To Where You Are Chapter 9: Everything, a degrassi fanfic

IX. Everything

You are the strength, that keeps me walking.
You are the hope, that keeps me trusting.
You are the light to my soul.
You are my purpose...you're everything.

How can I stand here with you and not be moved by you?
Would you tell me how could it be any better than this?

You calm the storms, and you give me rest.
You hold me in your hands, you won't let me fall.
You steal my heart, and you take my breath away.
Would you take me in? Take me deeper now?

How can I stand here with you and not be moved by you?
Would you tell me how could it be any better than this?
And how can I stand here with you and not be moved by you?
Would you tell me how could it be any better than this?

Cause you're all I want, You're all I need
You're everything,everything
You're all I want you're all I need
You're everything, everything.
You're all I want you're all I need.
You're everything, everything
You're all I want you're all I need, you're everything, everything.

And How can I stand here with you and not be moved by you?
Would you tell me how could it be any better than this?
How can I stand here with you and not be moved by you?
Would you tell me how could it be any better than this?

Last chapter, Here's To The Night is the property of Eve 6, and for this chapter, Everything is the property of Lifehouse.

His father taught him how to loop ties; his mother taught him manners. They taught him everything, but everything is a lot to hold in your head. They took him to the park, the zoo, the joke shop, even Disneyland. When he cried, fell, laughed, they were around. No matter the feeling of today, they are his parents.

This is not a betrayal. It can't be. Zack Crewe will always be Zack Crewe, he thinks, tying a simple red tie around his neck. How many twelve-year olds can tie a tie correctly? Then again, he is Christopher Crewe's son. Yes, his son. He cannot forget that. Whenever he goes into the pawn shop, he's aware of that, customers talking over him, saying "Chris' son" or "how's little Crewe doing?" Unlike the things in his father's pawn shop, his name can't be taken from him. Though he has to admit, that whenever he saw an item in the store, formerly owned, the shine of it losing its brightness after awhile, he's reminded of himself. He feels some kinship with the violin left behind, housed in a window, waiting for a new owner, or a chair waiting for a new home. Those are part of the feelings that guided him out here.

The long mirror in the Rubenstein's guest bedroom shows him differently. He knows he's different. For the first time, he can tell where his eyes come from, why he can write, what his ethnicity is, all without wondering. He does wonder this: what is the price of the knowledge? Being aware of J.T.'s murder hurts more after knowing him. No one can say it doesn't, even if they've never met, because he's felt it. Maybe it's some biological connection, or chemical reaction, but he's entirely sure, it's emotional, so heavy and steady, like a waterfall. Definitely emotional.

Now, here is, ready to meet the one person he's fairly certain is going through the same thing. She suggested the Dot, and having no idea of the dress code, he decided to throw on a short, white dress shirt, black slacks, and a red tie, all courtesy of Paul's uncle's charity donation box. As long as the someone who gets it ain't me, he said, before sweetly handing it over. The pants were a bit tight, but perfect otherwise. At least the address was on Degrassi Street, a street he knew.

"Don't be scared," he tells his reflection, growing paler by the minute. "Lindsay Crewe is your mom. This...this is Liberty so..."

His voice trails off. These half-truths leave a bitter taste in his mouth. The fact is Liberty is his mom, as much as he talks or thinks about his routine life, of its permanence. Meeting her might shake it all up a little, right? Lindsay, in fact, would take this whole trip harder than Chris. She was so sensitive.

Zack reaches for the door knob to exit the room, sighing. He can no longer look at himself anymore. There's way too much to see.

II.

The last time she went to the Dot was...it must've been Emma's engagement party. Everyone was, of course, polite. The usual questions weren't asked, to her relief. Her least favorite: Are you seeing anyone? In context, the question made sense, since it was an engagement party, and Toby was married, Manny always had a boyfriend, and Sean and Emma were tight. She and her bachelorette status stood out. Needless to say, she found the party fairly depressing, despite projecting half-hearted happiness.

