Page 6 of The Locker Room

Amy Lane

getting the habit of ducking a little at doorways) Xander saw that the

inside of the house was even better than the outside.

It was cluttered—there were books all over the coffee table and end

table and whole shelves for them in the living room—and the couches

were worn and a little threadbare on the arms. There was a girl who

looked just like Christian lying on her stomach with her feet in the air,

poring over a history book, and a grown man doing the dishes over by

the kitchen, which opened into the living room on the far side of the

house from the entryway.

“Jeez, Andi, I thought we were eating out because it was quicker

than cooking!” the man called, and Chris"s mom walked up to the guy—

he was about Xander"s height, with brown hair and glasses and a small,

“pretty” face—and kissed him on the cheek with only a little reach. In

the light, she had blond, curly hair, and slightly wide hips and a blowzy

chest under jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, and she laughed at her

husband (Xander assumed) and set the food down on the (crowded)

kitchen table so she could give him a hug.

“You would not believethe line at the KFC, seriously. Just

miserable. And Chris went to the park while I was there, and we brought

home a stray.”

Xander felt himself the victim of a cheerful once-over.

“Holy God. Feeding you must be a full-time job.”

Xander smiled greenly and wondered if the light really was that

dim or if it was the whole “haven"t eaten” thing. “Yeah,” he said quietly.

“I"d like it to be.”

That earned him a laugh, and his next smile had a little more

strength behind it. Then Chris said, “C"mon, let"s clear off the table,

Xander, and we can eat.”

“Never mind that,” Chris"s (Step-dad? Mother"s boyfriend? What