Fractals

by I.D.Gr

I'll return soon...

'And you know how hard it is for a teenager to get adopted...' Rated T+ (This one might run on the sensitive side for some.)

AN

EDIT: this chapter was originally transcribed via iPhone and now that I have a computer, I went back in to fix my typos. (Also what was I thinking with that trademark joke?)

2003

He sat at the steps that afternoon like he always did. The day was ending, the Earth's axis titled just so at this hour to reflect the prettiest orange hues from the sun. It was Lewis' favourite time of day, the after-school hours when Oliver would get home.

'Lewis, get back inside.' Mildred leaned out the door with an annoyed look on her face.

'But I'm waiting for Oliver. He said he'd bring me something from the junkyard.'

'Well, get in line. I'm waiting for him too. One of his teachers just called.'

'Is he in trouble?'

'He's... Lewis just get in and help set the table.'

'But—'

'Now, mister.'

'Alright, fine...'

Lewis shuffled inside, walked past the two volunteers at the kitchen entrance and grabbed a handful of utensils. He made his way around the table, setting on each place a knife and fork. 'Table's set!' he yelled.

Mildred still standing by the doorway, was looking out to the street as she said: 'Good now go watch TV 'till dinner's ready.'

'Why can't I just wait outside?'

'Because I told you so.'

'But TV's sooo boring! Aiden hogs the remote and he only ever wants to watch the Antiques' Road Show.'

'Mmmhmm...'

'Fiiiiine.' Lewis crossed back over into the living room, prepared to plop himself on the couch when he noticed Rose cutting vegetables on the kitchen counter. He sat at the stool in front of her.

She looked up from the cutting board to greet him, 'What's up little man?'

'Mildred won't let me wait for Oliver outside.'

'Well dinner's almost ready.'

'Yeah I know, I set the table. Sort of. What're we having?'

'Margaret's famous chicken noodle soup... That she bought at the store. Here, can you put the peas on the table?'

Behind Rose, Margaret was by the stove, she waved to him. He waved back. She was a nice enough old lady, but Lewis tended to like the younger volunteers better. They didn't yell as much when he took stuff apart and were more likely to answer his questions. Especially Rose. She was Lewis' favourite volunteer so far because she'd take the kids out on field trips to the zoo and the ice cream place. She once spent a whole day with Lewis looking at a warehouse sale on car parts that he couldn't afford.

The meagre bowl of microwaved peas set on the table, Lewis sat back down at the counter. 'Hey Rose?'

'Yeah?' she said sliding the vegetables off the board with the knife and into a pot.

'D'you know what's up with Oliver? All he ever does now is mope around his room playing loud music.'

She filled the pot over the sink and placed it over the hot stovetop. 'I guess he's just been in a bad mood lately.'

'Yeah but it's not lately, it's all the time. I counted 78 days in total he's stayed in bed until three p.m. this last year, sometimes on weekdays. And then even on days where he wakes before three, he's never home before seven. And he's late today.'

Rinsing the knife and cutting board in the sink, she said, 'You kept track of all that? Wow.'

'Is he ok? He's missed a lot of school. Is that legal? He's not dying or anything?'

'You really care about him, don't you?'

'Yeah. He's my friend. Plus he's the oldest, coolest one here.'

She turned off the sink, set down the dishes and leaned in closer to Lewis. She clicked her tongue, choosing her words carefully, slowly in a way that really tested Lewis' patience. 'That's just the thing. He's the oldest here and he's almost turning eighteen.'

'So? Isn't that a good thing? He'll be able to vote next year.'

'Lewis. If I tell you what's wrong, you have to promise not to tell anyone or make a big deal.'

'I was right, he is sick! Is it terminal? Is it in his bones 'cause I've noticed his posture's a little funny.'

'No,' she chuckled, 'he's not dying and nothing's wrong with his bones.'

'What then?'

'In a few weeks, he'll become a legal adult, which means the orphanage can't take care of him anymore.'

'What?'

'He has to leave.'

'They're kicking him out!?'

'He'll be set up with other arrangements. But he can't stay here.'

'That's not fair. They let him stay when he was seventeen. What makes eighteen so special?'

'It's complicated,' said Rose, suddenly interrupted before she could continue.

'Alright, gang. Soup's on!' yelled Margaret bringing a big pot over to the table with mittened hands. In a softer voice, she mumbled, 'Golly, I've always wanted to say that and mean it.'