There's still no ring on her finger, as she straightens a loose-fitting, blue blouse, over a long, denim skirt. She looks a little young to be engaged actually, making a conscious decision not to dress in an intimidating fashion. Appearing too professional, or cold, might scare Zack off. She'd been perceived that way before, too cold, too business-minded, a robot. No today, unlike the engagement party, she'd be more approachable, or that's her plan anyway. Out of the two, she'd rather him have the visible nerves. That's what mothers do, right? They have this calming nature about them if the kid was terrified. Not being part of his life...well, this is something she can offer. She may've not been seeing anyone the day of the party, but she is seeing someone special today.

All the usual anxieties have run through her head, so much so that they're tired. Will he like me? Ugh, isn't that such a teenage question to ask in her twenties? She walked the halls of Degrassi, got teased occasionally about her clothes or hair, yet she rarely cared. No, only when her intelligence got attacked did she retreat into her shell. Today, though, it's everything. You kind of want your child to think you're pretty and smart...and in this case, worth the wait. The other thing is, will he understand? She's sure he has some questions, questions no one else has answered. The one she's anticipating is the one anxiety that won't deaden: why did you give me up? When she hung up the phone, that's the first thought that came to her mind. She hopes he'll be willing to hear her answer.

Shouldering her small, black purse, she slides on her glasses, pats her straightened hair, which she got up early to fix, and makes her way out of the apartment. When she opens the door, she's met by warm, welcoming air.

III.

Gary Rubenstein sighs loudly, Zack having trouble avoiding the man's gut sticking out over his belt. Paul sits in the backseat, after having insisted Zack sit in the front. The whole thing is weird to him, because the car ride seems too long and too short at the same time. He likens the timing to a high school graduation, where you can't wait for it to end, yet it ends too soon. Then, the sad thought crosses his mind that J.T. never got to experience that feeling. Drumming his finger against his slacks, he bites his lip.

"You're cool, man," whispers Paul, patting him on the shoulder from behind.

"The worst meeting I ever had was with my ex-girlfriend," shares Gary. "She was on that show Ready or Not, played a teen model. Claims I gave her the clap. Not good."

Paul and Zack share a disgusted look, then Paul covers his face in shame.

"So trust me, it can be ten times more horrible," comforts Gary. "And...here we are."

Zack takes a deep breath, hesitantly gazes out the window. Huh? This place wasn't fancy at all. It appears to be some teenage hang-out, a bar and grill, sort of like Applebee's. He thought it was some classy one-name place with expensive food, like the Ivy. His uncle, Danny, sorta hinted that the Van Zandts were involved in politics and law, high-class jobs. Totally overdressed, moans Zack inwardly.

"You're...um, going to look a little out of place," says Paul, scratching his neck.

"Then it'll be like every day I've been here," sighs Zack, unbuckling his seatbelt. "Thanks, Mr. Rubenstein."

"Call me if you need anything," offers Paul.

The two boys pound fists, Zack leaving the car. Mr. Rubenstein says he'll be back in an hour, or sooner if Zack needed him and called him on the cell.

As the car speeds away, he views the Dot up close. Maybe his parents came here on a regular business. The restaurant didn't seem too new. A couple older kids point at Zack, chuckle quietly before going into the Dot. The tie...I can at least ditch that, he decides, hurriedly taking it off. He stuffs the tie in his pocket, takes a deep breath.

He goes up to the glass door, stares anxiously inside. There weren't too many people. She said she'd be there before him. Liberty. Should he call her Liberty? That's what she called herself on the phone. Hmm, what did his mother say about manners? You call younger women miss...you know, so they won't feel too old? Miss Liberty. That sounds too cornball. Calling her Mom...too soon, too awkward, too hard. Liberty...just Liberty. The sweat on his palms forces him to choose something, stop acting like some idiot standing stupidly in front of the door.

Stepping into the Dot, the cool air conditioning blows on his cheeks, cheeks that need it since he's sweating. Wiping his forehead, he glances around. The kids who laughed at him were in one booth, then there were two skater boys sipping smoothies at the counter, and one woman, hands pressed together, staring at the tablecloth. A woman he's seen before. Yes, this is the woman who accidentally hit him with her car. She looks prettier in the muted afternoon sunshine, long brown hair with blonde highlights, glasses shining softly, smooth tan skin. Her clothes are nice too, a pretty blue blouse and long skirt. She's a weird type of pretty, a pretty you might miss.

He wagers he better stop staring at her, or she might freak out like last time. Shyly retreating to the counter, he rests his hand against the top of it, heart speeding up. A server nods for him to take a seat, which he does. Taking a menu, he pretends to read, pretends to be cool.

