Jude looked up as Callie once more paced across their bedroom floor.

"Can you stop moving?" Jude griped. "You're making me feel dizzy."

Callie halted mid-step and glared at him. "I'm stressed and moving helps me think."

"You're always stressed. Ever since we left the last home, you've been stressed."

"Did you want to stay there?" Callie demanded, like she always did. Like remembering the horrors of where they had been would make where they were now glamorous. "That place where we used to get hit and belittled!"

"Like you've been so perfect!" Jude roared, bouncing to his feet. He was sick of hearing it. "These past few years you've turned into someone I could count on into someone I should be scared of. You're not my parent. You're my sister."

"I've always been there for you. I've been more of a parent to you then anyone else. I've always done my best. This is so hard, living like this. But I love you. You're my little brother and …"

"And what?" Jude pushed. He could see tears building in her eyes, and he couldn't handle Callie crying, because she so rarely broke down. Despite their problems of the last couple of years, she really was everything he had and he knew what she did for them to be off the streets with minimal food in their stomachs.

"I want you to be the best you can be. And I feel like I've failed you in that."

"You didn't fail," Jude said slowly, his resolve to be angry cracking and falling away. "And I understand, more every day, what you do for me. But just because it's hard for you doesn't mean it's easy for me."

"It's hard all around," Callie acknowledged. She was silent for a beat, then, "It's almost time for your bus, isn't it?"

"I hate going to that stupid place. Can't I go somewhere else?"

"The Youth Centre is a good place. You remember our compromise?"

Jude didn't know if it could be called a compromise but Callie always said it was. He grabbed his deck of cards and his bus pass.

"Bye, Jude!"

"Bye," he grumbled.

He caught the bus at the last moment, cramming himself between grubby bodies. A couple of old biddies stared at his hair, but Jude ignored them, sweeping a hand through the blue strands. He'd had to fight and bargain with Callie (and do some five-finger discount shopping) to get the hair dye, so he was proud to wear it. He knew it set him apart, yet another reason that kids his age avoided and ignored him, but Jude didn't care. He didn't want to talk to any of them anyway.

He slipped through the Youth Centre doors.

"Hello, Jude!" Norma called to him.

"Hi," Jude force himself to say. Norma could be annoying, but it was good to keep an ally – just in case.

He sat in his bean bag chair. The boy was sitting at one of the long tables, reading a book with a long-ish title. Jude squinted at it, but it didn't compute. He dropped his eyes away from the preppy tutor, pulling his deck of cards out. He counted them quickly, and, finding that they were all there, starting his first game. He'd almost won when the boy left. He glanced up to where the boy had been sitting, and noticed that the boy had left his book on the table. Jude looked back down at his game. Six more moves and he would win. Jude sighed and shoved the deck into their package. He slid the cards into the pocket of his black jeans. He stood up and took the few steps to grab the book. Without overthinking it, Jude left the Centre doors, spotting the boy at the bus stop, waiting for transit. Jude rushed up to the boy, who pulled a headphone out of his ear at Jude's approach.

"You forgot this," Jude said quickly, thrusting the book out in front of him.

The boy smiled as he took it. "Thanks. It's my favourite. You ever read it?" He flipped the book so that Jude could see the cover of it.

Jude squinted at it, taking in the cover of the novel. "To … k-k-ki … ll," Jude stammered out, blushing. He shook his head. "No. Can't say I have."

He waited for the Anchor Beach boy to laugh at him and his overwhelming stupidity. The boy surprised him by not remarking on Jude's blunder. Instead, he slid the book into the depths of his bag.

"You really should. I'm Connor, by the way."

"Jude."

"Do you live around here?" Connor asked.

"Sort of," Jude managed, admitting nothing concrete. Because of Callie, he couldn't say a single thing. "You?"

"Half an hour of transit away," Connor shrugged. "Um, so here's my bus. See you later."

"Later," Jude agreed, and he watched Connor get on the bus.

He had nice eyes.

The thought flitted across Jude's brain before he could stop it, and Jude gave himself a literal slap on the wrist. That wasn't something he should be thinking about, at all. He'd learnt his lesson.

(-.-)

On Thursday, when Jude walked in, Connor couldn't help but look up from To Kill A Mockingbird. Instead of sitting in his bean bag chair, Jude sat down across from Connor, who folded his page down – despite how dog-earring books annoyed his father, he thought it gave the book character and continued with the practice. Jude had his pack of cards tucked into his palm, but made no move to take the deck out.

