Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Erik was always a bad kid. And that was before he fell in love with his brother.

Yes. His brother. Half-brother, if you believe 25% of genetic material makes any difference.

Before you judge, let the argument stand in Erik’s defense:

First of all, Erik grew up completely unaware that he had a half-brother anywhere at all. He was only ten when his family found out the news. So it really isn’t his fault that he caught a crush on the orphaned British boy coming to live in his house.

Secondly, and most importantly, it all just seemed to happen before he could stop it.

〜❈〜

STUDENT RECORD

Student: Lehnsherr, Erik M.
Age: 10

Diagnosis: Oppositional Defiance Disorder (313.81, F91.3)
Parent(s)/Guardian(s): Lehnsherr, Edie; Lehnsherr, Jakob
Retiring Clinician: Thompson, Sue (LSW)

Overview: EL has been in treatment with various school psychologists and behavioral intervention staff since the preschool age. He has had an inadequate response to treatment as of yet. Symptoms of oppositional defiant disorder (313.81, F91.3) continue to be described, though it should be noted that the onboarding clinician does not maintain this previous diagnosis due to EL’s young age.

Notes: EL shows signs of loneliness that significantly impact his quality of life and his ability to emotionally regulate across various environments. EL denies feeling lonely when questioned directly. EL talks frequently of his family with positive regard, and shows no signs of abuse at home. As the case currently stands, it is not possible to determine a specific cause for EL’s behaviors of concern.

Further notes can be found in EL’s clinical file.

Crisis Prevention: EL has historically displayed behaviors that may be considered harmful to himself and/or others. The following adults have the best rapport with EL and can be contacted for emotional support.

• Edie Lehnsherr - Mother

〜❈〜

Monday

Hello. My name is Erik and I am the owner of this new journal. I’m supposed to start off with five facts about me, so here we go.

#1. My name is Erik with a K. Do NOT spell it Eric, EVER, or I will punch you in the face. I was named by my father who is Jakob with a K, and I’ll kick your butt twice as hard if I catch you spelling it Jacob.

#2. My mama is named Edie and her name starts with an E just like mine. Erik is the perfect mix of both my mom and dad’s names.

#3. I have no brothers or sisters. The family is just the three of us since we don’t have any pets (Dad is alurgik allergic to animal hair and ruins everything). Mama says that if I had a sister she would be named Ruth, or Max if it was a boy.

#4. I am the tallest kid in fourth grade. My legs are longer than anyone else’s which means I am also the fastest kid in fourth grade. Nobody can beat my mile time during P.E.

#5. My favorite subject is recess because that’s when everyone leaves me alone and I am allowed to draw on the bench behind the playground.

Tuesday

I bet you’re wondering why I write in a journal when nobody else in my class has to. Diaries are for girls, but I don’t think my teacher, Mr. Todd, ever got the memo about that.

Mr. Todd’s real name is Mr. Miller, but since I am his only student, he says I get the privledge privilege of calling him his first name. He’s not the kind of teacher who you see everyday. I only go to his class on Tuesdays, at the hour that everyone else goes to Spanish, and I don’t learn about normal school subjects like history or science in his class. Instead, I learn about FEELINGS and BEING MIND FULL.

I used to have Ms. Sue for that, but at the end of third grade she said she couldn’t be my teacher anymore because she was 8 months pargnet pregnant. The teacher who came after that didn’t like me at all – she left my school before November was even over, and told prinsple Principal to hire someone else. It took forever for them to find anyone. Mr. Todd was finally called from a different school to become the new Tuesday teacher. He met Dad and Mama during winter brake break and asked a bunch of questions like “what’s Erik’s favorite snack?” and “how long has Erik done THAT for?” Then they shook hands and he got the job.

And now, every week, Mr. Todd is the worst thing to happen to me.

Mr. Todd told my mom that it would be “healthy” to write about my feelings. EVERY. DAY.So Mama got me this fancy notebook as a gift for my birthday (January 30th, if you even care) to try and incurridge encourage me. The cover is made of smooth leather and has my name printed at the bottom in tiny gold letters. They even remebered remembered to spell it with a K.

Mama explained that the notebook has my name on it because it’s for my eyes only. Nobody, not even Mr. Todd, is going to look inside. I can write whatever I want about whoever I want, as long as I’m not planning to merder murder someone, Dad said.

So here I am. I do this every night before bed. Mama sets the timer in the kitchen for half an hour and then sits me at the table to write. She watches TV in the living room so that she’ll see if I sneak away. She also helps me spell things if I get stuck, but she says I have to try one time on my own before I ask.

Mr. Todd says if he sees me doing the work, he will tell Mama to buy me an ice cream treat.

Oh boy.

Wednesday

I guess I should tell you more deetales details about my life. I don’t have much to say about myself, and I don’t have any friends at school, so I’ll talk about my family instead.

Mama is pretty much my best friend in the whole wide world. I think that is perfectly fine, even though some of my classmates laugh when I talk about her. She’s the person I spend the most time with, and I like it that way. We hang out everyday after school, and on weekends I help her cook, garden, fold laundry, and run erins errands. On Fridays we take the bus downtown and go shopping at the art store where she sometimes buys me new pencils or sketch books.

Mama likes to buy me fancy art supplies that only profeshonil professional artists use. They’re so fancy that I can’t bring them to school or else the other kids will break them to make me mad on purpose. It’s happened before.

Mama also tells me to also hide them from Dad. Dad gets in a huff when we spend too much on frivilis frivolous stuff like art supplies. He has been worried about money because a few of the other dads are losing their jobs lately. It’s why Mama had to get a job even when she normally stays home all day. Now I take the school bus because she doesn’t have time to drive me anymore. I hate it very much.

