After May ended, Kristoph found himself enrolling in classes at a local law school. Klavier had just finished his freshman year at Themis Legal Academy where he learned a considerable amount of English from his friend, a boy named Daryan who was just as into music as Klavier was, and also studying the Prosecutor course. Klavier hung out with Daryan as much as he could; these hours had just increased as school had been let out for summer vacation. Kristoph had remembered being unimpressed the first time Daryan had slept over and had dinner with their father. There was just something about that boy - was it the way his eyes shifted around when he was nervous? Or was it the long unkempt hair or the way he spoke of witchcraft like totems and rituals? Daryan had explained that he was a Shoshone Native American and had been on a reservation until he was 11. After that, his family had moved out to California so that Daryan could meet more kids from more cultures and experience other things in life. From there, Daryan said he'd fallen in love with AC/DC and his totem animal, the great white shark.

Of course, Kristoph had understood little because of how foreign the English words sounded and stringing them together in fast-paced rhythm didn't help. Papa had, though. Kristoph knew that all he needed was Papa to explain that the boy was full of witchcraft to know that Daryan wasn't approved of in the newly-Christened Gavin household.

Unfortunately, it seemed Klavier was not all that adept at making friends. So, throughout the summer, the two learned guitar together and from each other. Papa would come home smelling of cigar smoke and gunpowder, sometimes well after midnight when the food Kristoph had made for Papa was still sitting cold on the kitchen table. And Kristoph studied English as hard as he could, hoping to speak one conversation in English a day, whether it was with the grocery clerk or Klavier. There were times he felt silly and other times he felt like a disgrace, but every day he spoke and every day he improved. And in one year he should be able to get his law degree and take the bar exam - of course, it was odd to be in class with adults far older than Kristoph and see them straining on concepts that he'd grasped three years ago back in Germany. The only roadblock Kristoph had on understanding the classes he'd sat in was the fact that the English was hard to understand and his mind was reeling to translate it fast enough. But once he was actually enrolled he'd be able to sit down with the text books and work out what he needed to.

Kristoph wanted to be a defense attorney. Well, not exactly. Papa had wanted a lawyer in the family to get his friends off of the hook and to look neat and presentable to anyone who asked. It was going to be Klavier because Klavier had expressed an interest in right and wrong as a child, but Kristoph didn't want that. By any means possible, Kristoph didn't want that. He didn't want Klavier coming home at 3 a.m. smelling like cigar smoke and gunpowder and covered in blood that wasn't his own. Kristoph couldn't let that happen.

So Kristoph was the lawyer instead. He gave up freedom to choose what he wanted in order to protect Klavier. And maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all. Lawyers make good money, don't they? And he could protect his friends. It's not like he'd known what he'd wanted to be in the first place.

Life changed in mid-July when Kristoph was at home, tucked away at the small desk in his small room. At Daryan's, Klavier wasn't able to interrupt Kristoph's thorough English studies, wasn't able to hear Kristoph try to speak and enunciate like an American would, wasn't able to hear Kristoph's generic ringtone chime off, startling him. The screen blinked: 11:07 P.M. UNKNOWN NUMBER CALLING. The only worry Kristoph had was remembering his English.

"Hello?"

"Kristoph!" It was Papa began shooting off in rapid fire German, "Kristoph, one of my boys was a mole, I'm in police custody."

"Papa, calm down! Speak slowly." Kristoph paused, gathering his own panic inside of himself and trying to toss it out the window. "Why are you in police custody?"

"They've been watching me this whole time, seeing my activities with the other members of the family around here, taking note and finally jumping when my guard was down. They saw me going in to collect from over a dozen people we were running the protection scam on."

What Kristoph heard next was something he had never wanted to hear, not again, not after seeing Papa alone with Mama's pearls. Papa was crying. Kristoph knew the situation was dire, but now, now he didn't have the stomach to say anything else. Not until he heard what Papa had to say.

"Kristoph, my precious boy, they're deporting me so that they can prosecute me in Germany."

Kristoph stood up and began pulling on pants and a jacket, asking, "Papa, where are you? Where are you being kept at?"

Papa was silent. Kristoph heard muffled yelling in American accents. Kristoph repeated his questions frantically, shrieking at Papa. Papa finally sniffed and said, "I don't want you or Klavier to see me like this. Once the boys find everything's safe they'll go to you and get you set up. You'll be alright, Kristoph. I love you, my son." And with that, Papa had hung up.

Kristoph was furious. He kicked his desk and yelled profanities at it. He had a complete meltdown, tearing at his own hair and tossing his glasses away so he didn't crush them in anger. After a few minutes of mindless shrieking and screaming, he sat down on the edge of his bed and stared at his blank walls. They were still that ugly beige color they'd been since they arrived. He took a deep breath in, letting it out as a long sigh. Would he not let Klavier know for a few days? Should he take the time Papa could afford him to think things through, or should he tell Klavier immediately?

