To Where You Are Chapter 4: The Young and the Hopeless, a degrassi fanfic

IV. The Young and the Hopeless

Hard days made me, hard nights shaped me
I don't know they somehow saved me
And I know I'm making something out of this life they called nothing
I take what I want
Take what I need
They say it's wrong but it's right for me
I won't look down
Won't say I'm sorry
I know that only God can judge me

And if I make it thru today will tomorrow be the same
Am I just running in place?
If I stumble and I fall
Should I get up and carry on or will it all just be the same

'Cause, I'm young and hopeless
I'm lost and I know this
I'm going nowhere fast that's what they say
I'm troublesome, I've fallen
I'm angry at my father
It's me against this world and I don't care, I don't care

No one in this industry understands the life I lead
When I sing about my past it's not a gimmick not an act
These critics and these trust fund kids
Try to tell me what punk is but when I see them on the streets
They got nothing to say

And if I make it thru today will tomorrow be the same
Am I just running in place?
If I stumble and I fall
Should I get up and carry on or will it all just be the same

"Check out this guy," encourages Paul, nodding at a piece of paper attached to the brown bulletin board.

Zack closes his notepad, stands next to Paul. He was still getting used to actually being in a real police station, something he knows his father would hate. Truthfully, it looks less intimidating than the ones on TV. There were no angry murderers warning officers that their buddies would come looking for them, no drug addicts who were clearly buzzed, no snarling police dogs. Spinner told them the cells were in the back, but Zack thought he would see some prisoners being transported at the very least. Instead, he saw different desks throughout the room, a phone and paperwork on each. Paul, bored, kept wondering around, hoping to find something exciting. Apparently, he had. There were white warrant ads stapled on the board. Paul points to a smirking, blonde man in a polo sweater and black pants, the hint of a beard on his face.

"Wanted for three counts of piracy, and one count of lewd conduct," reads Paul. "Peter Stone. What's piracy?"

"Copyright infringement," supplies Spinner, shining his badge and sitting at his desk.

"Huh?" says Paul.

"It means you copy stuff you shouldn't copy," explains Zack. "You know, that little warning that comes up before the movie?"

"We still haven't found him," confesses Spinner. "Daddy probably paid for him to flee."

"Well, were they bad movies?" asks Paul, walking with Zack to Spinner's table.

"Your point?" says Spinner, beginning to type some numbers on his phone.

"If it's the Spider-man trilogy, I see no harm in sharing film achievement," replies Paul. "But if it's something corny like Legally Blonde..."

"Man, get over there and wait for Danny!" interrupts Spinner, red-faced.

"It was a joke," mutters Paul. "Reese Witherspoon used to be hot."

They both head to the other side of the room, take a seat in two empty chairs. His best friend was clearly uninterested, but Zack certainly was interested. No, today, he'd be meeting the first relative connected to his adoptive parents. Danny Van Zandt. Or Daniel? Which should he call him? An even odder question: was he black or white? He had always wondered, because he was definitely lighter than the other black kids in his school, but definitely darker than Paul and Veronica. His parents were black, and strangers would always ask why Zack was lighter, but the family themselves never made a big deal about it. That's how Zack felt too, that it wouldn't make a difference in the end, though every now and then, he'd ponder it.

Plus, if this guy is his mother's brother, he'd be able to see some of her features in him, right, some of Liberty's face? Liberty. Such a strange name, but he kind of liked it. You didn't run into many Libertys. There were lots of Zacks in the States.

"Van Zandt," says Paul to himself. "That sound German to you? He's probably going to be this pale blonde guy. Like that Peter dude."

"I'm not sure. Names can be deceiving," says Zack.

Paul laughs quietly. "You could've been Zack Van Zandt. Totally at the back of the alphabet."

"Shut up," says Zack. "And it doesn't sound so bad."

No, it sounded pretty okay, really, thinks Zack, smiling slightly.

"He'll be here in a minute!" yells over Spinner, putting down his phone.