"Are you always here?" Connor asked him.

"Every day, against my will," Jude grumbled.

"Want to go somewhere else?" Connor offered. It was a good day, and it wasn't like his father was home waiting for him to get there.

Jude's light eyebrows shot up underneath of his blue fringe, and he played with the worn top of his card box. Finally, he said, "How do I know you're not a serial killer?"

"How do I know you're not a serial killer?" Connor retorted immediately.

Jude looked taken aback at the remark. "Are you stereotyping me?"

Connor frowned. "Then what were you doing to me?"

Jude stayed silent.

"Besides," Connor continued, "I think you could take me."

Jude evaluated Connor, who was taller than him (although not as tall as most fifteen-year-old boys) and who also had broader shoulders than he did. Jude was used to being the small one, so that really didn't surprise him; he was both short and skinny. But there was a frailty to Connor that really did make Jude believe that, if it ever came to a fight between the two of them, he would win.

"How old are you, anyway?" Jude asked.

"Fifteen," Connor answered. "You?"

"Same," Jude lied. He'd be fifteen in November, but he didn't want Connor to see him as less because he was still fourteen.

"So, if neither of us are serial killers and we both agree this place is kind of boring, let's go."

Connor wasn't entirely sure if Jude was going to come with him, but when he stood up, Jude popped up along with him, leading the way out of the Youth Centre. Norma called goodbye to Jude and he gave a flippant wave in return.

When they emerged on the street, Jude stopped.

"Where are we going?"

"I'm in the mood for hot chocolate. You in?"

Jude tapped his fingers against his deck of cards. "I don't … I don't bring any money to the Centre."

"No big deal," Connor said, brushing off the words. "You can grab it another time or something."

It felt wrong to think that he'd been expecting Jude to have no money, but it was the truth. He didn't look like a kid who had money. He seemed to alternate between two sweaters and two pairs of jeans; two thirds of his clothing black. He always had the same grey sneakers on and Connor was starting to see Jude's toes peeking through the canvas.

"Okay," Jude agreed, although they both knew that, if there was a next time, Jude wouldn't be able to pick up the bill then either.

There was one of the coffee shops that Connor loved near the Centre, so they walked over to it. Jude held the door open for Connor, who jumped immediately into line.

"Do you want hot chocolate too?"

Jude nodded. "Yeah, please."

"Cool. Why don't you grab a seat?"

Jude nodded once more and left Connor. He grabbed one of the only two-seat tables left in the coffee shop. It was over by the window, by the logo plastered on the glass. Jude was tempted to pick at the lettering to see if he could pull it off. He was about to try when Connor came to the table. He had to cups of hot chocolate and a cinnamon bun that Jude was convinced was bigger than his head.

"Did you know," Connor said as he took in Jude's expression, "that if you by two of them same drinks then you get the bun half off?"

"Neat," Jude managed, staring at the cinnamon bun. It looked better than anything he'd had in a long time.

He yanked off a piece of the bun and shoved it in his mouth. Connor was working at the other edge.

"So," Connor said after they took a moment to savour the bun, "you've never read To Kill A Mockingbird?"

It took Jude to realize what Connor was talking about. The novel he'd almost left behind last day at the Centre.

"I don't really like to read," Jude fibbed.

"I do. It's all I really do with my time."

"You don't play sports?" Jude questioned, surprised. Connor looked like the type who would be an avid athlete, even with the strange thinness. In essence, he was practically the physical opposite of Jude.

"I used to play baseball, until I was, like, thirteen. But it was more my dad's thing, I guess."

"Oh," Jude mumbled, wondering what his father's 'thing' would have been.

"Do you play anything?" Connor asked.

"Just cards," Jude joked, picking up his ancient card box and shaking it.

"Do you ever play against anybody?"

Jude shook his head as he lifted the mug of hot chocolate to his lips, inhaling the rich scent before taking a tiny sip. It was better than the scent had implied.

"Why not?"

Jude shrugged. Callie was often too busy or too tired to do much of anything when she was at their place, and Jude didn't really know anyone else. He wasn't allowed to talk to most of the people his sister associated with, for various reasons.

"Come on then," Connor invited, sliding the cinnamon bun more to the left. "Let's play a game."

"Of what?" Jude asked, but he pulled the cards from the box, shuffling them quickly.

"You pick," Connor decided.

