Here, Now

A Mirror, Mirror & The Missing Fanfiction

Part Ⅷ

~2016~

Liston, Ohio

The first time Gavin saw Jo Tiegan again, in almost four years, was on TV.

He was at Angela DuPre's house. Despite his sister having moved in with Daniella's family back in 2014, Gavin was still a frequent visitor. At first, it was to see Leonid, before he got his own place last year, but Gavin – almost inexplicably – became something of a favorite with Angela's adopted sons, Gregory and Henry, formerly known as Gary and Hodge.

It had been bizarre enough to Gavin that Angela married Hadley Correo, though he guessed it was none of his business, and wished them well, but adopting the de-aged baby versions of Gary and Hodge? The wounds Gary's lies inflicted were still deep, even if he now mostly blamed himself – his own selfishness – for what happened in that cave and afterwards, and initially Gavin wouldn't so much as look at the babies if Angela or Hadley brought one or both of them into whatever room he and Leonid were in. But Angela was very no nonsense and – when Gavin was lolling around her house, apparently empty-handed – she had no qualms whatsoever about just plopping one of these former criminals into his unoccupied arms for a couple minutes while she went to the kitchen to warm a bottle of formula in the microwave.

After a while, the babies won him over. Gavin found he could not only like them, he could even love them, even look forward to seeing their little faces light up when he came over.

Strangely, Gavin held a grudge against Hodge longer than Gary, though Gary was the one he'd primarily interacted with, the one who'd hurt him.

Where Gary was concerned, Gavin allowed he'd wanted to be tricked – he'd wanted to believe he could escape all his problems, grow up in the future, and come back and marry Jo. Gary was only exploiting the obvious weakness for personal gain.

In his place, much as he hated to admit it, he probably would have done the same thing.

Hodge, though, he could still remember in that basement room, saying the tsar – his father – deserved to die.

Having had his memories as Alexei restored after joining his tracer, remembering what a good parent the tsar had been to him, how devoted and loving, all their time together at Army Headquarters right before the revolution, Gavin didn't think he could ever forgive Hodge for saying something so heartless.

But Henry was a frailer, fussier baby than Gregory, who even as an infant was more muscle than fat, and when – one afternoon while Gavin absently bounced him on his knee, only half minding him – he stopped his incessant crying and smiled up at him, all gummy sunshine in that guileless baby-grin, Gavin realized just how deep the human capacity for forgiveness really was.

The day Jo was on TV, Gregory and Henry had a playdate with Jonah's little brother Kevin (formerly Second Chance) and the three of them were in a tiny canvas fort lobbing ABC blocks and stuffed animals at one another while Henry occasionally released a long, shrill whine that seemed to come from the very depths of his little toddler lungs.

Jordan, Jonah's twin, had dropped Kevin off, and although Gavin held the door for him and sort of grunted "Hey, man – sup?" in passing, getting a "Nuffin," in return, they didn't converse much. Jonah and Gavin were both on the Harris basketball team together back in middle school, and they waved to each other in the halls of Clarksville Valley High even now, but – among other things – the fact that Gavin never had learned to tell Jonah and Jordan apart hadn't exactly bonded them.

He'd gotten enough death glares from Jordan after he accidentally called him Jonah, and a handful of weary sighs from Jonah when he occasionally did the reverse, that he resorted to referring to them strictly as you and dude until he had some confirmation regarding which one he was actually talking to.

On top of this, he suspected Jonah, Jordan, and Katherine had an Elucidator hidden away for emergencies, and the temptation to take advantage of their trust sometimes made him feel uncomfortable, like he was betraying them even knowing he'd never act on the impulse.

He was through with stealing Elucidators, with trying to change the past or take a shortcut to the future.

It was just, when he couldn't sleep at night, there were long hours Gavin thought...a little... When he thought of what it would be like to zap himself back to, oh, 1998 or 1999, just outside of damaged time, just before he'd have to worry about being alive twice over, and meet up with a seventeen or eighteen year old Jo in New Zealand.

He was only a few months shy of really being sixteen now himself – that, two measly years, wasn't much difference at all...

But, even if it didn't involve the moral dilemma of stealing another Elucidator, there was still the question of how much damage it could do to time.

It would change things. Jo might choose not to return to Sydney, if she and Gavin were happy in Wellington, and that could have a ripple effect neither of them would know about. He had to accept he wasn't a skilled enough time traveller to risk it.

Besides, three years was a long enough time Jo could be married. Not to Michael, of course, but to somebody else she'd since met.

