It was the last week of school before winter break. Every window was decorated with snowflakes and paper snowmen and the janitor had taken to coming to work in a Santa Claus hat. Downstairs in the kindergarten, Taylor couldn�t concentrate because he was thinking about Santa Claus, who existed, he�d decided, in spite of what Isaac had said. Plus, he�d asked Dan if he believed in Santa Claus, and Dan had said yes. Nora had said she believed in Santa Claus, too. And when Taylor wandered off to pay a visit to Mr. Martinez during recess the other day, Mr. Martinez had said that he believed in Santa Claus before sending Taylor back to the playground. Everyone knew that principals never lied. All Taylor could think about was staying up on Christmas Eve to see Santa Claus fly through the air. Even if he didn�t get any presents or anything, there was always the chance he might see him, and that would be enough.
Upstairs, in the second grade, Isaac couldn�t concentrate because he was thinking about his mother. The only two surefire ways of getting out of going to the halfway house, or at least, the only two surefire plans that he could definitely carry out, were neither appealing, nor would they come without consequences. He�d considered doing something terrible. . . stealing something from a store or attacking someone or setting a fire, something so horrible they�d have to send him to juvenile hall right away. He�d disbanded that idea pretty quickly; not only was Isaac unsure of whether or not he could actually force himself to commit random acts of violence, he knew that juvenile hall would be the worst place he could get himself sent. Taylor and Zac wouldn�t have anybody with them. They�d see what he�d done, and maybe do bad things themselves. Isaac felt guilty for even considering the idea.
The only other thing he could think of to do was to pretend to be sick on the twenty-fourth. Then, they�d probably have to leave without him. Then. . .
No, Isaac decided. For one thing, he�d be abandoning his brothers. Everything they�d been through before, they�d been through together. It was better that way. Anyway, even if he got sick for real, he couldn�t stay with Dan and Nora. They had been taking care of three kids who weren�t theirs for just about a month now, and they deserved a break, Isaac reasoned. They probably had plans, anyway, and he didn�t want to be the one who screwed them up.
Even somewhat resigned to the fact that going to stay with his mother was something he wouldn�t be able to get out of, Isaac wasn�t able to get his mind off of it. He couldn�t concentrate on anything else, especially not school. In spite of his resolutions to apply himself and try harder, Isaac found himself staring out the window more and more, doodling in the margins of his notebook and handing assignments half completed. Mrs. Schafly noticed this, and she wasn�t happy.
It was Tuesday night. Three more days of school were left before winter break. Dan was standing in the kitchen, coloring in thumbnail sketches with one hand and eating a Christmas cookie with the other. Nora, who was working the late shift that night, had enlisted the boys� help and made a few batches of them that afternoon. She�d taken a plate of nice, carefully decorated ones to the emergency room with her, but the rest. . .
Dan smiled. Two out of her three assistants had produced only three edible looking cookies between them, and those they�d eaten on the spot. The rest of their creations lay on the plate in front of him, many broken in two, some slathered with so much icing they looked horrifically deformed, others pockmarked with little holes from being stabbed multiple times by a three year old armed with a tube of icing. They all tasted pretty good, but you wouldn�t believe that to look at them.
"Maybe you shouldn�t let them do that anymore," Isaac had suggested nervously, looking at the icing smeared counter and his two giggling little brothers. "I don�t think they�re any good at it."
Nora smiled. "They�re having fun," she said. "Don�t worry."
"They�re wasting a lot of icing," Isaac pointed out.
Nora laughed. "Some of it is ending up on the cookies."
"Yeah, but not very much." Isaac carefully applied a chocolate smile and two chocolate eyes to the snowman he was making.
"We do it fasterer than you do!" Taylor exclaimed, his mouthful of cookie. "It takes you a million hours to do one cookie."
"Yeah." Isaac shrugged. "So?"
"So. . ." Taylor reflected for a moment. "We�re betterer at it, cause we makes more cookies the fasterest."
