Joey was seven when he realized his Mum wasn’t coming home. He realized it in the way his Daddy set the table for four, but one seat was always empty. He realized it in the way nobody folded his socks and underwear anymore; in the way his little sister cried and cried for their mother, and all his Daddy could do was rock her back and forth. “Mum’s not here right now,” Daddy would tell Sofia. “She’ll be home soon, baby girl”. Joey listened as his Daddy repeated those words, chanting them as though they would come true, if only it was said enough.

Daddy used to lock the door every night when Mum was around. He said it was so nobody could get in. Then he would tickle Joey and grin, adding that “the doors locked so everyone stays home, and nobody goes out, and we’re all safe and sound”.

Once when Daddy told him this, Joey squealed and wriggled out of Daddy’s grasp, running over to Mum. “I wanna go out, Mum! Let’s go out for ice cream. Please?”

Mum had smiled softly, and smoothed her hands over his hair. “Nobody’s going out, Honey. Look how dark it is outside. It’s too late for ice cream”.

So Joey had gone to bed that night, tucked in under his Superman blankets. His feet were cold and he didn’t feel tired at all, but Mum had promised him ice cream if he went to sleep right away. Sofia was in her cot, nonsense babbling out of her mouth, and he could hear his parents talking in hushed whispers outside his room. Eventually, it had been enough to lull him to sleep.

Now, Daddy didn’t lock the door at all. Joey supposed that was alright, mostly because they lived in a relatively safe town. He didn’t think anyone would break in. But the whole thing was still worrisome-- Instead of sleeping in his room, Daddy sat on the couch all night long and sipped on a beer, waiting for Mum to jiggle the doorknob, the stubborn thing, and announce her return. If Mum came back, Daddy was going to be there when she did.

But of course, Mum wasn’t coming back. Daddy sat on the couch anyway.

***
It was a Tuesday night when Joey picked up the phone, answering a call from Sofia’s elementary school.

“‘Hello?” He had said, attention only partially on the call. His eyes were trained on the TV screen in the other room,  straining to hear the low volume as he watched cartoon characters bicker.

“Is this the Rigg’s residence?” The lady on the other end of the call asked.

“Sure is,” Joey replied. “Who’s this?”

The lady cleared her throat, and paused for a moment. Joey thought he heard the shuffling of papers. “This is Holly Bernstein, from the Hamilton Elementary School. I’d like to speak with David Riggs, regarding Sofia’s attendance”.

He remember Mrs. Bernstein, and wondered how he hadn’t recognized her voice. She had worked in the office when he had gone to the elementary school, too. She had always seemed friendly enough, although a bit stern. He didn’t have much interaction with her though, especially now that he was in sixth grade and attending the middle school.

Joey chewed his lip and glanced at the couch, where Dad was snoring loudly. The blanket he had placed on Dad earlier had fallen to the floor, and he wondered if it was a good idea to wake Dad up. He could be a real bear if he got woken up, and Joey hated to do it. But it sounded like Mrs. Bernstein’s call was important.

“Dad,” Joey said quietly, walking over and shaking the man by the shoulder. “Dad, wake up, Fia’s school is calling”.

The man came to slowly, sighing and then shifting to his other side, so that Joey had to shake him again. Finally Dad’s eyes blearily slid open and settled on his son. He yawned and scratched the stubble on his jaw, and Joey made a mental note to remind Dad to shave. The scraggle was making him look a bit unhygienic.

“Wha’ is it?” Dad mumbled, taking the phone from Joey and putting it up to his ear. More clearly he said, “Who’s this?”

Joey watched Dads expression shift from groggy to irritated as he listened to Mrs. Bernstein. “Two weeks you say?” Dad sat up and glanced towards Sofia’s room. “No-- calling child protection isn’t--”

Mrs. Bernstein must have cut Dad off because he stopped mid-sentence and scowled. Dad hated being interrupted. Joey remembered one time he had interrupted Dad when he was discussing a football game with one of his beer buds. The result had been a short outburst of anger, a sore bum, and a timeout that had lasted an hour.

