Martin was surrounded by darkness, and could hear muffled screams in the distance. He tried to cry out for his parents, and look around to find his way out of the darkness, but he could see nothing and his mouth could make no sound. Suddenly, two shots fired in the distance, followed by blinding flashes. His ears rang long after the shots had been fired. The lights came on and once again Martin found himself at the foot of the staircase in his family's grand home in Cuba. He looked down at his feet and saw a pool of crimson red blood creeping toward him. His feet seemed glued to the ground as footsteps in the distance crept closer and closer becoming louder with each step. His heart pounded in his throat, and he covered his eyes and cried out desperately, knowing he was going to meet the same fate as his parents.

"NO!" He screamed, and found himself in the dark once more, but this time sitting upright in bed drenched in sweat. Another nightmare, but no surprise. There had not been one night since he and Enrique had arrived in Miami two weeks ago where he had not been plagued by his terrifying memories at night. Breathless, he looked around at the bare walls in his new room and tried to get comfortable in his creaky bed.

The day he was released from the hospital in Havana, he and Enrique had gone directly to the airport, boarded a plane, and flown to Miami. Enrique managed to quickly find employment in a law office run by a family friend, and had rented a small, modest home for them in Little Havana. It was a far cry from his life in Cuba, but he knew he was lucky to have a roof over his head at all. After all, Enrique reminded him daily how expensive it was to look after him.

A fist pounded on the wall behind Martin's head. "Keep it down in there!" Enrique scolded angrily rom the next room.

Martin sighed and closed his eyes, and as he had each time since that horrible night, he wished he could wake up from the nightmare his life had become.

The morning that Enrique announced that they would be enrolling him in school, Martin was actually grateful. He had always been a good student, and besides, it would give him an escape from the empty house during the day.

"May I help you?" An attractive young secretary looked up from her typewriter at Martin and Enrique. She had a kind smile, curly red hair, and her bright green eyes seemed to smile as well. The plaque on her desk read "Miss Atwood."

"Yes, my name is Enrique Castillo and I'm here to enroll my nephew in school." Enrique removed his hat and gave Martin a little shove toward the secretary's desk.

"Oh yes, of course! There's just a few papers for you to fill out. I assume you are his legal guardian?"

Enrique closed his eyes and nodded sadly. "I'm afraid so. My dear brother and sister in law were tragically killed back in Cuba recently. It was quite traumatizing for the child, as you can imagine." He placed an arm around his nephew's shoulders while Martin looked up at his uncle incredulously and shifted uncomfortably at his uncle's unfamiliar touch. Since when had Enrique cared one bit about his feelings, or shown one bit of grief for his own brother's death? Martin knew from overhearing his parents nighttime conversations that his uncle had a history of being a ladies' man. And he sure was laying the charm on thick today.

Miss Atwood gasped and placed a hand over her mouth. "Oh the poor dear! You must be such a saint for taking on such responsibility! What is his name? And does he speak English?"

Martin was sick of everyone acting as though he were some sort of baby unable to speak for himself, or a stray puppy that his uncle had been gracious enough to take in. He stood up straight and spoke confidently. "My name is Martin Castillo. I'm eight years old. and I speak Spanish, English and French." He spoke with pride and it was true. Teachers at his private school in Cuba often remarked at his incredible ability to learn languages with ease.

He turned to his uncle briefly and noticed the unmistakable look of disdain on his face. Certainly he resented having the spotlight removed from himself.

The secretary smiled and raised an eyebrow. "Impressive! Martin, you'll be in the third grade with Mrs. Foster. Why don't I walk you to your class while your uncle finishes filling out these forms."

Without stopping to exchange an awkward goodbye with Enrique, Martin obediently followed Miss Atwood down the hall and to a room marked 113. Martin could hear a muffled woman's voice from inside, but when the door opened, the room fell silent and Martin could feel 30 sets of eyes focused on him.

"Mrs. Foster, pardon me, but we have a new student for you today. This is Martin Castillo"

Mrs Foster was a stout woman, with friendly eyes and a firm voice. She seemed surprised, but didn't hesitate. "Welcome to our class, Martin. Why don't you take a seat right there?" She gestured to an open seat, right in front of a boy with head full of messy chestnut brown curls.

There was a strange twinkle in this boy's eyes, and a slight smirk on his face as he leaned casually back in his seat. His size was not intimidating, but Martin also was small for his age. Martin noticed his toes poked through a hole in his shoes, which were dirty with wear. For a moment, Martin remembered the barefoot children wandering the streets of Havana that he had so often seen from the back seat of his parents' car. But at that very moment, he realized his own shoes, relics from his private school uniform, were a bit tight. But he knew better than to mention that to Enrique.

Next to him, sat a girl with raven hair and a mysterious but shy smile. She glanced at him with piercing brown eyes.

"Martin, we are about to begin our lesson, why don't you get a copy of the reader from the back shelf?"

