It was early evening when we pulled up in front of Ian's house. I could have biked there earlier, but I opted to wait until mom could give me a lift. I have reasons for being paranoid when I don't know what's going on. It was in the nice part of the hills, but not the really ritzy part. You had to go up a set of outside stairs painted white to get to the front door. The yard was full of ivy and these little yellow flowers.

A blonde woman opened the door. She looked a little younger than mom, and a lot yuppier. She was wearing a little white apron and under that pants and a shirt, office clothes. She smiled and asked what she could do for us. Mom smiled back and let me answer for myself. She always does.

My face burned. I suck at lying. I blush like a stoplight too, with every freckle showing. But I gave my cover story as smoothly as I could.

"Oh how considerate!" Ian's foster mom beamed. "Please come in. I'm sure Ian will appreciate it."

"I'm Betty by the way, Betty Sheldon," she told my mom. The door opened onto a stubby hallway, with a living room centered on a big screen TV behind it. Past that was a kitchen/dining room with glass sliding doors opening on a wooden deck. I could smell something chocolatey baking. Between the two rooms a staircase went up, covered in fuzzy white carpet. The whole place reminded me of a pricey motel, one of those houses where you don't want to touch anything It's so clean.

As I went into the living room a dark haired man came smiling out of the kitchen. I looked around the room while he shook hands with mom. There was a fireplace off to one side, with a bunch of pictures hung over it. In the middle the two of them smiled happily behind Ian someplace with trees. Ian had on an awkward camera smile, like he wished the person on the other end would point that thing somewhere else. It was hard to imagine Ian with his weird intensity in the same sentence as these people. They were just so white bread Middle America.

Behind me Mr. Sheldon said, "I'll just pop up and see if he's ... well there he is now! Feeling better champ?"

"Sorta." Ian was standing on the stairs, squinting, wearing an oversized soccer t-shirt and sweats. He had red blanket marks on one cheek. His messy hair looked about chin length, and I caught one or two white strands. I was pretty sure they hadn't been there yesterday. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," I responded, trying not to stare. "You sick?"

"Not really. Just couldn't sleep."

"Here." I gave him the papers I'd brought. "It's 273 #'s 1-16 and 18-37."

"Thanks," he said, with all the enthusiasm math homework deserves. His fingernails when he reached out were ragged, like I'd caught him in the middle of cutting them.

His foster mom spoke up brightly. "If you have a minute, the cookies are almost done." "Chocolate chip," she confided in Ian. He smiled tiredly, more humoring her than the way I'd react to fresh cookies. Maybe he was sick.

"Thanks a lot, but I'm afraid we have to get home," mom said. Betty gave us one last extra-bright smile before ducking into the kitchen.

"Your not missing much," Ian said quietly. "They're the kind out of a tube." Mr. Sheldon showed us out and waved cheerfully before closing it. Mom snorted softly.

"What do you think?" I asked.

"They just seem so fake," she sighed.

I grinned. "I wonder what happened to spot."

"Hhmn?"

"Spot, or rover, or whatever. They gotta have a dog. It's the only thing that could possibly make up for the lack of white picket fences."

"Probably at the vet for cavities," mom replied wryly.