'We'll talk later, ok Lewis?' said Rose. 'Ok?' she said again to make sure Lewis was listening.

'Ok.'

Oliver only arrived home hours later, after the sun had set. Lewis made sure to wait for him at the bottom of the stairwell so that he'd be the first thing Oliver saw when he came through the door.

It took a while though, almost more patience than Lewis could handle. But he was able to distract himself long enough with the Rubik's cube Rose had gifted him on his birthday. He'd almost figured out the algorithm when the door creaked open.

'Oliver!' Lewis ran up to him for a hug.

'Oof-' startled, Oliver almost pulled away but tentatively returned the hug before peeling Lewis off his legs. 'Hey buddy!'

'Didja get something from the junkyard?'

'The what now?'

'Lewis says you promised to bring him something,' said Mildred now leaning against the stairwell railing.

'Oh, uh, did I? I'm sorry, buddy. Must've forgotten. Tomorrow, though.'

Lewis shrugged. 'That's okay. What'd you do today? Did you learn anything cool?'

'Actually,' interrupted Mildred, speaking to Oliver, 'I need to talk to you. I'm sorry Lewis, I'm gonna borrow him for a bit. Why don't you watch TV with the others?'

'Aww.' TV, it was always TV when no one knew how to occupy the orphans. Lewis had other plans though.

He snuck down the hall and found the closed interview room where Mildred and Oliver had gone to talk. He crouched down to inspect the crack under the door. This building was so old, nothing fit perfectly together. The gap was big enough to slide a small plastic tube underneath for Lewis to hear the low voices within.

'Where were you? It took me days to set up those interviews,' said Mildred's familiar voice, 'I'll never be able to get those couples to set foot in here again.'

'So they hate me even when they haven't met me.'

'That is not true and you know it. You can't think like that.'

'I'll think whatever I want, you're throwing me out in two weeks anyway.'

'Jesse, your new social worker—,' she said trying to change the subject, '—you remember?'

'Yes, I remember Jesse, my new social worker,' spat Oliver.

'Don't take that tone with me. You will go to school, you will go to your interviews and all your appointments. It's time to grow up.' Mildred continued, in a softer voice, she said, 'Jesse says he can apply you for welfare until you get a job. And with your grades, you really should start thinking about summer school. Maybe even a GED.'

'Yippee,' he deadpanned.

'Oliver...' she sighed, 'You want to talk?'

'No.'

'Talking helps. You can't hide your feelings in sarcasm forever. I know this is hard, your situation… it's—'

Oliver interrupted her, 'My screwed-up parents would rather dig themselves into an early grave than be with me and I feel like crap about it all the time, is that what you wanna hear?' The room fell silent. 'That's what I thought.'

Sensing a conclusion to their conversation, Lewis quickly yanked the tube out and took a few steps back. Oliver burst the door open. He marched down the hall and up the same stairs he took to the roof almost every day.

'Oliver!' Mildred call out, but it was no use. She sighed and went to walk back into the living room but stopped at the sight of Lewis with his tube.

Lewis jerked upright and hid the tube behind his back. 'Hi Mildred!'

'How much did you hear?'

'Hear what?'

'Lewis, you do not repeat anything that was said just now to anyone. Got it?'

'Yes ma'am. I'll, uh, I'll go watch TV now.' He turned to go to the couch but hesitated. 'Hey Mildred?'

'Mm?'

'About what Oliver said, was any of it true? Like, he wasn't joking or being hyperbolic, right?'

'He's in a bad place right now, but that's not something you've got to worry about.'

'But it's true, isn't it?' Her silence was all Lewis needed in answer.

Careful not to spill any soup on his way up, Lewis walked the steps very slowly. The door at the top of the stairwell was ajar, he pushed through with his elbow.

'Hey, so, you missed supper.' Lewis walked over to place the soup on a nearby crate where Oliver had his feet propped up.

'Thanks. M'not really hungry though.'

'Ok.' Lewis sat down next to where Oliver lay on his back, his feet still on the crate. The asphalt pebbles were uncomfortable to sit on, though when he rested his head next to Oliver, he could see the inconvenience was worth it. The view up here was one of the best, if not the best, in Lewis' short lifetime. The night was a clear blue with twinkles of city lights and nearby stars. The train rattled by along the tracks, the windows so close to the orphanage he could almost wave to the passengers within. They stayed in companionable silence until Lewis asked, 'Why d'you always come up here?'

'It's quiet, fresh air, it's roomy, away from everybody else.'

