With a quick wish upwards, Seth slid into the study.  He wasn't sure whether to leave the door open or close it all the way, he hadn't really planned that far ahead, so he settled on leaving it cracked open.  He exhaled air between his lips and tiptoed stealthily across the carpet to his dad's filing cabinet.

            He knew Sandy never locked the drawers, because he had no reason to think his sixteen-year-old son would ever have reason to be snooping for anything.

            Really, his sixteen-year-old son wasn't quite sure what, if anything, he expected to find.  He didn't even know Bike's – Ryan's last name.  Or that Bike and Ryan were even the same person.  He just had a feeling was all.  Just like when he first pulled over to pick up the kid on the side of the road who could have been his friend.

            He pulled the first drawer open as quietly as he could.  Nothing.  At all.  It wasn't even cases, it was tax forms, and school enrollment papers, and report cards from middle school, and old passports, and outdated bills.  Disgusted, Seth slammed the door shut and then jumped a little at the noise.

            Startled, he froze in place, listening for any sign that anyone in the house had heard.  After a few moments, he relaxed and reached for the next drawer.  Before he could open it, he heard the footsteps.

            Panic time.  Seth scanned the room quickly.  Best option had to be behind the desk, so he dove for cover and found himself nestled between a pair of his mom's shoes, an empty kleenax box, and a copy of The New Yorker, which he glared at.  Looked like Rosa hadn't been back here for awhile.

            "Hello?  Rosie?"  The familiar female voice sent his spine tingling.  He was almost caught.  From beneath the desk, Seth could hear his heartbeat echoing.  Surely it was loud enough for his mom to hear –

            "What do you think you're doing?"

            "Um."  Seth's hands scrambled for the magazine.  "Mom.  Hi.  Jeez, can't a guy get a little peace and quiet around here?"

            "You are hiding.  Under your father's desk."

            "Yes.  I am.  Good call on that one, Mom."
            "But you're not supposed to be home until tomorrow, and – uh, are those my violet pumps?"
            "No, they're mine," Seth said casually, plucking them from the corner of his cave and chucking them at Kirsten, who caught them and admired them for a moment.

            "I've been looking everywhere for these – what the hell are you doing?"
            "I'm – it was quiet in here, and –"  She wasn't buying it.  He sighed.  "Looking.  For something."
            "Uh huh. In here?  What?"
            "Nothing."
            "Seth."
            He flopped onto his hands and knees and crawled out.  "Nothing that's here."
            "What could you possibly be looking for?"
            "It doesn't matter."
            "I think it does."
            "Look."  He rose to his feet and stood up.  "I think that I should be allowed a little privacy from time to time, Mom.  All right?"
            She stared at his magazine.  "You're reading a New Yorker?  From last April?"
            "I was behind."
            "What am I missing here?"
            "Nothing.  I'm going for a swim.  Seeya later, Mom."  He dumped the New Yorker in the trash can.  The least he could do was clean up a little around the place.  If nobody else was going to.

*

            Ryan opened his eyes to find the sun was starting downwards.

            It was amazing, really.  Every time he thought things could get no worse, they managed to surprise him and succeed.  Quite impressive of them.  Before too long, the sun would be down again, and he had no money and no place to go.

            His brain, against his better instincts, was still clicking away, trying to figure out how to get him out of this.  Insisting that if he would just stop and think, the end result might actually be in his favor.  Yeah, right.  That one had worked great so far.

            ...Pick up the damn phone...

            And call who?  Benny?  Benny was gone.  Maybe he'd never existed.  Maybe he'd moved.  Maybe he'd had the wrong number.

            ...Not that one.   The other one...

            Because Sandy Cohen was gonna do him a hell of a lot of good right now.

            ...Dude.  I'm on your side...

            What kind of grown man would even use a word like 'dude', anyway?  Seth's dad, that was who.  It was like two sides of the same coin – Ryan got Seth right away, all because of Sandy.  Seth wanted to help.  He tried...

            Maybe foster care wouldn't be so bad.  Food, bed, all paid for by the state, right?  But trying to pretend like strangers were his family?  He never could.

            "Yo, honky, that better not be you I see back there..."
            Now that voice was definitely not in his head.  Ryan stiffened and then quickly scrambled to his feet to start moving away.

            ...Phone booth, nine o' clock...

            He turned to face it.  He had no money.  He had nothing.  But he didn't necessarily have –

            ...Collect, asshole...

            With a resigned sigh, Ryan gave his head a half-affectionate, half-irritated thwack to quiet it before steeling himself to walk across the street towards the phone.  The numbers were still there, rolling around in his head.  He couldn't get away from them.