It would be unrealistic to expect – or even hope – she hadn't moved on. Gavin had tried to, in his own way. He hadn't had a girlfriend girlfriend yet, not really, but back in eighth grade he'd made out with one of Katherine Skidmore's cheerleader friends after a game; she'd pulled him behind the bleachers, giggling, and he'd enjoyed himself enough. And, since he'd started high school, there'd rarely been a school dance he didn't have a date for.

He'd found out recently his turning up to homecoming with a girl on his arm was something of a shock to Antonio's parents who'd actually thought they were a couple.

Antonio had looked extremely annoyed, telling Gavin this.

"You're mad your parents thought you were gay?" he'd asked, trying not to laugh.

"No, dude" – he'd snorted – "they probably just thought that because I go in for Art and Drama stuff instead of being a jock and all that crap. Nah, that's cool. I'm mad my parents thought I couldn't do better than you."

And Gavin had rolled his eyes, handed his friend the controllers to the video game they were playing, and told him to shut the hell up.

Henry came tearing out of the fort, one canvas flap tossed open behind him. He was crying, as usual, and ran to hug Gavin's legs. "Gav-Gav," he wailed, locking his tiny arms around his calves, whimpering about something the other two were doing.

"Hey, it's okay, pal, you stay with me." Gavin lifted the red-faced little boy onto his lap. "We'll watch TV."

"Wiggles," Henry sniffed.

"Uh, how about News."

And there she was – Jo. Standing in front of the big glass doors to the Museum of Contemporary Art. According to the on-location reporter speaking to her in Sydney, some of her drawings and clay sculptures were included in a recent display and were propelling her into further fame in the art world.

Gavin was so surprised he almost dropped Henry. "Whoops." He grabbed the forward-leaning toddler before he could go sliding off his leg and onto the floor. Henry tittered like it was a game and shrieked, "Again, again!"

Jo smiled into the camera and answered a couple questions about the exhibition and her work. Gavin noticed, when she lifted her left hand, there weren't any rings on it. So there was a chance she was still single after all.

After settling Henry back with the other two boys and making sure they played nice with him this time, Gavin rushed home. (He didn't have his driver's license yet, so this meant pedaling as fast as he could on his bike.) His phone service at Angela's house wasn't the best, and for some reason she and Hadley had password protections a NASA engineer would struggle to crack on their home internet. Maybe despite being little enough to still believe someone could take off his nose and refuse to return it, Henry had figured out how to look up Wiggles videos on there.

For some reason, Henry was fascinated by the Wiggles at present.

As soon as Gavin had decent service, about a block or two from his house, he stopped, leaning his bike against a utility pole, and looked up the number for The Museum of Contemporary Art. He called immediately, but they weren't open, since it was literally five in the morning of tomorrow over there.

It drove him crazy waiting until eight his time to call again. He didn't say a word at dinner, and his parents – surprised by how quiet he was being – asked if everything was okay over at Angela's house.

"It's fine," he assured them, forcing a smile and actually bothering to look at what was on his plate before spearing it with his fork and bringing it to his mouth again.

"We were just wondering why you put ketchup on your spaghetti, that's all," his dad said wryly.

"I like it with ketchup," Gavin lied, hoping his heating cheeks didn't give him away.

Kissing his mom goodnight – a quick peck on the cheek – and going upstairs, he realized – in an uncomfortable rush – he couldn't tell them what he was trying to do. Sure, he could just say she was his friend from New Zealand, that he missed talking to her, but it was probably a lot weirder if he seemed obsessed with a thirty-five-year-old woman at sixteen and decidedly less cute than his prepubescent crush in 2012.

The receptionist at the museum thought Gavin was nuts – completely off his head. Did he really believe they'd just give out artists' personal phone numbers to random fans who called them up?

"Y-yeah," stammered Gavin, feeling idiotic for not having anticipated this response, and dragging his sock-feet on the carpet until he could feel a slight zap. "The thing is, I know her. Jo Tiegan, I mean. We're friends. She'd want me to call her."

"You think I was born yesterday, don't you?"

The call ended.

"Damn." Gavin tossed the phone onto his pillow and threw himself backwards onto his bed, bringing his hands to his face to stifle a groan.

He felt he'd been so close.

~2018~

Liston, Ohio

"I can't believe my little Gavey's all grown up and going to his senior prom," Mrs. Danes cooed, reaching out to smooth back a lock of his hair. "You're so tall and handsome!" She drew back her hand and dramatically flapped both of them in front of her face. "I'm going to cry."