'You mean you don't like being around the other kids?' Lewis sat up, propping himself on his elbows.

'Sometimes. I don't hate them, it just gets to be a little much, you know?'

'Oh. Okay. Did you want me to leave you alone?'

'Nah, you're cool.'

He pondered that for a moment as he laid back down. Oliver the coolest kid ever, or at least at the orphanage, thought Lewis was cool. Everybody else saw him as a dork or a loser or, in Mildred's case, a pitiable rascal who dismantled every appliance in the building. But cool was never a word anyone ever thought to describe Lewis.

He did know that Oliver meant it metaphorically but it was still impressive to Lewis that he got to hang out with a kid like Oliver at all. Tag along on outings, hang out at home or at an after-school activity. Lewis didn't have many friends nor did he really care that much about what people thought of him, but truthfully it was a comfort knowing Oliver enjoyed his company.

'Yeah, bud,' said Oliver, 'Sorry again about the scrapyard. I totally blanked. Brain fart, I guess. But I got my physics book if you wanna look at it.' He gestured to his book bag, propped on the other side of the crate.

Lewis sat up and leaned over to fetch it. Cross-legged, he flipped though its pages, full-colour photographs, charts and test questions. It wasn't vintage, it was published as recently as two years ago. 'Cool! Hey this one has an updated atomic diagram!'

'You're such a weirdo.'

Lewis smiled and put the book aside, 'So what d'you do today?'

'Not much. Skated with some friends. Dine and dashed at the burger place. You know the one with the hairy guy in the kitchen?' Lewis nodded. 'Boy, I swear his hairs were flying as he tried to chase us. Then I got to school late and the teacher thought I cheated on my test. Then I had detention. Which I skipped. Adults yell way too much.'

'You skipped school?'

'Well, I was there for the history midterm and the first half of French. But then Ms Ghall went on about verb conjugation so, yeah,' he shrugged.

'But why? You're so lucky. In high school, they actually teach you things. In elementary, they just baby you.'

'You'll understand when you're older, Lew. School sucks.'

'Everyone says I could skip even further than fourth right to ninth grade but Mildred doesn't want me to.'

'Why not?'

'She says I'm too young. That I couldn't handle it. But I could!'

'Don't worry, little buddy. You're not missing out, high school's just a nickname for a prison where they chain kids to desks and make 'em do sh— er, stuff, they don't wanna do. I'd kill to go back to fourth grade.'

'You have a funny way of saying things.'

Another train raced by, causing a ripple of vibrations as the steel clanked against the tracks. The headlights grew brighter until they were nearly as blinding as a midday's sun, then shrunk into the distance, leaving them both in the quiet darkness once again.

'Lewie... you ever wonder why we're even here?' said Oliver standing up.

'Like on Earth?'

'No, here, at the orphanage. What's the point of it all, the interviews, the photos, the application letters, the meet 'n' greet picnics, the social workers?' He paced around the asphalt, looking out towards the moon.

'So we can find a family.'

'Yeah that's what they say. Find a family, live in a house, be happy. But you know the real reason?' Lewis shook his head. 'It's because no one wants us.'

'Oliver, I know you've had a few bad interviews, everyone does. I turned a guy's hair blue in my last one. But you can't give up.'

'Thanks. But it's useless. My time's up.'

'Is this about the eighteen thing? Because I'm sure you could get adopted before your birthday. You still have two and a half weeks.'

'I can't do it anymore though. I just can't. I've been trying to get adopted since I was six. And you know what that got me? Zilch. Nada. Zero.' He stopped for a moment and went over to stand on the roof's edge overlooking the alleyway between the orphanage and Alfredo's Pizza.

'You'll see, in a few years,' he continued, looking away from Lewis, 'all those cutesy "adopt me" letters will get old. Not to mention couples only ever want babies. Babies that look like them so they can lie to everyone about us being adopted. I'm telling you: no one wants us. We're here because our birth parents couldn't stand us. And no one else wants a reject.'

And then, Oliver did the unexpected. He took a step forward over the edge.

'Oliver!' Lewis ran over to peer down, expecting bloody pulp on the cement. Instead, Oliver and his perfectly intact limbs dangled outside the open dumpster he'd landed on. He was swearing from below on his bed of garbage. Lewis called out to him, 'You okay?'

'I think I broke something... Owww...'

No duh, thought Lewis, but said aloud, 'I'll go get Mildred!'

The clean off-white tones of the hospital seemed to fade even more behind the vibrant cards and "get well soon" giftshop balloons decorating the room.

