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“Alright, class,” Malik called, looking around at the children fidgeting quietly at their long tables. Most of them didn’t even reach the floor with their toes by one or two inches, so they swung their feet under the bright yellow chairs, eyes attentively on them. At least the first day of school was relatively easy. After this… Well, nothing was guaranteed. “It’s lunchtime now. So, go get your meals from your cubbies.”Malik hadn’t ever really counted on being a teacher. It hadn’t been a dream of his, had never been a thought in his mind except when he had been the same age as the kids in front of him now. First grade… It was a strange age, what with the children transitioning from the fun and learning of kindergarten into less of the first and more of the second.Hands on hips, he watched them get up from their seats and run to the little closet that held their backpacks and lunches. Among them was his own son- Tazim. The boy had a bed of unruly dark hair, eyes glinting with mischief, and movements as erratic as his father had a tendency to be. He was an illegitimate child, born of an old girlfriend he had broken up with just before she announced she was pregnant. She had partial custody- with two cases of drug abuse, she was denounced unfit to care for her son most of the time.Tazim was being good for the day. He waited his turn to get into the closet (Malik wasn’t making him special just because he was the teacher’s son) and returned to the tables with his cute lunchbox. It had Iron Man on it, his favorite superhero, the mask clip from it jangling as he opened it.A smile graced his lips. This wasn’t what he had ever planned on becoming, but now it was all he wanted to do. Not only did he get a full year of being with his son and watching him progress, but he got to help the other children as well. It was his third year teaching, so hopefully his last provisional year, and he hoped to make it great.He stepped over the rainbow colored puzzle-piece rug (a special treat if the kids were good) and sat in his desk. When he clicked on his computer, a photo of an old temple in Syria awaited him beneath his files and folders. Despite being a school teacher and not regretting a day of it, he still wished he could visit his birthplace some day. A teacher’s salary would never get him there, but he could dream.Malik brought his own lunch out from the mini fridge under his desk. It was simple- a peanut butter and honey sandwich, a small bag of chips, a water bottle, and three Oreo cookies on the side. Email up to monitor any messages from the principal, he watched the children eat their lunch, keeping an eye out for anyone without.The thing about the first day was that pretty much everyone had lunch. They came in fresh clothes and scrubbed faces, shy from the newness and bold with the hope of new friends. But that didn't last forever.There would still be kids who came to school with nothing to eat. Granted it didn't usually start until the second week of school, but it would come, along with the dirt and grime, the same shirt worn three days in a row. Only two of his students in the last three years had been like that. The rest he had learned from other teachers, saw in the halls, or was made aware of. It was rare enough that he always hoped he would never have another student like that.Casting furtive glances around the room, his eyes inevitably landed on his son. Tazim was munching away, talking to some boy to the right of him and ignoring the girl on the left- typical. Not that the girl minded. She was busy squealing with the other girl across the table from her, fingers of her free hand shoved through her short brown hair. It was adorable in a funny sort of way.Malik checked his seating chart on the computer. The brunette was Ann, apparently, and the girl she was talking to was Isa. Then there was Tazim, and the other boy was Sef. He concentrated on Sef because as much as he wanted to be fair, Malik still had the innate wish that his son would find a good, sturdy friend that might last him years to come.Sef was adorable. His hair was combed neatly down, but stuck up right at the front where he noticed he had the tendency to lean his tiny fist against his forehead. The boy had dark eyes, dark skin just lighter than Tazim's, and wore a green monster truck shirt that was two sizes too big. Tucked into his faded jeans made it seem nicer, and he didn't seem to mind the extra length of the sleeves at all. He seemed nice, letting Tazim take his turn in talking, but not afraid to butt in when he felt the conversation was drifting to an unfair ratio. Sef's lunch in a brown paper bag, and simple. A peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich, an apple, and a kid's sized water bottle was what he pulled out to eat.No problems seemed to be arising from it all, so Malik turned back to his computer and let the kids eat in peace.