Mama says that Dad and I butt heads a lot because we are too simlar similar. It annoys me that we are – we even look alike. I’m Erik, not Jakob, and I don’t want us to get mixed up. I don’t think his jokes are funny, his taste in music is awful, and he dresses like a boring old guy. I’m none of those things, but I get scared that when I grow up, I might be.

Other than that, Dad is so busy with work that I only see him at the dinner table. I hate when he asks about my day because I never know what to say. He also gets mad easily, so you have to be careful with what you tell him or it could all end in a lekchur lecture.

But Dad has a few good things about him. He is a great chess player. He taught me how to play when I was six, and it’s our thing to play on Saturdays. We also both like scary movies and watch one together every Thursday night.

If I had a brother or a sister, I think they’d be my best friend instead. Dad and Mama are nice, but it’d be more fun to have someone my age around, and a sibling HAS to be your friend forever. That’s just the rule. They can’t leave or switch schools like Miss Sue.

Thursday

I know my reward for writing everyday is supposed to be ice cream, but actually, I don’t even like ice cream that much. I just like when Mama is happy, and Mama is happy when I write.

Mama really believes that writing is going to help me be happy, too. I hope that she’s right. I don’t beleve believe it much myself – it’s just something Mr. Todd said, and all the grown-ups treat his teachings like he’s Jesus of Nazred Nazareth, which is stupid, ‘cause we’re Jewish.

Mama just LOVES Mr. Todd. She always brings him cakes and cookies and sometimes even bags of fruits from our backyard. She thanks him over and over for taking care of me, like he’s a babysitter and not a teacher. Mr. Todd will always say that “it’s no big deal” and that I’m a “plezur pleasure to have in class.” In my opion opinion, this is just a big fat lie he tells so he can keep eating Mama’s chocolate babkas.

At least Dad doesn’t worship Mr. Todd (as much). He wrinkles his nose whenever he says the name, TODD, like it’s a gross word. He’ll sometimes say that Todd ott ought to mind his own biznes business and “start parenting his own kids.” But then Mama will scold him, and Dad will sigh and remind me to listen to my teacher even if we don’t like his ways of teaching. It’s very strange how Dad will complain about Mr. Todd at home, then go with Mama to the meetings anyway. Dad says it’s because sometimes in life we need to do things we don’t like. I asked him why and he told me to eat my casserole.

If I had it my way, I would never go to Mr. Todd’s classroom again. Mama says he takes time out of his ‘busy day’ to teach me because I’m special, but it doesn’t feel like that at all.

Friday

I punched Sebastian Schmidt today. I was worried all day long that he would tattle, but nothing happened, so I guess he kept his stupid mouth shut for once.

Sebastian Schmidt is always running his mouth. Today he told me that Mr. Todd only teaches the kids who have issues. Like HE’S one to talk. The only reason that little shit doesn’t get stuck in class with me on Tuesdays is that even the school won’t put up with his rotten attitude. They make the social workers deal with it instead, and I don’t think they’re doing a very good job, because he hasn’t gotten any less punchable since the school year started.

You might not know this, but “issues” is the polite word for grown-ups to use when they think there’s something really wrong with another kid in class. They think it’s better than saying the truth, which is that some kids are just no good at all. They go, “Oh, that one has ISSUES,” or, “Poor Edie, her son has ISSUES.”

Moms are very good at gosipng gossiping, especially in a small school like mine. They talk to each other until even their kids spread the roomers rumors. What confuses me is that even though the moms say stuff like “How did Erik come from such a nice lady?”, all the moms do nice things for our family anyway. They offer to watch me if my parents have something to do at sinagog synagogue, they bring food for us on non-American holidays, and they even call Mama on the weekends to blab about gardening.

I wonder how people can be so mean with their words and so nice with their actions at the same time. It doesn’t make sense at all. Dad says it’s better than someone who talks friendly but acts poorly, and I guess that’s true.

Even with a son like me, people just can’t help loving Mama. She’s very easy to love.

Saturday

I asked Mama if I have to write even on weekends, and she said no, but I’m kind of getting used to writing before bed.

Today we went to the farmers market in town. Dad dropped us off and went to get a car wash while me and Mama shopped. I got a blueberry lemonaid at the truck that’s shaped like a giant lemon. Mama knew the owner from her reading club, so they talked forever about some lame romance book.

After that, we went looking for fresh fruits and vegtables vegetables. Mama put me in charge of picking only the best ones, which means no bruises or holes or bumps. I think I did a good job. I chose bananas and green apples for my school lunches, carrots and potatoes for Mama’s dinners, and lots of pomagrants pomegranates for Dad because those are his favorite.

When Dad came to pick us up, he had donuts with him. I was allowed to eat one because he didn’t know I already had a lemonaid earlier. It was a good day I think. Dad didn’t yell once.

Sunday

Today was not a good day.

Most Sundays aren't good for me. I usually end up getting in a fight with my dad, and then I get so mad I break something, like the lamp in the living room or the wall in my bedroom. (We have lots of holes patched over in my bedroom wall. Dad stopped fixing them at all.)

When I get angry like that, Dad calls it an “episode” or “tantrum.” Mama calls them “the Sunday scaries.” She thinks the reason I get upset is because I don’t want to go to school the next day. I never thought about it like that, but maybe she’s onto something. Just thinking about the smelly school bus makes me want to scream.

Mama told me she gets the Sunday scaries too, and that she doesn’t look fourword forward to waking up early for work. I think she was trying to help me feel better, but it did the opsite opposite. Mama works at the garden store. Usually she loves to garden. So I got really nervous – if Mama doesn’t look forward to gardening, she isn’t Mama at all.

