‘Good save, lady,’ Erica thinks to herself, but try this one. With a quick glance at her P.O., Erica sucks in a breath. “How old are you and your husband?” Erica asks, and, glancing her P.O.’s upset face, quickly adds, “Well, I mean, not to be rude or nuth-anything, it’s just…well, I guess there’s no not-rude way to say this: if you’re too old, or, well, you know, then how are you guys s’posed to play around, like football or whatever, ya know? Cause, I dunno ‘bout ‘Davey’, but I like a good game of football every once in a while…” Erica trails off as her P.O. stands. The woman stands also, but not to move toward Erica. She goes over to the counter and leans on it, and Erica wonders how the hell it can support her weight.

“Well, that’s a good, valid question. You’re used to being in an active environment, I can tell. And that’s good! Don’t want to let yourself go to waste, like I did. Ha ha! But to answer your question, I’m forty-two and my husband is forty-nine, and, unfortunately, he is much too tired, nor is he in any shape to be outside, playing football or any sport, really…but there is a park about three blocks east, and there’s a group of kids there every day, playing some kind of sport…Davey isn’t really the type to play sports…he’s much more interested in his video games and things like that…ha ha! I tell you, that boy spends more time playing in front of a screen than he does breathing!” At this, even the P.O. offers a chuckle, but makes it a cough when he remembers himself.

Erica doesn’t laugh, instead, she asks another question. “What’s your policy on drugs and booze and shiiiii-stuff like that? Also…what kind of music do you allow?”

The woman laughs at this, then, realizing it’s an actual question, blinks twice before answering. “Well, the only ‘drugs’ allowed in our house are prescription or Tylenol…and alcohol is strictly forbidden. Not even I or Mr. Evans drink anything, not even wine with dinner or a beer after work for Mr. Evans. Smoking is allowed if you’re the legal age to buy cigarettes, and even then, it’s not allowed in the house, under any circumstances. If you chose to ruin your own health, once you’re eighteen, there’s nothing I can do about that short of kicking you out, and I would never do that. But I will not allow anyone to ruin the health or impress the image of smoking on any of the younger children. As for music,” she says, trying to make the subject lighter, “any music is allowed, so long as there is no foul language of suggestive lyrics, and it may only be played until ten o’clock. After ten, you may play your music on a personal player of any sort, but it is not to be heard by any other member of the house. If it is, all music playing devices of yours will be confiscated for one week, and then returned to you. The second time, it is two weeks, and then the third time, it is until further notice, meaning if you get them back, it may be a long time.” Realizing she ended on a not-so-light note, Mrs. Evans tries to lighten it with a gentle smile at Erica, but she isn’t paying attention.

“Ok, that’s cool…I mean, with younger kids and all, you gotta have rules…ok…um…what’s my curfew, and how many kids you got, total, not including me?”

Erica zones out for the first half of the woman’s explanation of the curfew, but from what she can gather, in the summer and on weekends, it’s ten or ten-thirty, judging on prior performance, and on weekdays, it’s nine, no compromises. The Evans’s have two kids, Melissa and Phoebe (Davey is Mrs. Evans’s nephew, it turns out, and will only be staying with the family for two more days. The girls were away at camp, but would return in four days, taking back their room from Davey, which leaves the empty room to Erica. Once Davey leaves, Mrs. Evans explains, Erica will still have the room to herself; the girls share the one Davey is using now), and they’re only eleven and twelve, four and three years younger, respectively, than Erica. The angels of the family, it seems, and Erica had to be especially kind to both of them. That was really the only huge circumstance that Erica had to obey, and that just couldn’t be that unreasonable, could it?

After the woman was done speaking, Erica looked at up at her. She was holding her hand out for Erica to shake, an un-spoken agreement of the rules and terms she’s just laid down for the newest member of the family. Erica grins to herself. This was going to be cake.

The P.O. catches her grin and gives her a stern look, but Erica ignores him and shakes the woman’s hand. ‘This’ll be fun,’ Erica thinks to herself, ‘This woman’s a pushover!’

As if to prove Erica’s point, just after she shakes the woman’s hand, “Davey” comes into the room and demands, “Where’s my dinner?” Mrs. Evans, seeming taken aback by Davey’s straightforwardness, stumbles over her words.