'What were you thinking!?' cried Mildred at Oliver's bedside.

'Oh, gee,' said Oliver, as agitated as one could be while a myriad of their limbs and neck were encased in casts. 'Well, first I thought, "What a great bowl of canned soup for the fourth day in a row, thanks Margaret!" And then I thought, "Wow! Tonight's weather is perfect to lie in a dumpster!" What did you think I was doing?'

'But in front of Lewis? He's eight, you could've scarred him for life!'

'I'm fine,' said Lewis, unheard.

'Oh please, he's tougher than he looks! I was two years younger than him when Mom bit the dust. Why don't you just let him take the frigging SATs? Maybe then he won't have to completely suffer like the rest of us!'

'No, I'm fine really,' said Lewis feeling perfectly healthy as they talked over him.

Mildred and Oliver continued to bicker until the doctor interrupted to explain Oliver's grocery list of injuries. Afterward, Lewis and Mildred were ushered out as the psychiatrist came in, then left as Jesse entered, who, too, left with the arrival of Oliver's skater buddies on wheelie shoes. Lewis sat in the waiting room skimming the medical journals. He would sometimes pause and look up, watching the teens swerve around the tiles. He always wanted wheelie shoes.

The other orphans who came to visit Oliver hung around too, either playing with each other or fiddling with the loose ends of their clothes. Mildred was pacing in circles, yelling into her cellphone at the insurance company. She sat down with clenched fists. 'Damn it!' One of the full-timers at the orphanage sat next to her and they began to speak in whispers.

Lewis' gaze wandered to the other people in the waiting room. Not many stood around in large aimless groups like they did, most were here to worry over a family member coming in and out of surgery, awaiting to see if their mother or uncle or second cousin twice removed would get their new kidney. Couples cried on each other's shoulders as doctors stood by, a solemn look on their faces, surgical masks dangling from their necks. Kids ran around the play area, eagerly showing their new discoveries about the toy section to their parents who'd humour them with a smile or a pinch of the cheek. Lewis had never before felt more alone than he did sitting by himself with his surgical magazines. Of course, he was worried about Oliver, but for once Lewis wondered if anybody would ever worry about him the way these families did, gathering together in tragedy or elation.

Lewis had no family.

The thought struck him like it never had before. He was always a quiet kid with too much sense to whine or to cry. He kept his head down and ploughed through his teachers' excuses for a challenging assignment, meanwhile tinkering away at a new research project or a broken motherboard. He kept busy and he didn't much talk to anyone outside the orphanage. But what would come after? When he'd turn eighteen, who could he talk to? Could a person really a spend a life shut in a residency, examining old motors and living as a hermit on welfare?

All these people, they lived together and ate together, they went on vacations together, picnics, outings, thanksgiving dinners. What was thanksgiving to an orphan anyway? Just a spoilt turkey donated to them by a middle-class family who, for one day a year, pitied the "less fortunate". Lewis had nowhere to bring his laundry when he would come home from college. He'd never once been in a car driven by people who cared about his well-being because it wasn't their job. Outside the orphanage, Lewis had nothing.

A little girl in a wheelchair rolled by, accompanied by a small cluster of blue-robed doctors. They stopped and suddenly the girl hopped out, and skipped over to the woman seated across from Lewis.

'Mom! Mom! Look what I can do!'

The woman, her eyes swimming in a bubble of tears, held her hand up to her mouth. 'I can't believe it! You're walking!' The girl ran into her mother's arms, the two of them locked in an embrace for what felt to Lewis like an eternity. 'Come here sweet baby girl...'

Watching the scene from where he sat, Lewis' stomach went in knots. He looked around and found only a distraction in the surgical monthlies, opened up a random page to an article about a family of cancer survivors. He slammed the magazine shut and occupied himself with counting the ceiling tiles as he waited for news on Oliver.

We're here because our birth parents couldn't stand us.

Lewis never spoke to Oliver again. The hospital agreed to waive the surgery fees, all things considered. When Oliver was finally well enough to leave the hospital, he was moved into a residency program, speaking mostly to his friends or his social workers. It was safe to assume that within a few years, he'd find a steady job, live on his own, and be off to college.

Lewis, meanwhile, holed himself up in his room with his homework the moment he came home from school. He had no one to talk to, really. Mildred was always busy, the other orphans too preoccupied with some TV trend or other, and Rose had left, her volunteer credits done with, she was off to university.

