The line to the bar was ten people deep but Quinn was tending bar that night which was awesome. Quinn was another member of our group of friends. I lifted my hand signaling two. He threw two waters over the crowd without me asking and I silently thanked him over the awaiting heads.

I waded through the crowd, inhaling a woman's overkill perfume, stepping on a guy's foot, which almost got me killed, but finally got close enough to spot a fidgety Harper. I walked faster because the look on her face screamed, 'help me'. I lifted my head higher to get a better look at her situation and noticed a tall idiot had practically boxed her in, chatting her up.

"That's amazing, Brandon. You're their number one salesman, are you?" I heard her say.

I slowed my approach and listened in.

"Yeah," blockhead said, "I work on commission. I make at least thirty thousand a month and that's if things are going slowly."

"I don't think I've ever been so impressed in my life." I almost lost the water I had just taken a swig from. "Tell me, what sort of car do you get around in?"

"I drive a panty dropper, Jenny." Okay, that's it. Wait, Jenny? "I drive an Audi Coupe. Paid cash for it just last week. Cherry red."

"That's incredible. I have a friend named Cherry. So, tell me, Brandon, what kind of gas mileage do you get?"

"Well, what?" Blockhead was surprised.

"Gas mileage, Brandon. Keep up, man. What kind of gas mileage do you get?"

"I'm too rich to care, baby." He cheesily recovered.

Oh my gosh, I'm going to tear this sucker in half. But just as I neared the two of them, Harper winked at me over the guy's shoulder signaling for me to sit back and enjoy the rest of the show. I stayed close, anyhow.

"Well, in that case, you probably wouldn't mind driving me out of town this weekend?"

"Depends, is your place out of town?"

Lame.

"As a matter of fact," Harper said, "I need a ride to pick up my kids. They're mine this weekend. We were planning on a trip to the zoo. Do you like elephants, Brandon?"

"Kids?" He asked, stepping back slightly. "But..b...but, but you look too young to have children," he stuttered like a blubbering fool.

"Oh, do I? Well, if I was being honest, I started quite young."

"That's nice. Listen, I see my friend calling me over to him. It was nice to meet you, Jenny?"

"Yes, Jenny. Oh, but wait, Brandon. You didn't ask for my number."

"Oh, well, I don't," he spit out.

"That's okay, Brandon," I chimed in. "She's with me, anyway."

Brandon looked so incredibly relieved, I almost laughed.

"Good luck to you, bro," he said and bolted.

Harper and I leaned against the back wall, holding in our guts.

"So, Jenny, what are these kids of yours named?"

"Oh well, there's Bosephus. He's my youngest. Just two months old."

"That is hideous, Harper."

"I know, but it's his grandpa's name."

"Oh, well, then it's understandable." I smiled at her. "You're a goofball."

Harper and I laughed ridiculously hard when we noticed Brandon talking animatedly and pointing our direction.

"I think you may be a genius, Harper Bailey."

"You know it."

I turned my body her direction, my left shoulder leaning against the brick wall. She followed suit and leaned on her right, facing me. I brushed her hair behind her shoulders and blew at her neck, trying to cool her off. She closed her eyes, enjoying the makeshift breeze, her lips parted slightly. She inadvertently succeeded at driving me insane. I instantly stopped and drank her face in. Her eyes popped open.

"And here we are again, Callum. We really must stop playing these games."

I swallowed hard. "What could you possibly mean, Harper?"

"Oh, just that you and I are walking a razor thin line and I'm trying to find out if it's sharp enough to actually hurt us."

"Anything can hurt you, Harper. Even things you're supposed to be able to count on can hurt you."

"These things you speak of, do they include how we're supposed to rely on mothers and fathers never to die or leave us alone?"

"Exactly, but that's life, Harper. Nothing is guaranteed."

"You're right."

"But I can promise you that I would never intentionally hurt you and, although a promise is not a guarantee, it is still a promise and you can ask anyone I know, I'm good on my word."

"I don't know why but I believe you."

"Harper, I..."

But Sam interrupted us.

"Hey, you guys!" Sam said emphatically, a little too emphatically. Great.

"Hey Sam," I said, never taking my eyes off the glorious Harper. Sam forcibly distracted me from Harper, grabbing my arm and twisting it around her own waist. "Uh, what are you doing, Sam?" I asked, unwinding myself from the death grip she held on the hand she placed at her hip.

"What am I doing? You are a silly goose. I'm saying hello to my friend." She narrowed her eyes at me. "Oh, I see. Am I interrupting?"

"No, it's okay, Sam," Harper said politely.

I beg to differ.

Sam turned towards me. "A few of us are heading over to Cherry's afterwards. I would love it if you could come, Callum."

"And?" I asked, looking pointedly at her.

"And, what?" She played dumbly.