Zack blows out a deep breath. The article on the comic book industry was complete, him finishing it last night. The rest of the trip, he'd spend filling out the family tree, meeting people he could've met a long time ago, meeting people he could've grown up with instead of his parents and friends in Seattle. He can feel something heavy rooted in his chest, and his palms start to sweat. Ugh, why was he doing this again?

"I shot the sheriff, but I did not shoot the deputy," sings a skinny guy with a mildly controlled, dark-haired afro. "I said I shot the sheriff, but I did not shoot the deputy. Oh no no."

The guy is in a white, button down shirt, dusty jeans, and sneakers, not dressed like an officer at all. Zack sighs, guessing he has to wait longer for Danny to show.

Spinner taps his head with a pencil. "Don't sing that, man, especially in a station."

"Chill out, Sergeant Gavin," replies the guy. "My mentees like a sense of humor. Better bad jokes than juvy, right? So where are the two young men whose destinies I can help shape?"

Spinner raises an eyebrow.

"Dad's lingo, not man," explains the guy.

"Over there," replies Spinner. "And they're not mentees. Said that to get you here on time...for once. They'll do a better job of explaining why they're here. But be careful because they love to talk smack...or uh, talk back too."

The man runs a hand through his afro, walks to Zack and Paul. Zack tries to place his age, maybe twenty-four, twenty-five, barely out of college. He has wide eyes, a mischevious smile, but tall, remarkably tall. He looks like a basketball player, albeit one that never practices.

"You two here for the Big Brother program?" he asks, patting Zack's shoulder.

"No," answers Zack, looking down at the hand.

"Ah, I see," says the guy. "You told Officer Mason that you weren't here for mentorship. That's fine, dudes. Hey, you don't have to be ashamed. We all make mistakes. Seize the day. Climb the mountain, one step at a time. Any life can be saved."

"Did you swallow an out-of-print, self help book?" questions Paul, then pretends to gag.

"Hey, I'm using my best material on you," defends the guy. "Stop your delinquent ways. Get you on the right track. What can I do for you?"

"Stop touching me for one," replies Zack, taking his hand off him. "And we're here to meet Danny Van Zandt."

The man chuckles. "Well, that's obvious based on your attitudes."

"I'm so confused," mumbles Paul.

"I know," says Danny. "Most mentees are. So what'd you do? Shoplift some glocks? Buy pot on your bicycles? I've heard it all."

"Look, we just want to meet Danny Van Zandt," says Zack, rolling his eyes. "If I wanted a speech, I'd go home and get it from my dad, who doesn't use overripe cliches."

Danny strokes his forehead. "This is going to be difficult."

Zack groans, opens up his backpack, pulls out the skateboard decals and the sweatshirt.

"We wanted to ask about these, okay?" says Zack.

Danny retrieves the decals from Zack, eyes nearly come out of his head. Zack wonders if this button-down shirt guy ever rode a skateboard. Under the weak light in the station, Danny fingers one of the Tony Hawk collector's decals, a decal of a blue-shirted Tony sailing on a green board.

"The treasure chest," whispers Danny, then covering his mouth.

"Yeah, my parents' chest," speaks up Zack, glancing at Paul. "Can you get Mr. Van Zandt please?"

"Um...I'm...I'm Danny," stammers Danny, standing and peering hard at Zack.

Zack grips his notepad hard. This was his uncle? He's definitely not pale or blonde as Paul thought, having dark brown eyes, deep tan skin, and wild, brown, thick hair. It startles him to see how young he actually is, though he knew his parents were teenagers when he was born. That was one little nugget the Crewes provided, that and the "heart-warming" facts that his dad died, and his mom was going off to college, leaving no contact information with them.

Danny and Zack continue to stare hard at one another, Zack's muscles tensing. What should he say, or maybe it'd be better to let Danny talk first? Paul provides another option, breaking in.

"You are black, Zack," says Paul, glancing between them.

"Of course he's black!" insists Danny, throwing Paul an annoyed look. "Well, uh, half of you is."

"And the other half?" prompts Zack.

"J.T. was white," informs Danny.