"Yeah, but mine are nicer," Isaac pointed out. "They�re carefuller than yours." That was true, too. It took Isaac an hour to complete six cookies, but he did his meticulously, taking care not to smudge any icing or break them in half. Isaac never let his guard down for a minute, Nora noted. He didn�t want to risk facing the consequences of messing up.
Dan lifted a decapitated Santa Claus off the plate and chewed on him thoughtfully, mentally comparing the scarlet and crimson colored pencils. Scarlet, he decided, then found himself reaching for crimson. Crimson? Plain old red, maybe?
That was when the phone rang. Dan picked up the receiver and tried to talk around the cookie crumbs in his mouth. "Hello?"
"Hello, this is Meryl Schafly," a woman�s voice said. "I�m Isaac�s teacher."
"Oh, right!" Dan swallowed hard and straightened up, as if Mrs. Schafly herself had just strolled through the kitchen door. "I�m Dan Conway."
"Isaac�s foster father," Mrs. Schafly said, and it wasn�t a question.
Dan nodded. "Right." You wanna make something out of it? he added, mentally, and grinned.
"I�m calling to request that you and I schedule a parent teacher conference for sometime within the next few days," Mrs. Schafly said. "I feel Isaac is having certain. . . issues. . . at school that need to be dealt with shortly."
This was news to Dan. "What kind of issues?" he asked, blurting "Is he beating people up?"
He thought he heard Mrs. Schafly chuckle. "No. . ." she said, slowly. "We have not had problems with Isaac. . . behaving inappropriately. . . toward other students."
"Okay." Dan nodded again, even though she couldn�t see him. "That�s good."
"Yes, that is good," There was no way Mrs. Scafly could disagree with that.
"Can I ask what he does, though?" Dan asked.
"Mostly nothing," Mrs. Schafly said.
"Oh, is this just the standard time of the year for parent teacher conferences?" Dan asked, relieved.
"No, I mean he literally does nothing," Mrs. Schafly said. "No work, he does not pay attention. He does nothing."
"Nothing?" Dan repeated, wondering how someone could do nothing for seven hours every day.
"Sometimes he hides books under the desk and reads them during class," Mrs. Schafly admitted.
"So he does. . . something. . . then," Dan said.
"You could call it that," Mrs. Schafly agreed.
Dan nodded. "When should I come in?"
"Ike?" Dan set the receiver back into the cradle just as Isaac was coming down the hallway. "That was your teacher on the phone."
Isaac groaned. "Oh, no. . ."
Dan smiled wryly. "She wants to have a conference."
Isaac looked scared. "You told her no, right?"
"Isaac!" Dan was incredulous. "Why would I do that?"
"I think she hates me," Isaac warned him. "She�ll probably tell you lies."
"Ike. . ." Dan shook his head. "All she said was that it seemed like you were having trouble concentrating in school, and she wanted to talk about what was going on. She said she tried to talk to you, but she doesn�t think it helped."
"Did she say I was allowing outside forces to keep me from reaching my full potential?" Isaac asked.
Dan raised his eyebrows. "She said that to you, too?"
"She told you you weren�t reaching your full potential, either?" Isaac�s eyes grew wide. Mrs. Schafly said that to everybody? Did she go running up to strangers in the supermarket and accuse them of not achieving their full potential?
Dan shook his head. "No, she said that you weren�t."
"I don�t care about my full potential." Isaac set his jaw and scuffed at the linoleum floor with the toe of his sneaker. "I don�t think I even have any potential. I don�t even know what potential is. It sounds like something you have to take medicine for."
Dan grinned. "You do have potential, Ike. Everybody does. You probably have more potential than most people."
"Great," Isaac sighed. "Just what I need. Potential."
"Ike, it isn�t a bad thing." Dan thought for a moment, wondering how to explain this. "Potential is. . . like. . . what do you want to be when you grow up?"
Isaac sighed again. "I really haven�t thought that far ahead."
"Come on. . . you must have some idea," Dan said.