"Mom, don't," he begged. "Please?" He lowered his voice and hissed through his teeth, "Not in front of Antonio." He'd never live it down. "Dad, help."

Mr. Danes, in a recliner a foot or so away, looked up from his phone. "Sorry, it's the last school dance you'll ever have; your mother gets to cry all over you while I act distant and unemotional. Rules of parenthood. I don't make them, and I'm staying out of it."

"You know I'm the one choosing your nursing home someday, right?" Gavin teased.

"I still can't believe I don't get to see you give your date her corsage," wailed Mrs. Danes. "Why couldn't Antonio pick her up on the way here so I could get a photo of you two together?"

"Because, I told you, we're going in the limo and – besides – I'm pretty sure her parents want to meet me and double check I'm not actually a drug pusher after that messed up incident at Spring Fling involving confectioner sugar in the little baggies."

Antonio's shoulders shook with repressed laughter until Gavin nudged him. "Which we repent completely, Mrs. Danes, I swear," he said too quickly. "It was Crockett's idea of a joke and the rest of us decided to humor him. It wasn't one of our better moments."

"Just who is the lucky young lady, by the way?" Mr. Danes asked.

"I thought you were staying out of it, Dad." Then, at Mr. Danes lifting one eyebrow, "Sarah Puchini."

"She's such a pretty girl," sighed Mrs. Danes.

Gavin had seen prettier. But he liked Sarah. She was always around and said yes if he asked her to be his date, yet she never seemed to expect anything from him afterwards. Just a friendly arm to hang on at dances and a spotter at teen clubs, someone to make sure she wasn't kidnapped or never came back from the bathroom or whatever. Once he'd gotten to punch a guy who'd been harassing her – right in the jaw – and not get punched back after playing the hemophiliac card. That sort of thing he was mostly okay with. Except for the bleed in his knuckles he tried to pretend didn't happen, of course. Daniella's friends who thought he was cute were needier than Sarah. They wanted him to call the next day and to be able to tell everyone he was their steady boyfriend after one date. Daniella warned them he'd never had a real girlfriend and none of them were likely to be the first, but that didn't seem to make any difference. Katherine Skidmore's friends were even worse. They cared less about labels, but a lot more about physical affection, and Gavin felt kind of bad leading them on there when he barely had the intention of talking to them again, let alone anything else.

With Sarah Puchini he was safe.

"Well" – Mrs. Danes drew in a long snuffly breath – "at least I can get a picture of the two of you." She lifted her phone, changed the lighting setting, then gestured for the boys to stand closer together. Gavin put an arm around Antonio's shoulders and tilted his head. "Say cheesecake."

"Cheesecake!" They chorused dutifully.

"Mom, can you send that to my phone?" Gavin asked as Mrs. Danes inched over to lean against the stair-railing and play with the filters.

"Of course I can, sweetie." She looked surprised but was already pushing the share option. "You wanna show it to your friends?"

"Something like that." To Antonio, he whispered, "I'm going to email it to your parents with a string of broken heart emojis if you tell anyone my mom cried tonight."

"You're Satan incarnate," hissed Antonio, though he actually sounded impressed.

"Home by two a.m., boys," Mr. Danes coughed from his recliner.

Gavin lifted three fingers to his brow and gave him a salute.

"My home or yours?" Antonio whispered to Gavin, who shrugged.

"You know," said Ming Reynolds, sitting down at a table across from Sarah Puchini, "being that you're a blonde who got asked out by a guy hung up on a mysterious older girl named Jo and all, I thought this was going to be a lot more like Little Women." She squinted across the dim, twinkle-light-lit room to where Gavin, Antonio, Brendan (Ming's own prom date), and another boy were – as far as could be discerned – trying to see which of them could make the loudest fart-noise with their armpit when a member of Clarksville Valley High's Staff walked by. "Instead, it's like The Three Musketeers and their plus one."

Most of the missing kids from history knew about Gavin's attachment to Jo, though not many of the details beyond the vague fact she was older than him and he met her in New Zealand, largely from Daniella, who'd wanted to make sure Sarah in particular didn't expect anything from her brother that he wouldn't be able to give, not wishing to see either of them hurt. Brendan had no idea that Josephine Tiegan the Australian artist whose work he and Antonio followed almost religiously and Gavin's Jo were the same person. He didn't know that any clippings from Art books and magazines featuring her work which he and Antonio didn't deem worthy of their collection or considered outdated found their way into Gavin's coat pockets and then, later on, the shoebox he still kept underneath his bed.