---The end of the day came quickly. Much quicker than Altair expected it to. He looked at his watch just as the minute hand signaled exactly three o'clock through the scratched glass. A strange noise sounded at the back of his throat and he turned to the woman behind the receptionist desk."Ma'am," he called, setting the mop he held in his hands into the water pail. He wiped his grimy hands on his jumpsuit, staying where he was. He didn't want to cross the immaculate tiles with his dirty old tennis shoes. "It's three. May I go now?"She looked up and over the rim of her glasses. Lucy, her name tag read, and she gave him a half sort of sweet smile. "Of course, La'Ahad," she replied. "It's the first day of school, then?""Yes, Ma'am.""Put your things away, and you can go."With a relieved sigh, Altair turned and pushed the water basin back to the janitorial office. He emptied the water, pulled off his jumper, and looked to the other man working there- Rider. "Hey," he called. "See you tomorrow!"Rider raised a hand in acknowledgment from where he was pulling some things from the harsh metals shelves. Altair hung up the ugly brown clothes on the rack, smoothed it down so that the Alt scribbled onto the tag could be read, and hurried out the door.Once a big time dreamer, he was now stuck working in an office building as the lowest ranking handyman they had. He didn't terribly mind it- any amount of money meant food. Food was extremely important.Altair wiped his shoes on the mat before entering the front hall. Lucy looked up and stopped him. She came around the desk and stood in front of him, a few inches shorter, licked her fingers, and reached up to straighten out a fly away piece of hair. Pristine white hands straightened the lay of his t-shirt, and she finally nodded. "There. Now you can go. And good job. Your first day here went by very smoothly."His smile cracked nervously among his face and he bobbed his head. "Thank you. I kind of needed that." Reassurance tucked under his arm, so to speak, he headed out to the street.The town wasn't terribly big. It wasn't small enough to be considered back woods, but it wasn't big enough to be more than a main frame of around two thousand people, most of which were farmers and ranchers. Altair was just lucky enough that the building he worked at was in the main frame of businesses and the school was only about a five minute walk away.Why walk, though, when he could fly?Of all the stupid things he had learned as a kid (how to male homemade fire crackers, how to shop lift, how to eat things that would turn anyone's stomach over itself) free running wad the most useful. He sped into a sprint and hurtled himself over potted plants and around trees, dodging people with no remorse. He made it to the school sidewalk just three minutes after the bell rang, shaving that much time off.Altair slowed to a walk and tugged his shirt back down where Lucy had fixed it. He came up along side of the cars parked and went to the circle cut out for cars to come, children in different colored squares for each grade. The school housed kindergarten to fifth grade, but the fourth and fifth graders weren't required to have their own squares.Just as he had instructed Darim, his eldest son was waiting behind the blue lines where Sef was. They couldn't leave until a parent showed up, something Altair knew from experience, and it relieved him to see that Sef's teacher was standing nearby. The kindergarten teacher the year previous had a nasty habit of halfway escorting the kids, then turning and getting in her own car to leave. The children were left stranded and uncertain of what to do.Altair raised a hand and Darim nodded back at him. He had his breath back already by the time he got all the way up there.Hand sliding on the waist high white metal fence separating the kids from the cars, he smiled at the man before him. "Mr. Al-Sayf?" he asked, stepping away from the gutter to offer his hand. "I'm Altair Ibn La'Ahad. Sef's my son."The other man (gentle dark eyes, olive skin, tussled hair, soft and firm angles) returned the expression and shook back. "It's nice to meet you, sir."Sef came to his side and he put his arm around the boy's shoulders, holding him to his waist. Darim went on the other side of Sef. The teacher didn't seem to notice or care. "How did he do today?""Excellent," he replied. "I see you make reading a necessity in your home. He's already got his alphabet completely down, and knows all the sight words he needs to.""We all read, every night," he chuckled. "Bit of a tradition. Started with the older one here." He clapped Darim's shoulder."Well, it's a worthwhile activity." Mr. Al-Sayf nodded to him. "Have a good day, Mr. La'Ahad. And I'll see you tomorrow, Sef."When Altair tapped Sef's arm, the boy ducked his head shyly and waved. An apologetic curve of Altair's lips appeared, and with it, he turned and started down the road, Darim near and Sef's hand in his.It looked like they had all survived their first day.