Now, Dad wasn’t any less irritated. His frown deepened as Mrs. Bernstein continued, and he finally nodded and got a word in.

“Yeah, she’ll be in tomorrow. Swear it”, he said, and then hung up. His gaze turned to Joey. “You haven’t been taking your sister into school? I thought I told you to take her into school”.

He hadn’t. But Joey didn’t say anything. Instead he told Dad, “The elementary is past my school, I’d have to double back if I took Fia in, and I’d be late for class. Couldn’t you take her in?”

Joey said it all in a rush, and looked hopefully up at Dad. He always had English class as his first period, and he didn’t like to be late for it. English was his favorite. But the man just shook his head and briefly nudged Joey’s shoulder with his palm. “No can do Squirt, I gotta go inta the garage. Use your bike. It’ll be quicker”.

So Joey nodded and looked at the floor, cursing his Mum for leaving for the hundredth time. If she were here, there would be someone else to bring Fia to school. Dad trudged into the kitchen, throwing a “whataya want for dinner?” over his shoulder, opening and closing some cupboards. They ended up eating half cooked chicken nuggets and drinking a bit of cranberry juice in front of the TV, watching some cartoons in subdued silence. The next morning Joey took Fia to school, sitting her on his handlebars while she balanced the bags on her lap. She hummed a song from The Lion King all the way there, bobbing her head, and Joey could barely see. It was slow going, and by the time they made it to Fia’s school, it was 8:45, and Joey ended up being 3 minutes late to English class.

***

The nine empty beer bottles, a pile of mail, and a passed out father gave it away.

Sighing, Joey quietly set his backpack down on the counter and shuffled over to the mound of what could only be bills. His back ached from carrying his pre-calc textbook around all day, and he was almost positive he had failed his European History test. Sofia came in the door behind him, paying no attention to their sleeping dad, and skipped over to the fridge.

“I’m starved”, she proclaimed loudly. She stared at the almost empty fridge and frowned. “We need to go shopping”.

Joey rolled his eyes and filled up a glass of water. “And what kind of shopping does that mean?” he said. He sipped slowly, stalling, deliberately averting his eyes from the mail.

“Grocery shopping, you d***wad”, Sofia replied. “Although I need more pants”.

“You have enough pants”, Joey told her. She didn’t really, only two pairs of jeans, and one with a huge rip in the knee. But Joey didn’t think they could afford to buy more. The only income the family had was dads check from the army, since he had gotten fired from the garage about a month ago. Hence the oncoming nervous breakdown about the stack of bills.

“Go do your homework, I’ll get something for dinner in a bit” he said, refusing to look at his sister. She deserved better than a drunk for a father and an absent mother. They both did.

When Fia shut her door, the plates in the cupboard rattled. Joey winced and looked at his dad, praying to God he wouldn’t wake up. He didn’t want to deal with his dad at the moment. Luckily, the man kept snoring. Once again, Joey glanced at the mail pile, and deciding he shouldn’t stall any longer, picked up the first bill, opening it cautiously. $1,250 in debt. There was no way his dads army check could cover that.

Joey tilted his head towards the ceiling and stared and the mysterious brown splotch on it. Nobody in the family knew how it gotten there.  He had a faint memory of Mum balancing herself on a stepstool, and for what seemed like hours, trying to scrub the brown away. But it hadn’t worked, and eight years later, the splotch was still there. But maybe that was okay.

Joey heard the door squeak open, reminding him he needed to oil the hinges. He listened as Fia padded over to him, and felt her hand on his arm. He tilted the letter away from her.

“Are we gonna be okay?” She asked, in small and timid voice.
Joey tore his eyes from the brown splotch, and glanced at their dad. He felt his lips curl. If only his dad had actually gone into the garage once in a while and hadn’t lost his godd*** job, if the army check supplied them with more money, if Dad wasn’t a drunk. If only Mum hadn’t left.

Then where would he be now, if only?

He turned and smiled at Fia. “We’ll be fine. I’ll get a job”.

That night, Joey fell asleep with his head on the table, and the newspaper opened to the classified section.
His dad hadn’t moved from the couch.