Isaac�s expression was guarded. He did know what he wanted to do. He didn�t know if he wanted to tell Dan. "I want to. . ." he began.
"What do you want to do?" Dan prompted.
Isaac looked up at him. "I want to write things," he said, quickly. He waited for the aftermath. Dan would probably laugh at him.
"That�s a good idea," Dan said, nodding. "I bet you�d be good at writing."
"I don�t know." Isaac swallowed. "I just like to do it. I�m not any good."
"Don�t sell yourself short." Dan shook his head. "I�d love to read anything you wrote."
"You can�t!" Isaac exclaimed, more sharply than he meant to. "I mean. . . I don�t show them to anybody," he explained, apologetically. "Because of what happened with.. . I mean, because of a reason. Because I don�t want to."
Dan nodded. "Yeah, it�s hard to show people things like that. Writing is kind of personal."
"Yeah," Isaac nodded. "It�s personal." He paused for a moment. "If I ever write anything I want to show anybody, you can see it."
"Thanks." Dan was genuinely touched. "I�d appreciate that."
Isaac met his eyes. "But maybe only you could see it. Because I don�t like it when a lot of people look at it."
"I�d be really careful with it," Dan promised. "Really careful."
The two of them were quiet for a moment, thinking. Finally, Dan spoke. "What were we talking about, anyway?"
Isaac flushed. "Umidontknowmaybenothinginparticular," he whispered.
"What?" Dan asked.
Isaac took a deep breath. He could lie to everyone else in the entire world, but he couldn�t lie to Dan and Nora, for some reason. "My teacher called," he said, inwardly kicking himself. Now, Dan was going to yell at him. Now he was going to get in trouble.
"Oh, yeah, I remember that," Dan agreed, nodding vaguely. "I mean after that."
"Oh." Isaac thought for a moment. "Potential. You asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up."
"That�s right," Dan nodded. "I was going to say that you have the potential to become pretty much whatever you want, Ike. Potential isn�t a bad thing. In fact, Mrs. Schafly just wants you to use what you have. . . she wants to try to help you."
Isaac shook his head. "I don�t know. . . she keeps telling me I�m driving her crazy."
"Are you?" Dan asked, interested.
Isaac shook his head. "I don�t know. She�s been teaching second grade for fifteen years. I guess no one ever must have driven her crazy before."
"It would be quite an achievement," Dan remarked, dryly.
That was when they heard the hellish, other-worldly screeching and the tremendous crash.
"Okay, now you stay there and don�t move." A long, long time ago, Dan had come in and told Taylor and Zac they had five minutes before they had to go to bed. Then Dan went into the kitchen and started drawing. Then the phone rang, and Dan had talked on the phone, and then he�d started talking to Ike. These were the longest five minutes Taylor had ever spent in his life, and he was bored. And so, while Dan and Isaac were in the kitchen, he decided to find something to do.
Zac had been sitting out the couch with a drawing tablet on his knees, scribbling with crayons. He was drawing a jungle. Little men were hiding in the bushes. There were monkeys in the trees. He was concentrating so hard that he didn�t notice Taylor had climbed onto the couch next to him until his brother leaned over and scrutinised the picture he was drawing.
"Tay, go away!" Zac wailed.
Taylor didn�t go away. "That�s a pretty good picture," he said. "What is it?"
Zac picked up the tablet and hid the front of it against his stomach. "You can�t see," he said, "and I�m not telling you."
Zac was mad because Taylor was scaring him. Taylor was mean. He kept running around the house with a songbook in his hand, pretending that he was a carolaler. Whenever Zac told him to stop, his brother would just sing louder.
"Zac, I�m not going carolaling anymore," Taylor said. "I promise."
"You promise?" Zac narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
"Yeah," Taylor nodded. "I promise-omise." He smiled. "I promise-omise-lomise-somise-romise-bomise-thomas-"
"Stop promising!" Zac yelled.
"Okay." Taylor folded his hands between his knees and stretched his legs out in front of him. "Do you want to do something?"
