A/N: It's kind of a weak chapter. My apologies.

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Ryan inattentively picks through the random assortment of used t-shirts while his mother speaks with Fr. Kevin across the room. He looks over to the adults periodically, waiting for Fr. Kevin's expression to change. He's looking for the flash of anger, the frown of disappointment—any indication that his mom has told the priest that Trey took a pack of his father's cigarettes. That they were found rolled into a t-shirt in Ryan's drawer. And that Ryan is telling a lie to cover for his brother. He half expects Fr. Kevin to call him over, to march him up to the church and to deposit him in a confessional. He almost wouldn't mind. He's not that far removed from First Holy Communion that he doesn't apprehensively wonder if it's a mortal sin.

Oh, he knows it's not one of the seven deadliest. At least not by name. But he also knows that it was done with full knowledge. It was done with deliberate consent. And it made God less a friend. At least by the way Fr. Kevin described it. Because it's made him feel crappy every second since he did it. It's made him feel guilty and nervous.

But, either his mom isn't going to tell Fr. Kevin, or she just hasn't told him yet, because the priest smiles and says something that makes Dawn laugh. It's just a short bark that she reigns in quickly when it comes across too loud and too harsh in the close confines of the church basement. When she scans the room to see if anyone's noticed, she catches Ryan's eye. She holds up a finger. She'll be there in a minute.

He looks back down at the table, picks up a blue shirt and unfolds it. He's disappointed to see that it has a decal of a fish that takes up most of the front. So, he folds it back the best he can and replaces it on the table. The white pocket t–shirt he picks up next has a noticeable stain in a conspicuous place. He returns that, too. He spots a red shirt, faded almost to pink. Not a color he would ordinarily choose, but there's not much of a selection this late in the evening. When he holds the shirt up for closer inspection, he sees that there's nothing particularly distinctive about it, so he puts it in the crook of his arm and looks for another. Several minutes later, he has added two long-sleeved shirts in gray and navy and a Fruit of the Loom gray hooded sweatshirt.

Ryan checks the clock on the wall and sees that it's almost 6:30. He knows that his dad will be home soon and he wishes that he were home, too. Even though he's nauseous just thinking about what will happen when he gets there. Even though he feels like he's got a couple of pterodactyls fighting for the territorial rights to his stomach. And he's felt this way ever since he got home and saw his mother holding the Marlboros. Ever since his mother demanded to know who took them. And Trey stayed quiet. And Ryan confessed.

He wishes he could have found the words to convince his mother to let him stay at home with Trey tonight. But, he could tell by her tone, by the way she was standing and tapping her fingers impatiently on the doorjamb that there were no words to make her change her mind. So he didn't even try. Even though his father will be coming home in a matter of minutes now. And when he does, Ryan's certain he'll do one of two things. He'll decide that he doesn't care that Dawn and he aren't home, because he already knows that Trey's the one who took the smokes. Or he'll wait for Dawn and Ryan to get back. And if he decides that he already knows that Trey took the smokes, he won't wait to lash out at him with his belt. And if he waits for Dawn and Ryan to return, he won't be sitting idle. He'll be drinking. And the later Dawn and Ryan get back, the drunker he'll be. The meaner he'll be. The more pissed off he'll be. So Ryan wishes he could have found the words to make Dawn let him stay at home. But he couldn't. Because she didn't want to hear them.

He starts looking through the pile of pants on the table again. He's hoping to find something before his mother comes over, so that she doesn't try to force the ugly pants on him again and so they can leave more quickly. So they can see if Trey's hurt. And if Trey's not hurt, then so his father has a chance to be a little less drunk, a little less mean and a little less pissed off when he strikes Ryan with the belt.

He finds a pair of jeans that he missed the first time around. He thinks that they just might work. A few minutes later he finds a pair of khakis. The bottoms of the khakis are frayed from use, but the pants are too long, anyway. If they fit otherwise, they can be shortened. Ryan knows his mother won't let him leave before trying on the pants, so he makes his way over to the curtain that's been set up in a corner of the room for just this purpose. He turns to see where Dawn is. Catches her eye. She's at the shoe and belt table. If she can find a pair of sneakers for him and if the pants work, they could be close to going home. He lifts the pants to show her that he's going to try them on. Dawn nods and goes back to picking through the shoes.

Ryan enters the dressing room and tries on the jeans. They're big, but fit well enough. The khakis are several inches too long, but otherwise adequate. He considers himself done. He gets redressed and folds the pants he's taking with him. He's about to slip his shoes back on when Dawn pulls back the curtain.

"Mom!"

"Oh, relax, Ryan, I can your legs from out here. I know you're not naked."

"These fit." He hands his mother the pants, then continues when she doesn't look as if she believes him. "The tan ones are long, but you can shorten them, right?"

"Yeah, sure." She takes the pants from him. "Here, try these on." At first, Ryan thinks that his mom's going to try to force those girl jeans on him again. But, he quickly sees it's much worse.