"Umm," Jude mused, quickly trying to think of a game that they could play together. "Crazy eights."

"Sure." Connor spread his palms, waiting for his allotment of cards. "Bring it on. But I'll warn you now, I'm perfect at everything."

Jude glanced up at Connor, caught off guard by the boy's competitive display. But Connor was grinning good-naturedly, and Jude found himself imitating the happy expression. He dealt the cards with a practiced hand, and he couldn't keep his eyes off Connor as his opponent studied the hand that he had been given. He watched as Connor raked his fingers through his slightly errant hair before darting his eyes to the card that was on the table. With dramatic caution, he placed the two of spades on top of the six of spades.

"Pick up two," he instructed Jude.

Jude picked up his allotted cards, before dropping the two of diamonds down like it was a bomb. He ordered Connor, "Pick up four."

Connor picked up his cards, grumbling playfully as he spread out his new cards. He rearranged a few of them, and Jude almost laughed at how hard he appeared to be trying. He tossed down a three of diamonds, and the game began to move quicker.

When he had one card left and Connor had two, Jude felt a warmth spread through him, and it wasn't because a win was imminent for him. It was because he knew that this is what having a friend felt like; it felt like the richness of hot chocolate and tasted like the sweetness of a cinnamon bun.

(-.-)

"So." Ms. Adams clasped her brown hands together on the surface of her desk and leant forward. It was her classic 'you have my full attention' pose, and Connor had seen it many times before. "It's been almost three weeks since you started tutoring. Time to give me the details Connor."

It was when Ms. Adams was looking at him like that, wide eyed and expectant, that Connor reminded of the fact that she was a mom. It never failed to make him think of his own mother, who he had buried nearly three years ago, and who he needed more with every day that passed.

"It's hard keeping Michael's and Mary's attention," Connor admitted. "But I think I'm liking it more than I expected to."

Ms. Adams smiled at him. "I'm glad to hear that. Is it too strenuous or anything?"

Connor shook his head. "I've been feeling better lately, so it's been good."

"I'm even happier to hear that!" Ms. Adams celebrated, but Connor could sense the hollowness in her eyes; it was the same hollowness he felt in his heart. It was the knowledge that it wouldn't last. "Anything else going on? How's your father?"

"He's working all the time. Nothing new on that front. I know that he needs to because we need the money and I don't really mind. It's better than fighting with him, I guess."

Ms. Adams tapped her pen against her notepad, giving him such a concerned parent look that Connor had to dart his eyes away. It had been so long since he'd seen that particular look directed toward him that he wasn't sure what to do about it.

"It's getting better," he insisted, answering the question she hadn't asked. "Every Sunday we watch a movie. He calls it quality time and I'm just glad it doesn't involve any actual talking … That was mean. Dad cares about me and he tries so hard – I know that – but he doesn't understand me and I don't understand him. We clash." Connor shook his head. "But it gets worse on Fridays after it because he always acts much nicer than he usually does. I'm sick of his rotating personality. I just want to be treated the way he would if I were normal and this never happened to me! I hate …" he fumbled around for a word, "… everything."

Ms. Adams nodded sadly. "I don't know how you feel, Connor, but I can sympathize. And I know that this is a lot for you to handle, being so young, but you are a very mature young man. This is hard on both you and your father and I'm proud of you for being able to recognize that. I know you talked about feeling as if you had disappointed your father in some way before and I was just wondering where those feelings are at now."

"I …" Connor stumbled over the words, trying to sort through all of the thoughts in his brain. "Neither of us pictured this. I can empathize with him now in ways that I couldn't when I was younger. Do I think that I'm the son he wanted? Not necessarily. But do I think he doesn't care about me? I know he does. If some things had never happened and other things had, who knows who I might have been." Connor shook his head. "Can we talk about something else?"

"Sure," Ms. Adams murmured. "How was your weekend? See any of your friends?"

He didn't remind her that he didn't have friends. He had casual acquaintances who would reach out to him from time to time, only to rescind their offer when they were reminded of what being around him was like. "Maddie called and said that a few people were going to the movies, but I had to stay home because I was sick. Oh, I did make a friend at the tutoring Centre though."

"One of the younger kids?" Ms. Adams guessed. "Or an Anchor Beach volunteer?"

"Neither. He always shows up at the Centre right when my shift is about to end. He's my age, except he's kind of short and he's almost thinner than me, which in a twisted way, I appreciate because I don't like feeling small. And he has blue hair which is also … interesting," Connor slammed the brakes onto his ramble, feeling his cheeks turn unusually warm.