IV.

Liberty's eyes scan the menu, as she flips it over, then over again, and over again. She waves off an annoyed waitress, who was getting upset that Liberty hasn't ordered yet. No, Zack had to be here in order for them to eat. Each time someone entered the Dot, the bell on the door rang, and she'd look up. Although after several rings, she became so frustrated, she stopped looking. Two laughing teenagers were her last vision. Perhaps Zack was somewhere laughing, laughing because he ditched her like he thought she'd ditched him.

The salt and pepper shakers gleam in the sunlight. Today's gorgeous, a perfect day to meet someone. She cheesily thinks, a day of sun to meet a son. Heh, Kwan would've failed her for that lame line. Kwan did like her haiku regarding J.T., which also mentioned the sun. Smile like a sunbeam, height subordinate to his heart, makes me lie awake. Yes, she still remembers the poem. His smile made her feel that way for six years, like seeing the sun. But no son, no Zack.

Another day where the sun was so unsettling was the day they prepared the chest. Once Derek suggested the idea, she got so excited, arranging it all. Finally, they could give Zack something. True, the chest wasn't a home, or food, or anything particularly grand. Liberty's mother helped her locate a simple, grey chest with enough room, and a reliable lock with a key at a department store. J.T. took the afternoon off to come to the ceremony. The proceedings went well, with Danny giving up his decals, J.T. his comic book, and Liberty a copy of the Grapevine. Derek, who admitted to feeling like a outsider, offered a Degrassi sweatshirt, a gift Liberty saw as fitting since Zack could've maybe worn it one day. One offer she enjoyed that day more than Derek's was J.T. saying he could help move to the chest to her mother's car.

"I feel like we're in a video game!" shouted J.T. over the roar of their fellow students, talking excitedly about the upcoming summer. "Bob and weave...bob and weave! And I'm not talking hairstyles!"

Liberty weaved uncomfortably to the side, dragging the chest and J.T. with her. They narrowly missed hitting one girl, carrying a box of yearbooks.

"Watch it, guys!" cries the girl.

A few steps more, and they did bump into Paige and Hazel, faces buried in their compact mirrors.

"Okay, does this hall need traffic lights?" groaned Hazel, flipping her hair back.

"Well if you guys paid more attention to where you're going, and not what's on your face..." started J.T.

"Pre-graduation make-up run throughs," defended Paige. "Of pictorial importance, so maybe you should approach with caution. Gets fairly intense.'

"As intense as that zit forming on your face?" joked J.T.

Paige narrowed her eyes at J.T., bumped him as she passed him. Hazel did the same, shaking her head.

Liberty laughed, nodded for them to continue. Luckily, they picked up a rhythm, with each of them getting a good handle on either side of the chest, one hand on the top and another on the bottom. She couldn't say they weren't a good team. They were always a good team.

To their mutual satisfaction, they managed to get to the front door, J.T. holding the chest to his body as Liberty opened the door. She saw her mom talking to Ms. Hatzilakos in a corner, as they moved to the car. Good. She hoped she could talk to J.T. without any interruptions. He'd been quiet during the treasure chest dedication, and she wanted to know why. When she told him about the idea, a smile immediately formed on his face. She thought, like her, he'd be eager to share a gift with their son. Their child would always have a part of them, no matter what happened. True, he may never open it, but he'd have it.

"J.T., I hope you weren't weirded out by all this," said Liberty, propping open the trunk.

"No...no, it was just...," stammered J.T.

"Difficult?" guessed Liberty.

"Yeah," said J.T. "You...you always have the right word."

Liberty grinned, as J.T. stared at the pavement. He was looking a little lost those days, and she'd been picking up on it for awhile, ever since he got out of the hospital. An image of J.T. stuffing dozens of pills into his mouth, fainting, body on the ground shook all her insides. He was desperate, frightened, totally out of it. That's why the adoption papers were a fraction easier to sign. Neither of them could give more than this chest.

"This was a good idea," spoke up J.T., situating the chest in the car.

"I think so too," says Liberty.

"Why...why doesn't it...um, feel like it's not over?" asks J.T.