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The next morning was rather rushed. Altair woke his kids up at six, and they hurried to get done by seven thirty, when the bus was to come. Darim got oatmeal going, informed Altair that they were running low, and Sef put his things he needed into his backpack. The man, rough around the edges, was putting together lunches. They had three paper bags. Each had an equal amount- an equal, meager amount. Standing in front of the counter, Altair made sure to keep his sons from seeing what he was doing. Darim would be no stranger to it, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t try. The food from his bag went out. Apple went to Darim, banana to Sef, celery to Sef, raisins to Darim. The sandwich was cut in half and he quickly split them between the lunch bags, leaving only a water bottle in his bag. Scribbling down two notes, he stuck them in the bags, and turned to the kids. “Alright,” he said, placing his mostly empty bag over by his hoodie on the old, battered couch, and slid into a seat at the rickety table. “Breakfast finished, Darim?” The boy nodded and came over with the pan, splitting the oatmeal evenly between them all. He filled it with water to soak, then sat on the side, Sef across from him. “Thank you.” With a smile at his two sons, he bowed his head, clasped his hands together, and waited until they had done the same. Altair had given up on the prayers to Allah that he had been taught as a child. They did nothing to keep him out of this situation, did nothing to keep him afloat, and did nothing to help his children. As such, he had slowly turned over to the Christian way of praying- asking for what they needed, thanking for what they had, and speaking to Him like a real person. It seemed to be working so far. “Allah,” he said, voice gentle and warm and reverent. “We thank you for the food we have this day. We thank you for our shelter, our clothes, and our lives. We thank you for being able to be all together as a family at this time. We ask that we may travel safely today, that you eye may watch over us and protect as far as you see fit. Please aide Darim and Sef in his schoolwork, and please help me to keep my job. Amen.” Two other amen’s chorused after him, and he opened his eyes to his son. With a small smile, he waved a hand, and they all began eating. They talked little, but they didn’t need to. Sef had already exhausted his words on the day before, and Darim didn’t feel it needed to talk about his first day. The boy was turning moody and quiet, and it worried Altair. He said nothing about it, though, trying the best he could with what resources he had. Like usual, at the end of the meal, Altair took his bowl and scooped out the third he had left into Sef’s and Darim’s bowl. The youngest cheered, but Darim glared at him, unable to get his hand in the way fast enough. He was growing up too fast, and Altair wished he could do something about the fact he was worried how much food his father got. “Not hungry,” he shrugged instead, putting the bowl in the sink. “Hurry up now, you two. The bus will be here in five, and you need to put your backpacks on and grab your lunch.” He grabbed his grey, beat up hoodie and pulled it on, then picked up Sef’s backpack. They were done soon enough, and Altair knelt down to help his son get into the straps right. Darim took their lunches and handed Sef’s to him, then pulled on his own back. With a short inspection of it, Altair grimaced. He’d need to buy another for him soon. This one was fraying and the strap was coming off, the buckle that held one of them in place cracked and threatening to break. It would be twenty or more dollars gone, because by hell, he wasn’t going to send either of his children to school without something to carry their things in. “All ready?” he asked, straightening Sef’s shirt. It used to be his older brother’s, but the minute he had grown out of it, it had been passed down. They just couldn’t afford to squander anything they had. Sef had yet to complain about it- he had yet to really meet the kinds of kids that would make fun of him for his clothes not fitting. It was an awful thought for Altair, but there wasn’t much he could do anymore. Sef nodded, giggling at the attention. When Altair stood, he grabbed his hand, and they walked out together onto the cracking little walkway away from the house. The grass was brown and dead, the front door squeaked something awful when he closed it, and the grey paint was peeling off of the wood of the house. It was tiny- a trailer