“Well, I, uh…Davey, honey, you know Auntie’s got company…perhaps, if Erica doesn’t mind, just this once, we’ll order out?” She turns to Erica, and Davey turns to glare at this intruder who might thwart his meal, seeming to see Erica for the first time. Erica tosses her P.O. a look of annoyance, then swiftly molds her face into a mask of long-suffering indulgence.

“Sounds okay to me…to celebrate my new life, yeah?” Erica shrugs good-naturedly, and Mrs. Evans just loves it. Going on and on about what a sweet and giving girl Erica must be, she shoos Davey from the kitchen and begins pulling takeout menus from a drawer in the kitchen counter, pelting Erica with questions about burgers or pizza, Chinese or Indian, tacos or Mexican. Erica swiftly decides on pizza, and her P.O. stands to leave. Catching Erica‘s eye, he nods toward the door, and Erica excuses herself to bid him adieu.

Once the P.O. has checked to make sure Mrs. Evans is properly occupied ordering food and the door is shut securely behind them, he turns and frowns down at Erica. “You’re only fifteen years old, Erica, and you’re acting as if you’re a hardened criminal. You need to start thinking about how you want to spend the rest of your life, because it’s coming up fast.”

Erica rolls her eyes and crosses her arms, but her P.O. grabs her shoulders and forces her to look him in the face. “You have to follow the rules this time, Erica. I don’t want to testify against you, and I don’t want to go to your funeral if you do something stupid. This is your last shot, kid; you fuck up here and there’s no more options. One more shit-headed decision on your part, and you’re out of the system; I can’t help you anymore, and you land yourself in jail. JAIL, not Juvy, Erica. You won’t last in jail, kid…not without some serious changes that you don’t want to go through.” He sighed, an took his hands from her shoulders, his own shoulders slumping. “Just…” He pulled out a wad of cash and pushed it into Erica’s hand, “Make it work here, will ya?”

Erica looked from her P.O. to the money clasped tightly in her fist, and then back to the man. Standing a few inches higher than her, he was aged before his time. Erica looked at the care-worn face and felt, to her surprise, a few pangs of regret and having been the cause of more than a few of those pre-mature wrinkles. Sucking in a breath, she quickly blinked away emotion and glanced down at the money.

“Think this’ll get me to Mississippi?” she casually joked, grinning at her P.O. He didn’t shift his gaze, and Erica squirmed a bit. “C’mon, man, you act like I’m dyin’. It ain’t like I can fuck up here, I mean, damn. This lady’s sweet, the fat fuck’ll be gone by the time I’m settled, and there’s two girls that’re gonna be great playmates…Food, a roof, a ‘yard’ to exercise in…I’m not goin anywhere. Quit worryin’ about me, alright?”

Erica nudged her P.O. with her elbow, trying to ease the tension. When this, too, failed to make his face lift, she sighed and lowered her gaze, this time fixing it on her shoes. The canvas of her sneakers was beginning to fray, and the plastic soles were starting to separate.

“Lookit,” Erica sighed, keeping her head bowed, “I won’t leave, just as long as you can promise me one thing.” She stayed silent so long that her P.O. cleared his throat, prompting her to go on. Erica coughed and licked her lips, and finally muttered, “If it gets bad…you’ll do two things: believe me, and help me. Don’t let me stay in another place-”

Erica broke off and shuffled her feet, angrily clearing her throat. Her P.O. dropped to a knee to bring himself closer to her level, once again putting his hands on her shoulders. “You’re fuckin’ attached to the stupid phone of yours, right? Then you can always get ahold of me.,” he said, looking at her intently, a shadow of a smirk playing one corner of his mouth. Erica pulled away from him and hastily brushed the cuff of her jacket across her eyes, erasing any hint of tears. Turning back to her P.O., she grinned and shoved his shoulder, almost unbalancing him and sending him sideways and backwards down the stoop and into the street.

“I’ll be fine, fucker, now quit clucking, mother hen,” she muttered as he grabbed onto the stone rail to keep from being caught in mid-day traffic. He stood and opened the door, shoving her through it, following her to the kitchen where Mrs. Evans informed them cheerfully that the pizzas would be arriving in forty-five minutes or less or it’s free. Nodding with raised eyebrows, Erica sidled toward the back of the house, picking up her bags from the front hall on the way. Leaving her P.O. to conduct last minute ‘finalizations’ and to say good-bye, she lugged her junk to the bare room and flung it in the middle of the floor.