Zac went back to his drawing. "I�m not going carolaling."
Taylor shook his head. "No carolaling. You and me are gonna play flying cat baby."
Zac raised his eyebrows. "How do you play that?"
"First," began Taylor, "you have to get a cat."
Gallagher was sitting on top of the heating vent, his fur lifting in the warm blast of rising air. He growled as Taylor approached him. Gallagher wanted to be left alone.
"You good kitty, come here a second," Taylor�s voice was a whispered sing-song. "Do you want to play a little game?"
Zac stood back. "I�m not going by that cat. It�s mean."
"No, she�s a good boy," Taylor said. He was under the impression that all cats were of the female gender, even if people called them "boys." He also thought that all dogs were male, even the ones that had puppies. "Aren�t you a good boy, Gallagher?" He turned to Zac. "She�s the bestest cat in the world."
"No it isn�t." Zac shook his head and put his finger in his mouth. That cat was the biggest, scariest, meanest cat in the world. Every time he got anywhere near it, it snarled at him. "I hate that cat."
"Gallagher," Taylor cooed, "Gallagher, want to play a game?" He stroked the cat�s fur. Gallagher purred contentedly. "C�mon, boy. C�mon, sweetie. Play a game with us."
"No!" Zac shrieked.
"Yeah, come on." Taylor coaxed Gallagher off of the heating vent and onto the edge of the coffee table. "Zac, you sit on the other edge," he instructed.
"Why?" Zac asked.
Taylor rolled his eyes. "Because I SAID," he told his little brother. "Now, do it."
Zac shrugged and climbed onto the edge of the coffee table, as far away from Gallagher as he could manage.
"Now, stay there. . ." Taylor instructed. "Don�t move." He looked around the room, grabbing a battered blue blanket off the couch.
Zac narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What do you need your blankie for?"
"A cape," Taylor said, as innocent as ever.
"What for?" Zac pressed, watching his brother tie the blanket around Gallagher�s neck. "How come?"
"Because it�s the flying cat baby game," Taylor explained. He stooped to pet Gallagher. "You like this game, don�t you, Gally?"
Zac took a deep breath. "This doesn�t sound good. . ." he began.
It was all he had time to say. Taylor took a flying leap and launched himself onto Zac�s end of the coffee table. The table tipped, sending Gallagher flying through the air. The cat let out a blood curdling screech as it crashed into the Christmas tree, knocking it over. Landing among the branches, unhurt except for his injured pride, Gallagher thrashed back and forth, tangling himself in the string of Christmas lights and yowling all the while.
"He can FLY!" Taylor yelled, happily.
"What happened?" Dan rushed into the room, Isaac right behind him.
"I don�t think that cat can actually fly!" Zac had ended up on the floor next to the upended coffee table. "I hated that game, Tay!"
"What did you DO?" Isaac demanded, his voice of mixture of alarm, disgust and concern.
Taylor grinned up at Dan and spread his arms out expansively. "Did you know Gallagher can FLY?"
"Oh. . ." Dan was speechless. He had no idea what had happened. The cat was screeching so loud he could barely think. "He. . . can?"
"You fly!" Taylor told Gallagher. "Like Superman!"
Dan took a deep breath. "What happened?"
"They did something really bad," Isaac told him. Oh, shoot! he thought. Dan�s probably going to kick us out now. . . and find three calm, quiet kids who would never, ever dream about sending cats flying into Christmas trees. He swallowed hard.
"It wasn�t really bad!" Taylor defended. "We were just seeing if the cat could fly."
"Can he fly?" Dan asked.
Taylor nodded, grinning hugely. "Yeah, he�d of flieded great if that TREE hadn�t been in the way."
Dan took a deep breath. "Taylor, Gallagher has never flown before. How did you get him to fly?"
"It�s really easy," Taylor told him. "All you do is put him on the end of the table, and tie his cape on him, and then you jump on the other end and he goes. . ." Taylor�s eyes were glazed with joy by this point, "fly-ing through the ai-ir like SUPER GROVER!"