home, actually, with just enough space for all three of them to live in. A few more years and it would be cramped. Two teenagers… Altair mentally shook his head at the thought. There was nothing in the yard but one lone ball against the house, and Altair made a mental note to bring it inside. They didn’t need to have any kids stealing it when it was their, and knew that they would all be upset if it did disappear. It was a fleeting thought, and only lasted until he got to the end of the sidewalk. The bus pulled up and stopped, doors opening, and Altair leaned down to kiss Sef’s forehead softly. “Be good today,” he said, smiling gently. “Alright? Don’t be too much hassle for your teacher.” Sef giggled and nodded, already reaching and taking Darim’s hand. “Good. I love you both.” “Love you too, daddy,” Sef laughed. “You too,” Darim said simply. He clasped Sef’s hand tightly and led him the last few feet to the bus, helping him up the big steps. Altair stood and watched them go, hands clasped in front of his waist. Sef ran and caught a window seat once inside, and waved to his father as the bus pulled away. Altair stayed where he was until he could no longer see the glaring yellow. Rolling his shoulders, Altair started down the road. He pulled the hood of his jacket up before he shoved his hands in his pockets, the material pulled down over his head enough to shade his eyes. The sun was bright in the sky, and he was glad for the little bit of shade. The walk to his work wasn’t that bad. The morning was chilly, but was being burned away quickly. He only had to be in it for around ten minutes- as he wasn’t free running- before the office came into sight. It was a large thing, with lots of windows and lots of separate workspaces for the most important employees. The lawn was green and lush despite it being the middle of August, summer flowers blooming in pots beside the revolving doors. It was a miracle that this had hired him. Though, he supposed, it was helpful that the had a friend on the inside. Lucy was her name. She was a sweet girl, a woman as fearsome as she was pretty. And she was very pretty. As a receptionist, she was the first person that Altair saw when he pushed his way inside, reaching up to lower his hood. “Morning, sunshine,” she called, glancing up, but her fingers still tap-tap-tapping away at her keyboard. “Sleep well?” “Yeah,” he replied, coming over to rest his forearms on her desk. He was careful not to be on any of the papers or other miscellaneous things that were scattered about in an organized fashion. He smiled, watching her methodical system as she turned to the right, grabbed a paper, leaned it on the screen, and kept typing. “Busy day?” She nodded emphatically, pausing to look up at him, eyes wide above her pink, shiny lips. “Would you believe me if I said yes? And we only opened an hour ago!” He laughed, glancing over her. Despite the obvious rush, her white shirt was still pristine and creased, hair in a tight, efficient bun, and small dragonfly earrings not so much as turned the wrong way. “I believe you. But you’re doing great. You’ll have no trouble today.” When she just scoffed playfully at him, he turned and headed up the hall, heading to the janitorial closet. Might as well get on with work. He emerged a few minutes later in his jumpsuit, rags and glass cleaner in his hands. Leaving Lucy alone, he went to the back of the building, getting to work there. No one would really be coming in for about twenty minutes, or so Thomas said. In that case, he could head to the front later, when Lucy would likely have something to talk about. Lucy had been his friend for a couple of years in the least. They had met each other at one of those summer lunch programs he had drug Darim and Sef to. He just didn’t have the money, and at that time, those meals were the only ones they got. They weren’t the best, but they had everything that they would need to keep their bodies up and functioning correctly. For that, Altair was eternally grateful. Lucy was a volunteer there. She had met them and though his kids adorable, and so eventually came to talk to them once everyone was served. That summer was from then on filled with her friendly if sharp face, her voice gentle when she spoke to his sons. It was nice, and when the program ended, Altair was delighted to find out she had deigned them worthy of continuing to receive phone calls from her. ‘Aunt Lucy’ they called her now, two years after that initial first summer. Each year the program ran they were there, and so was she. This year, though, after finding out he had lost his careful position in a store because of a dispute of a woman with her snotty kids that tried to shoplift, she had put in a good word for him at her work. More than that, actually- she asked them to give him an interview, and then helped him to be