Oh, thinks Zack. That sort of explained a lot, but it is a little much to sink in, finding out your ethnicity in two minutes when you haven't known for twelve years. Wow, but there's not much time to mull that over. He has a lot more to ask.

"Liberty's kid...Liberty's kid," whispers Danny, pacing in front of them, then exclaiming. "This is...this is insane!"

"So you're my...my mom's...brother?" stammers Zack, hoping to draw his attention back to him..

"Her younger brother," says Danny, stopping, nodding. "I never...um...got to..."

Danny doesn't finish, bends down in front of Zack, hugs him gently. Zack raises his eyebrows. Strangest hug ever. Danny pulls away awkwardly, giving Zack a weak smile.

"I never got to see you," says Danny, filling in the blanks. "Only J.T., Liberty, and Toby were in the hospital room. Man, you have Liberty's nose, her hair too."

Zack's a little thankful that he didn't get Danny's unmanageable afro, but doesn't say that, because Danny seems like a pretty nice guy. Although, knowing that he has something of his mother's, especially his nose which he always liked, makes him thankful too.

"This is weird," says Zack, smiling. "I have an uncle."

"All my uncles are old," mumbles Paul, frowning.

"Are you healthy? Your parents treating you right?" questions Danny. "You're not a runaway are you?"

"Oh, no," says Zack, quickly. "I'm taken care of and everything. Here on business."

"Personal business," adds Paul.

"I...I came to figure out who I am," says Zack. "Sorry about being rude, but I am...kinda anxious."

"I would be too," soothes Danny. "So you want to know about this chest?"

Zack nods silently.

"My friend Derek's adopted too, so he told Liberty about this chest his mom made for him," explains Danny, sitting down on a desk. "Me, Liberty, J.T., and Derek all put in stuff. The decals...those are mine."

"You're a skater?" asks Paul, his jaw dropping.

"Yeah!" exclaims Danny. "I mean, I was, back in the day."

"Mkay, you don't look like one," says Paul.

"Things change, kid," says Danny, staring at the decals. "Things change."

II.

Things certainly have changed. He can recall jumping out of his bed, his quiet household sleeping soundly on Saturdays as he pulled on loose-fitting tees, baggy jeans or cargoes, and sometimes his blue windbreaker if it was cold. He'd then race down stairs, prop one of the sprinkled doughnuts he hid in the lower kitchen cabinet in his mouth, grab his decorated skateboard, and leave a note on the fridge, saying where he'd be. If he didn't leave that note, he was dead, or worse, he'd receive a lecture from Mr. Van Zandt who'd make it a two hour event.

He swung by J.T.'s on a regular basis, and like himself, the only thing that would get J.T. up that early on Saturday was the call of the pavement, and the skate park had loads of it. Fresh pavement where they could sidewalk surf, be careless, only the sound of zooming wheels in their ears.

One Saturday, the zooming was extra intense, like the buzzing of a swarm of bees, and Danny had always wondered why that day was different. Glancing at Zack again, he wonders if maybe, maybe it was some type of warning, a warning regarding the most crucial enemy of a beginning boy friendship– a girl.

"So Mannylicious dumped you?" laughs Danny, kicking up his skateboard as he and J.T. head to the spine ramp near the rental place.

J.T. fastens the strap to his red helmet, hikes up his Tripp pants. Danny loves seeing J.T. sweat, most definitely when it was about a girl. But admittedly, he has to admire J.T. for even dating Manny, despite its short-lived, pretty much kissless existence.

"It was your pump that did it," replies J.T., bumping Danny to the side.

Danny chuckles, taking a seat at the edge of the white, wide ramp. Several boys are on the other side, one of them chowing down on a large pretzel, his spiked black hair shining under the morning sun. Wheels clatter loudly as another boy skates down the edge of the ramp, towards Danny, doing an ollie at the top of the ramp, then heading back down. Once he reaches the top, he hoots proudly, rips off his bandana, and sticks out his tongue at J.T. and Danny.

"Is that a challenge?" yells over Danny in his best British accent.

"Bring it, bro," calls over the boy.

