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works.”
    Jason considered winking, to see if it worked on guys as well—or if it worked at all—but he restrained himself as they pulled into the driveway.
    Caesar put the car in park before the engine went silent. “Listen. I mean what I said about being able to sympathize. A lot of kids come through here, and I’ve seen some of the toughest guys break down and cry. If you need anything, my room is just down the hall.”
    “Thanks,” Jason said, knowing he’d never take him up on the offer.
    Caesar seemed to sense this. “I mean it. No need for false pride. Not with me. If you ever— Shit.” Caesar lifted his rump so he could shove a hand in his front pocket and pull out a vibrating phone. He glanced at the display and rolled his eyes. “Women,” he said.
    The telephone took him to another world. Caesar started texting. A moment later the phone rang and he answered, stepping outside the car for privacy. He must have forgotten Jason was sitting there at all because he headed inside, even electronically locking the car doors behind him.
    Jason smiled, glanced around the car interior, and resisted snooping in the glove box. He allowed himself a moment to consider the conversation. Caesar had said Jason was searching for a family he approved of, not the other way around. A family had to earn the right for him to join. Jason realized it had always been that way. He kept going from home to home, but none of them had fit. His current situation wasn’t too bad. The only problem was an inconvenient stirring inside himself. Jason would have to leave eventually. No doubt about it.
    But not just yet.
     

Chapter Three
     
    “Chore rewards!”
    Mrs. Hubbard announced this with such gusto that all present at the breakfast table winced.
    Despite it being a Saturday morning, a knock on Jason’s door informed him of his turn to use the bathroom. Mrs. Hubbard ran a tight ship. Jason was no stranger to this. Foster home number eight . That home had been even worse; a schedule of the day’s events—broken down into each hour—was posted in every room. He’d put up with it at first because it was a nice house with a pool in the backyard, but eventually the constant micro-managing had been too much. Jason had gotten up at six in the morning, grabbed a shovel from the garage, and spent the next half hour scooping parts of the perfectly manicured lawn into the pool. By the time the foster parents had risen, the water resembled hot cocoa, Jason happily swimming around in it like the sole marshmallow.
    “Who would like to explain what chore rewards are?” Mrs. Hubbard looked around the table, from Caesar’s empty seat, to Carrie, who refused to make eye contact, and then to Amy, whose mouth was full of pancakes.
    “We each have a list of chores to do,” Peter said in monotone. “When we’ve finished them all, we go out for a reward.”
    Didn’t sound so bad. Jason had done chores his whole life without expecting to get anything in return. When he was finished with breakfast, he was given his list. He had to mow the lawn—which was still pretty tame at this time of year—trim the bushes in front of the house, and do some light raking. His tasks were finished within an hour, Jason not having broken a sweat. He was grinning when he reentered the house.
    Mrs. Hubbard looked pleased. “Good job! Of course the goal is to get all the chores done. We do that as a family. A team. Carrie is scrubbing the bathrooms, and Peter is vacuuming. Which one of them do you want to help?”
    Jason wanted to ask how Caesar was helping. Instead he followed the sound of droning to the living room where Peter was and helped by moving any obstacles out of the way.
    “It’s best to work slow,” Peter confided as they carried the vacuum cleaner to another room. “Otherwise you end up doing everyone else’s work. I’d bet you anything that Carrie is sitting on the toilet right now and texting.”
    “I noticed Caesar is exempt,” Jason