Sean is not Aaron's son. But the truth is, he might as well be. For all the time his mother works, and all the hours, days and weeks his father is hospitalized. When his mother isn't at work, she is with his father. Not at home with him, or more importantly, with his two-year-old little brother.

Aaron is seventeen. He has done everything right. He hasn't had relations with anyone, because who has time? Because if he ever got a girl pregnant his father would kill him. His mother would die of embarrassment. Because practically raising his baby brother all by himself has given Aaron enough of a glimpse into parenthood. He knows he is nowhere near ready to be a father, but that doesn't seem to matter. Like it or not, he is one.

Today, he got up at five o'clock in the morning, and stretched out the kink in his back from sleeping on Sean's bedroom floor. It's out of habit, since their father - even as his health began to decline - had a streak of anger in him that Aaron knew to avoid. Since his mother did nothing to protect him, he knew better than to think she might have any maternal instinct for this new child.

Aaron got himself ready, and then dressed Sean, who was still asleep, and tried to wake him long enough to feed him something. School begins at 7:30 and the warning bell rings at 7:25. He never feels like he has adequate time to do all that he needs before he has to leave. The house is a disaster, but it will have to do. It's not as if his father will see it.

Back in Virginia, that would not have stood, but things are different here. In the Midwest, people are friendlier. They are concerned with appearance but in a different way. Most of the girls he sees are unnaturally tan and have hair so color-treated it looks white, not the blonde they are hoping for. The one exception is Haley, his on-again-off-again girlfriend. After he met her, Aaron added Drama Club to his expanding list of activities.

He drives to school, grateful for his persuasive skills. It had not taken long at all to talk the staff of the childcare center on campus into allowing him to let Sean stay there each day while Aaron attends classes. Technically, Aaron knows, it is there for the teenage mothers, who desire to stay in school after having children. It costs money, but money has never been an issue for Aaron. Three weeks into school, he is familiar with the three teenage mothers who drop their infants off. The babies, Sean calls them. Because of Sean, he knows them by name.

Cora is the girl, maybe six months old, with blue eyes and pierced ears. Eric is around the same age, but bald and more serious-looking. Thomas is Aaron's favorite. He is chubby, and has a complexion that reminds him of this kid, Derek, who he goes to church with. Thomas is chubby and happy. He can always make Aaron smile, even if there is nothing to smile about.

"All right. You are good, and I'll be back in a while."

Aaron is stunned when Sean nearly chokes him in an exuberant hug. When his cheek is slimed with a kiss.

"Bye bye, Aaron!"

He turns to leave, not looking back, ashamed that even now, he could want his own life.

Penelope groans and rolls over, groping blindly for her glasses. When she sees the red numbers on her alarm clock read 7:22, she is awake, like that. It's her own fault for staying up late watching that Buffy marathon last night. Buffy's badass and if Penelope were a vampire-chick, that's exactly who she would be. But eight minutes to get ready for school? It would be a new record.

Like a whirlwind, she gathers whatever's the closest and throws it on. There is a long white dress that the new girl Emily calls her peasant dress, but in Italian, which makes it much cooler. Penelope loves the hell out of her peasant dress. It's so spacious and flowing. Oops and there's the purple crocheted shawl. In a flash, she has donned rainbow toe-socks and kitten ears that she can't wait to wear for another month, on Halloween. Finally, she mists herself liberally with apple-scented body spray and thunders down the stairs.

The house is empty. Of course it is. Her parents actually know how to rise with an alarm clock. A month into Penelope's senior year, and she still hasn't learned. Like a whirlwind, Penelope grabs whatever she can reach, that will pass for breakfast: Carnation Instant Breakfast, an orange, and a slice of leftover cake. She'll eat on the way, if she can manage. She scribbles a note to her parents since this will be one of her long days, and flies out of the house.

She starts her 1983 Datsun and speeds to the high school, parking by the choir doors, and ekes in just in the nick of time to call out her attendance number. In a class with 80 people, it's apparently necessary to number them like toddler-aged higher order multiples, to be sure none of them are lost, forgotten, or late.