If Ms. Adams noticed his expression, she didn't comment. "That's really nice. I'm glad to see that you're making connections."

Connor shrugged. "We drink hot chocolate and play cards. It's not like we're best friends or joined at the hip or anything."

"It's a face to face interaction, so I'm proud of you. You can never be sure where a best friend is going to pop up, and it all has to start somewhere, right?"

"Right," Connor agreed, and he looked down at his hands, crossing them over his lap. "It's just easier to talk to him rather than some of the kids here because he doesn't know what they do … he hasn't seen what they've seen. It's easier to be around him because he's not a part of my day to day, you know? With him, it's easier to pretend that things didn't happen."

Ms. Adams looked at him sympathetically. "I understand completely. I think it's a good thing you have found someone you can feel more open around. I know you've been having some struggles socially lately."

"Things have been better," Connor protested feebly, although he knew Ms. Adams was right. It was a detail she'd probably recorded in her notes about him. The thought was not without bitterness.

"You haven't gotten involved in any extracurricular activities," Ms. Adams pointed out. "We talked about joining a club in the new school year, but as far as I can tell, you haven't even looked into anything, Connor. There are a lot of clubs here that cater to diverse interests. There's got to be something that catches your interest."

"I volunteer," Connor said, although he knew that his hours at the Youth Centre didn't count. They were for class credit.

"What about the school play?" Ms. Adams suggested brightly. "Auditions are soon and you seem to really enjoy your drama class."

"Ms. Adams," Connor reminded her as gently as he possibly could, his eyes sad. "The spring play doesn't debut until May."

(-.-)

Jude slid a fry between his lips, readjusting himself on one of the hard chairs outside the fast food place Callie 'worked' at. It was an actual, operating restaurant but that wasn't the only thing that the building was for. While Callie had one of the waitress uniforms that all the workers did and while she wore it while she was in the building, it was only as an insurance policy. She wasn't there to deal with the food or the customers because she didn't work for that part of the business; she worked for Nic's part of the business. Still, on days that she was scheduled to be at the building, Jude usually ended up there too – the closest that he ever really got to Nic's operations. And he only went because the waitresses, on Callie's order, would feed him. It wasn't really good food – often he was given options that were close to being thrown out – but Jude didn't mind because, for once, it was warm food.

He slid another fry between his lips, ignoring how the salt stung the places that were chapped. Callie stepped out of the doors, back in her jeans and sweater rather than the work uniform, which she called 'slightly humiliating'. Jude didn't see how it was any worse than anywhere else. Her hair was wet and plastered to her cheeks from where she'd showered in the staff bathroom. She dropped the big paper bag that contained uniform on the table before she collapsed into the chair next to Jude. She rested her head against the slightly sticky table.

Wordlessly, Jude placed his hand on her shoulder. He knew she was exhausted. Sometimes he wondered how his sister was still alive, considering how little she slept and how little she ate. It must have been through sheer force of will, he had decided once, since Callie had copious amounts of that. He almost asked her if she was all right, before reminding himself that it would be pointless to. Their lives had never been okay, and if he asked, she would just mention the past again. It was just something she did.

"If I sleep for two minutes, can we still catch the bus?" Callie murmured against the plastic table top.

"Sure," Jude said quickly, although he had no idea what time it was or when the bus came.

Instead of remaining against the table, Callie pushed herself up so that she was sitting in the chair. A look of concentration ghosted over her features, and then she heaved herself up so that she was standing. She grabbed the top of her bag, and took off for the bus stop, Jude scrambling about in her wake. When they paused at the bus stop, Jude snuck a glance at Callie. He'd heard fighting last night and thought that it might have been Callie arguing with one of the more unsavory figures that she often found herself around.

Callie was just under eighteen years old, and (though Jude hated to admit it, even to himself) she was starting to look as rough as the streets they had been hiding on for the past four years. Her brown hair was short and chopped – a haircut that had been born from a pocket knife. Her brown eyes were closed off and haunted. He couldn't remember the last time Callie had genuinely smiled, instead of the fake one that he regularly saw plastered on her cheeks. Much to his chagrin, Jude could see battle scars on her skinny body; something that had become a far too common sight. He bore his own war wounds, most from years ago rather than the fresh ones that Callie sported. He understood why they had to do what they did, why they had to live the way they lived, but he didn't like the toll that it was taking on Callie.