The question coated her heart with warmth. The last thing she wanted was for it to be over, for them to be over. Sure, all this had been extremely stressful, painful, depressing. Still, she was sick of regrets, of denying that she didn't care. That's why she drank that night, with Derek and Danny watching. They probably thought her a fool, but were too nice to say it. Only, she needed someone. She needed to see J.T., or their son, someone who was part of their spread out family.

"Cause we're connected," said Liberty, softly. "Always."

"You're not going to sing'We are Family' are you?" said J.T., smiling.

"I do have the better voice," replied Liberty.

"You do," agreed J.T., touching her shoulder.

Liberty's eyes grew wet, glancing at the chest in the car. She thought her son might browse the items, never know the whole story of them. There's no sure way for her to know, and that's strange because she's used to relying on evidence and certainties to hold her up. The sunshine cloaks both of them, J.T. taking into her arms. One certainty forms in her brain, one certainty she can hold on to is that he'd be here to see her through.

That's the thing, though. The cruel thing. Theories get disproved everyday, and the impossible happens when you least expect it. She never felt anything bad leading up to it...when Manny was making her up, when they wished her a happy birthday, when the first Lakehurst kids came through the door. The same was true when she left J.T. speechless, started walking in Emma's neighborhood under the clear sky that night. Those streets were clean, so clean, but the quiet...the quiet was so loud. Passing several cars, she glanced from left to right, out of instinct. Her father always told her to watch out for something unusual, something horrible waiting in the dark. When she was little, she thought that meant monsters, the most terrible sights she could think of, and at sixteen, newly sixteen, she saw the most terrible sight she could think of. Her yells seemed so quiet, like they weren't enough. Uncertainty came and knocked her over, the greatest uncertainty being if he even knew she was holding him.

Two days before the winter break, she went to his home, confronting more uncertainty. Throughout the mourning period, his grandmother, Ms. Cooney, partly cut herself off from everyone. Liberty arranged the church funeral, and the memorial service with Toby. Grave preparations were handled by Ms. Cooney's pastor, and he was laid to rest without any fuss, a private event that included Ms. Cooney, Liberty, and Toby. Not much was said, and not much was done. They all comforted themselves by reflecting how many people came to the other two ceremonies, and agreeing that they were the only three that J.T. would want to see him actually go under the ground.

Ms. Cooney let Liberty in, gentle as ever. They sat on a faded tan couch. Liberty noticed the place was messy, refused to comment. J.T. was never an immaculate guy, but Ms. Cooney got on him for that, and usually kept a clean home. It was understandable why that wasn't the case then.

"Forgive the mess, dear," apologized Ms. Cooney. "These old feet don't get around as well as they used to."

"It's fine," assured Liberty.

After ducking into the kitchen, Ms. Cooney returned, carrying a tray of cookies and a couple glasses of lemonade. Ms. Cooney's hand shook a little when she raised her glass, some liquid spilling onto her long, black skirt. She'd worn black for weeks.

"Oh...oh no," she breathed, making a face.

"I'll get some napkins," offered Liberty.

"Fresh out," admitted Ms. Cooney. "There were...were some paper towels. In J.T.'s room. I was dusting earlier."

Liberty nodded, stood. J.T.'s room. She hadn't been in there since they discussed how best to break the news of her pregnancy to his grandmother. They told her as soon as they talked.

The door to his room creaked open, revealing a freshly made bed, open drawers, an empty closet, a bunch of boxes. Ms. Cooney had done more than dusting. Liberty swallowed a lump in her throat, located the paper towels. Her waist hit an open box, and she cautiously looked at the contents.

She couldn't help but smile. Sitting on the bed, she went through the box. Election posters, when he ran for president in grade seven, his joke campaign. Then, some swatches, for one of their sewing projects. It figured he would keep something that reminded him of his natural gift. A couple programs from Dracula were under the swatches. All his friends' names were highlighted. There was a deflated whoopie cushion, trick gum, wax lips...jokes he left behind.

"You...you were gone awhile," spoke up Ms. Cooney, standing in the doorway.

"Sorry," said Liberty, attempting to close the box quickly.

"Leave it open," insisted Ms. Cooney. "I can't deal with another closed box."

Ms. Cooney sat next to Liberty, peered inside as well.

"It's like...J.T. in a box," stuttered Liberty.