Retrieving a red bandana with a skull symbol in the back, Danny ties it around his arm, grabs his board.

"Danny!" whispers J.T., urgently.

"This fool's about to get served," reassures Danny, hopping up on his board.

He glides down the ramp, air rushing past his cheeks, wind flowing past his body. As he ascends to the top of the ramp, he can feel heat in his stomach, likes it, the heat of youthful energy. His father would never understand this thrill, or else he wouldn't have threatened to take his skateboard away after he brought home that disappointing report card. But hey, at least he got two A's in Simpson and Kwan's classes. Pushing up his body, he grinds down the rail, the boys scooting back, then does a magic flip, the skateboard hovering as it flips, him landing on it. He skates back to J.T., high-fives him.

The boy on the other side nods his approval, gives him the thumbs up. Danny smiles, waves.

"Hungry?" asks J.T.

"Yeah," answers Danny.

They walk to the snack shop, J.T. loosening his helmet.

"You're not murdering the pavement today, Yorke?" asks Danny, digging some coins out of his pocket. "Don't tell me the break-up got you that depressed."

"Nah," says J.T. "It's...I don't know."

"Spill to your man, man," encourages Danny. "It can't be worse than Manny finding you with your thing in the Anaconda."

Both boys nervously glance at the woman attendant in the snack shop, curiously eyeing J.T.

"Quiet," threatens J.T., then softening. "It's strange. You ever get tired of going for girls who are...hot and that's it?"

"No," replies Danny.

The woman behind the cash register smirks at his response, shakes her head.

"I mean, Manny's my friend, right? But there was something missing while we dated. And I don't think I've ever cared about anything else before, you know?"

"J.T., we're young guys. We think with our hormones. You only think about that missing part when you want to get married. And even then, you should want a hot wife. If we weren't supposed to be following our hormones, then we wouldn't have been born with 'em."

J.T. hands the cashier a couple dollars, takes a hot dog from her. Danny plunks down five quarters, asks for onion rings.

"I don't want to turn emo," groans J.T.

"Good," says Danny, chowing down on his rings. "Then I'd have to ditch you and hang out with Toby, friend of psycho Rick."

He's not sure why J.T., someone who could be cool, would hang out with a guy with a friend that brought a gun to school, let alone go to Rick's visitation with him. Maybe Manny convinced him with that little speech she gave.

"Leave Toby alone," says J.T., retrieving a ketchup packet. "You barely know him."

"Fine," sighs Danny. "Let's go."

A guy with a blue mohawk struts by, boombox in hand, pumping his fist in the air. Danny recognizes the tune streaming out of the speakers, one of his favorites.

"Cause I'm young and I'm hopeless," sings Danny. "I'm lost and I know this. I'm going nowhere fast that's what they saaaaaaaaay. I'm troublesome, I'm fallen...I'm angry at my father. It's me against the world and I don't caaaaare."

J.T. rolls his eyes.

"The anthem of the jaded, ambivalent generation?" asks a friendly, familiar voice to their left.

They turn to see Liberty, looking totally out of place in a light blue blouse and khakis, hair in a high ponytail, purple bag on her shoulders, blue ballet-style shoes on her feet.

"Come on!" whines Danny. "I left a note."

"And your house key," explains Liberty, handing it to him. "Mom and Dad are visiting Grandma's, and I'll be going to a leadership seminar shortly."

"Oh," says Danny, nonchalantly. "Thanks."

"Hey, J.T.," greets Liberty.

"Hey," says J.T. "And yeah, it's the anthem of guys who basically disappoint everyone. Should be my theme song."

"And mine," says Danny, shrugging.

"Aww, J.T., that's not true," comforts Liberty. "I mean, you got tapped to direct Dracula. That's pretty big."

"Yeah...well," says J.T., shrugging, turning red. "You adapted the play, which is bigger."

J.T. blushing? What was up with that? Danny pokes J.T. with his board.

"Okay, okay. We're all talented, all right?" says Danny. "Anyway, shouldn't you be leaving, Liberty? This isn't your scene."

"It has a certain charm," replies Liberty, glancing at J.T.