"19!" she calls out, and she hears snickers.

"I'll mark you off as here," says a familiar, and not at all teacherly voice from the front of the room. Penelope registers it belatedly as their recently elected president of concert choir, the preppy Aaron Hotchner, a junior, who was so well read and proper, he could probably run for office and do a better job than Clinton with all his skeevy activities.

"Hotch, come on, man… I'm dyin' of boredom. Is everybody here?"

Penelope rolls her eyes at David, a fellow senior, who runs pretty wild, and is only calm and semi-normal in cooking class, where he is better than the teacher at every recipe.

Penelope collapses in a chair beside Emily, and breathes a sigh of relief.

Just Emily's luck that she is sitting beside her is the only person who insists on calling her Emiliana - the Italian form of her name. Penelope, of course, is dressed dei contadini, and is overwhelming Emily in an apple-perfume cloud.

Her name, Penelope had offered - though Emily had not asked - came from Homer's Odyssey. The name of the wife of Odysseus, who was forced to fend off suitors while her husband was away, fighting at Troy. Emily hadn't looked her direction. Had not nodded. Had not even blinked. And she certainly had not told Penelope that she was perfectly aware of all the characters in Homer's Odyssey or that Penelope held no resemblance whatsoever to the wife.

Today, she leans in close, so Emily can get the full benefit of Penelope's orchard aroma, and says, "By the way, I looked it up, and your name? It means rival. Is that how you see yourself or how you want us to see you?" Penelope enquires gently. "Is that why you're going gothic?" she asks innocently, fingering the sleeve of Emily's black, lacy top.

Emily tries to speak as little as possible, first because she doesn't want to, and secondly, because she does not want people to notice the faintest traces of an Italian accent that colors her speech. Apparently, here in Minnesota, her speech stands out even more than she thinks it does. She tries not to offer comment, and only opens her mouth when it is demanded by a teacher, but sometimes, Penelope has a way of pulling out information she has never meant to volunteer. She blames the apple fragrance. There hadn't been such a thing in Italy. It makes her feel at home.

"It isn't gothic. It's an Eastern Orthodox mourning custom. A person wears black for forty days," Emily responds quietly.

Penelope's face falls, as the voices of the singers rise around them. Emily finds herself so grateful that Penelope's next question is: "Are you Eastern Orthodox?" and not "Are you mourning?"

She is not ready to speak of it.

She is not sure she will ever be ready.

David is trying his damndest to make soap, but it takes too many steps and his brain isn't wired that way. He watches the twelve-year-old genius sitting, bored, at his station. He's stirring a bright orange liquid that should be soap soon. No one is helping him. No one needs to help him. But David, he could use some help. Still, he won't talk to this kid if he can help it.

David glances out of the corner of his eye and sees the teacher giving him a look. It's not beyond him that his three lab partners are doing this experiment by themselves and he isn't helping in the least. Attempting to at least look busy, Dave leans over his lab sheet and pretends to write down numbers and chemical reactions.

Instead, he is alternating. He is writing down a list of things he loves about Strauss - he has to call her by a last name, it's too confusing to have a buddy named Aaron and a future girlfriend named Erin - and concocting a recipe based on the omelet he learned in cooking class. The four-egg chili cheese hot dog omelet. A lot more adventurous than the ham and cheese they attempted. David has the feeling that it will be the best one he's made so far.

He sees Hotch later in the hall, and asks how he is, just to be nice. David's gang of hell-raisers is nowhere to be seen, so he risks it.

"Hey, Hotch. How are ya?"

"Fine. You?" Hotch eyes him suspiciously.

"Sober," Dave says, mostly for the reaction, but partly because it's true. It had been tempting to add a little something to the water bottle he brought to choir this morning.

"Good! It's 10:30 in the morning!" Hotch smiles, and it's such a rare thing that Dave takes a step away, as his friend pats him on the back. "See if you can stay that way tonight. You want to keep Strauss on her toes, you want a clear head. It's no fun if you can't remember it the next day."