***

“Riggs, catch”.

Joey’s reflexes barely saved him from being hit in the head with an orange.  He was d**n lucky he caught the thing, as Quinn, his co-worker, had chucked it pretty hard. And since Quinn was the pitcher on the high schools baseball team, hard meant hard. When Joey had first started working at the general store, all the guy had talked about was baseball. The stats, the players, the tournaments, everything. At first it had irritated Joey to no end-- but he needed the money, and since he and Quinn were practically the only employs, he worked long hours and made a decent salary. Over time Joey had come to appreciate the guy, he turned out to be good company when it was slow going in the store. More importantly, Quinn understood money issues. The only reason he was attending college in the fall was because of a full paying baseball scholarship.

Joey absentmindedly threw the orange in Quinn’s direction. “Hey, you almost made me lose my place”.

He heard Quinn saunter over for his own cash register, tossing the orange from hand to hand. “In that lame book? Dude, come on. It’s not even for school”.

“Yeah, well it’s a good book”, Joey said defensively. He gave up trying to concentrate on the text, and doggy-corned the page, setting the book down next him.

“So,” Quinn said, and hopped up counter beside him, swinging his legs back and forth. Nike sneakers hit Joey’s back lightly, and he moved a bit further away.

“What colleges have you been lookin’ at?” Quinn asked him.

Joey scoffed. “Are you kidding? College isn’t even remotely possible. I can barely afford to keep the house as it is”. He ignored the small slug in his stomach, eating up his insides with disappointment. What a luxury it would be to continue his education, but unfortunately, luxuries were not something his life allowed for.

“Yeah.. well, maybe you can get a scholarship or something, like I did”.

“I’m not a baseball star, Quinn”.

Before Quinn could continue, the door chimed open and a scruffy looking old man walked in. He shuffled past the boys, nodding, and disappeared into the aisle containing toilet paper. Joey picked his book up again, a common social que to leave someone alone, and pretended he didn’t feel Quinn’s gaze on the back of his neck.
“Hey,” Quinn said quietly, so the old man (who was now browsing the chip collection) didn’t hear. “Why don’t you go home. I’ll close up here”.

Joey nodded, and started pulling on his coat. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow”, he said, and walked out into the evening, the door dinging shut behind him. Drawing in a breath, he set his feet towards home, hands shoved deep in his pockets and eyes staring at the pavement in between his feet.

When he walked in the front door, the first thing Joey noticed was that the house was quiet. Sofia wasn’t playing music from her room. Dad didn’t have the TV on. In fact, neither of them could be seen.

He found his sister sitting at the kitchen table, a steaming mug of tea clasped between her hands. Her eyes were red rimmed and shiny, and she sat perfectly still, training her eyes on the fridge.

“Fia?” Joey asked softly, and cautiously moved towards her, setting his feet down lightly, as if the sound of his footsteps would shake the house to shambles. There was a pit of foreboding in his stomach, steadily growing as the seconds ticked by. Sofia didn’t say anything, just let out a small breath from between her lips, and tilted her head towards the fridge door. A note was taped on it. Joey’s eyes skimmed it once, twice, and three times, checking to see if his mind was playing trick on him. But the writing remained the same. 

It said, Needed to clear head. Back in 3 days. Dad.

“He’s not coming back is he,” Sofia whispered from behind him.

“I don’t know,” he replied, even though he did. “I guess we’ll find out in three days”.

Three days passed. Then four, and then five.

Joey waited for his dad on the couch each night.

***

They had gotten away with it for two months. It was easier than Joey had anticipated, since everything appeared to be the same. Dad’s army checks were still sent to the house, Joey still went to work, and because it was summer vacation, school wasn’t an issue yet. If asked about their father, which they rarely were, they answered vaguely and smiled brightly, and nobody knew better than to believe them. Joey thought they could have continued like that for another few months at least. They could have done it. They would have done it.

But then Sofia told her best friend Lexi Moore, as teenage girls always do, and in turn Lexi told her mother. Mrs. Moore called the school, who then contacted child protection services. And of course, that’s when the gig was up.