After I calmed down, Dad told me school and work are not supposed to be fun in the first place. I don’t get why. What’s the point of growing up if you have to go to work all the time and hate it? As soon as you’re done with school, BAM – you have to get a job in the real world. The real world is where they send you once you finish your educajun education, and Dad’s told me all about it.

It seems worse than school, something I already hate. My dad has spent so long in the real world that now he’s frowning and sighing every single day of his life. I don’t want my mom to become like that. I hope they fire her from her job so she can go back to making cookies for me after school.

Monday

I hate Monday nights even more than I hate Sunday nights. This is because tomorrow I have to see Mr. Todd, and he’s my least favorite part of the whole week.

It’s all I can think about right now. Mama tried to distract me by talking about chess, but she doesn’t know that much about chess, so nothing she said even made sense. It’s nice that she tried, though.

I wish there were other kids in my class so that the attention wouldn’t be only on me when Mr. Todd asks questions. Mr. Todd says that answering questions will make me a better person, but that sounds like a load of bullshit garbage to me. I think he’s just nosy.

Sometimes I don’t know if I am learning anything from this class at all. I have been doing it since fourth grade started and I feel the exact same as before. I still don’t have any friends to sit with at lunch. I still feel like punching Sebastian Schmidt. The only difference is that now my hand hurts from writing in this stupid journal that nobody except me is ever gonna read.

Mama says “we have a long way to go” and that I should just be patient. But I don’t want to be patient when I don’t even know where we’re going in the first place.

〜❈〜

TODD MILLER: Alright, kid. You ready to start?

[The sound of a metal chair squeaking as its occupant fidgets. The greeting goes unacknowledged.]

ERIK: What’s THAT thing?

MILLER: This? It’s a tape recorder. You kids still use those?

ERIK: Why is it here? Was it here last time?

MILLER: No, it’s something new I’m trying. It basically takes notes for me so that I can listen more attentively to you in real life.

ERIK: …

MILLER: I can turn it off, if you like. But I promise nobody’s ever going to hear the recording except for me.

[Scuffing against the mic; ERIK has picked up the tape recorder. After a minute of scrutiny, he sets it down with a loud clunk.]

ERIK: Do whatever you want. I don’t care.

MILLER: Okay. Have you thought more about what game you’d like to play today?

ERIK: Chess?

MILLER: I don’t have chess. Did you bring yours?

ERIK: My dad wouldn’t let me.

MILLER: Ah, tough luck. Well, I was thinking either Monopoly or Scrabble. Which of those would you rather play?

[ERIK mumbles unintelligibly.]

MILLER: Sorry, what was that?

ERIK: I said I hate Monopoly. It’s boring. My mom makes us play it on board game night. It takes forever for anyone to win. And Dad always makes the same jokes about Jewish bankers. It gets old.

MILLER: Okay, that’s fair enough. [Laughs.] We can play Scrabble.

ERIK: I hate that one even more. I’m bad at spelling.

MILLER: How about you pick the game, then?

ERIK: Chess.

MILLER: Alrighty, I’m setting up Monopoly.

[ERIK groans. He scoots his chair back and stomps away. After some time, a cardboard box crashes down onto the table, game pieces rattling inside.]

MILLER: Wanna try that again, gently this time?

ERIK: No.

MILLER: Sorry, let me rephrase that. Do that again, gently this time, please.

ERIK: It’s not like there’s anything in there that can break.

MILLER: It still belongs to me.

ERIK: Fine. But just so you know, you own a lot of garbage.

[ERIK picks up the rattling box and slams it down at the same volume. MILLER does not comment.]

ERIK: Is this all you have? Checkers?

MILLER: Sorry, kid, I know you love chess, but I buy all this stuff on my own paycheck. If I bought a game for everyone, I wouldn’t have any money left to feed my family.

ERIK: Checkers sucks. It’s a game for people who are too dumb to learn real chess.

MILLER: I think checkers is pretty close to chess, no?

ERIK: HOW? The only thing they have in common is the BOARD.

MILLER: Hmm, that’s true. If only I had some chess pieces for us to use on the checkers board.

ERIK: Wait! If you give me some paper and scissors, I can draw chess pieces on paper. Then if I cut them out we can put them on the checkers board and pretend they’re real.

MILLER: Oh, hey, that’s a great idea! Do you think you and I could keep talking while you work on that?

ERIK: Whatever. Give me paper. Oh, and actually, I want markers. Give me that one.

MILLER: You can only borrow my stuff if you say please.

ERIK: …

MILLER: …

ERIK: …

MILLER: I guess we can’t play chess, then.

ERIK (through clenched teeth): Puh-LEEZ.

MILLER: Thank you.

[Markers roll noisily on the table as ERIK is provided his requested materials. He sets to work in focused silence. MILLER observes.]

MILLER: Holy cow. You’re a great artist.

ERIK: …

MILLER: I don’t think I could draw like that if I tried.

ERIK: …

MILLER: How long did you say you’ve been drawing for?

[ERIK continues to ignore the attempt at conversation. The markers squeak back and forth as he colors.]

MILLER: You know what, I’m gonna help you go a bit faster here. You keep working on the black pieces while I draw the white pieces. May I have a gray marker, please?

[ERIK distractedly nudges a marker. It rolls in the wrong direction and clatters to the floor. ERIK does not move to pick it up—his drawings are nearly finished, as made evident by the rapid snipping of metal scissors.

When he finishes his drawings, he dumps out the checkers pieces from the box, a rattling avalanche of tiny plastic tokens knocking into one another. He unfolds the checkers board and begins to set his side of the board with the paper pieces.]

ERIK: I’m not an artist, you know.

MILLER: You’re not?

ERIK: My mom’s the artist, not me. I just draw ‘cause I like it.

