Somewhere else?"

Troy nodded. "Yeah, in a few weeks you and Andy and Kevin are going to go live with your mommy again."

"Where will you live?" Zac looked up at Troy.

"I'm going to live here," Troy told him.

"Where are we going to live?" Zac asked.

"In a special place where you can live with your mommy while she gets some help," Troy explained.

"Why does she need help?" Zac inquired, after a long pause.

"Because. . ." Troy began, thinking. "Because she used to. . ."

"Because she used to go away," Zac finished, dreamily. "You're going away."

"I'm not going anywhere," Troy swallowed the tremendous mix of emotions that was rising in his chest. "I'll always be right here."

"So we can come back?" Zac wondered.

"You might not want to come back," Troy told him, testingly. "Maybe you'll want to stay with your mommy."

"But what if she doesn't want to stay with us?" Zac asked him.

"She will this time, Zac," Troy assured him, hoping it was the truth. "She will."

Zac nodded. "Okay. When can I come and see you?"

"Zac. . ." Troy felt his throat constrict. "I don't know if you'll be able to do that."

"Why?" Zac asked.

"Because sometimes. . ." Troy wondered how to explain it. "Sometimes the people in charge don't think it's a very good idea."

"I think it's a good idea," Zac offered.

"Me too," Troy agreed. "And I hope we can see each other again. But if we don't, I'll still be thinking about you, okay?"

Zac nodded. "Okay."

"And if we don't get to see each other, it'll be because your mommy will be taking such good care of you that you won't even want to see me."

"I will want to see you," Zac told him.

"But, you know, if it doesn't work out," Troy advised him, "it'll be okay."

"It'll be okay," Zac repeated.

"It'll be okay," Troy finished.

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

It was only two days later that they hauled Kevin into the principal's office for fighting. He was sitting on the steps at recess, absently watching a group of kids make snow angels, when Charlie Wright, the class bully, sidled up next to him, tailed by the three smaller boys who made up his posse.

"Hey," Charlie sneered. "Is it true what I heard?"

Kevin's eyes slid toward him. "What'd you hear?"

"That your Mom's on drugs." Charlie popped his gum. "That's she's in some mental hospital place for freaks."

Kevin stiffened. "She's not in a mental hospital."

"Well, a place for freaks, then." Charlie shrugged.

"Your dad's in jail," Kevin pointed out.

"At least I have one," Charlie shot back, but he felt a twinge of sadness. His father was in jail. His father had been in jail for three years, and he'd never been to see him. Sometimes, Charlie felt like he didn't have a father.

Charlie drew himself to his full height. Kevin wasn't going to get away with talking about his father.

"You know what? Your mother's crazy. You're probably crazy, too. Craziness runs in families."

Kevin took a deep, shaky breath. What if he did turn out like his mother? He'd worried about that a lot, and Charlie was doing nothing to assauge his fears.

"You're going to be just as screwed up as she is, and you'll probably leave your kids, too." Charlie smiled. "Then again, if you were my kid. . . I'd leave, too."

Kevin stood up. He was just a little bit shorter than Charlie, but about thirty pounds lighter. He couldn't think of a single thing to say.

"See, most parents stick around," Charlie went on. "But not if they hate their kids. And parents don't hate their kids without a reason."

"That's not true," Kevin defended.

"It is so." Charlie folded his arms and smiled smugly. "Of course it's true."

Kevin turned to walk away. He couldn't listen to this anymore. He felt like he was about to cry. He blinked a few times, angry with himself. He couldn't cry. He wouldn't.

"What, you aren't going to even do anything?" Charlie demanded. This was highly unfulfilling. "Get back here."

Kevin didn't turn around.

"Get back here!" Charlie bellowed. He flew at Kevin, pounding across the snow-dusted asphalt.

The next thing Kevin knew, he was on the ground, struggling to catch his breath. Charlie must have tackled me, he realized, dazed.

"Hey!" Charlie bellowed. He was supposed to be the one beating Kevin up, not the other way around. He'd underestimated his victim. Kevin was fighting off Charlie's three toadies and pummeling Charlie at the same time.

"Boys!" The yard teacher, Mrs. Lorenzo, had been summoned by one of the girls and was attempting to pull Kevin and Charlie apart. Charlie, by this point, was no longer attempting to contain the tears that streamed down his face, mixing with the blood that trickled from his nose. Kevin had scraped his chin when Charlie had knocked him to the pavement and one of his eyes was swelling rapidly. He wasn't finished yet, however, seething as he tried to break out of Mrs. Lorenzo's grip.

"Let me go!" he demanded. "Let me go!"

"Kevin, you calm down this instant," Mrs. Lorenzo commanded. "I am not letting you go until you can behave like a normal person. I am sending you both to the principal's office."