Martin stood and turned to grab the book, but tripped on something and lost his balance. To his horror, the class erupted into giggles. Regaining his balance, he say that curly haired kid with that same smirk on his face and his foot sticking out in the aisle. Martin glared at him, and attempted to regain what dignity he had and straightened up. Out of the corner of his eye, he say the raven haired girl stare at him with sympathy.

Great, just great, he thought. All I want to do is blend in and keep to myself. Why is that so hard?

When the lunch bell rang, Martin took his tray and sat in a far corner of the lunchroom, praying everyone would leave him alone... no teasing, and no feeling sorry for him. But much to his dismay, the raven haired girl took a seat across from him.

"Hey, your name is Martin, right?"

He simply nodded and avoided eye contact. Maybe if he didn't engage, she'd go away.

"I'm Erendira. I hope you like our school so far, it stinks to be the new kid. I should know, I was new last year."

Behind him, Martin could hear the shuffling of feet. He turned to find himself face to face with the curly headed kid, once again with that crazy toothy grin on his face.

"Go away, Jack Gretsky. Why do you have to be such a show-off?" Erendira yelled.

Martin frowned. He didn't want this girl defending him, or this boy acting like a huge jerk.

"Hey, I was just havin' a little fun, that's all!" Jack shrugged and sat at the table beside Martin, who scowled at more unwelcome company.

Erendira turned back to Martin. "You can just ignore him. Jack is always just trying to get attention."

"C'mon. Marty here seems like a great guy!" Jack slapped him on the back.

Marty? No one had ever called him that before. Who did this Jack kid think he was? Martin didn't need friends. Having friends would lead to questions, about his family and his past… In the days since he had arrived in Miami, a despondent Martin had resigned himself to a solitary existence to avoid all of that pain. He narrowed his eyes and angrily stared back at Jack.

"Whoa, you tryin' to scare me, kid? What's your deal?"

In that moment, Martin saw red. He was overwhelmed and dangerously close to tears. There was no way he was going to let these nosey kids see that kind of vulnerability. Swiftly he grabbed his tray, tossed it in the trash and ran from the lunchroom. He was vaguely aware of other students pointing and whispering about him, but he rushed by so fast, wishing they would all just disappear.

The end of the school day could not come fast enough. But now what? He wondered. School was bad with all these new kids staring at him and teasing him, but home was not much better with Enrique grumping around and reminding him what a burden he was. Nevertheless, he did not want to risk angering his uncle more, so he began the walk home as soon as the bell rang.

Trudging down the sidewalk in the vaguely familiar neighborhood, Martin began to recognize the houses and realized he was almost home. At that moment, he heard the scraping sound of bicycle tires on the sidewalk and the ringing of a bell. "Hey! Hey kid, wait up!"

Martin groaned inwardly and stopped walking just as he had reached the front path of the home he shared with Enrique.

Jack again? He turned slowly, exasperated. "What do you want this time?"

Jack put one foot on the ground to stop his bike and tilted his head to the side. And did he look a little hurt?

"Wow, Marty. You really gotta work on making friends."

"I don't need friends." Martin growled through gritted teeth. Why didn't this Jack kid get the hint?

"Aw, Marty! C'mon! Everyone needs friends! Don't you like to play chess? Or baseball? Or anything? Loosen up!"

For a moment, memories of the life he left behind just weeks ago flashed in front of Martin. Memories of riding his horse, playing baseball with the kids on his street, running through the waves on the back, chess games with his father… he felt a lump form in his throat. Quickly, he tried to regain an icy demeanor, just as the front door to the house creaked open.

Enrique stomped out onto the porch, hovering menacingly above Jack and Martin. "What the hell are you goofing around for? Don't you know I've been waiting for you?"

"I- I'm sorry." Martin stammered sheepishly. "I'll be right in."

"See that you do!" Enrique yelled, slamming the door behind himself, causing the glass in the windows to rattle.

Jack looked back to Martin with pity, as though the exchange that he had just witnessed explained a lot. "Wow, your dad is kind of a jerk."

Martin shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the ground, kicking a pebble with his foot. "He's not my dad," he grumbled.

If it was possible, Jack's expression was overcome with more pity, and Martin continued to avoid eye contact. He held his breath hoping Jack would not press the issue further. The last thing he wanted was Jack Gretsky, or anyone else in this town, feeling sorry for him.

"Look, I get it. You don't want to be best buds. But you can't be alone forever. Especially living with… whoever that was. If you ever want to get away and play a game or just hang out, just let me know."

Martin didn't raise his eyes up from the ground, but he nodded silently.

"See ya around, Marty!" Jack hopped on his bike, and with a ring of his bell, he rode off.

Martin sighed. Maybe Jack was right. Nobody said he had to be friends with Jack Gretzky, but maybe a little baseball or chess wouldn't be so bad every now and then.