MILLER: Well, you draw incredibly well for someone who’s not an artist. You definitely could be one when you grow up.

ERIK: Sure. Everyone says that. You just feel bad for me, like everyone else.

MILLER: What makes you think that?

ERIK: I don’t think it, I know it. Hurry and set up your side.

MILLER: Okay. Where do I put these? I know pawns go in the front row, but I can’t remember anything else. Castles in the corners, maybe.

ERIK: They’re called ROOKS, not castles. You should know that. You’re like, fifty years old.

MILLER: Fifty?! [Laughs.]

ERIK: Here, let me help you.

MILLER: Thank you.

ERIK: There. Do you remember how the pieces move?

MILLER: I think so. Can you correct me nicely if I make mistakes?

ERIK: Okay. I’m white, so I’ll go first.

[ERIK moves his first piece. MILLER moves his. The two exchange a few turns in silence. Skip forward 0:54 seconds on tape.

The game of chess continues as they converse.]

ERIK: Sometimes the other moms talk like I can’t hear them. But I can. So that’s how I know.

MILLER: Know what?

ERIK: That they feel bad for me.

MILLER: Oh. Right. Hey, thank you for remembering my question.

ERIK: You’re not welcome.

MILLER: The moms talk about you a lot?

ERIK: Yeah.

MILLER: What do they say?

ERIK: That I’m good at drawing.

MILLER: Which is true.

ERIK: Yeah, but they say it ‘cause they can’t think of any other nice things to say. They don’t know if I’m good at anything else. So they pick something easy, like, “oh, that Erik, he’s always drawing, so he’s an artist.”

MILLER: Maybe. Personally, I said it because I meant it. Do you know what a compliment is?

ERIK: No, and I don’t care what—

MILLER: It’s something nice you say about another person. When adults give you compliments, they’re not trying to lie or trick you. Most of the time. Compliments are just meant to make you feel good about yourself. But it seems to me like compliments don’t make you feel good.

ERIK: I don’t want compliments.

MILLER: I see. That makes me a little sad. You deserve compliments as much as any other kid.

ERIK: I don’t want your compliments. You don’t know anything about me.

MILLER: Okay, that’s true, we haven’t been friends for very long. But I can tell right away that you are bright and creative. I can see a lot of things to like about you as a person.

ERIK: …

MILLER: How do you feel when I say that?

ERIK: Bluh.

MILLER: Maybe it makes you sad? Uncomfortable? Nervous?

ERIK: How about “pissed off”? Is that on your stupid Feelings Wheel?

MILLER: Yes, that counts as anger.

ERIK: Name one thing I’m actually good at besides drawing.

MILLER: Well, we’re playing chess right now, and you seem to know what you’re doing, so I’d say you’re good at chess.

ERIK: Ha! Ha-ha! You wouldn’t know what a good chess player looked like if it hit you in your fat head!

MILLER: Your mother told me you’ve been playing for a long time. You must be good if you’ve practiced that much.

ERIK: I’m not good, you’re just bad. I think you are extra bad, too. I keep giving you chances to take my pieces and you haven’t taken a single one.

MILLER: Really?

ERIK: Yeah, I even left my queen unprotected to see if you would take her as a freebie while I moved my pawns back and forth, and you didn’t notice. [Laughs.] The queen is the most powerful piece on the board, Mr. Todd! You should WANT to get rid of her!

MILLER: Hey, I’m trying my best!

ERIK: Act like it!

MILLER: So how do I take your queen?

ERIK: With your bishop! Use your bishop! [Pause.] See? Was that so hard?

MILLER: Now what happens?

ERIK: Well, I’m going to take your bishop now, ‘cause I had my queen protected. Do you know what protection is?

MILLER: No.

ERIK: Okay, for starters, you’re leaving ALL your good pieces out in the open. Look what happens if I move my knight here. [Pause.] See how I can take your rook, your knight, AND your bishop? And you’d just let me! That’s ‘cause they’re not protected. So what you want to do instead, is move your knight like—yeah, THAT one, move it here. That way if I try to take your good pieces, you can get revenge on me on the next turn with your knight. That’s called protection. It’s how you keep yourself from losing the whole game.

MILLER: Ohhhh! I see. That’s very helpful, Erik. Thank you for teaching me.

ERIK: You’re not welcome. Can we play for real now?

〜❈〜

Tuesday

Mr. Todd’s class wasn’t as bad today. We finally got to play chess. He’s worse than a second grader, but Dad’s been really busy with work these days, so it’s nice to play again. Usually I don’t have anybody to play with when Dad has other stuff to do.

Right now, Mr. Todd is still acting nice, but that’s because he hasn’t been my teacher for that long. Once he sees how I really am, he will probably switch to a different school. Dad will yell at me for being difficult and Mama will be so upset she’ll drive to the district again. It’s just a matter of time.

In other news, I have a feild field trip on Thursday that I am not looking foreword forward to. We are going to a museum, and I like museums, but I don’t like going to museums as a class. Mama says she is going to come with me on this trip to make sure nothing crazy happens. And Mr. Todd tried to talk to me about copeen “coping strategies” I could use on the field trip, but I wasn’t very interested in thinking about it since I was too focused on chess.

I don’t know. I am tired of being told what to do by lying grown-ups who keep saying they can help me. I just don’t aspect except expect anything to change anymore.

Wednesday

I don’t want to go to bed. I feel like I am going to throw up even though I am not sick. I don’t want tomorrow to come.

Mama says I’m just nervis nervous for the field trip. I feel like all I have are not-good moments lately, so I told her I’m ready to call it quits on this one. I would rather stay at home while everyone goes to the museum, which sometimes Mama lets me do if she can see I’m nervous about something.