"You. . . launched him?" Dan didn�t know how he was supposed to react to this. He thought it was kind of funny, but it could have been dangerous, too. . . maybe he should be mad. "Taylor, I don�t think. . ."
Isaac, in the meantime, had crept over to the fallen Christmas tree and was attempting to get close enough to Gallagher to release him from the strand of Christmas lights he was snared in. "Ouch!" he yelled, as Gallagher raked a sharp-fingernailed paw down his forearm, drawing blood. "You. . . you stupid cat!"
"He�s really smart!" Taylor protested. "He can fly!"
"Here, Ike, let me do that." Dan knelt and reached for the Christmas lights. Gallagher clamped Dan�s finger firmly between his teeth. "You da-. . . I mean. . . you dumb. .." Dan stole a furtive glance at Isaac, Taylor and Zac, "you dumb cat!"
"You aren�t supposed to call people dumb," Taylor piped.
"Oh, there are many things I could call this cat," Dan observed, darkly. "Many, many things. . ."
"Here, I�ll get him out for you," Taylor offered. "He always listens to me."
"Be really, really careful," Dan cautioned, but Taylor was already pulling at the string of lights which bound the cat so tightly. In two or three motions, Gallagher was free.
"Okay, boy!" Taylor exclaimed. "You�re all set!"
Gallagher�s frenzied screeching began anew as he shot straight into the air with rage, landing a few feet away, near Zac.
Zac, more terrified of Gallagher than ever, scooted away as fast as he could and wrapped his arms around Dan�s neck. "Don�t let the cat get me!" he cried.
Taylor was triumphant. "I told you Gallagher could fly," he said.
"That wasn�t flying," Isaac countered. "I don�t know what that was, but it wasn�t flying."
"He�ll get over it," Dan decided, hoping it was true. "Just don�t play games like that with him anymore."
"Yeah, Tay," Isaac and Zac added, in unison.
For a moment, Taylor looked taken aback. "I thought he might like to fly. . ." he began, blinking back tears.
"It�s okay." Dan put an arm around Taylor, grinning at Isaac. "I know you were only trying to help him."
"I was," Taylor agreed, matter of factly.
"You could have killed somebody-" Isaac began, but stopped himself. "Dan, do you need any help getting the Christmas tree back up?"
Dan scrutinized the fallen Douglas fir. "Actually, I�d really appreciate that."
"Yeah," Zac nodded. "Taylor BROKE it."
"I did not." Taylor shook his head. "Gallagher did."
"It�s not broken." Dan untwined Zac�s arms from around his neck and wondered where to start. "We�ll get it back up."
And they did, too. . . sort of. "Maybe we should turn it around so no one can see that side," Isaac suggested. "It looks really. . . smashed up."
"Yeah," Taylor agreed. "Gallagher should have pickeded somewhere else to fly into."
Zac tugged on Dan�s shirt. "What�s Nora going to say?"
Dan looked momentarily stricken. Nora wouldn�t care about the Christmas tree, but she�d definitely want to know where he�d been while Taylor and Zac were sending cats flying into Christmas trees. Then, she�d say something like, "Well, it wasn�t your fault. You can�t watch them every second, but Dan. . . I mean, it takes three seconds for someone to get seriously, seriously hurt. What if the Christmas tree had fallen over on one of them? What if the cat had gone through the window and there was broken glass? Everything is dangerous, Dan. You would not believe some of the things I�ve seen in the emergency room. . ."
And then Dan would feel guilty, and go to bed having dreams about little kids being trapped under toppling Christmas trees. He knew what Nora would say, and he didn�t really blame her. After all, she had seen some tragic and entirely preventable accidents and working in an emergency room made her a lot more attuned to possible dangers than he was. Still, Dan sometimes wondered if his own attitude might not be healthier. Neither Taylor nor Zac had gotten hurt, the cat hadn�t gotten hurt and the Christmas tree was as expendable as a kamikaze dive bomber. Therefore, he would not let his mind dwell upon the might-have-beens and just be grateful that he didn�t have to deal with any of them.