It would have confused him, if he'd noticed, because despite being talented at drawing and occasionally doing a few satirical sketches for fun, Gavin had never showed the slightest interest in contemporary art. Sometimes, Gavin even teased Antonio for being so prissy and "artsy-fartsy". He just didn't seem the sort to keep tabs on a new age artist from the other side of the planet.

There'd been one time when Antonio took a magazine featuring a photograph of Josephine Tiegan standing next to an abstract painting she'd donated to some charity or other out of Brendan's hands and snorted that he was half in love with her and would probably try to marry her when he grew up.

Gavin had turned slightly red behind him and muttered, "Yeah, right, get in line," but neither of them acted like they'd heard, both too busy trying to fake-punch the other one.

Brendan was a little in love with her, of course – the kind of love that can only bloom from the blindest, most devoted of hero-worship – and so would likely have keeled over from the shock if he ever realized Gavin knew her personally.

Or had known her, once, anyway.

It had been two years since he'd first seen her on TV, and he still hadn't had any luck trying to get in touch with her.

"Oh, speak of the devil," laughed Sarah, as Gavin left his group and approached their table, plopping into the seat beside her.

"You know, maybe I'm just getting thin-skinned, but everyone comparing me to El Diablo tonight is starting to annoy me," Gavin told his date with a jokey wink.

"We were just talking about you," Ming said softly. "That's all."

"And I'm just talking about how if I had a nickel for every time someone's compared me to the prince of darkness tonight, I'd have two nickels." He planted a quick kiss on Sarah's cheek, about as meaningful as one he'd have given his Aunt Stacy. "Which isn't a lot, but it's weird it happened twice."

"Did you just quote Phineas and Ferb?" Ming asked.

"Hem, I paraphrased Phineas and Ferb, there is a big difference – thanks."

"We were about to start a bet about who's gonna be Prom King and Prom Queen," Sarah changed the subject. "You want in, Gavin?"

"I don't remember agreeing to do any gambling tonight," Ming muttered to the tablecloth.

"Depends. Can I bet on write-in candidates, or only actual kids we know?" Gavin rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"No, betting on write-ins is cheating," said Sarah.

"I bet Katherine Skidmore gets Prom Queen," put in Ming, a little dreamily. "She looks like a princess. I love her pink dress."

"This isn't even her prom," Gavin protested. "She's a junior." Katherine was only here as Chip Winston's date.

"Can't I bet she gets nominated anyway?"

"Not if I can't bet on write-in candidate I.P. Freely, you can't."

"Okay," conceded Ming. "Then I think Emily's gonna get it."

"Hey, you think Jordan Skidmore will be Prom King if she does?" Sarah asked. "She's here with him."

"Yikes. Jordan Skidmore as king of anything," said Gavin, wincing. "There's a scary thought."

"I dunno," Ming told him. "I think it's very Prince & The Pauper."

"Soooo, anywaaay," drawled Gavin, with deliberate exaggeration, offering Sarah his hand, "I was wooondering... D'you wanna dance before the DJ crashes from his caffeine high, starts playing slow songs, and it gets too weird and touchy out there?"

"Touchy," laughed Brendan, joining them and putting a hand on Ming's shoulder. "Wow. Is that the scientific term for it, Dr. Danes?"

"Shut up, Brendan."

"Actually, Gavin, I'd love to." Sarah took his hand with a grateful grin. "As a matter of fact, I was starting to worry you'd never ask and ruin my prom."

"Our prom."

"Of course," she said graciously, and led him to the dance floor where they ended up dancing next to Jonah and Andrea Crowell.

After a couple fast songs, the DJ took a break and the school principal cleared their throat into the microphone. "If I might have your attention, please..."

"Books and tally marks at the ready, Sarah," Gavin said out of the corner of his mouth. "Time to cash in."

She elbowed him playfully, aiming just above the ribs.

"Watch it, you know how easily I bruise."

On their right, Jonah whispered something to Andrea, which was obviously more affectionate than anything Gavin had to say to his date, since she blushed. Then again, Andrea was a shy girl and almost always blushing, so that was hardly an indicator of their conversation.

"Clarksville Valley High class of 2018, you voted, and your Prom Queen is..." – rustling as the principal unfolded a slip of paper – "Andrea Crowell."