But Dad got mad when he heard me say that. He said Mama needs to stop letting me stay home from school just because something scares me. I told him I don’t get SCARED of school, I just DON’T LIKE it. There’s a difference.

Dad said that field trips are supposed to be the fun part of school. He also said there’s nothing to worry about because Mama will be going with me anyways. All I need to do is be on my best beehayvor behavior. Mr. Todd even emailed Mama a few ideas for “calming down” if I get upset on the trip.

I don’t think the adults’ idea of “best behavior” and “calming down” matches my personality. I try to be good, especially around Mama, but it never goes right. I already know they’re going to send me home early for doing something they don’t like.

Well, wish me luck. Dad says I am going on this field trip and I will have fun and that is FINAL.

Thursday

Feild trip was bad. I don’t want to talk about it.

I am grounded for punching Sebastian Schmidt in the face.

Friday
Still grounded.

Saturday

Still grounded.

Sunday

Still grounded.

Monday

Still grounded. Dad and Mama have an emergensy meeting with Mr. Todd after school to “review my goals” because of what happened on the feild trip. Dad is mad he has to leave work early, but Mr. Todd didn’t have time to meet over the weekend.

Mama doesn’t know, but if I crowch on the stairs and listen, I can hear whenever she cries and talks to Dad about something I did wrong. She’s crying right now, I think. I was listening for a little while but I couldn’t take it for long and now I’m back in my room again.

I don’t like to hear Mama cry. I know she wants me to make a friend more than anything else in the world. Or at least get along with my classmates so that I can go on feild trips without her. She isn’t good at lying about any of that.

I can tell she is worried that there’s something really, really wrong with me.

〜❈〜

BEHAVIOR INTERVENTION PLAN (Updated)

Student: Lehnsherr, Erik M.
Current Clinician: Miller, Todd (LMFT)

Behaviors of Concern: Marked social isolation, frequent anger, emotional outbursts in inappropriate context(s), persistent defiance of authority figures, inappropriate and/or defiant verbal language toward peers and adults, repeated physical aggression toward peers and school staff.

• Aggressive behaviors include: striking with a closed fist, striking with an open hand, pushing, shoving, kicking, tackling to the ground, and damaging school property.

• See file SEBASTIAN SCHMIDT for related incident reports in previous years.

Reinforcers (MOs): chess, drawing, alone time, running, snacks, walking breaks outside of class.

At school and at home, adults engaging with EL should strive to —

• Deliver reinforcers using “first-then” language (e.g. “First you will finish this assignment, then you will have 10 minutes of free time”).

• Model replacement behaviors (e.g. “That’s not an appropriate thing to say. If you’re angry, you can say…”)

• Withhold strong emotional reactions when EL tests boundaries, ignores instructions, or verbally insults an authority figure. His behaviors are reinforced by attention and reactions.

Known Trigger(s):

• Concerned reactions to his behaviors, especially when focused on him in front of his peers (e.g. teachers asking “what’s wrong?” during class).

• Crowded rooms or areas.

• Group activities.

• Lunch hour.

• EL also responds with distress when people press to see his personal writing or artwork. He is protective of his notebooks and should be granted privacy if the activities are not related to schoolwork.

Treatment Goals:

By the end of fourth grade, EL will:

• Be able to identify at least one emotion on a Feelings Wheel diagram when asked how he is feeling by his therapist;

• Follow instructions from an authority figure in 8 out of 10 instances, without verbal, physical, or emotional displays of defiance;

• Refrain from engaging in physical aggression in 100% of on-campus instances, as displayed by a complete absence of peer-related aggression within the last 5 weeks of the school year.

By the end of fifth grade, EL will:

• Form a meaningful connection with at least one individual in his peer group (i.e. a classmate within 2 years of his age).

〜❈〜

TODD MILLER: Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Lehnsherr. Thank you for meeting with me today.

EDIE LEHNSHERR: No, thank you. It’s been a stressful week.

MILLER: I’m sure.

EDIE: He’s been grounded since it happened, but we don’t really know what else to do. Nothing seems to work with him.

MILLER: I think it’s good you are upholding consequences at this time. You’re doing everything you can. Now, before we jump into finding solutions to the situation, I think it’d be most productive to have proper discussion about Erik’s behaviors. Specifically, the nature of it—the root of it, if you will.

JAKOB LEHNSHER: Hrm… [Deep sigh.]

EDIE: Jakob.

MILLER: I’d like to start off with the most important concept in the field of modern child psychology, and of course, you are both free to either agree or disagree with me. And that statement is: “There is no such thing as a bad kid.”

[Silence.]

EDIE (emotional): I’ve always known that Erik is a good boy.

MILLER: He is! There is no such thing as a bad kid, not even Erik. How does that feel to hear?

EDIE: Oh, it breaks my heart. In a good way, I think. Thank you for sharing that, Mr. Miller.

MILLER: You’re welcome. I hope it helps you both understand that Erik isn’t causing trouble on purpose. [Pause.] Would you like to add anything to that before we move on, Mr. Lehnsherr?

JAKOB: …

EDIE: Please excuse my husband. He’s a bit shy. And in a mood since Erik got suspended. He’s had to work from home the entire week, keeping an eye on our son—

JAKOB: I’m not in a mood. I’m just thinking.

MILLER: Oh, hey, no pressure; it’s not a trick question of any sort! I imagine you as parents are feeling a lot of distress regarding Erik’s behaviors. I just think it’s important for parents to understand, get on the same page, you know, that your son is not giving you a hard time just for the sake of it.

EDIE: Kids don’t know any better yet.

