Chapter Seven

Four days later, James returned from his show in Vancouver, Washington, to find Sam safe and sound. Sam hadn't missed any school, and he kept himself busy by watching movies and riding around the road on his scooter, which he apparently retrieved from his treehouse in the days that James was gone. He was a surprisingly well-behaved kid for someone who lived on his own for so long, as well as for how old he was. Thank goodness for the public school system.

James' show had also gone well, no different from any of the other shows he had performed in the past, save for a minor mishap with the confetti cannons. Nothing bad or dangerous, the cannons simply weren't plugged in. The show was a success nonetheless.

Now that James was finished with his west-coast tour and his next show wasn't for a few months, he could devote his time to what really mattered: his new little brother.

Sometime around noon the next day James found Sam riding around on his scooter. Sam noticed him several meters away and stopped. "Hey, James! Check out my scooter! Isn't it cool?"

James had never seen Sam's scooter before now. It was a typical blue Razor scooter, covered in spots of rust. One of the foam handles were missing and the other was halfway there.

"Heh, yeah," James replied, "but... I think we can make it cooler."

"Really? How?" Sam rolled up to the front of the house, his scooter squeaking all the way.

"All it needs is a little tune-up," James said with a grin.

That afternoon, the two of them worked on the scooter, fixing the wheels, putting on a new handle grip from one of James' spares, and applying some anti-rust formula to the frame.

"There. What do you think?" James asked.

Sam gazed suspiciously upon his new-and-improved scooter. "I'll have to test it."

"Alright," James laughed. Sam's attitude reminded him of himself when it came to improving his bike.

Sam got on the scooter and pushed off with one foot, sailing smoothly across the road. No squeaks, no rattles, nothing.

"You're right. It's, like, thirty percent cooler," Sam said contently upon returning to the porch.

"Told ya," James replied with a smirk.

A screw fell out of the back wheel and onto the ground.

The two of them glanced at it, then back at each other.

Sam frowned. "Make that twenty percent."

He attempted to keep a straight face, but failed as the two of them burst into laughter, which lasted a good while. James fixed Sam's scooter, having Sam test it once more to be sure, and the two went inside as the sun began to set.

A few months passed, and before either of them knew it, it was December. In the passing months James had obtained emancipation, which allowed him to legally live on his own. He had gone to the local courthouse and filled out the necessary paperwork, and in the following week James had to meet with his parents one more time. He half-expected them to be angry with him for running away, but they were indifferent. At least, his mother was. His father had apparently left her soon after James ran away, and she moved on from his father as easily as she had apparently done with him. Therefore, she had had no problem dismissing her son to do as he pleased, and signed the form. He was free now.

Today was December 24th. Christmas Eve. And it was time for Sam's present.

"Hey, Sam?" James called from the living room. "Can you come here for a second?"

Sam closed his sketchpad, which James had kindly bought him as an early Christmas present, and headed out of his room to the living room.

Oh, yeah, he thought. My room. Gosh, that still feels so cool to say. My own room.

He happily entered the living room with this thought on his mind, until he saw James' serious expression as he sat on the couch waiting for Sam.

Am I in trouble?

Sam sat down next to James, not smiling, but still wearing a curious expression. James began to speak after taking a deep breath.

"So, I've been thinking, and I think now is the right time to give you your Christmas present."

Sam raised an eyebrow, confused. "I thought the sketchpad was my present."

"Well, it was, but it's not the big one." James said, a devilish grin growing on his face.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, suddenly excited.

"Tomorrow, we- oh, right. they'll be closed on Christmas. Uh, two days from now, you and I are gonna make a little trip down to the courthouse."

"What for? Weren't you just there a few days ago?"

James chuckled. "Yeah, but this time, it's for you."

Sam wore a blank expression.

"We're gonna fill out some paperwork (Sam groaned at the horribly boring word), and, well…" James took another deep breath. "I'm going to adopt you."

"W- what?" The words had not fully registered in Sam's mind.

"Two days from today, you will legally be my adopted brother. No more hiding, no more sleeping in tree houses, no chance that you'll ever have to find another place to go."

No more being alone…

"You mean…" Sam said slowly, "we'll be real brothers? Forever?"

"Forever, Scoots. You and me, together forever."

James expected Sam to tackle him in a hug. Instead, he did the opposite.

Sam started to cry.

"Sam? What's wrong, buddy?"

Sam sniffed, tears rolling down his cheeks. "Th… thank you, James. Thank you so-" Sam sniffed again and didn't bother finishing the sentence. He collapsed into James, hugging him tightly. Tears began to well up in James' own eyes.

"You're welcome, Sam." James smiled through full-blown tears, and the two sat there for a long time, Sam resting in James' arms, face buried in his chest.

Soon, they would be real brothers. Nothing would change that. Not if James could help it.