"Anthony, can we have a word with you, please?"
Lockwood paused halfway up the stairs of his foster parents house, his weathered right combat boot hovering above a cream carpeted step.
"Sure, Auntie J. Is everything alright?"
The small, soft woman gazed up at him, smiling faintly, her greying curls framing her kind face. "Perfectly, perfectly. Your Uncle and I just... wanted to talk to you, is all"
"Uh, sure, yeah. Let me just dump my stuff and I'll be right back"
The boy hurried up the stairs, deftly dodging the neurotic tabby, Bourbon, stretched luxuriously across the hallway, absorbed in his own world.
Pushing open the door to his room, Lockwood made a mental note to unpack his gym kit as soon as he has a chance, and then to water the plants on his windowsill, and unpack that last box in the corner, and make the bed-
"Hey, kid"
Lockwood looks up, to his Uncle leaning casually against the doorframe. "Hey, Uncle S"
His uncle - a tall, broad sort of man with grey hair and a wicked sense of humour - smiled at him. "How was school?"
He shrugged. "So - so. We had a history exam". "How'd it go?". "I didn't flunk it, if that's what you're asking". The man grins. "Auntie J said they wanted you on the Football team?". "Yep. Linebacker"
"That's my boy. I knew you'd fit right in. And, uh...", his Uncle gave a slow, atrocious wink, "any cute girls?"
Lockwood snorted. "Nope. Well. Maybe"
"Oh? Do tell, won't you?", he was grinning now, wickedly.
"No, 'cause you'll laugh at me. I know your game, Uncle S"
His Uncle's eyes glinted. "As if I'd ever! You know I only ever... encourage your pursuits". The Greaser snorted again. "And they said you were a good role model..."
"I'm just... involved. Supportive", slowly, he eased himself off the doorframe, muttering something about 'dang knee playing up again, must be a storm coming' and moved to the windowsill. "So... she cute or what?"
"She could kick my ass"
His Uncle 'hmm'ed appreciatively. "Damn. I like her already". Lockwood flopped back onto his bed, staring up at the posters of singers and astronomy charts tacked to the ceiling, grinning.
"But she's cute, too. She's tiny, and she blushes all the time, and she draws, and she's a waitress so she has this adorable little dress-"
"So ask her to Homecoming or something"
Lockwood bolted up. "No way! Why would she ever... she'd never go out with me! I offered her a ride home and she bolted! She'd never date me"
The man kinked an eyebrow. "How can you be so sure?"
"Because, like, she's way too good for me"
His Uncle's mouth curled up into a smile. "Go on, kid, I've seen you in action. You got my charm. You're never usually this... pessimistic"
Lockwood sighed, letting his head flop back against the pillow. "I... I'm fine"
"Are you? Because the last time you were this vague about anything was the time your Auntie J walked in on you and that Veronica girl-"
"Oh, my god!", Lockwood slapped his hands over his face and rolled onto his side, "You promised you wouldn't bring that up!"
"What? Oh, like your aunt even cared! You're a young man-"
"We we're making out!"
He grinned slyly. "Yeah, maybe you're right. Come on, kid, your Aunt's waiting for us", with that, he levered himself up, and slunk out of the room.
The boy on the bed blew out a long breath, counted to thirty, then pushed himself up, and trudged downstairs, aggressively repressing memories from the sunny state of North Carolina.
"Anthony!"
"Coming, Aunt J!"
He jumped the bottom step, landing silently, before hurrying into the living room.
His Aunt and Uncle were squished together on the sofa, holding hands. The woman chewed her bottom lip anxiously, her husbands eyes fixed on her, glowing with love.
If Lockwood was to be perfectly honest, he wanted a marriage like his foster parents. His Uncle had been a notorious flirt in his younger days, but he wouldn't even dream of looking at another woman - not when 'he could come home to the most beautiful lady in the world'.
"Anthony, please, sit", his Aunt gestured vaguely at the wicker chair opposite, and Lockwood dropped obediently into it.
"What's this about?", the boy grinned cheekily, "if its the 'talk'- if it's what I think it's about, Uncle S beat you to it-"
"Hey! I swore you to secrecy!", the man yelped, looking away embarrassedly.
"No, no! We know you're a sensible boy, and... well", she cleared her throat awkwardly, "that's not what we're here to talk about. You see, I heard on the radio today that there's been some crimes in Lamport - drugs, theft, gangs, that sort of thing - and your Uncle and I, we... were a little concerned"
Lockwood frowned. "I'm not involved, if that's what you were insinuating-"
Her face fell. "Oh, Anthony, sweetheart no! We know you'd never do anything like that, but we just thought because... of your... heritage, the police might suspect you over anyone else. We just wanted you to be extra careful for a little while"
Lockwood nodded slowly. It was a generally accepted fact of life that being Latino - or being any minority, really - didn't exactly put him in good stead with the law. His Aunt and Uncles concern was understandable.
He grinned. "That's fine, I can do that. Thanks for telling me. Erm, I've gotta go, Kipps said we were going to a movie or something, so-"
His Aunt got to her feet, clapping her hands together. "Oh, don't let us keep you away from your friends, sweetheart! Just make sure you're back by eleven, okay?"
"Yes, Auntie J", Lockwood stood to his full height, stooping a little to embrace the woman. "We're so proud of you, you know that, right?", she whispered. They drew apart, and his Uncle gave him an affectionate punch in the shoulder, and a growled 'go get 'em, kid'.
There was a knock at the door, and Lockwood ran a quick hand through his hair. "I'll get it. It'll probably be Kipps, anyway"
Lockwood covered the short distance from the living room to the front door in a few strides. He unlocked the deadbolt, and opened the door.
Sure enough, a slight ginger boy stood at the threshold, flanked by his clique. "Anthony. Hurry it up. The movie starts at five"
The Greaser grinned. "Hello to you too, Kipps. Okay, I'll be two minutes, wait there"
He pushed the door half - shut, and dashed back upstairs, jumping over the cat again - who was now pawing morosely at Anthony's door - before entering his room, the cat winding its way between his legs.
He flicked on the radio perched precariously on his window sill, nestled amongst trailing plants and photo frames and mementos.
'... You thrill me, I know you, you, you thrill me, darling, you, you, you, you thrill me, honest you do...'
The crackly strains of a song he'd heard before rung out across the room as Lockwood shed his jacket and began to pull his shirt up over his head.
'...at first I thought it was infatuation, but, woo, it's lasted so long, now I find myself wanting, to marry you and take you home, whoa...'
He needed deodorant, which he had put... where exactly? He glanced around the room, eyes eventually falling on his rucksack. Ahah! There!
'... You, you, you, you send me, I know you send me, I know, you send me, honest you do..."
He picked up the bag and upended it over the bed, snatching up the can. Then, a folded piece of paper fluttered out and landed on top of the pile of notebooks and textbooks. Lockwood frowned.
What on Earth-?
He grabbed it, carefully unfolding it, noting that it was dirty and waterstained.
It was a handwritten note; the handwriting was awful; hurried and scratched, scrawling across the page like a drunk spider had fallen in an ink pot.
'GO BACK TO YOUR OWN COUNTRY! KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF OUR GIRLS'
Lockwood turned the paper over, found nothing, and folded it back up. He put on some deodorant, a clean shirt, turned off the radio, pulled on his jacket, then hurried downstairs, tucking the note safely into his breast pocket.
He didn't need to worry his foster parents about it - it was just some stupid joke that wasn't funny. But he needed to tell... someone.
And he knew just who he could trust.