The way Jude saw it, the only upsides to this life was his blue hair and the fact that he and Callie were together. As he and Callie climbed onto the bus, Connor popped into his mind. If he wasn't living this way, would he have ever met the only person he could claim as a friend? Probably not. So maybe there were three upsides.

"So," Callie sighed as they grabbed onto the rail to keep themselves upright on the quivering vehicle. "What have you been up to lately? You haven't really been talking to me."

"Not a whole lot," Jude said. Nothing in his life ever changed. "Centre, sleep, bum around, Centre."

"You sure?" Callie pressed, and he nodded. "How's the Centre these days then? Anything new?"

"Um, I made a friend with one of the Anchor Beach tutors," he confessed, and then he immediately regretted it. A huge part of the reason he was a loner was because other people genuinely didn't like him, but the reason they didn't like him is because he went out of his way to come off as hostile. He couldn't let people in and Callie was one of those people. He trusted her with his life, but she had so much on her plate already that Jude let her believe that everything was fine when it came to him and he did that by volunteering no information about what he did with his days.

"Oh?" His sister turned her head, eyes flashing with curiousity. "A tutor of yours?"

"No," Jude said, ignoring the fact that he wasn't getting tutored. "One of the younger ones. More my age."

Callie studied him. "What's their name?"

"Oh, um, Connor," Jude managed to say, his nervousness turning Connor's name into a breathless caress.

"What's that face?" Callie asked him. Then her eyes widened, and a storm blew across her pretty features. "Of course. Of course."

"Callie!" Jude groaned, knowing what she was going to turn this into. His ribs ached as he remembered why she acted this way.

The bus lurched to a halt. Jude and Callie were a stop away from where they got off, but she stood up and left the bus anyway. Jude clambered out the bus doors, barely making it out. Callie was stamping down the sidewalk and Jude had to jog to catch up to her. He may be short, but he could still move faster than his sister.

"Callie, c'mon," Jude called. "What's that face?'

"I can't believe you!" Callie erupted, confirming Jude's suspicions about her thoughts. "Why would you? After all you went through in the last house, after what Nic did to you and after all I've heard them say now? Jude …" She paused for a moment to look at him sadly, but then the anger and disappointment stole back over her face, and off she went down the street again.

"I'm not allowed to have a friend?" Jude demanded quietly, keeping pace behind her.

"You can't hide anything from me!" Callie proclaimed boldly.

He kept walking, focusing on the horizon rather than the back of his sister's head. He knew that what she said was true; while he would never come out and say everything, Callie could usually figure it out, as there was little room for secrets in the way they lived now. They lived together in an attic of a cramped house, and for the past four years, Callie had been the only person he had real conversations with. And he knew what she was talking about – the actions of the last foster father; the brutal beating he had received two years ago; the suggestions and rumours that Callie's gang whispered to one another about him. He'd never confirmed or denied anything to anyone, let alone Callie, but he didn't have to. When it came to this, she knew the truth about him as much as he did and, to her, it was all the more reason to hide him away and protect him.

"Callie, friend," Jude said, moving so that they were walking side by side. "Friend."

She gave him a side look. "Better be."

And for now, the issue was dropped.

(-.-)

"Are you okay?" Jude asked Connor. His friend looked incredibly pale and drained today.

"Fine." Connor scooped up his hot chocolate mug, blowing on the liquid before he took a sip. "I'm just super tired. There's too much homework to be done. You know how school is."

Jude scraped some of the cinnamon bun's icing off the plate and nibbled it from his finger before he replied. "Not really. I don't go."

Connor paused. "Really? Why not?"

"No one makes me, so I just don't. From the sounds of it, it's the right decision."

Connor snorted. "I can't even argue. It sucks."

"Are any of the classes good?"

"Drama can be fun. We're making potato clocks in science – which we also did in seventh grade but, whatever. And, in English, we're reading Mockingbird, which is my favourite."

Jude shifted uncomfortably at the mention of the novel. He knew it was in Connor's bag. He'd seen it when the other boy had grabbed his wallet. He didn't want to talk about it, but as long as Connor was working on it for class, Jude knew it would be a part of his world too.

"I still can't believe you haven't read it," Connor added.

"My loss, I guess," Jude mumbled, hoping the issue would be dropped but he wasn't quite that lucky.

Connor dug into his bag and pulled out the book. He sat it on the table and slid it toward Jude. "Here. I don't mind if you borrow it … I actually have a lot of copies."

