I take a left at the end of the hall and follow the steadily increasing room numbers to room 118. The door is ajar, but I knock anyway. "Come in," says a small voice from the far corner of the room.

I press open the door and cross the empty classroom to the teacher's desk. The man sitting across the desk invites me to sit next to the dark haired boy. I spare Nate a glance as I sit. He's slouching with his arms across his chest with an expression that says I don't want to be here. "You wanted to see me?" I address Nate's math teacher.

"Yes, thank you for coming, Mr. Sullivan. I wanted to talk to you about your son's performance in my class."

"He's not my father," Nate grumbles under his breath through clenched teeth.

"...Right. I wanted to talk to you about your charge's performance in my class," the teacher continues. "He refuses to do his homework, he sleeps in class, and he can be quite disruptive."

"Is that so?" I ask sarcastically, giving the kid a look. He ignores me.

"Yes, and I'm sorry to report he's currently failing my class."

"Huh. Interesting. I'm sure it's no surprise this is the first I'm hearing of this," I say, pointed at Nate.

"So what?" he scoffs. "I'm failing math. Whoopdie-fucking-doo."

"Nate!" I scold. "Apologize. Now."

"Whatever. I'll wait outside." He kicks his chair away and tromps out the door, slamming it behind him.

I turn back to the teacher. "Is he like this all the time?"

He shrugs. "Pretty much."

"I am so sorry you have to put up with him. He never acts like this at home."

"No, that's alright. I've given him his fair share of detentions and suspensions. What I actually called you here to talk about is his test scores." He reaches into his drawer and pulls out a few packets of paper. There's a big, red F scrawled across all of them. "These are Nathan's last four tests. As you can see, he's failed every single one of them."

"And I see he also forged my signature on every single one of them," I mutter, inspecting my initials.

"If you fail a test, school protocol states that a parent must sign it to prove they know their child's failing. I'm sure they all forge their parent's signature, but I have to follow the rules." He rolls his eyes at this statement. Apparently he thinks he knows better than the school.

"So, what, do I get him a tutor? Do I need to make him stay after school and get some help from you?"

The teacher takes off his glasses and wipes them on the edge of his sweater. "I don't think he needs help learning the concepts. In fact, I think he knows the material quite well."

"Then why is he failing?"

"I think he's doing it on purpose."

I blink slowly. "On purpose?"

"Yes." He shuffles through some of Nate's papers and shows me a question he's circled. "Look here. His work is all completely correct up to this point. He's correctly worked through all the difficult parts, but right here he makes an atrocious arithmetic error. It's simple addition."

I shrug. "So? Maybe he just made a mistake."

"I would think so too if he didn't do it on every single problem." He walks me through some of Nate's other blunders and by the end I'm thoroughly convinced that his hunch is correct. Nate is definitely failing on purpose, but I'm still hung up on the "why" part.

"Thank you again for meeting with me, Mr. Sullivan," the teacher shakes my hand at the conclusion of the hour.

"No, thank you for bringing this to my attention. You can be sure we're going to have a talk about all of this. And don't hesitate to contact me again if he continues being disrespectful."

"I will. Have a good evening."

"You, too."

I softly close the door behind me and turn to meet the eyes of my protégé. I keep my face clear of emotion as he scowls at me. "Let's go," I command. Nate rolls his eyes and slowly pulls himself off the ground.

We make our way to my car. I have no intention to stop moving until we get back to the apartment because I am about to explode. Nate, however, doesn't feel the same way. I turn my head at the sound of Nate's name being called down the hallway. There's a group of guys making their way towards us, waving and smiling friendly. "Hey, what's up guys?" Nate calls back, beginning to break off in their direction.

"Nate, let's go," I say, attempting to get him back on track.

"I'll only be a minute, Sully."

"Nathan, I am not playing around. We are leaving now." I think I see him flinch at my use of his full name. I've never called him that before.

Surprisingly, that worked and we're back on track. We stay silent the entire rest of the way home. Once we get there, I sit Nate at the table. His narrowed eyes follow me as I pace back and forth in front of him. "I know what you're trying to do," I start. "You're trying to flunk your classes so you don't graduate and I'm forced to pull you from school. Is that it?"

He shrugs. "Pretty much."

I shake my head and continue pacing. "I should have known, between the fights and the refusal to do homework. I'm trying to do you a favor, you know?"

"What, boring me to tears with academics so I'll beg to join you on your adventures?"

"No, quite the opposite actually." I finally come to a stop in front of the teenager. "I'm trying to stimulate your mind. I'm trying to give you an opportunity to have friends. I'm trying to give you a sense of normalcy, something you've never had."

Nate clenches his jaw and fixes me with a glare. "Who are you to say I need a 'sense of normalcy'? I was doing just fine before you came along."

"That may be true, but who would have helped you escape the wrath of Marlowe's army?"

"I would've figured something out," he snarls, jumping out of seat so we're nose to nose. "I'm just here to learn how to thieve. I don't need 'stimulation', thank you very much."

"So this is the thanks I get for saving your skin?" I ask, more than irritated now. "I put my entire life on hold for you and you can't even be the least bit grateful?"

"You didn't need to put your life on hold! I can take care of myself!"

"No, you can't! That's why you're here and not sleeping on the streets!"

"I'm here because you wanted something to show for your botched job in Cartagena. I'm here because you couldn't stand the thought that 15 year old boy stole your wallet then beat you to the prize. I'm here because you were upset you couldn't have another go at Barbie's much older, whore-of-a-sister!"

I don't know why I did it. You could make the argument that Nate would not stop pushing until I snapped. But I'm his mentor. I shouldn't have slapped him. It was almost an involuntary movement, but I shouldn't have slapped him.

The sound of flesh hitting flesh is loud in contrast to the silence that follows. Nate's face flows through a variety of emotions. It starts with shocked which leads to hurt and ends with fear. My face is frozen on phase one, however. I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. I take a few steps back trying desperately to say something. Anything. "Nate... Kid, I-"

"Don't call me that!" he yells, angry tears springing to his eyes. He holds his cheek and turns to run to his room.

I reach the door just after I hear him engage the lock. "Nate?" I ask, leaning my head against the doorframe. "Nate, I swear I didn't mean it. Please let me in."

There's some rustling on the other side of the door. I wait eagerly, hoping the sounds means he's willing to give me another chance. "Nate, please open the door." My hopes are squashed when a slip of paper shoots out from under the door.

I bend down to pick it up. It's short and to the point. Leave me alone.

I sigh and say, "Okay, I get it. I'll check in on you later tonight."

Later that night...

I can't avoid him forever. I take a deep breath and will myself to knock. The sound is hollow. "Nate, it's me. I'd like to talk about what happened earlier."

No response. As expected.

"Come on, you shut me out forever. We've got to talk this through."

Nothing.

"If you're not going to let me in, I'm going to let me in."

Nada.

"Alright, here I come."

Zilch.

I press down on the handle, surprised to find it unlocked. I'll take that as a good sign. Another ominous sign greets me after I swing the door open. The room's empty. Frowning, I make my way to the bed. "Nate?" I turn around myself. "You in here?"

Suddenly my eyes catch sight of a neatly folded piece of paper on the neatly made bed. My world crashes to a halt at the sight of Nate's beautiful calligraphy spelling out my name: Sully.

I quickly read the rest of the letter, choking back horrified noises. I cover my face with shaking hands. Oh Nate, what have you gotten yourself into this time? The darkness doesn't answer.