successful in the attempt. It had been amazing to hear that he had been accepted when the office finally called. In fact, he had gone out and bought all three of them ice cream, a rare treat that happened maybe once every five months. Even though it was just a janitorial job, Altair was grateful for it. It was a source of income, and that could go to food and essentials. It would be another nine months until summer began again, and he was able to get his kids actually good food. It was an awful feeling, but after being turned down for welfare, he did the very best that he possibly could. It wasn’t great at all, but it was close enough to good that he tried to remind himself that at least they were all surviving. The keyword was that he tried. Success in that area was rare. Still, trying was always better than not. And he would keep trying until he could buy the things his sons needed, until they had clothes that fit, until they could go a whole week without skipping a dinner and they could go to school with a lunch bag so packed that they wouldn’t be able to finish it by the time the bell rang. Until then, he would keep trying. After all, what else was there to do but try? --- Malik made it a habit to greet all of his students at the door by name. Sure, he didn’t get them all right the first couple of days, but they understood, and would just giggle and correct him, laughing more when he would bow or make a funny gesture as he said the right name. The thing about little kids was that they could forgive someone almost instantly, for almost anything. It was one of the bigger reasons why he didn’t want to go any higher than third or fourth grade. Once they hit a certain age, fluctuating with each individual, they held grudges and started pointing out errors with anger. That was something he wasn’t interested in. If they flared, he knew he was going to flare. Not only was it a precaution for himself, it was also a precaution for the kids. None of them deserved to feel worse than they were worth, like some of the teachers in this school treat them like. Leaning against the door frame, hands behind him and on the metal, he watched as a pair of kids came in. One was definitely older, more than a foot taller, holding the smaller one’s hand. Malik raised his hand to block out the sun from the glass doors and recognized the short one. It was one of his students, the one who had been talking with his son the other day. After a few names he came to the right one. By the time the child had separated (unwillingly) from his older brother, he had the correct name, and offered a hand to the boy. “Hello, Sef,” he said warmly, shaking his little hand enough to jiggle his arm. Sef laughed, seeming to forget his worries from just a moment ago. “Welcome to class.” He seemed to mumble some sort of greeting in return, but it was slightly garbled, as though he were afraid to talk. It made Malik slightly sad- he had a few kids that were hard pressed to talk directly to adults or new people. Whether it was just the adult factor or the newness of it all, he couldn’t tell, but he looked forward to the day when Sef and the others could come in and greet him just as enthusiastically as he did them. “Go ahead and have a seat at your table. I’ve put a piece of paper on your desk. Why don’t you go ahead and draw your family on it? I’d love to see them.” The boy nodded and practically ran to the closet to put his things up, then joined Tazim at the desks. It was the last bus to arrive, and soon, the bell rang. Malik shut the door. He went to his desk. The intercom came on and had them say the pledge, then went on with the few announcements- nothing that concerned the kids, mostly just reminding the new teachers of the year about bus and lunch duties. Neither affected Malik much, as his lunch was in his classroom, and his scheduled bus duty was nearly eight weeks away. Taking a seat, he watched them, enjoying the view. Yes, he decided to himself, seeing Tazim and Sef laugh when they reached for the same crayon, this was exactly how he wanted his life. Simple, clean, efficient, and fun. He knew what he was doing, where he was going, and how he was going to get that. And Malik liked it that way.