Lewis stared back at his own handwriting, formulas and diagrams strewn all over his desk. His new idea was called "the automatic trampoline". Ideally, in every day circumstances, it would disguise itself as a solid surface, stable enough to withstand the weight of furniture, buildings, vehicles, pedestrians, etc. But when struck with enough sudden force, it would bounce back like a trampoline and absorb all the impact. A natural material able transition from solid to something with enough elasticity was so rare Lewis would have to resort to making it artificially. He'd asked the science teacher, but she only smiled dismissively, 'You're an imaginative little sport, ain't'cha?'

He heard a knock on his door, his thoughts now interrupted. Mildred leaned her head in, 'Supper's almost ready.'

'Ok,' he said not looking up from his papers.

Mildred opened the door wide enough for her to slide in and shut it behind her with a soft click. She walked up Lewis' desk and peered over his shoulder. 'Is this what you've been missing lunch to work on?'

Lewis said nothing. Mildred examined a sheet of diagrams while he solved equations in his head. Despite his immature drawing skills, she could tell Lewis could combine his imagination and innovation to see horizons far beyond anyone else she'd ever known.

'Lewis? Lewis, I think we need to talk, put that pencil down.'

'What?'

'Are you ok? Since the incident?'

'Yeah. Why wouldn't I be? I'm not scarred for life if that's what you're worried about.'

'You don't find that you're a little sad now that Oliver's left?'

'I guess, but it's fine, really. Oliver was always going to leave one way or another.' Lewis' eyes suddenly glazed over the way they did when he started doing math in mid-air, his hands twitched as if to count all the imaginary variables.

Mildred went to grab his hands in hers and looked him in the eye. 'I know it must be hard for you. Seeing so many people come and go, having to... Present yourself to so many couples. If I could do anything to change that, I would. Given what's happened…. just know… that it's ok to be sad. It's ok to be angry.'

'Mildred, I'm fine!'

'Don't say you're fine, I know you aren't. Now, you're not always as transparent as other kids your age, but before Oliver left, you never skipped meals like this or kept yourself hidden in your room, calculating God knows what.'

Lewis' gaze was now locked on hers. He stayed quiet as Mildred stared back, searching for something she couldn't find. Mildred went on, 'If you ever do want to talk, I'll always be here for you. And, it doesn't even have to be me if you don't want, Karen, your social worker, she's there for that kind of thing too.'

Slowly, Mildred let go of his hands and stood up, waiting for an answer. After a moment's reflection, Lewis finally said, 'Thanks. But I don't need therapy or anything. I'll be down for dinner.'

'Ok. But, if you ever do, just tell me?'

Wordlessly, Lewis turned back to his papers and Mildred walked out into the hall. When he heard her feet march down the stairwell, he set his pencil down. He sank into his chair, uncomfortable as it was, and wondered what Oliver was doing at this very moment. Would he ever remember Lewis? Or was Lewis just an annoying kid who shadowed his every move?

Looking up at his bookshelf he reached for something that caught his eye. It was Oliver's physics book, he left it behind. On the inside cover was a white sticker with "# 36 Oliver Wilson" labelled in formal ballpoint writing. His eyes travelled down the page to the lower right-hand corner that was folded over to reveal a message. This was written in pencil, in decidedly messier writing. Oliver's script.

Lewie, Mildred probably wants to kill me now. I'm sorry it had to be like this, I'm sorry I couldn't have been there for you. It's too late for me, BUT there's hope for you. Outside this place. You need to get out as soon as you can.

You'll find a way. You're a smart kid. Get the Hell out and use your brains for something good.

Peace.

—O

Lewis shut the textbook and placed it back on the shelf. He pondered Oliver's scribbled words, obviously written before his long recovery at the hospital. What did he mean, "get out"? Surely he didn't want Lewis to run away or fracture every bone in his body by jumping into a dumpster. The only way "out" was to get adopted.

'Lewis! Dinner!' Mildred's voice called out from downstairs.

Startled, he began to put away his work on the automatic trampoline when he stopped. As he stared at the blueprints, he knew how he was going to get out.

It was a few weeks later when Mildred knocked on his door and peeked in to say, 'The Johnstons are waiting, Lewis.'

'Yeah I heard you,' said Lewis from where he stood on his desk chair, putting the finishing touches on the automatic trampoline, which to Mildred's surprise looked nothing like a trampoline but more like a slab of white plaster in a wooden frame.

'Well, are you coming?'

