Everyone knew Mrs Ferrell's students were the most at risk. You, more than most.

The interview room at the school was comfortable; passed chairs and warm colors. Fresh air and an open, if barred, window.

The day was almost over, one more interview. Mrs Ferrell got the tough cases; kids who were one mistake away from an institution, or who repeatedly struggled with basic learning. Some went to jail a few years after leaving, some straightened up and did just fine. This one looked to go either way. Case notes were well done. Developmentally behind physically and educationally. Family on the lower end of the economic scale but no record of criminal activity. Grades lacking but minimal indication of genetic impairment. Skinny tomboy, homely face.

"Uh, hi? I'm Al."

The girl nervously pulled her hair straight up; last year's style. Worn clothes but clean. Face washed at least. No sign of physical abuse and only moderate social awkwardness.

"Some of the other kids said what you might ask. I wrote down some answers." She pulled a crumpled paper from a back pocket. "There's five and two halves of us at home. Mom and dad, me, the twins, the Mad Knitter, and Matilda the dog. I'm not sure if the Mad Knitter is related, but she just sits around and knits baby clothes. And spits this smelly brown stuff into a bucket."

"Matilda's pretty cool as long as you feed her. She sleeps in my bed when she can. Mom and dad have the big room down stairs and the rest of us are in the attic. It's okay most of the time. Sometimes the big ships fly over the house and make the windows rattle, though." She licked her lips.

"I know I'm not doing well in school, sorry. I guess I gotta get dad to help me this summer; mom's busy at the hospital. She helps people get better." The girl smiled. "Mom is pretty cool; she can lift a car and she sewed up my elbow when I crashed my bike real bad last summer at camp."

The girl exaggerates. She slumps, too.

"Dad just talks to people. He works part time at the seminary, not sure what he does there." She looked at the paper. "Uh, we go camping sometimes, if the car is running. Dad jogs for exercise, I ride my bike with my friend Wilbur. He's pretty cool for a dorky guy." The grin was back. "His uncle lets us shoot air rifles. I'm going to compete in the Sangrean games as soon as I win that scholarship slot. Wilbur's uncle is the best!"

Hand drawn inking of Sangrean logo on weathered shoes. Crumpled paper back into pocket.

"Uh, am I in trouble again?"

[using a fictional character to interact with fictonal characters.]

An ancient well groomed man with white hair and a fragile appearance strolled in using a walking stick. He appeared to be winded and quickly took a seat in a chair. "Give me a moment to catch my breath. Stairs will be the death of me one day." he said as he unbuttoned the jacket on his custom tailored charcoal suit. "I never went in for formality. Life is formal enough without forcing any unnecessary formality into any relationship." he said with a warm, gentle smile that made it seem like you had been friends for years.

"Hello, Al. I see from how you carry yourself that you are no stranger to getting in trouble." He chuckled "We have that in common. My name is Vincent Masseria. Don Vincenzo in formal occasions and Vinnie to my friends. Since we are both no strangers to getting in trouble, you can call me Vinnie. So let me ask you an important question. Are you a leader or a follower? Do you lead others into trouble or do others lead you into trouble?"

There are children who grow into street smarts and attitude as soon, or sooner, than they shed diapers. Emotionally hardened and ever looking for the edge, the next deal. The fear.

This girl wasn't one of them. From her tanned freckles to her inability to tell a Garanio suit from a second hand rack uniform is obvious. Whatever she's supposed to call him is secondary to the ingrained reflex she gives him as an elder. Obvious too is the focus she gave the question; lips scrunched sideways and her toungue sticking out as she looked at the floor. After a minute she looked up.

"Aren't those like two questions, sir? Like, my friends and I do stuff together a lot; they're fun to hang out with. Wilbur and I go riding a lot, and Mon joins us. Mon gets into trouble more than me but I don't think Wilbur ever does anything wrong. Jo rides with us too but she usualy goes home early to study. She's a brain. Not sure she gets into trouble either, she studies so much."

"I haven't been put in charge of anything so I don't lead like the Space Rangers on the vids or the Marines on base. They look cool in their uniforms when they stop by. Mom looks cool in hers too, but she helps people when they're in accidents. I can yell loud, if that counts."

"Milda is a leader, I think. I guess. She's the team captain and Coach Radcliff has her doing stuff. I don't know what she does as captain though, she's not that great of a shot. Well, not bad, but compared to Parker no one is that good!"

Vinnie smiled at her innocence and wondered if he was ever so young. "You said that you were going to compete in the Sangrean Games as soon as you win the scholarship spot. Why is this important to you?"

"To be special." Al said without hesitation, and then paused. "I mean, we're all special, of course." The rote response from school.

"I mean, you're special, right, Mister Vinnie? I think my dad has a suit but he almost never wears it. You look like one of those wealthy businessmen in the vids. You must know what it's like to be special, right?"

"Mom and dad take care of me." She picked up the hem of her pants. "But our clothes come from the second hand store, you know. It's like you're always wearing someone else's clothes, waiting on someone else to be tired of something so you can have it. The prize money is like, lots! And you can get a bunch of free stuff if you sign contracts and all that. We could go out to eat more than once a week. At least for a while."

"I just want things to be different."

Hi Al.

What are you good at? Do you think that makes you valuable?

"Uh, hi, ma'am." Al's mouth skewed sideways for a moment. "I can usually fix mine and Wilbur's bikes. He doesn't crash as often. Mon's I can do most of the time but he crashes a lot. Jo never crashes but her front tire needs air a lot. Last Christmas dad got me my own tools and a bike pump. He also got me a wrench for the kitchen table, one leg keeps coming loose. So I guess I use tools okay."

"I shoot well; Wilbur's Uncle Hank says so. That's what I'm hoping gets me on the team this year. 'Course we're just shooting air rifles. I can't afford a short fire even." She looked at the floor. "Dad says we have enough and others don't. So there's not a lot of money to spare."

"Mom says I'm an expert at driving her nuts." Al grinned. "She says Dad and I disagree so much 'cause we're twins. Dad lets me jog with him sometimes, He can jog forever!"

She sighed. "Of course, he also calls me 'Lady Taterhead'. Not sure why but I'm hoping he comes up with something better soon. Like, any day now."

"So no, I guess not. I just do stuff everyone can do. Dad drives mom nuts too, I just do it better."