It was then that Kristoph remembered Papa telling him about the witchcraft in Daryan. Kristoph remembered the hatred he felt for that odd boy who was teaching his brother odd things. He could bring Klavier home. He could make Klavier obey him.

He picked up his phone and dialed Klavier's number.

Klavier was listening intently to Daryan talk about being with some girl at school and how he was staring at her boobs or something when his phone began to vibrate madly in his back pocket. Pulling it out and seeing it was his brother, in his stilted and pausing English, he hushed Daryan, saying, "My brother is calling." Daryan nodded and sat back, smiling to the memory of a girl he'd stared at until she was so uncomfortable she'd moved seats on the bus.

"Hallo, bruder."

Daryan watched Klavier's face drop immediately. After a few minutes of German gibbering, Daryan able to pick up a few words here and there that he'd learned from Klavier, the phone call ended. Eyes distant, sweat beginning to bead, and a frightened expression on the fourteen year old's face, Klavier simply whispered, "I have to return home. Something bad has happened."

As Klavier stood up Daryan went with him, following him out of the bedroom, asking, "C'mon, can't you tell me?"

"I'll tell you tomorrow. I will talk to you at school." Klavier shut the front door and jogged over to his bike, which he swiftly mounted and began pedaling furiously. The humidity was beginning to settle and the only relief he got was the wind against his face if he pedaled fast enough. He was panting within five minutes, gasping for oxygen that wasn't there in its usual density. Sweating profusely, Klavier's skin felt icky and moist but he didn't have time to worry about that.

When he arrived home a car that did not belong to Papa was parked out front. Kristoph, wearing a pair of tattered old jeans that hung loosely and a gray sweatshirt, could be seen speaking with a short round man in a business suit inside. Klavier locked his bike up on the side of the house and entered to hear a conversation he never could have imagined.

"- so they've got your pops locked up real tight in the jailhouse next county over. You understandin' me, Kristoph?"

The man reminded Klavier of a small talking sausage. His skin was a tanner shade of greasy brown, but not dark like the black kids at school. He had a thinning head of what looked like what used to be thick, dark brown hairs, curling out from under a dark fedora. His short stubby fingers looked like they should belong to a butcher, and the accent was unfamiliar to Klavier. The man smelled of cigar smoke like Papa had, but ten times worse. This man, with his short snobbish nose and constantly moving fingers must have actually smoked them. It was confirmed once Klavier heard the man cough after his question - a freight train in the kitchen had gone off, it had seemed.

Kristoph's English was worse than Klavier's, but he had a better time of not sounding like his mouth was full of marbles. In a deep, softly booming reply, Klavier spoke, "Father is being moved, correct?" Upon hearing Klavier enter, Kristoph looked up and spoke briefly to Klavier in German. "This is Mr. Gambino. He's going to take care of us now that Papa is being deported. He's getting us all of Papa's money, his car, he'll be able to get me a driver's license and job." He forced a small, polite smile at Mr. Gambino. "Klavier, who is my brother," he announced in English, gesturing towards Klavier.

Klavier stood dumbly for a second before talking to Kristoph in German, "Kristoph, you don't know anything about driving a car. How are they going to get you a license? Where will you be working?"

Kristoph frowned and the features of his face seemed to age twenty-fold, the anger seeping out in small quantities as it usually did. "Klavier," he replied, "it doesn't matter about driving. I will be driving because I must drive. There's no question to it. As for work," he smiled a fake smile at Mr. Gambino and transitioned to English, "Mr. Gambino will let me work. I will work for you, correct?"

The stubby little man, lines around his face becoming prominent as he smiled, replied loudly, "Yes, you will! Augustus said you were involved in some of the legwork over in Germany, right?"

Kristoph's eyebrows furrowed. "Leg… work?"

Klavier shot off in German, "He means all of times you went in with Papa to collect money and the meetings you got to sit in on. 'Legwork' is similar to small tasks given to you where you move around and do things up on your feet."

Kristoph slowly stood to his feet and smacked Klavier hard across the face. He stated in a calm but strong voice, "You will not disrespect me! Papa is being held by international police and the chances are very slim for him coming home to us, and until then, I am the head of the house. I am the one who cooks your meals. I am the one who pays our bills. I am now the one who you must give respect to, and if you should continue disrespecting me I should continue hitting you. Do you understand me, Klavier?"

Klavier swallowed the lump in his throat and replied quietly, "Ja."

In a falsely cheerful voice, Kristoph said in English, "Now go and wash for bedtime."

As Klavier turned to head up the stairs by the front of the house, he mumbled to himself, "Ja, Kapitän."

"What was that?" Kristoph called out.

"Nothing, my dear brother," Klavier replied airily. As he stomped up the stairs he heard fragments of Kristoph apologizing for his brother's behavior in stunted English. Klavier had noticed the apathetic expression Mr. Gambino had worn and been disgusted.