Joey had been in the middle of English class when he had been called in to the principal’s office. The kids had snickered and asked what he had done, throwing assumptions at him as he exited the classroom. His stomach rolled with anxiety as he trudged down the hall,  hoping to God it wasn’t about his father. But as soon as he had that thought, Joey wondered if there was actually a God to pray to, if there was even a chance, however slim, that everything would turn out alright.

When he walked into the office,  Sofia was already sitting in one of the chairs that faced the desk. Instead of acknowledging him, she stared at a model ship that sat on the wooden surface in front of her. It was obviously old, perhaps an antique. The wood was stained and cracking, it’s sails drooping and the ropes unraveling. Joey had never seen the model boat before, never been interested in sailing either, but for some reason, he couldn’t tear his eyes from the frayed rigging. He felt oddly connected to it, in this room of tension and inevitable change.

Three adults stood on the other side of the desk, two of which Joey recognized. Mr. Greene, the principal, and Ms. Caskey, the school guidance counselor. The third women he had never seen before. She was dressed in a sharp blue suit, and had her black hair cut to her chin. Her name tag read “Alice Emerick”.

“Joey,” Mr. Greene said calmly. “Why don’t you take a seat”.

***

Alice Emerick was a social worker. She told them that they were lucky. Lucky that they wouldn’t be separated and catered off to numerous foster homes, or put in an orphanage to rot. Instead, they were going to be put in their uncle’s custody-- an uncle, who prior to the conversation, had been non-existent.

“His name is Jacob Riggs,” Ms. Emerick told them. “He lost contact with your father before you were born. And since you have nowhere else to go, you will go to him”.

And so they did.

They were allowed to go home one last time to pack up all their belongings. Sofia brought everything she owned, half of suitcase filled with CD’s, and her extra pair of jeans tucked away in the corner. Joey only brought his clothes, stuffing it all in his backpack. It didn’t take long. While he waited for Sofia to finish, he stood in the kitchen and burned all the family photos on the stove, letting the smoke waft up to the fire detector.

The high pitched beeping was almost instantaneous, and Alice Emerick emerged from the living room with a pillow, and started waving it around. She asked Joey what on earth he had been doing, and he shrugged. Nothing, he had told her.

Later, as he and Sofia sat on the bus that would take them to Virginia, Joey brought it up.

“You didn’t come out when the fire detector went off”, he noted.

Sofia looked away from the window and the passing scenery, and gazed at him. “I figured if the house was burning down, it didn’t really matter”, she said quietly, tilting her head like a bird. “We were leaving anyway”.

Joey picked at the cracked bus seat and wished she wasn’t right.

***

Their uncle’s house had pristine paint job.

It made Joey incredibly uneasy.

On the bus ride over, he and Sofia had speculated what Jacob would be like, their predictions ranging from a grimy WalMart employee to an obsessive NASCAR fan who had pictures upon pictures of cars plastered on his walls. Truth be told, they had no idea what to expect, and so their imaginations ran amok. Sofia’s predictions were on the naive side, theorizing her own version of a Prince Charming, someone who would come and magically, impossibly, fix their despairing lives. Joey, on the other hand, braced himself for the worst.

For all their musings, Jacob Riggs was not what they expected. For one, it was obvious the guy was loaded, judging by the tasteful paintings that decorated his home, and the amount of lavish purses his wife kept in the hall closet. Large windows gave a stunning view to the extensive property he owned, the grass meticulously mowed and cared for. From what Joey gathered, his uncle had been a successful lawyer, who had eventually settled down with his loving wife, Theresa, and answered his calling as a English professor at the local university.

Jacob and Theresa had watched them anxiously as they moved in, fretting over them and asking if they needed anything every five minutes. Theresa was significantly  worse than her husband, disconcertingly playing the mother-hen role. Sofia lapped up the attention, although hesitantly at first, and then with enthusiasm. Joey, to say the least, did not have the same reaction.

For dinner Theresa served them parmesan chicken with artichoke hearts on the side. Joey did his best to eat it slowly, nibbling at the rich tastes and trying to appear civil, using manners that he hadn’t used, or even thought of, in years. Every instinct he had urged him to wolf the meal down, but Joey took extra care to chew with his mouth closed, and place the napkin on his lap.