"He started it!" Charlie wailed. He and Kevin were sitting in Mr. Martinez's office, and the eight-year-old bully was sobbing openly. "I was walking along the playground, minding my own business, and he came out of nowhere and started beating me up! He said my mother was a freak and my father was in jail and he wanted to kill me!" Charlie was so worked up that he never doubted the authenticity of his story for a moment.

"Kevin," Mr. Martinez said, "is this true?"

Kevin sighed. His arms folded across his chest, he was staring out the window, scowling. He wouldn't make eye contact with Mr. Martinez.

"Kevin," Mr. Martinez warned, "you have to talk to me."

Kevin didn't answer him.

"Kevin!" Mr. Martinez snapped. "This is no way to behave."

If looks could kill, Mr. Martinez would have been dead, embalmed and buried beneath a seven foot tall marble monument. He shook his head.

"Kevin, I don't know what I am going to do with you. I don't know whether or not Charlie is telling the truth, and you won't tell me your side of the story."

"It doesn't matter what my side of the story is," Kevin glowered, his teeth clenched.

"Why not?" inquired Mr. Martinez. "I would be interested in hearing it."

"Why do you care?" Kevin burst out.

"Because I don't want to believe that you're the type of kid who runs around attacking other kids," Mr. Martinez told him. "It would be awful to imagine that."

"Well, that's what I did," Kevin said. "That's the kind of person I am."

Mr. Martinez was taken aback, unsure of whether or not to believe him. "How come you never were like this before?"

"Because I didn't feel like it." Kevin frowned.

"Is that so?" Mr. Martinez asked.

"Yeah," Kevin agreed.

Charlie was amazed. He'd expected Kevin to deny having beaten him up. . . and here he was taking credit for starting the whole thing. Yay! thought Charlie. I won't get in trouble now!

"I'm going to call your foster parents," Mr. Martinez told Kevin. "And Charlie, I'm going to call your mother."

"How come you're going to call my mom?" Charlie whined.

"Because I don't believe that you were walking along the playground and Kevin suddenly attacked you." Mr. Martinez had seen a lot of Charlie Wright during the past few years and knew what he was like. "And Kevin, I don't believe you're telling me the truth."

"Don't call my mother," Charlie begged. "Please don't. She'll send me to my room! She'll ground me."

"You know what my mother would do to me if she found out I was fighting with someone?" Kevin demanded.

Mr. Martinez and Charlie both turned to him at the same time. "What?"

Kevin swallowed, surprised at their interest. I'm in deep trouble, he thought. Do I have to tell now? "Not Sharpay," he clarified. "My real mother."

"What would she do?" Mr. Martinez asked again, gently.

"More than just ground me!" Kevin exclaimed. He crossed his arms and studied the floor. He knew what his mother would do. It wasn't anyone else's business. . .

Mr. Martinez took a deep breath. "Charles," he said, "why don't you step out into the hall for a moment. You can wait on the bench outside the door."

Charlie got up, sniveling. "Don't tell my mother," he pleaded. "She won't let me watch TV tonight."

"We'll see what happens," Mr. Martinez told him. "Go," he added, sternly. He watched Charlie disappear through the door, then turned his attention back to Kevin. He paused, thinking.

"Kevin, you aren't living with your mother right now," he said, gently. "Is that right?"

Kevin nodded, kicking at the nubby carpet with the toe of his sneaker.

"And your mother is in a counseling program right now?"

Kevin nodded again. He was clenching the arms of his chair so tightly that his knuckles were white.

"Kevin," Mr. Martinez went on, carefully, "Why did you fight with Charlie? Is his story true? Did you come out of nowhere and start beating him up?"

Kevin swallowed. He didn't look up at Mr. Martinez.

"I've never had you in here for fighting before," Mr. Martinez continued. "I wouldn't want to think that you had become the type of person who starts fights." He paused. "Think about your little brother," he said. "Would you want Andy to think it was okay to get into fights with people?"

Kevin shook his head.

"What made you fight today?" Mr. Martinez asked.

Kevin sighed. "I didn't start it," he told Mr. Martinez, defeatedly.

"What happened?" Mr. Martinez prodded.

"I was sitting on the steps," Kevin said, "and he came up, and he was saying. . ." His eyes darkened as his voice trailed off.

"What was he saying?" Mr. Martinez asked, gently.

Kevin shook his head. "It doesn't matter."

"It obviously mattered enough to make you mad enough to fight him," Mr. Martinez pointed out.

"I was walking away," Kevin explained. "He was the one that hit me first."

"Why were you walking away?" Mr. Martinez encouraged.

"Because I didn't want to fight him!" Kevin defended.

"Well, that was admirable," Mr. Martinez agreed. "And he hit you?"

"He tackled me," Kevin said.

"Okay." Mr. Martinez nodded. "I see. Kevin, why don't you go wait outside. Send Charlie in."

Kevin nodded, rising to his feet. "Are you going to call Troy and Sharpay?"

"I don't think so," Mr. Martinez said. "Send Charlie in."