I snorted sarcastically. "It doesn't matter," I said, refusing to buy into her game. "Harper and I have had a crazy day. Unless, wait a moment." I turned toward Harper. "Would you want to go, Harper?" She shook her head no, fighting a smile. "Yeah, we're probably going to go crash at Charlie's soon. You remember Charlie, don't you, Sam?"

All the color drained from her face. "Of course I remember Charlie. What kind of question is that?"

"Oh, nothing, Sam. I just wanted to make sure you still did, is all. Tell the gang I'll catch up with them later, will ya'?"

I captured Harper's hand in mine and lead her toward the exit. We burst out into the hot summer night, relieved to be away from the sweltering bodies inside.

"All I want to do is crash out," I confessed.

"No kidding. First, shower, then, bed. I'm exhausted," she said.

I smiled down at her. "I'm happy you came with me."

"They were surprisingly awesome," she admitted.

Chapter Five.

Holdin' On To Black Metal Harper Callum and I readied for bed in very little time as we were both drained but also because, I suspect, we were eager to talk. This was one thing I loved about Callum. He was actually interested in things I had to say, something I'd never experienced before and made me feel extraordinarily special.

"You take Charlie's bed. I've made a pallet on his couch."

"Okay," I conceded without argument. It would've been useless.

I've learned that he loves to argue, which I believed falls just short of his love for winning an argument. I climbed the bookcase stairs into the elevated loft. It was open to the living room just below and I could see Callum clearly.

"What are our plans for tomorrow?" I asked him, burrowing my legs beneath the soft sheets.

"Oh, I was thinking the docks. The pay is better and we only have to work for half the hours we would have to for the restaurant for the same pay. It's slightly harder work. Think you're up to it?"

"I am."

"Harper?" He asked.

"Yes?"

"Where did you grow up at?"

"Well," I said, laying on my back, settling in for a long explanation. I tucked my hands behind my head. "It depends on my age at the time. I really don't remember any of my foster parents before the age of three or four. I do have memories that fall back father than that, though it's not so much a visual memory as it is a memory of how I felt."

"Oh, yeah? Like what?" He asked, laying back as I did. The lights from the city cascaded through the window next to his body, creating deep shadows over his muscles, making my fists clench beneath my head.

"Oh, I distinctly remember feeling hollow."

"Hollow," he repeated thoughtfully.

"Yeah. I didn't realize until much later in my life that the hollowness was basically a complete lack of feeling loved."

"God, Harper."

"What?" I said, sitting up.

Callum sat up just as abruptly. "I know exactly what you mean. My void existed until I'd say, sixteen or so and became friends with Charlie and Cherry. That's when I realized what I'd been missing."

We just stared at one another but not in pity the way so many people would look at us. No, this was a look of understanding and empathy. Callum half-grinned. I fought the urge to jump off and hug him until he turned blue. The moment passed and we both laid back down.

"So, the first foster parents I can distinctly remember were Mr. and Mrs. Campari. They actually made me call them that. I was four and already realized they weren't in it for the long haul.

"Mr. and Mrs. Campari lived in Brooklyn, Dyker Heights to be exact, a pleasant neighborhood with manicured lawns and middle income families.

"I don't remember them being cruel, just detached. I suppose they knew they couldn't keep me and decided it be best not to form an attachment. I don't blame them in the slightest."

"When did you leave the Campari's?" Callum asked quietly.

"I think I was six?" I stated, trying to fight through the memories. "I remember something about Mr. Campari having some sort of heart surgery. Anyway, that's when I was moved to another household. I endured four new foster families until the age of ten. They were normal, nothing particularly strange about them. They just couldn't handle my acting out. At eleven, I moved in with the Strauss'." I paused, to gather myself and catch a single tear falling down my cheek. I caught the hitch in my throat. "They were my favorite. They were kind and gave me, I think, my philosophy on life as well as the morals I carry and live by. I was lucky to have them.

"I was with them until the age of fourteen. They're responsible for my most treasured possession."

"That book you keep wrapped in a cloth?"

I laughed. "Yeah, that."

"What book is it?"

I stood and descended the bookcase stairs, hopping down each step with a lightheartedness I hadn't felt in years. I was going to show Callum Tate my favorite thing in the entire world. I'd never shown anyone for fear they'd try to take it from me. It'd been hidden in my possession for so many years, it felt liberating to finally feel comfortable enough to show someone.

I grabbed my bag and dug my hand through my meager belongings. When my hand hit the carefully wrapped book, I gently pulled it from the bottom and walked over to the coffee table next to Callum's makeshift bed. I knelt to sit on my ankles and placed the wrapped book on top of the table. I nodded my head at the lamp above Callum's head and he turned it on.

I unwrapped the book carefully, exposing its cover.

"To Kill A Mockingbird," he said with reverence, "by Harper Lee."

I flipped the hard cover open and revealed Harper Lee's signature.

"Signed!"

"I know!" I said giddily.

"How did you get this?" He asked, bringing his face reverently toward the signature.

"I won it. If you can believe that."

"But how?"