“So, Joey,” Jacob said. “Do you play any sports?”

He shook his head, eyes still trained on his meal. He had always been interested in soccer, but his job and lack of money for the equipment had always prohibited him from playing. “No, sir”, he answered, and left it at that.

An awkward silence filled the room, Jacob obviously waiting for Joey to expand on his response, and Joey, clearly done talking.

Sofia jumped in. “I play the ukulele,” she announced, her voice unnecessarily bright. “Joey got me one for my birthday, so I’ve only been playing for a couple months, but my old music teacher thought I was pretty good”.

“That’s wonderful,” Theresa praised her eagerly. “Would you play a song for us after dinner?”

Sofia, of course, obliged.

Joey didn’t stick around long enough to hear his sister play though, he had already listened to the grand total of 3 songs she knew about a million times. So he snuck upstairs to what was now his room, and layed on the bed, staring at the ceiling and wishing there was a smudge of some sort that stained the white paint. He could hear hesitant laughter downstairs, accompanied by the faint strum of the ukulele. Joey wondered how Sofia could act the way she was, casual and calm, as if their entire lives hadn’t just been torn away from them.

Joey turned on his side, and let a tear slide down the bridge of his nose.

He wanted his Mum back.

***

Sofia came to say goodnight about an hour later.

“Hey”, she said, poking her head through the door, smiling brightly.

“Joe, I think it’s gonna be good here. I think it’s gonna be real good”.

When he didn’t answer, she slipped in the door cautiously, her smile fading. The door clicked shut behind her. “Joey?”

“What?” he answered tersely.

Sofia came and stood by his bed, looking down on him with crossed arms. “What’s your problem?” she asked, just as terse. Her smile was completely gone.

“What’s yours?” he countered, sitting up abruptly. He scowled at her. “How do we know this guy’s actually related to us? Dad never mentioned him, not once”.

“Yeah,” Sofia said, rolling her eyes. “They had a falling out. Ms. Emerick told us that.”

Joey snorted and flopped onto his stomach, pushing his head into the pillow. “Whatever,” he mumbled, the word considerably stifled. Sofia sighed, and sat down next to him, the mattress dipping under her weight. Joey peeked out at her from under the pillow, eyebrows drawn.

“Jacob showed me some pictures of him and Dad when they were kids”, She said softly. She didn’t touch him, treating him like a wounded animal who was backed into a corner.

“Said their fall out had something to do with gambling”, she continued. “Pretty believable, huh?”

“Yeah”, he said, finally looking her in the eye. “I guess”.

A silence feel between the two. Sofia played with a loose thread from the comforter, and Joey watched, listening to the clock tick in the background. They stayed like that for a while, and probably would have stayed like that all night, if Jacob hadn’t opened the door.

“Hey”, he said, his voice sounding loud to Joey’s ears. Firmly, yet kindly, Jacob said,“Sofia, why don’t you go back to your room. It’s time for lights out”.

She blinked, surprised. “Okay”, she answered after a moment.

“Lemme just say goodnight”.

Jacob nodded. “Alright. Goodnight, kids. Sleep well”.

He shut the door, and Joey immediately turned and stared at Sofia with an incredulous look on his face. “It’s time for lights out,” he repeated, the command foreign to his ears. He picked up his pillow and threw it as hard as he could against the opposite wall, breathing heavily. The pillow slid unceremoniously to the floor.

Sofia jumped. “Joey,” she hissed.

“No!”, he said loudly. “No. We were godd*** fine without them”.

Fia padded across the room and picked up the pillow. She clutched it to her chest and looked at him sadly. “We weren’t, Joe. We really, really weren’t. But being here, with them--”, she gestured with one arm, waving it around the room. “We’ve got a chance. We can eat more than spaghettios. Have more than two pairs of pants. You can go to college. I know you’ve always wanted to”.

“I’m not going to college”, he said immediately.

“Whatever”, She snapped, throwing him a dirty look. She chucked the pillow back at him. “Be that way”.