"Well, honestly, I'd rather look at this box...then the box he was lowered into," whispered Ms. Cooney, putting an arm around Liberty.

"I used to get on him for this type of stuff," said Liberty. "I loved him being playful, but I wanted him to be serious when he needed to be, you know?"

"Same here," said Ms. Cooney. "J.T. needed that, believe you me."

"He got mad with me...a couple times," confessed Liberty. "We...we were fighting before he...he died."

Saying he "died" hurt every time. Liberty stroked the edge of the box, tears forming.

"Oh, you'd never know by the way he was around here," assured Ms. Cooney.

"Really?" whispered Liberty.

"He told me you were elected president again, with that little glint in his eyes. Said if you could get back to normal, he could, so he made up his mind to return to his show. And his work ethic...I swear I was looking at another Liberty. So dedicated to improving himself."

Ms. Cooney smoothed back Liberty's hair as Liberty wiped her eyes.

"You know, sometimes people meet people for a reason, Liberty. Even if you're apart, or they're taken from you, they leave traces of what you've meant to them, or they become better because they knew you and you, in turn, become better. I can't explain it. Some strange way the world works. But it happens. God knows, it happens."

Liberty let the tears flow, and her throat hurt so badly, from words stifled.

"Family will always be family," said Ms. Cooney, gently. "And I more than consider you family."

Liberty laid her head in Ms. Cooney's shoulder, losing all sense of decorum. This speech pushed away all those uncertainties, as she felt the security of someone who loved J.T. as much as her.

"Promise you'll come see me sometime?" whispered Ms. Cooney, kissing Liberty's forehead.

"I promise," whispered Liberty, hugging her.

The bell rings again, Liberty looking up. No, a very skinny girl comes in, heading for the counter. Hmm, there's also a boy at the counter...slight, a little less tan than she is, appears very nervous. Zack. Yes, it's him, has to be him. He looks as panicked as he did when she got out of his car to check on him. Zack waves off the same waitress who was annoyed with Liberty.

He's so small, she thinks. I mean, he looks healthy, and normal, yet so small. J.T. was always a little smaller than some of the guys, though. The eyes and profile match too. He has her hair, though, and the nose. The soft music playing throughout the Dot pounds in her ears, which also matched his:

Liberty's whole body tingles, but she manages to stand. She almost feels like she's weaving in the school corridors again, but it's now or never.

You are the strength, that keeps me walking.
You are the hope, that keeps me trusting.
You are the light to my soul.
You are my purpose...you're everything.

How can I stand here with you and not be moved by you?
Would you tell me how could it be any better than this?

"Zack!" she calls over.

Zack immediately drops his menu, slowly rises from his seat.

The woman called to him. What does that mean? Could it be her? Liberty? It was her, or else Liberty was late, and based on her friends' descriptions, Liberty wasn't a late person. Zack tugs at his shirt lightly, walks over.

You calm the storms, and you give me rest.
You hold me in your hands, you won't let me fall.
You steal my heart, and you take my breath away.
Would you take me in? Take me deeper now?

Say something, he repeatedly tells himself. Say something, say something, say something.

"Hello," says Zack, staring into her eyes.

She has really nice, welcoming eyes. Not his, but welcoming.

"Do you...do you want to sit?" asks Liberty.

"Yeah," says Zack, eager to get off his legs since he's about ready to fall over.

They sit at the table, Zack resting one elbow on there, then immediately taking it off. No, manners. Be polite. Show her you're not some ill-mannered punk raised by bad parents, because you do have parents, good parents.

"Thanks for meeting me," says Zack.

"No...no problem," says Liberty. "Um...do you always dress like this?"

"Uh, not really," admits Zack. "Is...is there something wrong with it?"

"No," says Liberty, quickly. "It's just...you don't see a lot of young kids in dress clothes."

Liberty hangs her head, Zack doing the same. This is some great conversation, with me having nothing to say. Zack remembers he hasn't shaken her hand to formally introduce himself. He hated when adults did that, but maybe he should? Reaching over, he knocks over the pepper shaker, gasps.

"Sorry...sorry," he says, reaching for it.

"It's okay," says Liberty, retrieving the shaker. "No one was harmed."

Liberty begins to screw on the top of the shaker, Zack watching intently.

