"What's wrong, Timmy?" Chuck asked, sitting down beside the seven-year-old.
Timmy shrugged. "Just stuff. Y'know, kid stuff."
Chuck nodded. "I was a kid once too, you know."
Timmy laughed. "That was a long time ago, Mr. Andrews."
"Twenty-five is old, isn't it?" Chuck agreed solemnly. "But you can tell me. So I used to live in a cave, and you live in a house, and I hunted my dinner, and you can go to McDonald's... I'll listen."
Timmy giggled. "You're funny, Mr. Andrews. I like you better than our last teacher."
Chuck smiled gently. "Thanks, Timmy."
Timmy gazed thoughtfully across the playground for a moment before looking up at his teacher again. "When you were a kid like me, what did you want to be when you grew up? Did you want to be a teacher?"
"Actually, I wanted to join the navy and be a sailor," Chuck admitted.
"Then why are you a teacher?"
Chuck shrugged. "Well, I was in the navy for two years, and after I left I decided to help people, and since I'm not smart enough to be a doctor, I wanted to be a teacher. It's not bad, really."
Timmy scrunched up his face, as if trying to gather courage. "Did you ever hate your mom?" he burst out. "I mean, I love my mom, 'cause she's my mom, but sometimes I - I just hate her, and I feel bad."
"When I was growing up, I didn't have a mom," Chuck told him. "I was an orphan."
"Like Oliver Twist?" Timmy's brown eyes were round.
Chuck laughed. "Sort of. But sometimes I hated my mom, too, for dying or leaving or whatever, and leaving me behind to live in the orphanage." He gazed down at the little boy. "Why do you hate your mom?"
Timmy sighed lustily, like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. "See, my dad left when I was really small, so I was the man of the house. It was just me and my mom. But now she's dating, so she doesn't play with me anymore. And I'm not the man of the house, either."
"You'll always be the man of the house, 'cause you were there first," Chuck answered logically. "But your mom needs a friend her age, you know. You have friends your own age, right?"
Timmy wrinkled his nose. "Ew, but not a girl. Girls have cooties!"
The teacher chuckled. "That thought will change when you get older. But you've got to understand, Timmy, grown-ups have to get married, or else they get lonely. See, you're still in school, so you have friends. When you're grown up, you have a job, and so you can't hang out with your friends and stuff, so you get married, so you always have a friend no matter where you go. Give your mom a chance. Maybe you'll like the men she dates." He ruffled the boy's hair.
Timmy gazed up at him, eyes sincere. "Would you be my dad? I like you."
Chuck blinked, taken aback by the child's forwardness. "Well, it doesn't exactly work like that," he hedged.
"You're not married," Timmy pointed out insistently. "You told us so on our first day here. And you're cool, for an old guy. My mom's about as old as you are."
Chuck eyed the child, trying to think of a way to let him down easily.
A voice startled both of them.
"Timothy! Timothy, where are you?"
Timmy jumped up. "It's my mom." His face lit up. "C'mon, Mr. Andrews, you gotta meet her. She's really pretty, too."
A tired-looking woman approached the sand box. "Timothy, finally." She dusted him off. "Where have you been? All the other kids have gone home."
"I was just talking to Mr. Andrews," Timmy answered, wearing an innocent smile.
His mother softened, dropping a kiss on his cheek. "What about?"
He shrugged noncommittally. "Just stuff."
"I'm very sorry about detaining your son," Chuck said, apologetic and polite.
"It's all right. I'm Vanessa Hutton," she said, and they shook hands. She narrowed her eyes. "Has anyone told you that you look like JC Chasez?"
Chuck shook his head. "No. Who?"
"Big pop-star from some singing group. He was assassinated," Mrs. Hutton answered absently. "Nice meeting you, Mr. Andrews."
"You, too, Mrs. Hutton."
As they walked away, Chuck heard Timmy asking his mother if she'd date his teacher. Chuck shook his head, smiling amusedly, and went to lock up his classroom.