The door all but slammed shut behind her, and Joey was left to his own thoughts.

He didn’t sleep that night. He stared at the ceiling and tried to convince himself that he was in fact, fine.

***

To put it lightly, Mrs. Abernacky was a portly women.

No pun intended.

Joey shifted uncomfortably in the plush floral chair that faced the guidance counselor, and tried to discreetly cover his nose with his sleeve; the women was wearing to much of cheap sweet pea perfume. When he walked out of there (if he ever did, he thought glumly), Joey would reek of it, and no doubt be shot some very peculiar looks as he walked down the school halls.

“So, Joey,” She said, her voice upbeat and a big smile plastered on her round face. She hadn’t stopped smiling since he had walked into the room. Joey wondered if her cheeks hurt. “How are you liking Rosamond High so far?”

Joey shrugged. He spent the majority of his time in the library, even after classes ended. He didn’t have any friends. But the education here was good, so Joey supposed it was alright. “I like it”, he responded.

Mrs. Abernethy's grin widened, and her third chin jiggled a bit.”Oh that’s wonderful”, she exclaimed, and it seemed she was truly glad to hear it. “Now, Joey,” she continued, and Joey wished she would stop saying his name. “I see you haven’t joined any clubs or extracurricular activities. Now, I know its hard to move to a new school, especially three weeks into the school year, but I think it’s time you start applying yourself to the school community”.

“Uh..” he said.

Mrs. Abernacky went on like he hadn’t said anything, chattering about the different clubs the school offered. Joey squirmed, only catching a few words the women said. He thought he detected a slight southern accent, though it was hard to tell. Mrs. Abernacky spoke with a fast pace, the words slurring together.

“--- theater club?” She finished, looking at him expectantly.

“Uh,” he said again, and blinked at her. “No. No clubs, please”.
She looked at him, stunned.

“Okay”, she said slowly, and smiled again. Joey’s cheeks ached just looking at her. “How about a sport?”

Joey scratched his collarbone, and nodded hesitantly. “Alright”, he mumbled.

Again, Mrs. Abernacky started reeling off the options, counting on her fingers as she went. This time, however, Joey didn’t hesitate to interrupt her.

“Soccer”, he said, immediately after the sport was listed. “I’ll do soccer”.

Mrs. Abernacky beamed, a smudge of orange lipstick staining her teeth. “Wonderful! An excellent choice, Mr. Ryse is a superb coach”, she told him, blushing a bit. She opened one of her desk drawers and shuffled through some of her files until she found the one she was looking for. She held the sheet out to him triumphantly. “The practice and game schedule”, she told him, winking.

Joey took it and nodded his thanks, standing up to go.

He was halfway out the door when she called him back.

“Oh, and Joey,” she began. “What colleges are you looking at? The application process will start soon, and the guidance department needs to know where you’re looking to go, so we can help you as best as we possibly can”.

Joey could practically hear the smile in her voice, taste the sugar in her tone. “I haven’t looked at any”, he admitted, turning back around to face her.

Mrs. Abernacky was not phased. “Not a problem,” she told him, grabbing a few pamphlets from her desk. She waddled over to him, holding the papers out to him. “Here’s some information on a few local schools”.

The papers she handed him were glossy and smelled like they had been freshly printed. He didn’t look at the schools they advertized, only stuffed them in his back pocket as he turned, doing his best to indicate to Mrs. Abernacky that he was leaving. She smiled and waved, her cheeks rosy and teeth still smudged orange, wishing him luck in soccer as the door shut behind him. Joey swore he heard something about Coach Ryse’s biceps, and in his hurry to get away from the office, he nearly knocked over a scrawny looking freshman.

“My bad,” Joey said breathlessly, throwing the apology over his shoulder. He didn’t wait for a response. For the first time, he was in a hurry to get to the house.

He walked quickly, the college pamphlets and soccer schedule crinkling loudly in his back pocket, and Joey found himself relishing in the sound.