"Like broken beer bottles near the trashcan? Cigarettes butts in the corners of the street course? Truly...very, very charming," says Danny, sarcastically.

Gag, moans Danny inwardly. Why couldn't his sister like Toby? Watching her drool over J.T. is disgusting, even more disgusting when she's taking up time when they could be skating.

"Seminar!" reminds Danny, pointing to the exit.

"I walked here," informs Liberty. "And I'm walking there, but it doesn't start for another forty-five minutes."

"You can't go on an empty stomach," speaks up J.T., taking out his wallet. "You up for a hot dog?"

"And some fries to go with it, yo!" laughs Danny.

J.T. throws Danny a pointed look, Danny closing his mouth. First, he couldn't talk about Toby, and now can't make any jibes about J.T.'s lame fry commercial? What a downer.

"I haven't eaten," says Liberty. "Okay...thanks."

"One hot dog, please," says J.T. to the cashier.

J.T. and Liberty stay at the counter, talking, staring at each other as the cashier fetches a hot dog. What in the world is going on? Danny tugs at his afro, then kneels to the ground, shaking his head. J.T. didn't even like Liberty, or was he pretending not to? Hmmm, what was that expression his mother used when he tugged on that pretty girl's pigtails in preschool? You tease the ones you love?

"I don't have anything prepared really," says Liberty, squirting some relish on her hot dog.

"Whatever, you always have a speech," teases J.T., smiling at her.

"No...um, okay, I wrote five rough drafts, just in case," says Liberty. "But they're rough."

"Rough for you, Liberty, is like not crossing the last 't'," says J.T. "I'm sure it's good...all five of them."

"I'm such a brain," sighs Liberty, then biting into her hot dog.

"Yeah, you are!" exclaims Danny, shooting up. "We were having fun 'til you showed."

Liberty frowns, wipes her face with a napkin.

"Danny, chill," says J.T., forcefully. "Talking to your sister like that? Not cool."

Danny sees Liberty's hurt expression, rubs his neck. He knows he shouldn't snap at her, no matter how much of J.T.'s time she was taking up.

"Sorry," says Danny.

"It's okay," says Liberty. "Time to bid you gentlemen adieu."

"Adios," replies Danny, finally relieved.

"Um, I'll walk you," offers J.T., taking off his helmet.

"What!" cries Danny.

"Ugh, helmet hair," moans J.T., ruffling his hair. "That okay with you, Liberty?"

"Sure," says Liberty, grinning.

"It's a bunch of boring lectures, man," says Danny. "You'll fall asleep. My parents made me go once."

"Can't be worse than Armstrong's class," shrugs J.T., throwing his hot dog wrapper in the trash. "Have fun, Danny."

J.T. takes Liberty's bag from her shoulders, straps it on, skateboard in his hands. Liberty shyly looks down as they head towards the exit.

"What happened?" asks Danny, staring after them.

"Hormones," says the woman behind the counter, then laughing.

Danny really thought that would be the worst of it. No, it got worse, much worse. J.T. started coming over, more and more, acting like he was borrowing something from Danny, but Danny figured out he was only saying that to start up conversations with Liberty. It got so obvious towards the end. How could it not be when J.T. begin asking Danny for his French notes? J.T. didn't take French that year. J.T. said it was for Toby, but Danny later found out Toby already passed the course. Used for his notes. He never thought the day would come. Then there were hot tub making out sessions, lovey dovey talk near the lockers, hugging backstage during Dracula rehearsals, all right in clear view of him. He didn't feel bad at all, when he and J.T. got into a fight over him outing them to Mr. Van Zandt...that is, until he saw Liberty cry. Why? Why was he so sensitive to that? Must be that brotherly instinct.

J.T. approached him the next day, the day after he covered for him and Liberty when his dad could've caught them again.

"Hey," says J.T., poking Danny with his composition book.

"Hey," says Danny.

Danny closes his locker, walking to Simpson's class, J.T. trailing him.

J.T. sighs. "I know...know we don't hang out as much anymore. But we're still friends, right?"