Nodding, David takes the encouragement. "Bringin' the little man tonight?" he asks. Dave's gotten used to seeing Hotch's baby brother at church on Wednesday nights. He's fun to hang out with. Makes listening to church crap much better, if you asked him.

"Always," Hotch says ruefully, and just like that, the smile disappears.

Ashley sits alone in the cafeteria. She doesn't really fit in anywhere, especially in a place that seems categorized by what people choose to put in their bodies. She is what happens when someone chooses not to put anything in her body. It makes sense that she would sit alone.

She guesses she could sit with any of the kids from church. Little Spencer is isolated on his own island at the end of a table, with a mountain of French fries with seasoned salt and a chocolate malt. He eats with his arm around the basket and the other hand clutching his cup. She is a fourteen-year-old freshman, and knows what it's like to be tormented. Hadn't she just gotten diapers thrown at her in the pep rally the first Friday? And thank God for Penelope giving her a crash course in the school song, and when the freshies were supposed to sing it. Ashley could not imagine being a twelve-year-old senior.

Derek walks by and shocks Ashley by taking a seat across from Spencer. She wonders if she is the only one who sees him jump. Scanning the large room, she notices Jennifer's blonde ponytail. She stands in a group of kids, laughing and talking. Ashley envies Jennifer more than anyone ever. She is an athlete but is strong. The only sophomore on the varsity soccer team. She doesn't have to worry about what she eats, or having a pesky little brother. She's an only child. Ashley wishes she could have that freedom and not feel like she constantly has to protect her younger brother from…well…everything.

The clawing, desperate hunger is back, and Ashley fights to ignore it. She imagines nailing her bars routine - the one that has been giving her so much trouble. She imagines her family coming to watch her compete. She imagines her dad coming to something and not being drunk.

She imagines her life the way she wishes it could be.

Spencer's favorite thing about high school is definitely choosing what he gets to eat. Luckily, his mom has professor-friends who check in with him and put money in his lunch account when he needs it. That means he gets to eat as many baskets of French fries with seasoned salt and chocolate malts as he wants.

He has to talk to someone about switching out of that Chemistry class. He had wanted his soap to have a natural appearance. He had chosen not to dye it an obscene color, but his group of seventeen-year-old Neanderthals had chosen fiery orange. Spencer definitely isn't planning to take that home. It smells like crayons.

"Hey, Spencer," a voice says, and he jumps, expecting the worst.

But it's just Derek. Derek is like an older brother to Spencer. Even though he's only a sophomore, chronologically, Derek is three years older, and that means he is wiser in several areas. Social situations, sports, and what deodorant to use, when Spencer - for all his apparent intelligence - hadn't realized he needed to start wearing it.

"Hey," Spencer returns, chugging his malt. It is completely worth the gut-twisting stomachache the lactose induces every single day. Spencer can't live without his chocolate malt. "I need to transfer out of Chemistry. It's unchallenging, uninteresting, and not to mention it's not what I signed up for. I need Geography, Statistics and Probability, something…" he insists, not really speaking to Derek, but Derek answers him anyway, taking a long drink of Surge, the Mountain Dew like rip off that Spencer secretly calls Sludge because of its revolting color.

"So, transfer, then," Derek answers, like it's simple. He takes a bite of pizza.

Spencer contemplates how to tell him that no matter how intelligent people tell him he is, sometimes, Spencer is certain that they are lying to make him feel good. Maybe, they just mean, smart for his age. For all his apparent knowledge, he cannot retain the simplest common sense when it comes to tasks like transferring out of a class. "I…don't know how…" he admits quietly.

"Hey, guys. What don't you know?" JJ wonders, joining them. Spencer glares at her. She hasn't been invited into this conversation.

"He's confused about how to transfer out of Chemistry," Derek fills in. "Don't worry, kid, I'd want to transfer out, too."

It makes Spencer's cheeks color, the way they point out his stupidity.

"I'll totally help you out, but we have to figure out how to get past her," Derek gestures to the woman whose sole job is to keep the students corralled at the top of the ramp leading to the rest of the school until the allotted time arrives.