***

He found Theresa in the dining room, computer open and papers scattered around her. Her hair was thrown up in a messy bun with a few black strands hanging around her jaw, her cheeks flushed and a focused look on her face. In short, she looked swamped with work. Joey gazed at her through the doorway, gnawing on his lip and debating whether or not he should go in there. He needed cleats and shinguards. But--- Theresa was busy.

Before he could turn to go, however, his aunt picked her head up from her work. Her eyes were tired and red, but as soon as she saw at him, she smiled.

“Joey,” she said, a bit surprised. “I didn’t see you there. How was school?”

Joey didn’t think he’d ever been asked that question before. He liked how it sounded.  “Good,” he answered her shyly, stumbling over his words a bit. “I, uh, I joined the soccer team”.

Theresa’s eyes brightened. “Soccer will be fun! I know the coach, he’s very good at what he does”, she confided in him. “Do you have everything you need?”

Joey blinked. “Actually, I was wondering if I could borrow some money to buy some cleats and shinguards. I’ll repay you, I promise”.

Theresa seemed taken aback. Then she pushed her stacks of paper to the side, and stood, smoothing her hair and grabbing her purse. “Nonsense,” she chided him, her lips quirking up. “It’s on me”.

She didn’t give him time to protest-- only tossed him the car keys on her way out the door, saying something about a study break. Joey hurried after her, a bit bewildered.

An hour later he had blue and orange cleats, some shin guards, and a pair of socks. Theresa even got him his own soccer ball. His jaw hung open the entire time, but his aunt took it in good nature. She didn’t question the total price it came to, didn’t even blink. As they walked out of the store together, a plastic bag full of soccer gear swinging on Joey’s arm, Theresa squeezed his shoulder, and asked if he wanted ice cream.

“Cookie Dough, please”, had been Joey’s response.

***

Joey had first game jitters.

It was a chilly day, and Joey and his team mates were jumping up and down to stay warm. He remembered the long sleeve shirt he had draped over his bed, and cursed himself for not wearing it. His jersey did little to warm him, and Joey doubted he would be playing, and therefore running, very much. He would likely be freezing for a long time.

As he listened to Coach Ryse talk, he scanned the sidelines of the field for people. A few groups dotted the grass, all of them shivering in the autumn chill. They were all unfamiliar.

“Since this is a home game”, Coach was saying, “We need to be on the stop of our game. I want everyone to take the next few minutes to stretch, drink some water or eat a powerbar, and think about what you want to accomplish in this match. No chit chat, just thinking and preparing yourself. Alright?”

The team muttered the affirmative, and split off into smaller groups. Some went farther in to the field with a ball, dribbling and passing, practicing some of their feet work. Others, like Joey, headed towards the bench.

He sat down on the cool metal and sipped from his water bottle, jiggling his knee and staring at his bright cleats. They were so new looking. As grateful as he was for Theresa buying the shoes for him, he almost wished they were scuffed up. Used. Second hand. It would a lot more familiar.

One of his team mates, Perry MacDonald, sat down beside him. He held a miniature bag of Cheetos cheese puffs in his hand, trying to hide it from Coach.

Joey jerked his chin towards the bag, and smirked. “Nice. Healthy”, he said lightheartedly. “Bet Coach Ryse’d loved that”.

Perry snorted and licked his fingers free of orange dust. “You got fans”, he noted, ignoring Joey, and pointing across the field.
Joey looked up, sure Perry was yanking his chain. And sure enough, there, on the sidelines, stood Jacob, Theresa and Sofia, wrapped in fleece blankets and shivering, but each with a big smile on their face. They looked like they had just arrived, a couple unfolded chairs laying on the ground. Fia held a sign in her hands, reading, Go Riggs! #17 on it.

"That your family?" Asked Perry. He adjusted his jacket, pulling it over the Cheetos and obscuring the offending food from vision.

"Yeah," Joey said, a little surprised. "I didn't know they were coming".

"Huh", Perry said. He smacked his lips together. "Your mom and dad then?"

"No," Joey replied immediately, still looking over at the trio. Theresa waved. "Thank God".

Perry frowned, probably confused, but he didn’t push the matter. "Well whoever she is, that lady is hot", he remarked, waving back at Theresa. Joey could see her confused smile from where he and Perry were sitting.

