Guess what? THREE people said they also LOVE Jason Aldean! That made me happy. : D

"Can't you attempt to do something to support this family?" I snapped into the phone. It was only eleven in the morning, but it was already looking like it was going to be a long day. "I mean, you have twenty-four hours a day on your hands. Make yourself useful."

"I don't know what to do!"

"It's called a job. And there are plenty out there where vision is not a necessity," I said, glancing over at Fang. He was sitting against the wall with a soda in his hands, smirking as I carried on my conversation. I made a face. "Look, Iggy, can you not call me to complain that you're bored and waste my break?"

"Fine," Iggy sighed. "Have fun at Groceries 'R' Us."

"It's called Gertrude's Groceries," I said, but he had already hung up. I rolled my eyes and put the payphone back, then sunk down beside Fang. "I'm working my butt off and he's at home watching TV, and he wants to complain to me."

"I wouldn't exactly say you're working your butt off," Fang said, amused. "I mean, we have three hours left, including our lunch break, and we only had to go two hours before this break. And in the meantime, all you're doing is pushing buttons on a cash register."

I punched him in the arm. "Shut up."

He laughed and pulled my head into his shoulder, kissing the top of it. "So how does it feel being a high school dropout making minimum wage?"

"I'm not a dropout," I grumbled. "And we're not making minimum wage."

"I think it counts, since you went to school for a couple months in ninth grade. And seven dollars an hour… it's close enough."

I was quiet, staring at the wall opposite us. Finally I said, "Fang?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think this is enough to actually support the flock? You know… to be totally on our own?"

He paused, swiping some hair out of my face. Then he said, "I think we're going to have to depend on your mom for a while, Max, even though I know you don't want to."

"I was afraid you'd say that. But you're right." I sighed and thought a little bit more. "What about college? For the others, I mean. I'm not going."

Fang shrugged, jostling my head. "If the flock wants to go, they're probably going to need loans and stuff. With Gracie and Devin, maybe Angel, we have time to figure something out."

"Max!" I looked up at the loud voice of Marie, the fifty-year-old cashier who was mentoring me. She came around the corner, her face pinched and stern. "Your break's over. Fang, yours too. Back to work."

We stood up as Marie disappeared again. Fang leaned over and kissed my forehead, then muttered, "You know what?"

"What?"

"We don't have to worry about any of that right now. Day by day. That's what we've always done, isn't it?"

"Yeah," I said as he held my cheek, lifting my face upward to press his lips to mine. "Day by day."

0000000000

I sighed, looking at the clock. 1:45. Fifteen minutes to freedom… fifteen minutes to freedom…

"Max!" snapped Marie. "What are you doing?"

I jerked out of my daze and turned to her. "What?"

"Your customer?" she asked, motioning across the counter. I looked over there and realized a woman was standing by an empty cart, items piled up on the conveyor belt.

"Oh, sorry," I said, grabbing the first item, a box of Cheerios. "How are you today?"

"Fine, thanks," the woman said, and I nodded, on autopilot, as I'd already fallen into during my few days at this grocery store. I started scanning groceries, each one clicking, as the phone rang. Marie moved behind me and answered the phone.

I thought nothing of it, sacking all the items and giving the woman her total. As I counted out her change, though, Marie said irritably, "Max, it's for you."

I handed the customer her change and took the phone, ready to chew out Iggy's butt for bugging me again. As I opened my mouth to start in on him, though, an unfamiliar voice on the other end said, "Ms. Ride?"

"Um, yeah," I said, moving out of Marie's way so she could take the next customer. "Who is this?"

"This is Dr. Clement, the principal of Desert Elementary School," the guy said. As soon as I heard the kids' school's name, I started looking around for Fang. He was nowhere to be seen. "I'm calling about your son, Devin."

"Is he okay?" I asked. Marie glanced back at me, her face softening into concern.

"Oh, he's fine," the principal said. "As for the boy he punched, his nose is gushing blood."

I closed my eyes, putting a hand to my forehead. Five days into his school career, my son had already swung a punch at somebody. Actually, on second thought, it was surprising it had taken this long. "Do I need to come get him or something?"

"We'd like to discuss this with you, yes," Dr. Clement said. "When can you come in?"

"Like, half an hour?"

"That's fine. Just come to the office; I'll wait there with the boys."

"Okay," I sighed. "See you then."