"No emoness, remember?" says Danny, avoiding eye contact.

"Nah, nothing like that," says J.T. "Only...I'm really happy with your sister. And I'm sorry if you feel like left out or whatever. Didn't plan it."

Liberty did seem happier, happier than he believes he's seen her...ever. That had to count for something, though seeing less of your good friends was a pretty ugly price to pay. He'd have to deal.

"You guys are a really weird couple," says Danny, half-smiling at J.T. "But...you seem kinda okay."

J.T. smirks. "At least I'm dating."

"Give me time," argues Danny. "That new chick...Darcy? So waiting for me to ask her out. It's just you've been hanging around too much, cramping my style, but you're gone now so it's all gravy."

"Totally waiting for you to ask her out," says J.T., putting an arm around Danny.

III.

Danny hands back the decals to Zack, who still appears frazzled. He doesn't blame him. Wow, imagine meeting your uncle for the first time in twelve years, an uncle he probably didn't know he had. Danny grew up knowing all his relatives; his father was a good lawyer, a people person, so there were bunches of barbeques, parties which were fairly dry for the most part, and his mother enjoyed socializing too.

Liberty was like that, too, at one point. She loved talking to everyone, sticking her neck out there, but almost predictably, she became more withdrawn after J.T.'s death. All her relationships were men were short-lived, Danny and his parents never meeting them. In college and grad school, Liberty studied so much Danny thought her brain would break. She told him she went to the occasional party, but he wasn't sure if she was lying to him or not. At Degrassi, before they graduated, he convinced her to go to some dances and parties, but she seldom had fun. It made sense that she wanted to shut herself away, and he feels he's the only one who got that. Mr. Van Zandt elected to bring in psychologists for her, but Danny vetoed the idea, and he convinced his mother to play along. Leave her alone, and she'll grow out of it, was his way of thinking. Was it right? He's not sure. In her late twenties, Liberty has made such a pattern of moving, from Toronto to Vancouver to Montreal to wherever her conservative pumps could carry her. She moved a lot on another day too, the day of J.T.'s funeral.

"Black roses," assesses Danny, taking a seat behind the gold-piped organ, the smell of the flowers almost repugnant to him. "A bit morbid."

Liberty's finger goes down her checklist. He isn't sure what to say about that checklist, so he let her do it, asking no questions. She hadn't cried once, and usually, he hated seeing her cry, but today, he thought she'd do it at least once. It is like her tears are frozen in her eyes, struggling to get out as she makes marks on the papers, rechecks the floral arrangements, fixes the framed photo on the easel near the window. She fails to look at the photo of J.T., smiling, smiling at no one in particular. It's one smile neither of the Van Zandts can face, Danny lowering his eyes to the organ keys.

"Ms. Cooney isn't helping at all?" asks Danny.

"She's not up to it," says Liberty. "Her church planned this, but I met with them. We've agreed to an hour's time, hand-selected the ushers, picked out the music...um...programs should be near the entrance."

Danny watches her lay some programs on a table, near the collection trays, moving so stiffly. Liberty starts rifling through one program, wincing.

"There are mistakes all over this," sighs Liberty.

Danny rises, slowly stands beside her.

"I swear...I swear...it's not that hard to punctuate his name properly," stammers Liberty, sniffling. "A period after the J and one after the T."

Danny hugs Liberty from the side, grabs the pen from the church bulletin board, starts correcting the programs.

"Anything else?" asks Danny.

"That's all...all I've noticed," says Liberty, glancing up. "But that...that glare from the window...pastor may not be able to concentrate."

Liberty starts to go to the podium, but Danny blocks her, hugs her gently. Liberty faces the front. She feels so strong in his arms, strong but small. It's not good for her to do all of this, thinks Danny.

"Slow down," whispers Danny. "Slow down for a sec."

"I can't," chokes out Liberty. "This is me. I can't."