Andrea was beet red – positively scarlet-faced, several shades darker than her usual blotchy blush – and looked absolutely stunned to hear her name announced. And, as if to prove she could somehow go even redder, Jonah kissed her cheek and nudged her forward.

"Well, great, I'm poor now," said Gavin.

Andrea was still climbing the stairs to the lower platform to join the principal, her teal-and-blue dress shimmering sea-colored under the strobe lights, when the next name was announced. "And your Prom King: Gavin Danes."

"Maybe you can empty the royal coffers to pay your bookie," teased Sarah. "I hear she breaks thumbs."

"I'd like to see her try it."

"Get up there, man." Antonio was suddenly behind him, prodding him in the back. "Before you miss it."

"It's not a raffle," Gavin hissed over his shoulder. "I don't think they're going to call another number if I don't walk up there." Then, expression clouding slightly, "And I swear to God, if I find out Crockett stuffed the ballot box and you were in on it, I'm asking your parents to drive us to Vermont next weekend."

"Relax, Carrie White, we didn't rig anything – the student body actually voted for you."

Sarah gripped his arm and gave it a little shake. "Get up there!"

"Okay, okay – sheesh." He broke free of her grasp and made a little snarly sound of exasperation – but he was smiling.

Just before he was out of earshot, he heard Jonah whisper, "It would have been Crockett, ironically, he's the popular one – but I think even the staff can't remember whether he's called Bryan or Ryan. Let alone the kids who go here."

"I don't think his own girlfriend knows that," Sarah agreed.

"I'm not even sure about his parents," added Antonio. "I've slept over his house six times, and I still don't know what the hell his name is."

On stage, a pair of plastic crowns were being placed on Gavin's and Andrea's heads respectively.

Andrea dipped into a nervous little curtsy, but Gavin, not shy at all, took the microphone from the principal. "Hey, everybody! I just wanted to say thanks for voting me your king – you guys obviously have great taste, and I hope you're all having one hell of a night."

Several kids clapped – a couple of the guys in the front whooped – and the principal muttered something about a speech really not being required, while Andrea sort of ducked her head forward, the rhinestones on her plastic crown winking as she did so.

"Yeah, uh, thanks," she croaked as soon as her lips were in line with the mike.

Gavin nudged her aside, inching her backwards with a roll of his shoulder. "Come on. Nobody likes a mike hog, Andrea."

"You da man, Gavin!" shouted one kid from the middle of the crowd.

Gavin lifted three fingers to his right eyebrow and gave him a cheery salute. "Love you, too, buddy! Keep on rocking after graduation! I mean it!"

"Who is that?" whispered Andrea.

He covered the mike with his hand. "I have no idea."

"Okay" – the principal wrested the microphone away from Gavin, not without some difficulty – "well, that was lovely; now why don't you kids go pick your partners for your king and queen dance?"

Andrea found Jonah the second she stepped off the stage and down from the lower platform, but Gavin didn't seek out Sarah or any of the other girls – the song was slow, romantic, and the lights had dimmed, so it would have been awkward – instead aiming for the side exit and fishing in his suit pocket for his phone. He took a quick selfie leaning against the brick wall of the dance hall Clarksville Valley High had chosen for their senior prom, but the over-the-top bravado and charisma he'd shown on stage had already begun to leak out of him at a rapid rate. Gavin could put on a show, no one was better at feigning contentment – he'd spent most of his 21st century childhood trying to pretend away his bleeds so his parents wouldn't notice and make a fuss, after all – but he kind of needed an audience for that. Once he'd taken the pic and posted it to whatever social media account he was already signed into on his phone, he didn't really have much of one anymore.

He sighed and scrolled. There were a couple of comments already, but none of them from who he was hoping might notice his update.

The door clicked behind him, and he turned to see his sister standing there. "I just wanted to see if you were okay."

Daniella was wearing pink – all of the girls who'd shared a limo with Katherine Skidmore and Chip Winston tonight were wearing pink, in various shades of bubblegum through dusty-rose. Daniella's dress leaned more towards dusty. She had a tentative smile on her face, but her eyes were sad. For him, though, not for herself.

"I'm great," he told her brightly, taking the crown off his head and holding it out like a trophy. "I'm king."

"Yeah, I heard."

He sighed. "I know it's stupid, Danny, but every time" – every time without fail – "something big happens in my life – even if it's just a dumb high school thing – and I post it online, I always think maybe – maybe this time – she's gonna pop up in the comments or on the message boards." Jo. "Like, I don't know, I'll find out she's just been quietly stalking me on social media for years and I finally get to talk to her now that...whatever's..." Gavin shook his head. "She's not looking for me. I have to accept it."