Kevin sat on the bench outside Mr. Martinez's office, where the two secretaries kept close watch over kids who were sent downstairs to be disciplined. Every once in awhile, one or the other would glance up from her typing to look at Kevin reproachfully. "Fighting," one tsked. "I don't know why you kids do it."

Kevin tried not to meet their eyes. He was wondering how he would explain his black eye to Troy and Sharpay. He was wondering how he would ever advise Andy and Zac not to fight with people again. But most of all, Kevin was wondering if what Charlie said had been true. Was he doomed to turn out just like his mother? What if he really tried to be different? Was he going to be just as bad as she was anyway?

Kevin was worried. He bit one fingernail down as far as it would go and started on another. No matter what he did, he was going to disappoint everybody. Why did he even bother trying to be different?

The door to Mr. Martinez's office opened. "You can go back to class now," Charlie sniffled. "We have to stay in for recess for the rest of the week."

Kevin nodded, studying the scar on his arm from where the cat had scratched him a few weeks ago.

"He's not going to call our parents," Charlie added. "But we have to apologize."

Kevin looked up at Charlie. "I'm sorry," he said, sincerely. But he wasn't sure if he was apologizing for the fight.

"I'm sorry," Charlie muttered, half-heartedly.

"That's good, boys," Mr. Martinez called. "I'm proud of you. "Now, shake hands. . ."

Reluctantly, Charlie and Kevin shook hands and went back to class. Just before they reached the door, Charlie turned to Kevin.

"I don't want to go back in there."

"Me neither," Kevin agreed.

"Maybe we should go hide somewhere," Charlie suggested.

"The bathroom?" Kevin asked.

Charlie nodded. "Good idea. We can wet toilet paper and throw it at the ceiling."

"So it sticks?" Kevin wondered. He'd never done that before, but he'd seen the wads of toilet paper that decorated the ceiling of the boys' bathroom.

"Yeah," Charlie agreed, grinning.

Kevin shrugged. "Whatever you think."

Charlie pushed open the door to the bathroom. "It's fun."

The boys' bathroom smelled like cleaning fluid and the blue cakes of chalky material that were dissolving in the drains of the urinals. "I wonder why they put those things there," Kevin remarked. "I don't even know what they are."

"I think it's for having fun in the bathroom," Charlie informed him.

"When you pee on them, you can make little holes," Kevin grinned, nodding.

Charlie chuckled. "I know. Want to see who can make the biggest one?"

"Sure," Kevin agreed.

They chose urinals at opposite ends of the row and peed companionably. "I don't really have to go that much," Kevin told Charlie. "I went before recess. So you'll probably win."

"Yeah, I haven't gone since this morning before day care," Charlie concurred. "I mean, it's not like I'm a baby or anything. I do go to daycare, though, when my Grammy can't watch me."

"I don't think you're a baby." Kevin stood back, zipping his fly while he studied the cavity he'd eroded into the mysterious cake in the drain. "Lots of people go to daycare."

"Your hole is deeper than mine," Charlie observed, inspecting it, "but mine is wider."

"I'm sorry about what I said about your father," Kevin said. "I really am."

"That's okay." Charlie swallowed hard. "It's just that I miss him sometimes. I really do."

"I don't even have a father," Kevin informed him, cheerfully. "My father's been gone since I was four."

"Do you miss him?" Charlie asked.

Kevin shook his head. "No." He took a deep breath. "Well. . ."

"I missed my dad the most on parents' day," Charlie supplied.

"When everyone else's parents were there," Kevin agreed. "I mean, not everyone else's. But. . ."

"Most people had their mom there," Charlie said. "Or even their aunt. Or their grammy. But everyone in my family was working."

"My mom wouldn't come to something like that anyway," Kevin agreed.

"I just kept thinking. . ." Charlie began.

"That if you're father was around, maybe he would have been there," Kevin finished.

"Yeah," Charlie agreed. "I don't believe your mom's crazy, Kevin."

"She is crazy," Kevin sighed. "I don't want to go back and live with her."

"Why?" Charlie asked.

"Because she's always leaving," Kevin gazed out the window, resting his arm on the sill and his chin on his arm. "I don't want her to leave again. They say she's getting help, but I don't believe it."

"Why don't you believe it?" Charlie prodded.

"Because she's always been like this," Kevin told him. "I don't think she can change. And I just have a feeling. A bad feeling."

"What kind of bad feeling?" Charlie wanted to know.

Kevin shook his head. "I don't know," he murmured. "I just don't feel right about it."

"Probably it'll be okay," Charlie said. "My mom is pretty good, and my dad isn't around."

"Yeah, but my mom is different." Kevin shook his head.

"If it's that bad, maybe you can come and live with my Grammy," Charlie offered. "She likes kids."

Kevin smiled. "Thanks. That's okay, though."

"But what will you do?" Charlie wondered.

Kevin shrugged. "I don't know. I'll figure something out."