Danny releases her. He can't tell her what to do, how to feel. He's not sure how he feels yet. Liberty came home that night, went up the staircase, closed the door, and Mr. Van Zandt told him, told him that while he and Derek went home, J.T. fought for his life in a hospital room and lost. It was so hard to envision J.T., gliding down the skate park ramps, doing three-sixties in mid-air, lifeless on a street, on a hospital bed. How can seventeen years olds die? Danny's aware it's possible, but didn't consider it possible for a friend of his. The days after, he didn't sleep, not for a week, cried some. Liberty came out of her room at night, when no one was around, and he caught her sitting in the dark late one night, staring at the countertop in her robe. She appeared so hopeless, the blood drained out of her face, all that happiness zapped away. She looks the same way now, here in the church.

"It's going to be a closed casket ceremony," says Liberty, absent-mindedly sitting in a chair. "I don't think he'd...he'd want..."

"For us to see him like that," finishes Danny, sitting down with her.

"Yeah," breathes Liberty.

"Liberty, it's...it's okay to cry," says Danny. "I won't tell anybody. I've cried a couple times. Didn't like doing it, but I did."

"I can't think right now, Danny," confesses Liberty. "My son's...in Seattle. J.T.'s...um...and Mia's going to be in here, the great love of his life."

Liberty lets out a deep breath.

"Mia and him didn't have the history you and J.T. did," says Danny. "He cared about you too. More, I think. I...I saw it."

Liberty smiles weakly at Danny, holds his hands in hers, glances at the roses.

"J.T. would hate those," says Liberty. "But Ms. Cooney thought they'd be appropriate, and I didn't have the heart to tell her no."

"And I'm sure J.T.'s glad you didn't," says Danny.

"I'm glad too," replies Liberty, letting Danny hug her again.

The funeral ran smoothly, which Danny was happy about since Liberty helped run it. His mother took Liberty home, while he stayed to clean up with Toby, Derek, Peter, and a couple others. Mr. Van Zandt was nice enough to drop Toby and Derek home, but cruel enough to make Danny accompany him to the courthouse where Mr. Van Zandt needed to pick up some files.

"Dad, I'm tired," groans Danny. "It's been a long day."

"Cool out, Daniel," says Mr. Van Zandt, flicking through a file. "Besides, a place of structure would be good for you to take in."

"I'm sure," mutters Danny under his breath.

Danny props himself up on a mahogany table, sure it would tick off his dad, but at that moment, he doesn't care. His thoughts are interrupted by some loud shouting, as a pair of police officers drag in a kid, handcuffed behind his back. Danny stands, his father putting an arm around Danny protectively.

"I want out!" yells the kid. "I was drunk! I was drunk!"

The kid snarls, and Danny feels his heart skip a beat. He knows him. Danny narrows his eyes, grits his teeth.

"I want bail!" yells Drake.

"Trial first!" barks the officer. "You calm down now!"

The officer sets the kid down in a chair, a bailiff stepping out of the door. Red hair flips from side to side, as Drake struggles to stand. People start to come in, watching Drake move about maddeningly. The officer holds him down. In his struggle, Drake catches sight of Danny, smiles.

"What are you looking at, loser?" yells Drake.

The heat in Danny's face increases, him running towards Drake. Drake laughs lightly.

"Son!" cautions Mr. Van Zandt, catching Danny. "Stop it!"

"He killed J.T.!" shouts Danny. "He killed him!"

"I ain't do nothing!" yells Drake. "You hear me, people? Nothing. I was drunk...don't remember nothing!"

"This isn't the way!" exclaims Mr. Van Zandt. "We have to leave...come on!"

Mr. Van Zandt leads Danny down the aisle, Danny throwing a disgusted look at Drake as he passes. Once they reach the outside of the courtroom, Mr. Van Zandt's demeanor changes, him speaking quietly.

"I didn't know he'd be there," says Mr. Van Zandt. "The court date must've moved up, or else I wouldn't have brought you there."

"He's up for bail?" exclaims Danny. "How is that fair?"

"Most likely not," says Mr. Van Zandt. "But he is a minor, so it's...it's being bandied about. They're still weighing in all the evidence and..."

"The evidence is in a casket!" shouts Danny.