Connor blushed at the admission, and Jude took a moment to appreciate how he looked with colour in his cheeks. Connor was strangely pale.

"Um," Jude managed as Connor continued to inch the book closer until it was nudging Jude's arm. Jude gently laid his fingers on the glossy cover and swallowed. He stared at the title, wondering if he trusted Connor enough to tell him the truth. He met Connor's eyes and he realized, yes, he did. "Um, I can't."

"I don't mind," Connor insisted, misunderstanding. "I really do think you'll love it."

"I mean, I can't … read," Jude clarified, feeling sick as he revealed the truth. Not even Callie knew how bad it was, and he instantly felt like he had to redeem himself. He didn't want Connor to think he was stupid. "I mean, I know the alphabet and I can recognize words that I see a lot but when I try to read something new it just takes me forever and I can't make myself understand half the words I see."

Jude made himself stop talking, aware that instead of making himself sound less stupid, he was making himself sound like a total dunce.

"Oh."

Jude kept his gaze on the table and waited for Connor to mock him. Jude was nearly fifteen and he couldn't read. It really wasn't his fault. Between the abusive foster parents and the rotating foster homes, he'd never had the chance to learn or refine the skill the way others had. And then, after everything, when he stopped being able to go to school and learn, he had lost it. But he'd never told anyone how low his reading level was; he'd never had anyone he could confide in about it. Callie had been the only person in the world he had trusted, but she had just assumed that everything was fine. With the way their life was, Jude hadn't the heart to correct her about it. But Callie wasn't the only person in the world that he trusted anymore, and Jude raised his eyes to Connor's. He was surprised and elated to see that there was no judgement in Connor's eyes. He really was nothing like Jude had originally pegged him as being, all those weeks ago when he had first showed up at the Centre.

"If you wanted to learn, I could teach you," Connor offered. "No pressure."

"You'd want to teach me?"

"I am a tutor by trade." Connor's easy smile slid across his face. "Besides, I already like you better than the other people I tutor."

Jude grinned, but it faded as he picked up Connor's novel. He flipped through the pages, the black ink blurring by. It was daunting, although he didn't want to admit that.

"We can start with something else," Connor assured him, reading Jude like a book. "Something easier."

"We could start with this one," Jude insisted, voice firm. "Words are words, right? I just need practice."

"We can do whatever you want."

Jude nodded. "Okay, let's do it … On Thursday."

"Whatever you want," Connor repeated. "Keep the book, okay?"

Jude smiled at him, tightening his grip on the short, thick novel. He felt ready for the challenge of reading; ready to have Connor lead him through it. It was time.

*Thursday*

Jude hadn't seen Callie in almost two days. It wasn't unusual. Once she'd left for almost a month without telling him. It wasn't as if she had a choice in the matter and she'd come back so bruised and angry that Jude didn't so much as comment on her impromptu trip. But that month had been hard on him. They had just moved into the attic; Nic had just entered their lives. At that point, Jude didn't have any of the street skills that he did now. It was during that month that he'd taught himself to steal. It wasn't like he had a choice: Callie wasn't around, no one else looked out for him, he had no money, and he really didn't want to starve to death.

Now, Jude impulsively checked the mini-fridge and the small cupboards, seeing what kinds of food were left. Not a lot. Nothing in the fridge but an overly bruised apple; a few cans of soup and a few cans of peas in the cupboard. He'd eat half of one of the cans cold for supper tonight. For whatever reason, the stove wasn't working again. Jude backed away from the food, knowing that it was time to leave for the Centre. Normally on days Callie wasn't home, Jude skipped the Centre. She'd walk in the front door and pin him with a glare, knowing that he was supposed to be somewhere else. It was then that Jude would turn on the innocent little brother eyes – the ones Callie always fell for – and pout, saying, "But I was worried about you, Cal".

And then she'd forgive him. It was basically routine at this point.

Today, though, Jude grabbed his cards, his bus pass, and Connor's book. He'd much rather go and see Connor than sit around for Callie to come home with no guarantee that she actually would, but with the guarantee that if she did, she'd be pissed that he was home. Jude locked the door behind him and scrambled down to the bus stop. He ended up being a few minutes early and he waited next to a woman, who was glued to her cell phone, and her young daughter.

"I can read," the little girl bragged to Jude. "Is that a good book? That's bigger than the books I read."

"I haven't started reading it yet," Jude admitted to her.