Once she’d finished unpacking, and was certain her P.O. was finally gone, Erica decided to make friendly with the large dough-ball in the next room. Hearing the sounds of explosive and gory video games growing louder as she approached the closed door, Erica smiled. Here was a boy who knew of the finer (albeit more violent) things in life, and she figured her first two days, at least, would hold some entertainment.

Rapping the door lazily with her knuckles, Erica stared around the hallway while she waited. Cobwebs and cracks in the ceiling were the most interesting things in the vicinity, and she spent a good minute studying a particularly fat spider in one corner of the hall before the door swung angrily open.

“What do you want?” Davey, or Clarence, or whoever the fuck he was, stood glaring at her with beady little eyes stuck precariously on two round hunks of fat that served at this kid’s cheeks. Erica stifled a laugh, and grinned instead, “Just heard the gameplay, thought I’d come check it out.” She poked her head into his room, being tall enough to peer over his head. She let out a low whistle as he shouldered her back into the hall, “Nice system you got in there! Them pink ponies yours, too? I’m playin’, just playin’, man,” she added, watching his face become a satisfyingly dark shade of pink.

“This is my cousin’s room, stupid,” he grumbled, his eyes squinting even more. Erica held up my hands in a defensive position.

“I know that, man, I’m just joking around with you, dude, chill out…” His face turned from embarrassed and angry to slightly untrusting, “I just figure you done some cool things with that little pink tv you’re forced to work with, and since it looks like I’ll be here a while and all…”

Erica shrugged and stuck her hands in her pockets, letting her voice drop off and her position become slightly sullen and kid-like. “I just figured you could show me how you got it to work, with the sound and all that.” She glanced at him, keeping her distance. He seemed to study her, mulling it over in his own porky little time, before slamming the door in Erica’s face with an even porkier “No!” So much for that plan of action. She shrugged and returned to her room, lounging on her new bed with her laptop close at hand.

Mrs. Evans, coming to tell her and Davey that the pizza had arrived, found her propped up on pillows, listening to music through her headphones and doing god-knows-what else. After several attempts to make herself heard, Mrs. Evans finally entered the room and waved to get Erica’s attention. Erica sat up at once, taking the headphones off and setting the computer aside.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Evans, I forgot all about the pizza.” Standing to her feet, Erica kept her gaze a few inches below and to the right of Mrs. Evans’ chin. “If there’s nothing left to do now, I’ll clean up after dinner.”

Mrs. Evans blinked a few times. “Oh, no, dear, I‘m sorry to take you away from what you were doing,” She simpered, “There’s really nothing to do anyway, seeing as dinner comes in a disposable box!” Mrs. Evans twittered at her own joke, and Erica forced a smile to her lips and a chuckle from her throat.

“Right, right…Well, in that case, I’m starving! Let’s grab, um…Davey?” Erica asked, realizing that she still had yet to find out what porky’s actual name was, “And pig out!” She couldn’t suppress a giggle. Ooop. Bad choice of words.

Mrs. Evans, luckily, took Erica’s humor in stride, if she even understood it. “That’s the spirit! Oh, and by the way,” she added, ushering Erica out of her room and capturing Davey to whisk them down the hall towards the kitchen, “Mr. Evans is home from work; we’ll be having a special sit-down dinner to welcome you to the family! Of course, we’ll have another one when the girls get home, but this being your first night here and all, well, we just wanted to make a good impression, you know?”

Plopping Erica and Davey opposite each other at the rectangular table that had been pulled away from the wall, Mrs. Evans bustled around a moment before seating herself at one end of the table, apparently waiting to eat until Mr. Evans showed his face. Glancing around at the two people in front of her, Erica couldn’t picture what he would look like without having to smother her laughter, and so after a moment or two of playing through varying ridiculous combinations of parts in her mind, she gave up.

Stumping into the room, a shorter, stout man clumped to the table and sat down. Dressed in slacks and a dress shirt with matching tie, the man peered at everyone through wire-rimmed glasses. Thinning light-brown hair sparsely covered his head, while a slightl paunch could be seen developing underneath the tie, he looked like a timid man; a cubicle-jockey with little to no ambition. Erica grinned to herself, instantly relaxing. She’d been expecting a large beefy man with a short temper.