Daniella came over and leaned her head on her brother's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"Why can't I move on? Why am I out here hoping for a miracle I know isn't going to happen, instead of" – his tired blue eyes darted in the direction of the door – "in there?"

"I think it's because you don't really want to be in there." She curled her hand into his. "I've known you in two different lives, and you never do anything you don't want to."

Gavin rested his chin on Daniella's hairline and sighed, "I don't know how to make myself stop wanting her."

When – eventually – Gavin returned inside to the prom and escorted Daniella back to her friends, he found that Andrea had given her crown to Katherine, who was wearing it slightly lopsided because her updo pushed it a little to the left no matter how many times she tried to make it stay straight on her head.

With a tiny, tight smirk, he tapped Chip Winston on the shoulder and offered him his crown to match Katherine's. "Hey – from one guy who almost had a kingdom to rule to another."

"Thanks!" Chip grinned at him.

"You still lost the bet," Sarah told Gavin as they watched Chip and Katherine sway to a song with a deep base, their crowns gleaming and refracting as they glided across the floor almost cheek to cheek.

"I know," he said. "Who'd you dance with, after I walked out?"

"Crockett." Sarah giggled. "His name's Ryan, by the way. Did you know that?"

"Sure," he lied.

~2019~

Liston, Ohio

The painting depicted a boy in early to mid adolescence, somewhere between thirteen and sixteen, dipping his fingertips into translucent, glowing water where a school of tropical-looking fish in brilliant, luminous colors seemed to be swimming at an indeterminate distance from his outstretched hand.

Antonio made to turn the glossy page of the brochure, but Gavin's hand came down flat on the binding, preventing him. "Hang on a sec. I'm still reading the small print."

Of course, he was doing no such thing. Gavin rarely read anything to do with professional artwork, though he might dutifully look at the pictures with Antonio. But he recognised the style, knew who the artist was without even looking for her familiar signature in the corner.

Brendan entered the room, working a wide-tooth comb through his curly hair. He glanced over their shoulders. "God, Tiegan's a genius – look at those colors. She's got more light than Kinkade."

Antonio shot him a withering look. "You did not just say that." In their circles, you didn't bring up Thomas Kinkade and expect to be taken seriously. Kinkade was what was on the tin of Christmas cookies your grandma sent every year, or hanging in a waiting room at the vet's office when you took your dog in to be fixed, or plastered on your great aunt Meryl's get well soon card.

Brendan shrugged, unapologetic. He'd said what he'd said. Then, glancing at the picture again, "Hey, he kind of looks a bit like you, Gavin."

I know, thought Gavin. That was what he was looking at. Not the colors, not the brushstrokes, which he was sure were every bit as skilled and impressive as Brendan gushed that they were. No, he was studying the features of the boy who, although in profile, face not entirely visible, resembled him enough to give him hope.

This portrait was a recent work. One done for a new gallery exhibit that would premiere in Sydney but also make its way as far as Adelaide later this year.

She did think of him.

He was still on her mind.

"I'm sorry, what, Dad?" Gavin stopped stabbing his meatloaf with the tines of his fork and blinked, bleary-eyed, at Mr. Danes across the table.

"I said," sighed Mr. Danes, long-sufferingly, "you're a grown man; you need to decide what you're going to do with your life."

Gavin gaped.

Misunderstanding, Mr. Danes ploughed on, "You didn't want to apply to college straight out of high school, your mother and I respected that, lots of people have a gap year, but–"

Somehow, with all that had happened in his life, Gavin hadn't realized he was grown up. He, Gavin Danes, was an adult. He'd be turning nineteen soon enough. Nobody could say that was still a child. His dad saying it, so casually, made him start. Made him think seriously, made him hope as he'd been daring to hope lately without, until now, any thought of putting that hope into action.

"What is it you want to do, Gavey?" his mother put in. "I understand Antonio's got that cross-country roadtrip coming up, but..." But her son hadn't seemed keen, too lost in his own little world. She hadn't said so, but she was worried he'd get into trouble again, the way he used to when he was younger, if he didn't have any goals or occupations or plans for the future.

Gavin felt a tremor of excitement rushing through him. His hand shook as he set the fork down with a clink.

"I want to go to Australia," he announced to his bewildered parents. "Sydney."