The little girl bent forward so that her head was parallel to the book dangling from Jude's hand. "To Kill A Mock-ing-bird," she read, trilling out the syllables separately, although she read it effortlessly. "It sounds scary."

The mother pulled her head out of her cellphone at the word 'kill'. "Teri!" she snapped, gesturing her daughter back to her side. "Leave the boy alone!"

The bus pulled up then and Jude made sure to keep away from the little girl as the three of them climbed aboard. The mother was staring at him suspiciously and it made Jude's skin crawl. He wasn't supposed to draw attention to himself. Thankfully, it only took a few minutes to get to the Centre's stop. When Jude jumped off the bus, Connor was already standing outside the Centre waiting for him. When he caught sight of Jude, he smiled, and Jude pretended he didn't feel his heart skip a beat at the expression.

"Hi, Connor."

"Hey, Jude." Connor looked at the book in Jude's hand, guessing, "You haven't even opened it yet, have you?"

"Um …" Jude said. He'd tried to read the back of the book, but it was hard and frustrating. He didn't think reading had gotten any easier since he'd tried Tuesday night, but being with Connor would make reading better.

Connor shook his head at his friend and they started walking toward the coffee shop. "You know it's not like the monster book from Harry Potter, right? It's not going to bite."

"Monster book?" Jude repeated. He'd only seen part of the first Harry Potter movie years ago, in a foster home that he'd been in when he was young. Jude barely remembered the movie, let alone a biting book.

"Really? I know you haven't read them but you had to at least have seen them."

Jude shook his head and held the coffee shop door open for Connor.

"Then you're going to have to come over someday so I can make you watch them. All of them."

"Really?" Jude gasped. He couldn't remember the last time he had a friend, let alone one who invited him over.

"It'll take a while to get through all of them so I'll let you build up a resistance to me first, but yes, I'm going to make you watch all of them with me."

Jude didn't bother to say that there was no need for any kind of resistance.

As per usual, when Connor took his place in line, Jude scampered off to find them a place to sit. Usually he tried to take one of the tables by the windows. Today, he went to the back of the store, sitting on one of the small couches. The couch was set away from the other patrons, which is what Jude wanted. If he was going to be reading aloud (or attempting to be reading aloud, as the case may be), he wanted to lessen the amount of people who could hear him. It was going to be embarrassing enough having Connor listening to his feeble attempts.

When Connor came over with their usual afternoon snack, he didn't say anything about the change of location. He set their drinks and their cinnamon bun on the low coffee table in front of the couch and then he took his seat on the couch. He sat so close that his shoulder was rubbing against Jude's and that their knees were touching.

"Are you sure you don't want to start with something easier?" Connor asked, one last time. "The library isn't that far away."

"No," Jude insisted. "This one."

"All right. Whenever you're ready."

Jude took a drink of his hot chocolate, sucked in a deep breath, and then he cracked open the book. He flipped passed the pages of reviews and the dedication until he reached an italicized quote on the left page and a large print on the right page. Nervously, he looked away from the italicized quote to Connor's face. His friend looked nothing but encouraging.

Jude focused on the quote. "L .. law – yers." Jude blushed as he realized how badly he butchered the pronunciation of the word, and then he said it properly. "Lawyers, I su …"

He looked at Connor helplessly.

"Suppose," Connor supplied.

Jude felt a small flicker of frustration. These words were all in his vocabulary. He could say them; he could explain what they meant. So why was it so hard to recognize them on the page?

"Suppose," Jude repeated, tamping down on the frustration. He knew reading was going to be hard, but he was determined to do it. "We're –"

"Were," Connor corrected. "Only if there's an apostrophe is it pronounced we're or if it's spelled w-e-i-r."

"Were child … children on …" Jude paused. 'On' was in the word, but it didn't feel right to say it that way. "On-ce … Once!"

Of course, it was once.

"Part one," Connor murmured, pointing at the large words.

"Part one," Jude echoed.

He could do this.

So, on tumblr I'm: we are all of legend now (with dashes between every word). If you want to find my replies to anon reviews, add backslash tagged backslash anon dash replies. If you want to see anything I post about The Island Of Misfit Toys, go to my tumblr URL and add backslash tagged backslash the dash island dash of dash misfit dash toys. Punctuation is spelled out due to Fanfiction's restrictions. If you're having any trouble accessing the tumblr content please send me a pm and I can format it for you in a different way.

~TLL~