MILLER: Right, kids are still learning how to ask for help, and in Erik’s case, he’s doing a whole lot of “problem” behaviors—lashing out, saying inappropriate things, isolating himself. It’s his own way of crying for help.

Now, Erik is clearly smart enough to understand the rules, but he’s got a natural streak of defiance in him. He’s an independent thinker, and that can be a strength someday. But while he’s still learning to regulate himself, it leads to situations like what occurred on the field trip.

EDIE: Right, right. I don’t know what it is. If I’d taken him to the museum myself, he would’ve been just fine! I say it’s because the school keeps switching him between counselors and case managers. [Huffs.] He went for weeks without a counselor after the last one quit. You’re coming in with less than half of the school year left—what are you supposed to do with that little time? Never mind that you’re seeing him at his worst right now!

JAKOB: He’s always been like this. It’s just how he is.

EDIE: No, no, Erik is a perfectly obedient child when he’s helping around the house, or when we run errands together! You should see him with Jakob, too. Even when he’s being rude, he wants his Dad, deep down—he is a good boy!

MILLER: I know it’s upsetting, Mrs. Lehnsherr. I promise there’ll be no more switching case managers for the duration of the school year. Personally, I intend to be working with Erik for as long as I can, which is ideally until the end of his fourth AND fifth grade school year.

EDIE: You intend, you intend. But is that what your contract says?

MILLER: Yes, I have signed on it, and I will speak to the principal again if need be. Erik needs a stable plan in order to improve. I can tell that he enjoys routine, familiarity, and most of all, people he can trust. He cannot build trust without consistent support staff. So for now, it’d be best if one adult worked on gaining his trust—then we can teach him to generalize that attitude towards unfamiliar teachers.

EDIE: Okay. Okay. Hm.

JAKOB: How long will all that take?

MILLER: I’m not sure, Mr. Lehnsherr. We can’t put a date on it. We just have to go with what Erik is capable of achieving, one day at a time.

JAKOB: Alright, well, some days it’s… [Pause.] …hard.

EDIE says something in German. JAKOB stops talking.

MILLER: I understand the concern, really. It’s perfectly normal to feel uncertain about your child’s progress at times. Erik definitely has a long way to go, but there are still plenty of things we can try! We can replace these aggressive and violent outbursts with more appropriate coping methods. Don’t worry.

JAKOB: Okay, explain something to us, then. It has been a month since you started working with our son. Yes?

MILLER: Yes, sir.

JAKOB: And yet we see no difference at all.

MILLER: That’s because we are still at the start of the journey, so to speak.

JAKOB: While you are taking your sweet time on this little journey, next time, he will break someone’s nose. And then what happens? Suspension? Expulsion?

MILLER: Mr. Lehnsherr, I wish I could speed things up. I wish I had been assigned to Erik’s case at the start of the school year. But we only have half of the fourth grade year left, and I’ve spent this time attempting to build rapport, which is important if I want to identify the possible causes for his behaviors.

JAKOB: You want to find a cause, good luck! I don’t have any idea where our son learned to be like this. My wife is an excellent mother. There is no reason, [unintelligible], no reason.

EDIE: Jakob, dearest, it’s alright.

MILLER: Oh, I don’t doubt that your wife is a great role model for your son, Mr. Lehnsherr! Erik speaks very highly of her during our sessions.

JAKOB: He’s just a momma’s boy.

EDIE: He loves you, too, Jakob. [Turns to address MILLER.] I told you people at the district before, my son is being bullied! There is your cause for everything. He has learned to be this way in order to protect himself!

JAKOB: [Scoffs.] He is not being bullied.

EDIE: Then why is it always the same boy? Sebastian Schmidt? Mr. Miller, you can agree that Erik’s provoked by the same handful of classmates every time he gets in some trouble. I don’t understand how we can teach him to be polite and courteous when other children won’t do the same in return!

MILLER: I will say that Sebastian has his own set of behavioral issues. On the days I am on campus, I’m happy to mediate if they have a conflict where I can see it. But kids are kids, and a lot of the things they do happens outside of adult supervision.

EDIE: So you are saying there’s nothing anyone can do?

MILLER: How about I explain what we can do, and afterwards you can let me know your thoughts for Erik’s treatment? Does that sound good?

EDIE: Hm. Yes. I apologize. I’m getting worked up.

MILLER: You’re just advocating for your son. That’s what we’re all trying to do.

Now, whatever the cause, it’s plain to me that Erik’s hurting inside, most likely because he’s been made a social outcast so young. He hurts all day long, and doesn’t know how to express it or deal with it, and that causes him to switch to fight-or-flight mode at school—the constant anger, the rude remarks, the violent outbursts. Which only feeds into the cycle of isolation and bullying from his peers, since he’s “the kid who’s always in trouble.” Without friends, he doesn’t get a chance to practice appropriate social interactions. So the cycle continues.

Our main goal for this time, I think, aside from building rapport, should be addressing Erik’s social habits. His biggest obstacle to making friends right now is his emotional dysfunction. We need to get Erik out of fight-or-flight mode—or at least teach him how to cope with it—so that we can teach him how to socialize in an acceptable manner.

I don’t doubt that you two give him all he needs at home. Trust me, he has a major leg up compared to students whose problems stem from their home lives. But what he lacks right now are friends at school. And it’s painful to be a social outcast so young. That’s my theory, at least. I’d love to hear your perspectives.

EDIE (tearing up): No, no, you’re probably right. I can see it in him. The loneliness… [Murmurs in German.] And he doesn’t even have a brother or a sister to play with at home…

JAKOB: Edie, Edie, that’s not your fault.

EDIE: I just can’t believe it. I don’t know when, but we failed him. Jakob, what did we do wrong? Oh! He’s going to end up in jail if he keeps going like this!