"You know, if you leave it unscrewed for the next person, chances are they'd fall for it nine times out of ten," says Zack, laughing.

Oops, says Zack, covering his mouth. Now, that wasn't polite.

"Really?" laughs Liberty. "Well, we'll leave it unscrewed."

Zack smiles. "It's funnier with pepper, because most people can take a lot of salt. Ketchup's funny too, because it's globby. My dad blew a gasket when I did that at one of his boat club meetings."

"I hate boat club meetings," sighs Liberty. "My dad goes to those today, to hob-knob with the big wigs. You just stand around here with all these adults, who don't even acknowledge you."

"Seriously," groans Zack. "They act so obnoxious, talking about golf clubs and cars and what prep school their sons are off too. I don't say much anymore, because my dad makes me write these long, formal apologies whenever I do it."

"Your dad sounds strict," notes Liberty.

"Not too much," clarifies Zack, hoping she wasn't thinking badly of the Crewes.

"That's how it usually is," says Liberty. "It gets better as you get older. Trust me."

Zack lays his elbow on the table, now more comfortable. Talking with her isn't so bad, not bad at all. He does wonder when it won't be so easy.

"You're doing a project of some kind?" questions Liberty.

Okay, won't be so easy starting here, thinks Zack.

"Um, yeah," says Zack. "On...well, a newspaper article on comics, which is why I talked to Toby, and then...a family tree project."

"Oh," says Liberty, softly. "Find anything interesting?"

My dad was murdered, he thinks instantly. Yeah, what a thing to pop into your mind first.

"How you and...uh, J.T. were in high school," he replies, cautiously.

Liberty's gaze drops, and she tucks some of her pretty hair behind her ear. He can tell the next question that comes out is going to be big.

"You...you know how he died?" she says.

Zack avoids looking at her. "Yes."

"Is...is there something else you want to know?" asks Liberty.

Right then, he feels her skin against his, a gentle hand taking his own. She's going to make him say it? Honestly? She's going to make him ask why they gave him up? Zack takes his hand away, starts rubbing his eyes instantly. He's been strong so far. I can't cry, he encourages himself. I can't cry. But I am.

Scooting his chair back, he gets up suddenly, startling the both of them.

"I can't," he tells her. "I...I can't!"

He walks out of the Dot, hearing footsteps behind him. Laughter from kids heading in flood his ears. He needs some place quiet, running to a grassier area at the other end of the street. He sniffles, tears burning his face.

"Zack!" shouts Liberty.

"Get away from me!" exclaims Zack, hunching over, resting his hands on his knees.

"What's wrong?" asks Liberty.

"This is too hard," chokes out Zack, face growing red.

"I know..I know, but...," starts Liberty.

"No, you don't!" shoots back Zack. "No one does! Not my parents or Paul or anyone."

Liberty remains speechless, obviously wanting him to keep going.

"Everyone looks at me like I'm some freak, some ugly reminder that he's gone. Even you..you freaked out with the whole car thing," says Zack, managing to stand erect. "I'm this horrible reminder."

"No...no, Zack," comforts Liberty. "You're the best reminder."

Zack places his hand over his face, as Liberty holds him. This time, he can't push her away, doesn't have the strength to, or the desire. It doesn't feel like being held by a stranger, or a parent for that matter. More like a friend, or someone who could turn into a friend.

"Why didn't you keep me?" asks Zack, separating from her.

He's somewhat surprised to see she's crying too.

"Bad timing...incredibly bad timing," answers Liberty. "The adoption started off as open, and then your parents fell in love with you. Would you have wanted me to take you away from them?"

"No...they're...they're my parents," stammers Zack.

"Then that's where you should be," whispers Liberty. "Don't think for a second J.T. and I didn't want to, Zack. We were young, without any resources, very ill-prepared."

Zack rubs his forehead, starting to calm down a bit. Things in the pawn shop did go to people who could care for them, care for them better. Liberty was probably acting in his best interest, and he loved his family.

"I get it," says Zack. "Sorry...for running."

"I've run so much," gasps Liberty, drying her eyes. "So...no worries."

"Because it hurts," says Zack, simply.

"Exactly," says Liberty, smiling sadly. "That never works...cause he's still there. And you're here...I'm glad you're here."