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Desmond decided that he liked recess. He liked recess very much.In fact, he thought, grinning down from the tallest point of the playground by the largest slide, he might even like recess more than he liked his pull along wheeled dog toy, or his stuffed penguin....Well, okay, not more than his penguin (Gigi was his name), but certainly more than his dog (Brownie). From below him, Shaun, a boy he had somehow managed to attach himself to before the first month of school was through, was waving to him. Desmond giggled and waved back, then went to the big slide. It was an intimidating ride, but he couldn’t refuse a dare. And besides, he wouldn’t be hurt. The bigger kids went on it all the time.They weren’t actually supposed to be over in this area of the playground. There was a small wooden fence that separated the third grade and younger playground from the fourth and fifth grade playground. It hadn’t taken much to figure out a way around it, though. Up along the grass, all the way to the back of the field, the wooden fence met the metal one that marked the end of the school property.There was a small gap between. Shaun had fit through, and Desmond followed. For it, he had a small rip on the bottom of his red striped white shirt, plus dirt. And because the teacher out on duty liked to patrol along the fence and never bothered to look the other way, they were able to sneak to the playset, hiding behind what they could, making their journey quiet, and not catching the attention of any of the other kids or any adults.Now he sat on the top of the bright green slide. Shaun ran to be at the bottom, off to the side a little. His heart pounded in his chest, and he knocked his blue tennis shoes together in anticipation. They had both dared each other to go down the slide, but he was first, and it scared him something fierce. But, he had to do it, and waited for Shaun. The boy gave him two thumbs up, and he pulled himself down on the plastic. At first it was great. The air rushed by him and he was exhilarated, any yell of joy he could have made stolen by the incredible feeling of it all. But his happiness didn’t last long. All too soon he realized he was going too fast, and he couldn’t get a hold on the sides of the slide to stop himself. The world was more of a blur than he ever wanted it to be.Terror clutched his heart and he couldn’t unlock his joints. Desmond could do nothing as he flew off the edge of the slide. He vaguely heard Shaun give a frightened yell, but forgot about it as soon as his back hit the low black barrier that kept the wood chips in the playground from getting in the field. He crumpled into a little ball. A moment of shock passed, and then Desmond started bawling, big, fat, shiny tears rolling down his face and dripping off of his chin.“Des!” Shaun cried, coming over to his side. His hands hovered, unsure of what to do. “Des, are you okay? Des?” He managed to shake his head no, and the other boy’s lip started to tremble. Neither of them had meant to get anyone hurt. “I’ll go get someone, okay? You’ll be okay, I promise!”To Desmond’s complete surprise, Shaun suddenly pressed a cute kiss to his forehead. It reminded him of tv shows where parents kissed their children when they were hurt, so he supposed that was where Shaun learned it. The simple action made him feel a little better. It didn’t do much, but now he was sure he could wait until an adult came to help him.It seemed like an hour later (but was much much shorter) before the teacher on duty came running over. Since the fifth grade was at some sort of assembly just for them, it was one of those teachers, apparently uninterested in staying. Desmond didn’t know his name, but he had longish brown hair, a goatee and beginnings of a mustache, and warm brown eyes that he couldn’t help but be drawn into. He looked and acted like a dad would when he knelt down and gently gathered Desmond into his arms. Having expected to be yelled at and reprimanded, this was a shock, but a welcome one. Immediately, he threw his arms around the man’s neck. Clinging on tight, he was slightly delighted to find that the teacher held him under his rear instead of across his back.Now only crying softly, he opened his eyes enough to see Shaun trailing uncertainly behind them. He reached out a hand and gave a small wave, trying to tell him without speaking that it was okay. It didn’t work very well. Still, Shaun waved back. The teacher carried him in. Shaun had apparently told him which classroom they from, so they all entered Mr. Al-Sayf’s at the same time. Mr. Al-Sayf grabbed Desmond gently and transferred him over. “Thank you,” he said to the other teacher. Desmond was shifted so he could see the man again, seeing those warm brown eyes still furrowed in concern. Rubbing his eyes, he spluttered out a thank you as well.“You’re welcome,” he said, voice deep and accented strangely. “Just be careful from now on, alright?” When he gave a nod, the man turned and left.“Now then,” Mr. Al-Sayf said, turning him around again. “Let’s clean up your face. Do you want to call your dad?” Desmond nodded, curling his hands in his shirt, the teacher not seeming to mind the creases and dirt he was sure to leave. “Alright. Shaun, why don’t you go and get Desmond’s things and put them on the table? I think he’ll be heading home now.” The boy made a long, sad noise, but went to do what he was told while Mr. Al-Sayf took Desmond to the boy’s bathroom.Once inside, Mr. Al-Sayf set him down on the edge of the sink. Wetting a paper towel, he gently wiped Desmond’s cheeks and neck, got a new one, and started washing his hands and arms. “Mr. Al-Safe?” the boy asked, tongue tripping over his name. “Who was the other teacher?”