He gave a little tap to his plaster block and grinned. He spun around to jump to the floor and heaved his project into his arms. 'Yup!' He said about to run to the interview room.

'Wait, wait,' Mildred stepped in front of him, 'You're not about to bring that into the room with you, are you?'

'You said yourself that interviews are about presenting yourself to couples. Well this is me.'

'A slab of plaster?'

'I've tried and tried the whole, smile, be polite and answer their questions routine. That's not who I am, not entirely. But my inventions—' He caressed the white block lovingly.

'D'you really think that's a good idea? After what you did to Mr Montgomery's hair?'

'I know, but this time, I have a plan. Please Mildred? I can do this, I promise.'

She frowned and she took a deep breath. 'Well, you are a very smart kid... How could I say no?'

'Yes! Thank you!' he said as he ran to the interview room.

Out of breath, he stumbled as he entered, balancing his latest (rather heavy) invention in his hands. The two women seated at the table looked to him, startled, then to the big white thing in his hands. Lewis composed himself as he set the box on the table then sat opposite them. Still catching his breath, he began with a friendly, 'Hi!'

The woman on the left, a bespectacled brunette in a green sweater, replied enthusiastically, 'Hello! You must be Lewis.' The woman to the right, a redhead in a pinstripe suit, stayed silent. The brunette elbowed the redhead, 'Say something.'

'Uh, hi.' She jerked her hand in a wave.

The brunette continued, 'My name is Maggie and this is my wife, Lucy. Don't mind her, she hasn't had her coffee yet.'

'Nice to meet you,' said Lewis eagerly trying to suppress his urge to get right to the point.

'So,' said Maggie, 'It says in your file that you invent things? That's cool.'

'Yes! I do!' He pulled the box to the centre of the table. 'This is my newest one, I call it "the automatic trampoline".'

'Uh, that's a trampoline?' said Lucy leaning close to it. 'Looks like a white brick. And aren't trampolines already automatic?'

'Wait 'till he explains it,' said Maggie.

'Yes, but not your standard kind. It's a solid polycarbonate material that expands with sudden rising temperature and becomes semi-gelatinous due to the heat-transfer of an impacting object coming from a high enough altitude that triggers an expansion of the molecules, thereby absorbing 2.5 quarters of its impact then returning back to solid as the bonds squeeze together again, which will cause the object to bounce upwards, though with only a quarter of its initial velocity.'

The couple looked to Lewis with bewildered frowns. They blinked.

'I'm sorry,' said Lucy breaking the silence, 'I haven't set foot in a science class for twenty years.'

'I think I almost get it,' said Maggie, gesturing as she tried to find her words, 'It's like, a, a melting marshmallow...thing...? D'you think you could repeat that a little slower?'

'That's alright,' said Lewis. 'I could go on and on but, as they say, pictures are worth a thousand words. How about a demonstration?'

'Ooo!' Maggie clapped her hands, 'Like a magic show!'

'I'd need to borrow an object, said Lewis. 'Something kind of heavy. At least 100 grams in matter.'

'Oh, hey, how about your Blackberry?' said Maggie pulling it out of Lucy's pant pocket.

'What? No! That's got my whole life!'

'Oh come on, it's just a cellphone. Besides, I'm sure it's safe, right?' she said turning to Lewis. 'You've tested it?' He nodded. 'See? Have faith.'

Lucy looked to them both sceptically but seeing Maggie's hopeful expression, she acquiesced. 'Fine. Alright. What happens now?'

'Ok, you've got to stand up and drop it on a perfect right angle. And it has to be about...' he paused making calculations in his head, '2.5 decametres directly above the centre.'

She stood and positioned the phone. 'Like this.'

'No, it's gotta be higher,' said Maggie.'

'And maybe a few centimetres to your left.'

'I don't really know how high a decametre is,' said Lucy.

'Just raise it a foot higher,' said Lewis.

'Okay.' Lucy closed her eyes as she dropped the phone. It plopped on the still-solid white surface. 'Nothing happened.'

'You weren't holding it right,' said Maggie taking the Blackberry, 'Here let me.'

'No, I think we've seen enough,' said Lucy. 'Lewis, it's a wonderful... contraption. But, uh, we could always just have a, you know, normal conversation.'

'You're such a cynic. He said two feet.' Maggie stood on her chair, phone in hand, poised to drop it.