I hung up and turned to Marie. "Okay, it's, like, seven minutes to my break, can I go?" As if I'd stay if she said no.

She hesitated, beginning to look strict again. On the paperwork when we applied, we'd written that we were twenty-one, which made it look like the kids were born when we were fifteen. When the manager had shown Marie my application, with me standing there watching, she clucked her tongue in disapproval when she saw all our ages. Still, I could tell she had a soft spot for kids when she said, "That's fine. Is Fang going with you?"

"I think he better," I said, and hurried down to Fang's station, check-out number eight.

0000000000

The first thing I saw when Fang and I walked into the school's main office was Devin, slouched in a chair, pouting. It was a look I'd seen many, many times; it was the look he always had when he was in trouble.

Beside him was another little boy, this one with brown hair, who was scowling and had a few crooked teeth. I had a feeling this was more due to that punch, which was much stronger than a normal six-year-old's, than having jacked up teeth.

"Ah. Mr. Ride, Ms. Ride."

A middle-aged man, who I supposed was Dr. Clement, came out from his office and addressed each of us in turn as he shook our hands. When that was over, I crossed my arms and raised my eyebrows at Devin. "So," I said, still looking at my son but talking to the principal, "what's the story here?"

"Why don't we go into my office and have Devin tell you?" Dr. Clement suggested.

So we went into the office. Dr. Clement invited Fang and I and sit down while the boys stayed standing. Once we were all settled in, the principal said, "Devin, let's hear your side of the story."

Devin, still pouting, said, "Brendan was taking Gracie's blocks. She tried to take it back and he hit her hand so she dropped it. So I punched him."

I bit my lip. This was actually my fault, because what I constantly told Devin was that he could not hit family, but anyone else was fair game, because in our lives, danger was in the most unexpected places. But Fang was probably right-- there was no danger anymore. It was time to raise our kids normally, even in the small ways.

"Devin," I said, turning in my chair to face him, "we don't hit. Anybody. Ever. Okay?"

"But you said--"

"I know what I said. I'm changing it. Do not hit. Got it?"

Fang turned to me and raised his eyebrows in a sarcastic wow-good-job way. I smacked him lightly on the knee.

"Brendan." Dr. Clement addressed the other boy, who was rubbing his bruised nose. "Did you try to take something from Devin's sister?"

"I asked for it," he said.

"He did not!"

"I did so!"

"Guys, guys, stop." The principal jumped out of his seat and went to pull the boys away from each other. "Brendan, go outside and sit in the time-out chair. Devin, stay in here. We need to have a discussion with your parents."

I winced and inhaled deeply. The truth was, if they wanted Devin in some special behavioral class or something, they'd want to know if he had had a childhood trauma that was causing this. And I couldn't tell them what that trauma was.

Fang, knowing why my muscles were tense, reached over and intertwined our fingers. I looked at him miserably, wanting nothing more than to grab my kids, knock out the lone window in the room, spread my wings and fly away.

"Now," Dr. Clement said, sitting back down in his seat, having closed the door behind Brendan. "First I'd like to know how often Devin exhibits this kind of behavior at home."

I bit my lip, looking at Fang out of the corner of my eye. Rarely did he hit someone at home, because he trusted all of us. But I'd taught him to be paranoid when dealing with strangers, so if someone touched him or Gracie in a way that was the least bit threatening, he would fight back. Gracie was more forgiving, but I suspected Devin had undergone more testing and hardship than she had at the School, based on the number of scars on his skin compared to hers. Finally I said, "Not often."

He looked at Fang for verification, which made me mad-- like I was incapable of figuring out my own kid's behavioral patterns. After Fang simply nodded, Dr. Clement said, "Well, if he doesn't do this often, I suppose we can let him off the hook this one time, as long as he understands that this can't happen again."

I looked at Devin, raising my eyebrows at him. He averted his dark eyes. "Got that, buddy? No hitting. At all."

"Okay," he muttered, looking at his feet. I turned back to Dr. Clement.

"Well," he said, standing up, "I guess we're done here. Devin, I'll take you back to class now. Mr. and Ms. Ride, have a good day."

"Thank you," I said, waving, and we left the office and exited the school.

We went all the way to the car before we spoke. As he started the engine, Fang said, "Do you think we should be worried?"

I closed my eyes, exasperated, and leaned back in the passenger seat. "Day by day, Fang. Day by day."

Told you something happened!

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