"That's how it is with family, I guess," sighs Zack.

"Family is always family," whispers Liberty, hugging him again.

Zack returns the hug, beaming. He holds onto his mother, who's not really his mother, yet the hug is strong and sweet. He thinks of his father, who he's still never met, yet the thought makes him proud to be in this place, to have made this journey to where his father was.

VI.

"Of course, he'd be curious, Lindsay," whispers Christopher Crewe, tenderly putting an arm around his wife's shoulder.

"Lying to us?" whispers Lindsay. "To...to see her."

Zack hangs awkwardly in the doorway to the kitchen, viewing his parents. Just as he expected, Lindsay took the news hardest. What he didn't expect was his confession, regarding everything. They greeted him so lovingly at the airport, he couldn't keep his guard up for long. When they came home, he spilled. It was probably a good thing, since he talked with Liberty about keeping in touch, including a possible trip with her to Vancouver to see Ms. Cooney, his great-grandmother. Ms. Cooney was in a nursing home now, which Liberty visited frequently in her college years. Sadly after Liberty's graduation, her memory started to fade, the beginnings of Alzheimer's. Still, he'd like to see her, if only for this time.

"That part...I didn't like either," admits Chris.

Zack clears his throat pointedly.

"Do you...do you guys hate me?" he says.

Chris closes his eyes, opens them, shakes his head. "Never."

Lindsay remains quiet, fixing his lunch. She always fixed his lunch, even though he was twelve and could buy his own lunch. He usually protested, but he takes it today when she hands it over.

"Mom, I'm sorry," says Zack, shouldering his bookbag.

Lindsay wordlessly hugs him, kisses his cheek. "You'll be late for school. Off with you."

He starts to say something else, but his father's look suggests he do otherwise.

"Love you guys, " says Zack.

"We know," says Chris, offering him a pathetic smile.

Taking the city bus was his idea. After riding the bus in Toronto, he thought this had to be about the same. Still confused over the trip, Chris agreed he could try it once. Seattle can't be as unsafe as D.C., where he grew up. The ride is a paltry ten minutes anyway. Today, his morning classes go by fast, and so does lunch. It's probably because today, he has to present his project, and word on the school step is Tanglewood would be dropping by. Yes, apparently, unsurprisingly, Veronica's project was going to be featured in some Social Studies district fair. Therefore, as he sits through the project later that afternoon, the display of South American facial masks and colorful costumes comes as no shock. He has to give her props.

"Excellent job, Veronica," congratulates Mrs. Daniels. "Tracing all the way back to your family's regal routes."

"Thanks, Ms. Daniels," says Veronica, then whispering to Zack. "What'd you think?"

"Um...masks were cool," whispers Zack, shrugging.

"How will I know if she really loves me?" sings Paul, chuckling behind him.

Zack tosses a pencil at his chest.

"Zack Crewe!" yells Mrs. Daniels. "Since you're so anxious to move, you can honor us with your report next."

Man, it was nearing the end of class, and Mrs. Daniels always pulled this. He secretly knows it's because if his presentation was a wash, she could just go over the homework instead, then dismiss class without feeling guilty. That only happened twice.

"Yes, Mrs. Daniels," says Zack, lifting his heavy backpack.

Mrs. Daniels gives him an expression of amazement, Tanglewood sharing the same face. They probably didn't expect him to have all this stuff. Paul stands, wheels the TV over to where Zack is. Lucky for him, Veronica showed a short DVD on tribal dancing.

Zack sets the treasure box on Mrs. Daniel's desk, and she shrieks as it makes a loud thud. Veronica giggles, along with the rest of the class. Paul takes his seat again.

"Do not be fooled by its commonplace appearance," starts Zack, impersonating the merchant in Aladdin. "Like so many things, it is not what is outside, but what is inside that counts."

The class laughs uproariously.

"Zachary, if you don't have anything...," begins Mrs. Daniels.

"No...I have something," says Zack, silencing the class. "Seriously, this weekend, I went to Toronto to meet my birth mom. This chest contains all my parents gave me. Until recently."

He sees the shock on several faces, including Mrs. Daniel's and Mr. Tanglewood's. Veronica smiles serenely.