'Uh, actually that might be too—' began Lewis but the phone had already impacted the surface. It launched backwards at an angle, shattering the left lens of Maggie's glasses and hitting her eye. She screamed while the phone crashed into the wall, pieces scattering over the floor.

'Im ok!' she said crouching down but slipped on a stray back panel of the phone. She fell to the ground with a thud and let out a moan, 'Ah! I think my ankle's sprained.'

It all happened so fast, Lewis scrambled over to her as Lucy was helping her up. 'Don't touch her!' she said, jerking her arm up to block him.

'I'm so sorry! This was never supposed to happen!' Maggie was cupping her hands around the assaulted eye socket beneath her shattered lens. Suddenly, Lewis noticed something roll towards his foot. His blood turned cold. 'Oh my God!' He started to cry, 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Imsorryimsorry—'

'Don't worry, don't worry. It's just my glass eye,' said Maggie trying to stand, 'Agh!' she said falling back, 'Lucy can you hand it over?'

Lucy crouched down, one arm still supporting Maggie as she delicately plucked the eyeball from the floor. 'I told you, Margæry,' Lucy hissed to Maggie as if Lewis wasn't in earshot, 'some street urchin orphans aren't the answer.'

His heart fell, though he knew it wouldn't change anything at this point, he still pleaded his apologies. Lucy interrupted him with a curt reply, 'Thank you, but we'd better get home.'

'It was nice meeting you, Lewis,' said Maggie sadly.

As they left through the hall, Lewis turned back to look at the damage. Scattered remains of Lucy's cellphone intermingled with glass shards from Maggie's lenses. He walked over, crushing glass beneath his shoes, and stared down at the "automatic trampoline". Some invention.

Nothing in his life was working, let alone any of his inventions. Seems he was only good at taking things apart. He picked up the slab of polymer and threw it against the wall. It bounced back onto the floor where it cracked, the remaining slab lying on its side.

He was a street urchin; he was a reject. Just like Oliver said, no one wanted him. He shuddered hearing Maggie and Lucy's voices down the hall as Mildred spoke to then in high-pitched apologies. It was no use, the sound of doors slamming echoed through his ears. Even his own parents left him behind. His parents.

Suddenly a thought struck him and he couldn't let it go.

Lewis ran to Mildred's office. He closed the door and twisted the lock shut. He grabbed a chair and tilted its back underneath the door handle. His eyes zoned in on the filing cabinets. He opened every single drawer in the room, even resorting to picking the locked ones with stray paper clips and pins. Papers flew, files scattered. Photos, certificates, forms, letters, some so old they were carbon copies from a typewriter.

'Lewis!' called a voice. 'What're you doing?' Mildred's feet were visible from under the crack of the barricaded door. She began to knock, hard. The doorknob jiggled with desperation. 'Lewis, please! Come outside, it'll be alright!' She knocked and yelled once more but Lewis ignored her, continuing on his search.

He'd ravaged through the L's in the cabinet when he'd stupidly remembered the files would be sorted by surname. Fake ones. He'd found it, finally, in with the P's. Shuddering at the surname the judge must've given him as a joke, he slid it out from the drawer.

File in hand, Lewis sank to the floor, littered in a chaos of paperwork he barely noticed now that he'd set eyes on what he'd come for. His hands began to shake. Once opened, this file could never be closed, not really. The answers to the questions burning in his brain would stay with him forever from this point on. And he dreaded to know what it was but he had to.

Just like taking off a Band-Aid, he flipped the file open and forced himself to gaze at its contents.

Compared to the others', Lewis' folder was underwhelmingly thin. The first thing he saw was a birth certificate. His name printed at the top, assigned by strangers only because you couldn't legally exist without a name. His D.O.B. was March 19 1995 12:00 AM. His eyes were blue, hair blonde, and he was American. All this he knew, what he was looking for lay further, somewhere in the small pile of papers.

He flipped over to a series of stapled reports by Karen Schteiff, his social worker. They detailed Lewis' psychological profile, using a therapist's favourite words: "acting out", "projecting", "isolation", "compulsion", "deflection", etc. This he didn't really what to think about. He shuffled paper after paper until he found it, right at the bottom. It was a photocopy of Mildred's cursive script.

April 7th, 1995

I found Lewis on the orphanage's doorstep. On the night of March 19th at around 5 AM, I heard a knock on the door. Worried it might be an intruder, I only opened the door enough to see what was outside. He was small enough to be a newborn, maybe even within the last week. He was wrapped in a mouldy blanket and placed almost half-hazardly in a soggy cardboard box. There was no note of any kind and from what I could see, whomever left him had gone quickly. No sign at all of any parent or guardian.