"They also have to do psychological evaluations," says Mr. Van Zandt. "I read it in the paper. He was a loose cannon, Danny. A drunk loose cannon. It's not all black and white."

Danny kicks the concrete wall opposite him. It hurt, and he's sure his toe's bleeding, but he doesn't care. None of it is fair. None.

"Jail time is probably a certainty," assures Mr. Van Zandt. "How much? That's unclear."

Tears start to fall down Danny's face. He knows he doesn't look like a man right now, should be as stoic as Liberty.

"J.T.'s gone, Dad," whispers Danny. "I looked up...looked up to him. He hung out with me when no one else did. He was out there dying on a street while I was safe at home. I could've grabbed Drake...beat him up..."

"No," interjects Mr. Van Zandt. "That would've made him more upset, and I would've lost you too. Danny, there are kids...some kids who don't have any direction, and that's why I'm so hard on you and your sister. They walk the streets, clueless, get in trouble, and eventually wind up here."

"Put 'em in jail," says Danny, shrugging.

"That doesn't help sometimes, Danny," says Mr. Van Zandt. "They need a positive influence in their lives. Someone to turn to before they act out."

"And kids like J.T. would be safe," says Danny, wiping his cheeks with his sleeve.

"Yes," replies Mr. Van Zandt, collecting his son in his arms.

Danny continues to cry in his father's chest, less worried about being manly than in what Drake's fate would ultimately be. He didn't consider anyone else's fate until much later, because that talk, which seemed so unimportant then, kept replaying in his mind. It replayed so often he asked Mr. Armstrong about the Big Brothers program at the community center, where he spent three years trying to help other kids have some positive influence. How positive an experience they had he's not clear about, but over half his kids kept in contact with him, and still did when he transferred to the police station as a youth counsellor. Some kids turned in their guns, others never bought them, quite a few said they looked up to him. His father pulled some strings and made it a paid position, Danny choosing to stay there instead of pursuing a college education. Liberty had most of the brains in the family anyway, but he liked to think he had the same amount of heart.

IV.

"Mr...Van Zandt?" speaks up Zack.

"Call him Uncle Danny and see what happens," offers Paul, smiling.

"Oh...oh!" says Danny, recovering. "Right. Um, so did Liberty tell you where I was?"

"I've never...never met her," confesses Zack. "We were hoping you...you knew where she was."

"You haven't met her yet?" cries Danny. "Wow. Okay, she is in the process of moving, but I do have her cell."

"Great!" says Zack, enthusiastically.

Zack is enthused. Meeting one relative, although a relative who spaced out more than he'd like, really made him want to get to know more. But meeting his actual mother? That was exciting, and scary...very scary. Come to think of it, was he ready for that?

Danny unclips his cellphone, starts going through the numbers.

"Wait!" cries Zack, holding up his hand.

"Huh?" says Danny.

"Zack, this is your chance," whispers Paul. "Your mom is a dial away."

"I'm...I'm scared," whispers Zack, trying his best to make sure Danny didn't hear him.

Unfortunately, he did.

"Liberty's sweet, man," comforts Danny. "And loving, and though she's bossy, it's because she sees the best in you and wants to push you harder."

"Sounds like Veronica on a good day," says Paul, elbowing him.

"Okay...okay, do it before I change my mind," sighs Zack. "If she doesn't like me, it's your fault, Paul."

Danny grins, dials the number, and they hear it ring. Please say yes to meeting me, thinks Zack. Please say yes.

"Heh, it's disconnected," sighs Danny.

"It is?" cries Zack.

Why is his mother always unreachable? He swears this woman can't be contacted at all.

"Don't...don't worry," says Danny. "I'll call Dad, then call her...make some arrangements."

"What'll we do til then?" asks Zack.

"Find out more about your dad," answers Paul, grabbing Zack's notepad. "Manny Santos...that's a hot name assuming it's a girl."

"You know Manny?" asks Zack, looking at Danny.

"My former hot baby-sitter? Of course," says Danny. "I'll give you the address to her studio."

"Dancing hot chicks," sighs Paul. "I can't wait."