Dan sighed. "We�ll just turn it around and hope she doesn�t notice."
He caught the wide-eyed look that passed between Isaac and Taylor. "You mean we�re not going to tell her?" Isaac asked.
"You mean we�re going to. . . lie?" Taylor whispered.
Now Dan really felt guilty. "Well. . . no, not lie, exactly. But I think it might be better if. . . since nothing happened. . ."
"We don�t exactly run out and tell Nora first thing," Isaac finished, satisfied. "Not lie, Tay. Just don�t make Nora worried."
"Okay." Taylor agreed, nodding.
Dan cringed, feeling awful. "You can tell her if you want," he said. "I mean, she won�t worry or anything. . ."
"You don�t want to get in trouble?" Zac piped.
"It wasn�t his fault," Isaac told him. "Dan doesn�t want you to get in trouble."
Zac�s lowed lip trembled. "I didn�t do it! Tay did!"
"I didn�t!" Taylor shook his head emphatically. "Gallagher did."
"Right," Dan agreed. "Gallagher did. So, Gallagher will be the one who gets in trouble."
"I don�t want that to happen," Taylor breathed.
"I do," Isaac decided, examining the scratch on his arm.
"But we won�t tell Nora because . . . I�m going to fix it," Dan said, finally. "But you guys have to go to bed."
"I want to stay up, see you fix the tree," Zac piped up.
Dan bit his lip. He hadn�t anticipated that. "Well, Zac, you really can�t do that because. . ."
Taylor�s eyes were shining. He gazed up at Dan with deep admiration. "Wow!" he said. "I don�t believe it!"
"What?" Dan asked, wondering what Taylor didn�t believe.
"I didn�t know you were magical," Taylor breathed.
"Magical?" Dan sputtered.
"Yeah." Taylor nodded. "Zac, Dan�s going to fix the Christmas tree by magic."
For a moment, Zac wondered whether to be terrified or amazed. He ended up staring at Dan with a mixture of the two written on his face, his body tensed and ready to flee. "You ARE?"
"No one can watch him while he does it," Taylor went on. "It�s against the law."
Zac sucked in his breath."Oh. . ." Everything made sense now.
"We have to go to bed so he can do it," Taylor said, reaching for Zac�s hand. "We have to be asleep." Taylor shot a pointed look at Isaac. "It�s like SANTA CLAUS," he said. "You have to be SLEEPING."
Zac, still regarding Dan apprehesively, followed Taylor up the stairs. Isaac looked up at Dan, his hands in his pockets.
"If I were you, I�d just turn the Christmas tree around," he suggested.
"It would be easier," Dan agreed. "Do you think I should have told them?"
Isaac shook his head. "Nah. This way, you can get them to do pretty much whatever you want."
"Whatever I want?" Dan echoed.
Isaac nodded. "Yeah, just threaten to turn them into a frog or. . . something. . ." He grinned.
Dan folded his arms across his chest. "Is that what you think I should do?" he challenged.
"Yeah," Isaac agreed. "Hey!" he laughed, as Dan picked him up and flung him over one of his shoulders. "Put me down!"
"Do you really think I should do that?" Dan smiled, heading toward the stairs. "Do you want me to. . . lie?"
"Lie!" Isaac beat his fists against Dan�s back, giggling. "LIE! LIE AS MUCH AS YOU WANT!"
"That wouldn�t be very nice," Dan pointed out.
"Just turn the stupid tree around," Isaac gasped, "and let me go!"
"No, I was thinking I�d just carry you around like this. . ." Dan had reached the upstairs hallway and was heading toward the boys� room, "until I got tired. . . and then I�d drop you. . ."
"No!" Isaac shrieked.
"Yes!" Dan exclaimed. He entered the room and grinned at Taylor and Zac, who were sitting on their bed, staring wide eyed.