The report went on to detail Lewis' unsanitary conditions, how neither the police nor the hospital could track down his mother, and why Mildred and the 6th Street staff were qualified and capable of taking him in. Lewis only skimmed the second half of the letter that ended in a flourish of Mildred's signature.

He leaned back against the cold metal of the filing cabinet. His heart pumped in his ears and his stomach felt heavy. These were not the answers he'd expected. He'd always assumed someone had seen his parents, met them. Maybe giving her son up for adoption was the selfless sacrifice of a woman with a terminal illness, like Marie Curie, she'd killed herself in dedication to a fatal discovery for science; maybe they'd died in some random, tragic accident; or even in the line of duty, taken out by enemy spies.

But not like this. Stuff like this wasn't supposed to happen in real life, people were supposed to care. They don't abandon their kids on purpose. But his parents did. Someone had brought him into the world, then had second thoughts. They'd walked up the stairs, in the middle of the night, and left him there in a box. Their lives now improved without his existence burdening them. Cowards.

He looked to Mildred's letter. He had thrown it away; it was plainly written in under a paragraph like a weather report. His hands trembled as he crushed the paper into his fists then started ripping at its corners, shredding it across the floor.

Mildred's knocks were getting louder and louder until she burst in past the now broken door. A young volunteer Lewis didn't recognise watched from outside as Mildred ran to hug him, blotting out his view of the doorway. He cried into her wool sweater. Tears and saliva mingled as he began to have trouble breathing between sobs.

'It's ok, it's ok.' Mildred held him tight and rocked him back and forth. 'It's ok. I'm here. You're ok, Lewis. You're safe.'

'They didn't want me!' he blubbered, 'They left me, they hate me!'

'Shhhh-shh-sh. That's not true. You don't know that.'

'No one wants me, no one likes me!'

'No! Don't say that, don't even think it.'

'He was right! Oliver was right! No one wants us!'

Mildred, knowing now was not the time to argue, simply said, 'Shhh. It's ok, it's ok.'

'How could they? How could they do that? Who does that? Now I'm trapped and I'll die alone, you'll kick me out too.'

'No I won't. No I won't, sweetie. You're right here, I've got you. You're safe. It's ok, it's ok.'

'I'm alone, I'm alone, I'm alone...' Lewis had never before said anything like that aloud but when the words rang in his ears, he knew they were true.

It was hours before Lewis finally tired himself out. Wrapped in a blanket, Mildred gave him water and offered what was left of dinner. Despite his stubborn mood, when it was laid before him, he gobbled the pasta up off the plate in a few bites.

He knew the others had been watching curiously from their corners. Volunteers, orphans, and full-timers alike. Lewis was too tired to worry himself with them as he climbed the steps up to his room.

Mildred tucked him in with a glass of water at his side table. She sat at the end of the bed and held a tight grip on his hand. In a quiet voice, she said, 'I love you Lewis. I do. I can't the way a parent would, but I think you're a brilliant, sweet and absolutely wonderful little boy,' then she added in a mumble, 'though you may be a too smart for your own good.' In the dark, Lewis could see her smirk. 'Anyone would be lucky to have you in their family and I'm sure it won't be long until someone realises that. If I could make that happen right away, I would. Until then, you just have to keep your head up and believe in yourself.' She stood to leave, patted his head and walked out. The door closed with a soft creak.

Lewis let his weight sink into the blankets. His eyelids got heavier and heavier, dreaming of rain, cardboard boxes, and a blonde Marie Curie carrying his infant-self down the streets of Midtown.

After only a couple hours' sleep, Lewis' eyes were wide open. Without turning the bedroom light on, he snuck into the hallway with a blanket draped over his shoulders. Guided by the moonlit window, he made his way to the doorway that led to the roof. Up the stairs, and past the locked door (which he picked), he stepped out barefoot into the cool night air.

He walked along the rough asphalt pebbles and sat down next to one of the crates. He hugged the blanket to himself in the chilly air and looked to the moon. Was it the same moon his mother saw when she left him here in a box?

His way out wasn't through her, nor the Johnstons or the Montgomerys or Oliver or Rose or even Mildred. He would just have to keep trying until someone loved him enough to take home. Like Mildred said, he would keep his head up until then.

Lewis produced a pencil from his pocket and drew a single line on the side of the crate. The first in what would become an ever-growing tally chart.