He’d been studying for Mr. Arslanian’s history exam last night, and his head was so crammed with minutiae about the Civil War that he must have forgotten to set the alarm. He had less than a half hour to get to Kenneth Curtis High School before first bell.

Aaron lunged for his dresser and yanked clean underwear and socks from the second drawer. In the mirror above, he could see Gabriel curiously staring at him from the bed.

“Man’s best friend, my butt,” he said to the dog on his way into the bathroom. “How could you let me oversleep?”

Gabriel just fell to his side among the tousled bedclothes and sighed heavily.

Aaron managed to shower, brush his teeth, and get dressed in a little more than seventeen minutes.

I might be able to pull this off yet, he thought as he bounded down the stairs, loaded bookbag slung over his shoulder. If he got out the door right at this moment and managed to make all the lights heading down North Common, he could probably pull into the parking lot just as the last bell rang.

It would be close, but it was the only option he had.

In the hallway he grabbed his jacket from the coatrack and was about to open the door when he felt Gabriel’s eyes upon him.

The dog stood behind him, watching him intensely, head cocked at a quizzical angle that said, “Haven’t you forgotten something?”

Aaron sighed. The dog needed to be fed and taken out to do his morning business. Normally he would have had more than enough time to see to his best friend’s needs, but today was another story.

“I can’t, Gabe,” he said as he turned the doorknob. “Lori will give you breakfast and take you out.”

And then it hit him. He’d been in such a hurry to get out of the house that he hadn’t noticed his foster mother’s absence.

“Lori?” he called as he stepped away from the door and quickly made his way down the hall to the kitchen. Gabriel followed close at his heels.

This is odd, he thought. Lori was usually the first to rise in the Stanley household. She would get up around five A.M., get the coffee brewing, and make her husband, Tom, a bag lunch so he could be out of the house and to the General Electric plant where he was a foreman, by seven sharp.

The kitchen was empty, and with a hungry Gabriel by his side, Aaron made his way through the dining room to the living room.

The room was dark, the shades on the four windows still drawn. The television was on, but had gone to static. His seven-year-old foster brother, Stevie, sat before the twenty-two-inch screen, staring as if watching the most amazing television program ever produced.

Across the room, below a wall of family photos that had jokingly become known as the wall of shame, his foster mom was asleep in a leather recliner. Aaron was disturbed at how old she looked, slumped in the chair, wrapped in a worn, navy blue terry cloth robe. It was the first time he ever really thought about her growing older, and that there would be a day when she wouldn’t be around anymore. Where the hell did that come from? he wondered. He pushed the strange and really depressing train of thought away and attempted to think of something more pleasant.

When the Stanleys had taken him into their home as a foster child, it had been his seventh placement since birth. What was it that the caseworkers used to say about him? “He’s not a bad kid, just a bit of an introvert with a bad temper.” Aaron smiled. He never expected the placements to last, and had imagined that there would be an eighth, ninth, and probably even a hundredth placement before he was cut loose from the foster care system and let out into the world on his own.

A warm pang of emotion flowed through him as he remembered the care this woman and her husband had given him over the years. No matter how he misbehaved, or acted out, they stuck with him, investing their time, their energy, and most importantly, their love. The Stanleys weren’t just collecting a check from the state; they really cared about him, and eventually he came to think of them as the parents he never knew.

Gabriel had wandered over to the boy in front of the television and was licking his face—Aaron knew it was only to catch the residue of the child’s breakfast. But the boy did not respond, continuing to stare at the static on the screen, eyes wide, mouth agape.

Steven was the Stanleys’ only biological child and he had autism, the often misunderstood mental condition that left those afflicted so absorbed with their own reality, that they were rarely able to interact with the world around them. The boy could be quite a handful and Lori stayed home to care for his special needs.

Lori twitched and came awake with a start. “Stevie?” she asked groggily, looking for her young son.

“He’s watching his favorite show,” Aaron said, indicating Gabriel and the little boy. He looked back to his foster mom. “You all right?”

Lori stretched and, pulling her robe tight around her throat, smiled at him. Her smile had always made him feel special and this morning wasn’t any different. “I’m fine, hon, just a little tired is all.” She motioned with her chin to the boy in front of the television. “He had a bad night and the static was the only thing that calmed him down.”

She glanced over at the mini—grandfather clock hanging on the wall and squinted. “Is that the time?” she asked. “What are you still doing here? You’re going to be late for school.”

He started to explain as she sprang from the seat and began to push him from the room. “I was up late studying and forgot to set the alarm and…”

“Tell me later,” she said as she placed the palm of her hand in the small of his back, helping him along.

“Would you mind feeding—”

“No, I wouldn’t, and I’ll take him for a walk,” Lori said, cutting him off. “Get to school and ace that history test.”

He was halfway out the door when he heard her call his name from the kitchen. There was a hint of panic in her voice.

Aaron poked his head back in.

“I almost forgot,” she said, the dog’s bowl in one hand and a cup of dry food in the other. Gabriel stood attentively at her side, drool streaming from his mouth to form a shiny puddle at his paws.

“What is it?” he asked, a touch of impatience beginning to find its way into his tone.

She smiled. “Happy birthday,” she said, and pursed her lips in a long distance kiss. “Have a great day.”

My birthday, he thought closing the door behind him and running to his car.

With all the rushing about this morning, he’d forgotten.

Aaron squeaked into homeroom just as the day’s announcements were being read over the school’s ancient PA system.

Mrs. Mihos, the elderly head of the math department mere months away from retirement, looked up from her copy of Family Circle and gave him an icy stare.

He mouthed the words “I’m sorry” and quickly found his seat. He had learned that the less said to Mrs. Mihos the better. Her edicts were simple: Be on time to homeroom, turn in notes to explain absences in a timely fashion, and whatever you do, don’t be a wiseass. Aaron chillingly recalled how Tommy Philips, now seated at the back of the classroom intently keeping his mouth shut, had attempted to be the funny guy. He’d written a joke letter to explain an absence, and found himself with a week’s worth of detentions. There was nothing the math teacher hated more than a wiseass.

Aaron chanced a look at the old woman and saw that she was flipping through the attendance sheets to change his status from absent to present. He breathed a sigh of relief as the first period bell began to ring. Maybe today wouldn’t be a total disaster after all.

First period American Literature went fine, but halfway through second period, while taking Mr. Arslanian’s test, Aaron decided that he couldn’t have been more wrong about the day. Not only was he blanking on some of the information he had studied, but he also had one of the worst headaches he could ever remember. His head felt as if it were vibrating, buzzing like someone had left an electric shaver running inside his skull. He rubbed at his brow furiously and tried to focus on an essay question about the social and political ramifications of the Richmond Bread Riot. Arslanian’s fascination with obscure events of the Civil War was going to give him an aneurysm.