"I found out a lot of things, including how my dad passed away. He was kind, humorous, understanding, a smart aleck, some stuff I think I get from him. My mom loves to write, is a good friend, and very practical, other stuff I think I have. What I learned most is...um, what was most important is that they are part of me, even if they gave me up. Part of my family tree, a tree I can't complete in a weekend. But rather than babble on, I'd like to show you my dad and read a letter from my mom. So meet my parents, J.T. and Liberty."

Zack clears his throat after saying this, inserts the DVD tribute, lets his father speak. He'd always have an audience if Zack could help it, people to love and laugh at him. He's happy when the class laughs as much as the on-screen audience, and with the second viewing, Zack loves it more. J.T. playing with other kids no longer bothers him, now that he's clear J.T. cared for him too. With the final picture, Zack presses stop, some kids groaning their complaint that it's over.

"My mom gave this to me before I left," explains Zack.

He peels open the envelope. Other things, such as the chest and the article on J.T., he opened in private with people who cared for him, like Paul and his parents. Today, he can open this without delay, feeling some silent support, an absent, though very much felt, Liberty.

"Zack," he reads. "Rarely do I run out of words, which I'm guessing is true of yourself as well since we're writers. I thought you should know, however, what a great person your father was from someone who loved him as more than a friend, more than a family member. To put it simply, he meant everything. He loved unconditionally, fought fairly, met each day with a smile. We should all be so lucky. You're lucky because you carry him with you. We both do. I look forward to getting to know you. Love, Liberty."

Zack folds the letters, smiles shyly.

"That's all I've got today," says Zack.

"Well done, Zack...very well...," stammers Mrs. Daniels, her voice trailing off.

The class claps loudly, Veronica the loudest. Tanglewood nods proudly, and Mrs. Daniels, to his surprise, is crying. Zack collects his things, goes back to his seat. He feels Paul pound him on the back, the school bell ringing.

They stand, Veronica and Paul on either side of him.

"Nicely done, Zachary," congratulates Mr. Tanglewood.

"Thanks," says Zack. "I...uh, still want that blow-up doll back."

"Get out of here," commands Mr. Tanglewood, frowning.

Mr. Tanglewood retreats to go talk to Mrs. Daniels. Paul chuckles.

"Say that trip wasn't a good idea now," brags Paul.

"And watch your head blow up...no," replies Zack.

"Whatever!" exclaims Paul. "Fine...make it up to me by going to another hockey game?"

"Doable," says Zack, giving Paul a high-five.

Harring Junior High students shuffle back and forth, getting their materials to go home. Zack does notice that Veronica is not going with them. In fact, she's hovering.

"Oh, the article!" guesses Zack, removing the comic book article from his bag.

"Oh...yeah, that," says Veronica, taking it. "I'm assuming it's well-researched, paying careful attention to grammar and spelling."

Zack rolls his eyes. "Duh."

"This may not beat your presentation," compliments Veronica.

What? Zack blushes, grinning. If Veronica, of all people, was impressed, he must've hit a home run. Might as well try for two.

"You...you want to go to a movie this weekend?" stammers Zack.

Veronica's eyes bug out, grasping tightly to the article. "Uhhh...like a date?"

"I don't know," says Zack. "Look up date in one of your dictionaries. I think...think you might be right."

"Okay!" exclaims Veronica. "I mean...have nothing better to do."

"Me either," lies Zack. "I'll...like pay and stuff."

Zack takes a huge breath, kisses her lightly on the cheek. Veronica grins, backs away, shaking her head as she leaves.

"Sweet," whispers Zack.

He takes out Liberty's letter, reading it again. Met each day with a smile, she said? Well, he'd end each day with a smile, some small way to remember his father, J.T. Yorke. He'd smile all the way home.

Thanks so much for reading and your encouraging comments and criticisms. I hope this story makes you think fondly of J.T., and what he meant to his friends, and if we're ever introduced to him, his son as well. I really loved writing this, though I cried while writing parts of this, especially in this chapter as I felt so close to Zack by the end of this.

If anyone's wondering why his name is Zack Crewe, I just chose a well-known jokester...Zack Morris, from Saved by the Bell, and one of my favorite characters from a kid's book, Sara Crewe, who loses her dad and finds him again like Zack in this story.

J.T. will always be a character that touched my heart, so I hope this was fitting. Thanks!