He snatched the bag of cheese puffs away from his team mate roughly. "Hey", Joey warned, and took a few for himself. It felt like ages since he’s eaten honest to God junk food. The pantry at home was devoid of any junk food, and Jacob was a vegetarian, so Theresa only cooked relatively healthy meals for dinner, but Joey wasn’t complaining. "Watch it".

Perry held up his hands and grinned good naturedly. "I'm kidding with ya, new kid. S'all good".

"MacDonald, Riggs", Coach Ryse barked at them. He biceps bulged in his t-shirt sleeves, and Joey remembered how Mrs. Abernacky had gushed. It seemed like so long ago. "Quit talking and take a lap! Concentration is key!"

Joey dropped the snack bag on the bench and shrugged at Perry. He stood up and waved at his family, before starting up a slow jog around the field, Perry on his heels. Before long, he had warmed up again, his feet rhythmically hitting the ground, over and over. He he sped up, sprinting the last length of the lap until he stumbled to a stop and hunched over, his hands on his knees and chest heaving. He could feel the wind chilling the sweat that had gathered in his temples, but even so, he was warm, he was alive, and his nerves were gone.

***

For 9 days, Joey was obsessed with the mailbox. He checked it religiously--- waiting, anticipating, and for once, looking forward to the mail.

On day 1, there had been a some fashion magazines for Theresa.

On day 2, a notice for Fia’s upcoming dentist appointment.

On day 3 and 4, nothing, and on day 5, a postcard from Costa Rica, sent by Jacobs best friend.

On day 6, it had been the electricity bill, which Joey forced himself to ignore.

On day 7, they had accidently received their neighbors mail, but there was nothing for the Riggs residence.

On day 8, a package of clothes came for Fia. But there was nothing for Joey.

And finally, on day 9-- a stack of college applications.

***

“Jacob?”

His voice sounded young, and his question reminded him of child asking where their mother was going on the first day of kindergarten. Uncertain. Innocent. Joey didn’t quite recognize the voice as his own.

His uncle, sat at the kitchen table with a book open in front of him and bowl of cereal by his elbow. When Joey said his name, he froze, a spoonful of multigrain Cheerios halfway to his mouth. Jacob put the spoon down and marked his page.

“Hey, kid”, he said, not unkindly. He patted the seat next to him. “What can I do for you?”

Joey padded into the kitchen, his laptop in his hand. It had been a moving in present, when he and Sofia had first come to live with their aunt and uncle. For months it had sat on Joey’s desk, untouched, but he had started using it when it came to writing his college essays.

He sat down next to his uncle and lay the laptop down in front of him. He and Jacob sat in silence for a moment, Jacob waiting patiently for Joey to speak.

“Uh,” Joey started. He cleared his throat. “I was wondering if you’d read my college essays. Just to see if they're good enough to get me into a school. If that’s alright”.

There was a pause, and then Jacob pushed away his cereal and closed his book. “I would love to,” he told Joey. “Are they on your computer?”

Joey nodded and opened the laptop to a Microsoft Word document. “Yeah”, he said, tilting the screen towards his uncle.

They sat in silence as Jacob read. Joey fiddled with his hands as he waited, antsy. He interrupted his uncle about half way through the first essay, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he even realized he said it.

“Hey, Jacob?” Joey interjected. His uncle paused and looked at him over the rim of his glasses expectantly. Joey scratched his neck, and then sat up straight, looking his uncle in the eye. “Uh, thanks. For everything. Thanks”.

Jacob smiled and nodded slowly. “You’re welcome”.

They looked at each other for a moment, and then Jacob went back to reading the essay. Joey sat there, his chin in his hand and propped his head up. He could faintly hear Fia playing the ukulele in her room, and he heard the murmurs of the soap opera Theresa was watching in the other room.  The light in the kitchen was low, and it bathed Joey and his uncle in a soft glow. The dish was washer hummed a few feet behind him, and the leftovers were packed and put away in the fridge. The ceiling was white, and Joey was content with the world.