“Hmm? Oh, you mean Mr. Auditore? He teaches fifth grade.”“Oh. He’s nice.”He chuckled and scrubbed some of the dirt from his shirt, then brought Desmond’s shirt up. A sound of disapproval left his lips. “That’s one big bruise there, bud. Ask your dad to put some ice on it when you get home, okay? And don’t go to that playground again until you’re big enough. It’s separated for a reason.”Desmond nodded. He didn’t need to be told twice about this. “Okay,” he agreed. “I won’t. I’m sorry.”“It’s alright. I just don’t like seeing any of my students hurt. Make sure Shaun knows that as well, alright? I don’t want him to get hurt too.” His smile was reassuring, and Desmond smiled a little back, mimicking his expression.“Alright. I will.”“Good. Now let’s get you back.” He picked Desmond up again and took him to the classroom, called Desmond’s father, and sat with him and Shaun to wait till he came.The thing about Desmond’s father was that he knew exactly when the man came into the room. His presence demanded attention, stern eyes commanding respect and obedience. With a gaze as piercing as a paring knife, he found his son and looked straight through him, attention shifting to Mr. Al-Sayf behind him. Somehow, the boy noted, looking between the two, his teacher wasn’t bowing and looking to do anything he said. It was a strange discovery, but one Desmond clung to tightly.“Mr. Al-Sayf,” William greeted, his voice rough and harsh and not in full proper annunciation of the teacher’s name.For it, he raised his hand. “Call me Malik,” he insisted. It was better than to have his last name butchered, Desmond supposed. He wouldn’t be happy if someone got his name wrong. It would make him feel icky and unimportant."Malik," his father amended. "What happened?""Desmond went down a slide on the older student playground. It was wet, and he hit his back when he fell off.” William looked down at his child, finally, and the boy hunched his shoulders in righteous submission.A second passed that felt like an eternity. But then, William nodded, and held out a hand. “Very well. Come along, Desmond. I’ll give you some Tylenol when we get home.” He knew what he meant by that, but just nodded and slipped out of Malik’s arms. He took his father’s hand and let himself be led out of the school with no resistance, and no pausing after William had informed the office of being checked out.The ride home was short and quiet. Desmond swung his legs from the back seat, his toes barely reaching the floor. Hands folded in his lap, he said nothing, tears long dried. The ride was short, only around ten minutes. Pulling up in front of their modest little house in the middle of a subdivision, William glanced back at him. “Got your key?” he askedWhen he nodded, the man motioned for him to get out. Desmond did so and went up to the door. His father only stayed long enough to make sure he got into the house, then drove off. It wasn’t a surprise. In fact, Desmond was quite used to it. He spent most of his days like this. Once the door was shut and locked again, he headed into the bathroom to access the damage to his back. There were a few scratches, mostly just a big bruise in the small of his back. It wasn’t anything to be worried about. Still, concerned about his comfort, Desmond climbed up into the cupboard in the quaint, quiet little kitchen, using a chair as a stepstool. The little space was chock full of medicines and different first aid items, the ones that might cause him harm set up on the top shelve, out of his reach even on the chair.He grabbed the liquid children's Tylenol that his father had bought. Careful pouring into the little plastic cup gave him the right amount, and he downed it before getting down. The chair was set back at the table, and Desmond went into his room to play until William would get home with something to eat.Desmond didn’t put up a fuss about the constant absence of adults. He was a good kid, and disliked anything that was set off limits. Sitting on the twin bed with dark blue sheets, he loped dinosaurs and ran cars over his legs and books and other obstacles. It was well enough entertainment. For it, he wasn’t worried about anything else in the world, except maybe Shaun.Tomorrow he had show and tell. He would take his favorite car, he already decided, poking at the bright red sides. Shaun would love it, and because William never bothered to check his backpack, he wouldn’t have a problem smuggling it into the classroom. Today hadn’t been great, but surely tomorrow would be the best day ever.