"Oh, I can help," JJ volunteers.

Spencer averts his eyes, even though JJ is wearing a striped turtleneck sweater and khaki pants. Some things, he just can't stare at directly, or they will have damaging consequences. And for him, JJ is like the sun.

Before he knows what is happening, Derek has hauled him to his feet and is motioning that they follow JJ. He can hear her clearly now, and finds himself impressed and horrified at how deftly the lie slides off her tongue.

"Mrs. Anderson? Spencer's got to go to the nurse. Is that okay?" JJ asks, her tone all sympathetic apology at breaking the rules. "Derek can take him."

Mrs. Anderson spares a look at Spencer, and he figures it is lucky he doesn't look ill on his best day. Pasty white from staying indoors, and trying to coax his mother out of bed, or spending hours convincing her that famous singers were not actually watching them, or writing songs about their lives. It's days like those when Spencer wishes his dad had stayed around and not left them two years ago. Two years, one month, 6 days… He can go on. It's branded into his memory even though he wants it to go away.

As promised, Derek walks Spencer to the office that services students with last names at the end of the alphabet. The section of school denoted by its putrid choice of locker colors. Cantaloupe. Spencer wishes he had a locker in the green section like Derek and JJ.

"See? What you gotta do is, talk to Miss Lisa. She's the best secretary," Derek tells him, "So you're lucky."

Spencer opens his mouth to respond but gets cut short by Derek who says "Hey, Miss Lisa. This is Spencer and he's looking to transfer out a class that's…what did you say it was…'unchallenging and uninteresting?'"

"Sure. Come on in, Spencer. I think the guidance counselor is free. We'll get this taken care of for you." The secretary, Miss Lisa, smiles and this whole day reminds Spencer that there are good people in the world. People who care about what happens to him, even when his mom can't.

"Thanks, Derek."

"See you tonight," Derek calls back. "Page Aaron if you need a ride. He'll network for you, and someone can pick you up."

JJ chugs her lemon-lime Gatorade, knowing she will probably regret it, but not really caring. School until 2:30. Soccer from 3:00-5:30 and she has to be to church by 7:00. Homework will probably have to wait, but it always does, and it's not like JJ's smart anyway. She'll have to work her butt off to keep her GPA high enough to stay on the team.

She has to catch a ride with somebody but isn't sure who. Most likely, she'll end up walking there with Derek, despite being physically ready to drop. The youth pastor, Erin Strauss, always gives Spencer a ride. Though she wouldn't mind riding with Spencer, riding with the youth pastor isn't JJ's idea of fun. Mostly because she knows she'll get those pitying looks and it will be enough to make JJ want to kill her, and that's not very Christian.

It might not have been so bad except that JJ has grown up here. They have known her since she was a toddler, and her older sister, Janet, was a nine-year-old hellion. Everyone had watched as Jan had gone down the wrong path, done all the wrong things. When she got pregnant five years ago, JJ heard them whisper they knew it was coming. When Janet killed herself the following year, leaving her three-month-old daughter, Kaya, JJ wondered. Had they seen this coming, too?

Her parents hadn't taken the baby. They had been too lost in their own grief. Instead, they gave it to a family in church. A family who changed the baby's name to Rachel and didn't tell her that JJ was her aunt. Looking at her was like looking at pictures of Janet at the same age. The blonde hair. The blue eyes. The crooked smile. JJ suffered through services, forcing herself not to turn around and stare at her four-year-old niece.

She is grateful it's Wednesday, not Sunday. She is grateful that none of her friends in the youth group attended here back when Janet died. She is grateful they don't know Kaya is related to her. A couple times, JJ has wanted to tell Derek, but then she chickened out.

Now, all she wants is Chinese. There's nothing like living off fruit and Gatorade at soccer practice to really make her want to eat some Chinese food.

"God, I want LeAnn Chinn's!" JJ whines.

"It's 6:45. We'd have to get Dave or Hotch or somebody to drive us…and there's no way we'd get there and back in time."