"Put my brother down!" Zac demanded, lunging at Dan.
"No, Zac, it�s okay!" Isaac yelled, breathlessly. "It�s okay!"
"There ya go." Dan deposited Isaac onto his own bed, maintaining his balance as Zac barreled into him. "Zac, don�t worry. I�m not going to do that anymore. . . for now." He grinned.
Isaac shook his head a few times, to clear it. "Whoa. . ." He smiled, dizzily.
"Now, I am going to fix the Christmas tree," Dan said. "Am I right?"
"Right," Taylor assured him.
"And you guys are going to. . ." Dan began, waiting for one of them to finish the sentence.
"Go watch?" Zac asked.
"Go tell Nora?" Isaac suggested.
"No. . ." Dan folded his arms across his chest. "You guys. . . all three of you. . . are going to go to bed. And go to sleep. Am I right?"
Isaac paused. "Um. . ."
"Am I right?" Dan asked, smiling at him. "Or maybe. . . I should just. . . find someone to carry around a little more, maybe. . ."
"Yes!" Isaac piped. "We will! We will go to bed!"
"Good," Dan smiled. "I�m glad we agree."
"Me too," Taylor said seriously, climbing beneath the covers. "I�m very glad."
Dan ran a hand through his hair, grinning up at the ceiling. "I�m happy to hear it."
"Me too," Isaac agreed, his voice filled with mock seriousness.
"If people agree, then nobody�s fighting," Taylor went on.
"Tay, quit talking." Zac, unimpressed with this piece of kindergarten philosophy, frowned at his older brother. "It�s �noying."
"I�m just telling the truth," Taylor said, forcefully, then hedged. "It�s the truth, right?"
"Yep, Tay, it�s the truth," Dan agreed. He turned to Isaac. "Now, where do you think you�re going?"
Isaac grinned sheepishly. "To brush my teeth."
"Why? It�s like you think you have to brush them every night, or something!" Dan teased him.
Isaac looked taken aback. "I do!" he exclaimed. "And in the morning, too. Every morning. And every night." Slowly, it dawned on him that Dan was kidding. "But I bet you never brush your teeth."
"No, I don�t," Dan agreed.
"Because they�re not real," Isaac went on. "They�re dentures. Every night, you take�em out and put�em in a glass of water next to your bed."
"That�s right!" Dan sounded pleased.
"And that�s why I brush my teeth," Isaac finished. "I�m scared I�ll turn out like you." He scampered down the hall in case Dan decided to pursue him.
Dan didn�t. He sat on the edge of Taylor and Zac�s bed, shaking his head and grinning from ear to ear.
"I wanna see you take your teeth out," Zac told him.
"Ike was joking," Dan told him. "My teeth don�t really come out."
"No, they do," Zac insisted. "I want to see �em come out!"
"But they�re stuck!" Dan pointed out.
"I wanna see!" Zac exclaimed. "Please?"
"I think maybe they�re stuck with glue," Taylor said, unsurely.
"Oh. . ." Zac nodded. "Glue."
"Maybe Dan feels bad all his teeth fell out," Taylor whispered, loudly enough that Dan could hear him.
"Oh. . ." Zac�s eyes filled with sympathy. "Don�t feel bad."
"Maybe new ones will grow in," Taylor added.
"When Ike lost his teeth, new ones grew in," Zac agreed.
"The tooth fairy must have brang you lots and lots of money for all your teeth," Taylor observed.
"I won�t tell Nora your teeth aren�t real," Zac promised.
Dan held back hysterical laughter. "Thank you," he said. "I�d appreciate that."
"And I�ll tell Ike," Taylor vowed, "that he can�t make fun of you anymore. It hurts your feelings."
"Hurts your feelings," Zac echoed, shaking his head sadly.
"It�s too bad, Dan," Taylor said, "but don�t worry. It isn�t the end of the world."
Dan nodded, solemnly. "I�ll keep that in mind, thanks."