"No." He shakes his head and makes no move to take the shoes his mother is holding out to him.

"C'mon, Ryan. They're not 'gay.' They're not girly. They're a pair of boys' sneakers, they're in good shape and they're your size."

Ryan continues to shake his head. He can't take the sneakers from his mom. He won't. Because those particular Adidas sneakers used to claim Tommy Browning as their owner. And Ryan knows this instantly, since the middle stripe has been colored by a blue Bic ballpoint pen. A middle stripe that Ryan watched Tommy meticulously fill in during a detention both boys served several weeks before. When Tommy forgot to hand in his third math assignment in a week and Ryan fell asleep during Language Arts.

"I'm not doing this, again, Ryan. Not tonight. Not when you're already in trouble."

Ryan's chest and throat constrict and he finds he's having a little trouble swallowing. And a lot of little trouble breathing. He doesn't want to fight with his mother, but he can't take the shoes.

"I don't want them."

"I don't care."

"I'll find another pair."

"There is no other pair. Not in your size. Not even close."

"Then I'll keep these." He gestures to the shoes he was about to put back on.

"No. Uh uh. Those are coming apart."

When the little boy still makes no move to accept the sneakers, his mother leans close to him, her voice quivering with the frustration and anger that's been building all evening. She puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes hard. "So help me, Ryan, do not make me hit you in front of God and everyone else here."

Ryan feels his face grow hot and he waits several seconds before he raises his eyes and quickly scans the room to see if anyone heard his mother's words. Fr. Kevin has his back to them and no one else seems to be paying attention.

"Please, Mom." His voice quivers a little and he's surprised to find how close he is to tears. He clenches his jaw tightly and tries to fight them back. He can't look at his mom. He can't look at the shoes. So he focuses on the floor.

His mother is still bent over, still painfully gripping his shoulder. She reaches down and takes his old sneakers off the floor. She drops Tommy Browning's shoes at his feet and straightens.

"Well, now you have no choice."

Dawn picks up the clothing Ryan chose for himself and walks over to where she had put the rest of their stuff. On the table, next to the box of food they'll be taking with them. Rice, pasta, tuna, peanut butter, boxes of macaroni and cheese, hamburger helper. Nothing special or fancy. But appreciated and needed.

And as she walks off, Ryan's horrified to find that his eyes are wet. He blinks and swallows several times trying to contain the tears that threaten to spill down his face. A single tear escapes. He angrily brushes it away with the back of his hand and puts on Tommy Browning's shoes. His hands are shaking as he ties the laces. As he rises from his crouched position, he's still desperately trying not to cry. He looks around and sees a stack of collection baskets. Tommy Browning's shoes kick them. It's a stack of 12 and it topples over, scattering the baskets in a couple different directions.

Ryan quickly looks up to see if someone notices. Someone does.

"Were they looking at you funny?" Father Kevin is suddenly at Ryan's side.

"No, Father." The little boy mumbles.

"Did they make fun of your mother?"

Ryan's face turns a darker shade of red. "No."

"What's going on, Ryan?"

"Nothing."

"Really? You beat up my collection plates and nothing's going on?"

Ryan doesn't know how to answer, so he doesn't. He can tell that Fr. Kevin is disappointed. Fr. Kevin sighs and shrugs, resigned that the boy's not going to converse. "Okay, so you're not talking. I was coming over here for a reason, even before I saw you assault my collection plates. Soccer practice starts tomorrow. They're on Wednesdays, 4:30-6:00 at the St. Pius fields. I'll let Coach Kirvan know to expect you. Let's just hope you kick the ball as hard as you kicked my poor baskets."

Ryan nods, since he doesn't know what else to say. He's anxious to leave the church, so he quickly picks up the baskets. Restacks them. Mutters a "sorry" in the priest's general direction and joins his mother at the food distribution table. Fr. Kevin follows a few feet behind. Dawn hands Fr. Kevin her son's old sneakers. Fr. Kevin inspects them, notes their poor condition, and puts them in a box filled with trash. Any hope Ryan harbors in regaining possession is instantly dashed.

"Are you taking the bus?" Fr. Kevin asks, as he picks up the box of food with "Atwood" written in black bold ink on the side.

"Yes. There's too much for us the two of us to carry all the way home." Dawn admits.

"Let me carry this out to the bus stop for you."

"Thank you, but you've done enough for us already."

"Nonsense." Fr. Kevin lifts the box easily and Ryan and his mother gather up the rest of their newly acquired possessions.

As he leaves them at the bus stop, Fr. Kevin turns and asks Ryan if he'll be taking Communion on Sunday.

Ryan shifts uncomfortably. "No, Father." Because if he goes to church on Sunday, he can't take Communion. He can't take Communion until he confesses what he's done. Confesses about the cigarettes. When Fr. Kevin lifts an eyebrow, Dawn quickly interjects.

"I'll bring Trey and Ryan in for Confession on Saturday, Father. I'm pretty sure that between the two of them, they'll be able to come up with something that's worthy of absolution."