"Ugh," she groans. "I just want an egg roll. One egg roll. That's not bad, right? I bet that football coach had you running 'til you puked again. Come on. Tell me you don't want to come with me. I can tell if you're lying…"

"JJ, of course I wanna eat, but there ain't time!" Derek laughs. "Come on. We'll just go out after. We'll ask the rest if they want to come, too."

"Ugh… Fine…I'll pretend I'm fasting or something…" JJ concedes. She is distracted by the sound of a child's voice, and whips around, expecting Janet. Always, expecting Janet, even now.

Instead, she sees Aaron coming, lugging his little brother on his hip.

"Hi, JJ! I got McDonald's, see? And a toy that gots Mulan on it! She's a fighter like this!" Sean proceeds to make noisy sound effects.

"Yeah, I liked that movie. Did you?" JJ asked, keeping him occupied, and wishing she could keep Aaron away from the youth pastor, who thinks that Aaron did the wild as a freshman and had Sean as a result.

"I like Mushu," Sean says, smiling. JJ can see ketchup smeared around his mouth, and some food he's still chewing, stored in one cheek.

The mention of the animated Chinese dragon conjures images of Moo Shu pork, even though JJ is partial to sweet and sour chicken. She can't help but feel insanely jealous, until a small miracle happens. Emily the really quiet new girl from Italy, walks by and presses something into her hand. She is exactly the type of friend her mom doesn't want JJ having. She has a pierced nose and tongue, and she wears black every day. She barely speaks, except to Penelope, but that's because no one can resist talking to Penelope.

Glancing down, JJ sees half a roll covered in what looks like peach jam. Not exactly LeAnn Chinn's, but it looks so good.

"Hey, thank you…" JJ says, trailing off.

Because, like a ghost, Emily has disappeared.

Strauss is late and Derek imagines it might become a habit since she has nominated herself to give Spencer rides every day. Lucky for him, he and JJ live within walking distance. It gives them a chance to talk - or not talk - depending on what kind of day it was. He's hot and sweaty, still in a tee shirt and sweats, but coming with JJ who is fresh from soccer practice while he is fresh from football, makes him feel like he fits, somehow.

Penelope walks by him in some kind of strange get-up. It works on her, though. She smiles and whispers something in his ear that makes him blush. Funny, though, it doesn't put him off. Probably because it's in French, but Derek knows something dirty when he hears it. From Penelope, though, the words mean friendship and humor, not what they might mean coming from someone else. He is a pretty spiritual guy and she knows it. Thankfully, she also respects it.

"Hey, we're headed out to Leann Chinn's after this. You wanna come?" Derek asks.

"Derek Morgan, I wouldn't miss an extra chance to hang out with you for the world." Penelope grins.

"JJ's comin', too. Spread the word, okay?"

"Ah, ma petite amie!" Penelope exclaims, grabbing JJ around the waist and trying to get a bite of whatever she's eating.

JJ laughs, fighting her off half-heartedly, and then puts what's left of the snack into Penelope's mouth, patting it, to be sure everything makes it in.

"Okay, everybody! Let's get started!"

Strauss. Finally. "This is going to be a great year. We've got the trip to Chicago coming up in March, so I want to have a quick meeting with the Chicago team afterward. Let's pray."

Derek is pretty sure no one else remembers the trip Strauss talked about last year before the summer. The one to Chicago. But Derek can't stop thinking about it. He's from Chicago. His daddy's buried there. If things had gone differently, maybe, Derek and his family would have ended up relying on the goodness of people to survive.

He wants to go. He wants to get the hell out of here. And he is scared to death at what he might find when they arrive.

The end of March can't come fast enough.

Derek looks around, wincing slightly as he shifts from foot to foot. JJ, Hotch, David, Emily, Penelope, Spencer, Ashley and himself are on Strauss's list for the trip. He walks forward as the music starts and separates himself, standing in a corner. He thinks of the trip. The soup kitchen. The homeless shelters. The street ministering.

Six months away.

So much to do. So much to take.

He closes his eyes and bows his head.