Chapter 1

The bus had already traveled several miles before I finally tore my eyes away from the rear window. Dad's old scooter had turned onto another street, with my stepbrother, Daniel Mitchell, riding on the back in his padded winter coat. He was cradling a cup of hot chocolate between his hands.

I lowered my gaze to my own hands, which had turned red from the cold.

That morning, my father, Thomas Reynolds, had promised he'd pick me up after school. He'd sounded so certain when he said it.

"Of course, I'll be there. I swear, if I don't show up, you can hold it against me forever."

Yet even after every other student had left the school gates, Dad was nowhere to be seen. I waited another 40 minutes before finally giving up and taking the bus home alone.

By the time I arrived, it was almost 8:00 pm. The only food left on the dining table was half a plate of cold spaghetti, with a few pale, soggy peas on the side.

My stepmother, Claire Carter, was crouched by the front door, drying Daniel's hair with a towel. When she saw me come in, she merely glanced up and said, "There's food in the kitchen. Heat it up, and try to keep the noise down.

"Danny started at his new school today, and some of the kids asked him why he didn't have a dad. He was so upset that he cried all the way home."

Dad was crouching beside them, wiping down Daniel's wet sneakers. His hands paused at Claire's words. Then, he looked at Daniel and said, "The next time someone asks, just tell them I'm your dad."

Daniel's eyes were still filled with sorrow as he threw his arms around Dad.

"But you're already Nate's dad."

Dad immediately turned to look at me. His eyes were filled with guilt, along with a silent plea for me to understand.

He was asking me to give in again.

I said nothing and headed for the kitchen.

The spaghetti had clumped together into one sticky mass. I'd barely managed two bites when Dad followed me in.

"Nate, I'm really sorry I left you waiting today. Danny was crying so hard at school that he could barely catch his breath. I was afraid something might happen to him."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of black athletic gloves, each printed with a silver-gray lightning bolt.

"You've always complained about your hands getting cold when you ride your bike, haven't you? I spotted these while I was out hauling freight and picked them up for you."

I reached for the gloves, but before my fingers could touch them, Daniel appeared in the kitchen doorway.

"Those are so cool."

He stared at the gloves in Dad's hands, the tip of his nose turning red.

"My dad used to buy me gloves like those, too."

Dad froze.

Daniel didn't try to take the gloves from him. He simply lowered his head and whispered, "It's okay. Nate has a dad. I don't."

Dad's expression changed instantly. He turned to me, hesitating as he called my name.

"Nate…"

I withdrew my hand.

"Give them to him."

Dad visibly relaxed and quickly passed the gloves to Daniel.

"Here, take them."

Then, he turned back to me and promised, "I'll buy you another pair next time."

Daniel smiled through his tears and slipped the gloves on right in front of me. They fit him perfectly, as though they'd been made for him all along.

Dad patted Daniel on the head before finally remembering that I was still standing there.

"Next time, I'll get you an even better pair," he promised again.

"Okay."

I lowered my head and went back to eating my spaghetti.

Dad lingered beside me and asked, "What do you want to eat tomorrow? I'll make it for you."

I speared the last few cold peas with my fork.

"Anything's fine."

After all, his promises didn't mean anything to me anymore.

…

That night, I dug out my piggy bank and counted the 632 dollars inside. I counted it twice to make sure the amount was right, then opened a notebook and started doing the math.

Bus fare to the city: 186 dollars.

Housing: No idea yet.

Living expenses: The more I could save, the better.

I closed the notebook.

From that day on, I knew I had to save every penny I could. Someday, I'd have enough to build a home of my own.