[JAKOB rapidly speaks to her in German. He kisses her cheek and pats her shoulder.]

MILLER: Would you like a tissue, Mrs. Lehnsherr?

[EDIE accepts the tissue and blows her nose. JAKOB mumbles. He turns to MILLER.]

JAKOB: Please tell her that Erik’s not going to jail.

MILLER: Erik’s not going to jail, Mrs. Lehnsherr. Sometimes kids just punch each other. [Laughs.] I’ll have a talk with Erik about proper conflict resolution tomorrow. It’ll be okay.

EDIE (still tearful): You tell that Sebastian boy to keep his hands to himself, too.

MILLER: Yes, we will, and if you’d like, we can schedule a meeting with the principal and Sebastian’s family. But I think it’s best if we just focus on Erik for now. Based on what I’ve observed in the past month, I believe that he is capable of achieving big milestones within the following years. We just have to stick to the course.

[EDIE continues to weep. JAKOB puts his arm around her.]

JAKOB: No more crying, Engel. Didn’t you hear? The teacher believes!

〜❈〜

Monday

I don’t know what Mr. Todd said to my parents, but they were being extra nice to me after the meeting.

Sort of. I can tell when Mama’s been crying because her eyes get puffy, and that’s how they looked when they came to the swings where I was waiting. But she smiled at me. And Dad did, too. He even knelt down and hugged me, and then he said, “Everything is going to be okay, son.”

I don’t understand why Dad would say something like that. Everything WAS okay. When they have emergency meetings with Mr. Todd, the playground is empty after school, and I get to swing all by myself. So I was in a good mood. That’s more than just okay.

I asked Dad why he was saying stuff like that. Mama chimed in and said it’s because God G*d told them so.

Dad rolled his eyes and said that Mr. Todd is the one who told her so, not G*d. He rolled his eyes even harder when Mama incested insisted on baking something for me to bring to Mr. Todd tomorrow. She said she was a little mean during the meeting and wanted to say sorry.

I told Mama she couldn’t be mean if she tried. Dad agreed, and said he’d rather have pie for himself. But Mama still wanted to make something for dumb old Mr. Todd.

She decided on strawberry roobar rhubarb pie, which I don’t like that much anyway. I usually help Mama when she bakes, but I didn’t want to make anything for Mr. Todd, especially if he was going to lecture me tomorrow about violins violence. I wasn’t planning to help Mama at all until Dad told me to come hold a flashlight for him in the garage. Dad is always working on something in the garage, and holding his flashlight is the worst job to have since he gets rude if you don’t hold it just right, so I told him Mama needed me in the kitchen and ran away before he could say anything else.

It’s fun to bake with Mama even if it’s for someone I don’t like. She talked the whole time about some silly things that happened at work. I like when she does all the talking and I can just listen. I was just glad we weren’t talking about the stupid field trip for once.

I thought of spitting in the pie when she wasn’t looking, but the last time she caught me doing something like that, she took away movie nights for a whole month.

〜❈〜

MILLER: Good morning, Mr. Erik. Have yourself a seat.

[ERIK does not return the greeting. There’s a tinny sound as he drops an object into the table.]

ERIK: My mom made this for you. She says it’s an apology for making you come to an emergency meeting.

MILLER: Oh! Your poor mother. She didn’t have to make me anything!

ERIK: Dad and I already told her that, but she says she’s embarrassed and doesn’t want you to get scared away from working with me.

MILLER: Aww, Erik.

ERIK: What?

MILLER: I’ll call her later to say thank you. Your mother doesn’t need to apologize for anything. In fact, there’s someone else here who does need to apologize… You already know what I’m going to say, don’t you?

[ERIK groans. There is the scrape of the chair legs against the carpet as he reluctantly sits.]

ERIK: You want ME to say sorry?

MILLER: Yep.

ERIK: Because I punched Sebastian Schmidt in the face?

MILLER: Yep.

[ERIK sighs loudly and dramatically.]

ERIK: I thought you’d have something to say about that.

MILLER: Walk me through what happened.

[Silence. ERIK doesn’t move. He doesn’t even fidget or bounce his knee.]

MILLER: I’m just trying to understand. I want to know what upset you so thoroughly that you gave in to the impulse of hurting your classmate. It’s a free country, you know, so it’s okay to think about punching someone, but it’s not okay to actually punch them.

ERIK: What if he deserved it?

MILLER: Well, what did he do?

[ERIK creaks back on his chair.]

ERIK: I don’t wanna say. You don’t really care.

MILLER: Of course I care.

ERIK: It’s your job to care.

MILLER: I’d care even if it wasn’t my job.

ERIK: You’ll yell.

MILLER: I don’t yell at my students.

ERIK: My dad does.

MILLER: Am I your dad?

ERIK: Ew, no!

MILLER: Look, I know it may not feel like it, but I’m on your side, Erik. I’m upset you punched your classmate. But I’m also hopeful we can learn some better coping skills that don’t involve violence. So I want to hear your version of things—that way, I can explain them more clearly to your father, and maybe he won’t yell at you as much next time. Do you understand?

ERIK: …

MILLER: You can take some time to think if you need to. But I’m not going to stop asking what happened, because I’m your teacher, and I do care.

[More silence. ERIK’s shoe scuffs against the floor.]

ERIK: Have you ever met Sebastian Schmidt?

MILLER: No. He’s not my student.

ERIK: Well, if he was, you’d get why I punched him.

MILLER: He doesn’t sound like a pleasant guy, but we can’t punch jerks just because we don’t like them.

ERIK: So you admit he’s a jerk! Jerks deserve it!

MILLER: Not at school. Punching can seriously injure somebody. If you broke Sebastian’s nose, your parents would have to pay for his trip to the doctor, and that’s expensive. In the real world, if you punch someone, they take you straight to jail.

ERIK: I hate the real world.

MILLER: It’s an unfair place, yes.

ERIK: Sebastian is the worst. He was practically asking for it. I had to teach him a lesson, or nobody else would!

MILLER: Isn’t that the teacher’s job? To teach lessons, in a nonviolent way?

ERIK: Well our teacher doesn’t do a good job with Sebastian Schmidt. And I don’t think his parents do either. I’m not just gonna sit around and take his shit.

MILLER: Hey, language.

ERIK: “Poop” doesn’t work as good in that sentence.

MILLER: Alright, so what did Sebastian say, or do, that got you so worked up?

ERIK: I still don’t want to say.

MILLER: Would you like to write it on paper instead?

ERIK: No. [Pause.] You’ll laugh.

MILLER: I promise I will not laugh.

ERIK: Pinkie promise?

MILLER: Pinkie promise.

[Silence as the pinkie promise is exchanged.]

ERIK: Okay, um… [Breathes shakily.] Sebastian said…Sebastian said…that when my dad dies… [Another breath.] My mom’s gonna be an old lady…who spends all her time with me.

MILLER: He said that?

ERIK: And then, and then! He said, that, that I’m gonna marry my mom. Which is disgusting. I don’t want to marry my mom.

MILLER: Jeez. Well, no wonder you punched him.

ERIK: …

MILLER: You know, I think your mom is very lucky to have a son as loving as you. Lots of parents don’t get that from their kids.

ERIK: They don’t…?

MILLER: Nope. And you’re a lucky kid, too. Not everyone has a mom like yours.

ERIK (tearful): I just love her.

MILLER: Hey, I know you do, pal. I have the feeling Sebastian doesn’t get along with his mom as well as you do, so he’s making fun of you for something he’s jealous of.

ERIK: Really?

MILLER: How about this. I’ll talk to your teacher about Sebastian Schmidt, okay? But next time somebody makes you mad, I don’t want to hear about you punching him in the face.

ERIK: What am I supposed to do, then?

MILLER: Let’s take a walk. I’ll show you. Grab my tape recorder. You’re in charge of keeping it safe.

ERIK: Okay.

〜❈〜

ERIK: Is it on?

MILLER: If you pressed the button with a red circle, then it’s on.

ERIK: I did.

MILLER: Alright! Do you want to describe for the tape what you see in front of us?

ERIK: A bunch of stupid grass.

MILLER: It’s called a field. Lots of wide-open space, right?

ERIK: I guess.

MILLER: Here’s what we’re gonna do. I want you to reach inside of your chest and find your anger. Then you’re going to grab it and pull it all out.

ERIK: What? How?

MILLER: With your hands, of course. Look, I keep all my anger here, behind my heart. Sometimes a little in my stomach…

ERIK: Am I supposed to copy you? ‘Cause you look dumb.

MILLER: Think hard…about what's been upsetting you…

[ERIK sighs. He sets the tape recorder in the grass, muffling the rest of the audio.]

MILLER: Good job, just like that. Are you holding your anger in your hands now?

ERIK: You can’t hold things like anger, stupid. It’s not real.

MILLER: Anger is very real! To me, anger feels heavy. If I leave it in my chest, then I feel heavy when I walk around.

ERIK: I think that happens to me sometimes.

MILLER: Great, then you know what I’m talking about! Let’s roll the anger between our palms until it’s squished down into a small ball.

ERIK: Like this?

MILLER: Perfect. Now, we’re gonna throw our anger as far away as possible, just like a baseball. Try to get it all the way across the field, or else it might come back. Ready? [Pause.] One, two…three!

[They both throw the imaginary ball. ERIK stares off in the distance, decidedly unimpressed.]

ERIK: What was that supposed to do?

MILLER: Well, now you have space for new anger in your body. And the old anger is as far away from us as can be.

ERIK: Oh. [Pause.] Mine went farther than yours. You throw like a girl.

MILLER: Hey, some girls play baseball!

ERIK: Then you throw like a nerd who doesn’t go outside.

[MILLER laughs. ERIK picks up the tape recorder again and their voices come back into clarity.]

MILLER: It’s okay if you thought it was stupid.

ERIK: Oh, good.

MILLER: What works for me might not work for you. I’m just glad you at least gave it a shot. So next time you’re mad, I want you to ask your teacher for a walking break, and you can come out here to throw your anger someplace you won’t be able to find it again. You can let me know when we see each other if it actually helped or not. Okay?

ERIK: Can I still punch Sebastian Schmidt if it doesn’t?

MILLER: No. [Ignores ERIK’s groaning.] Alright, let’s go back to the room now.

ERIK: Can we do the rest of class outside?

MILLER: Oh! Sure, we can stay out here for a few more minutes. The session’s almost over anyways.

ERIK: I’m gonna try to find a four-leaf clover for Mama. I mean, my mom.

〜❈〜

Tuesday

Mr. Todd didn’t yell at me today, not a bit, even though I probly probably deserved it. By the end of class it seemed like he had gotten over it already. He made me promise not to punch anyone else, but I was crossing my fingers behind my back.

I actually had fun, though. I think I’d like class a lot more if Mr. Todd let us learn outside more often. I even found more than one four-leaf clover, and I gave one to Mama already. I was going to save the other one for Dad, but I never got a chance.

Something weird is going on with Dad. When I got home, he was there, and Dad is NEVER home before five o’clock. Mama said he had to leave work early to “take care of bizniz business,” but she wouldn’t tell me what business, and now I can’t stop wondering.

For the rest of the afternoon, all he did was talk on the phone. He didn’t come out of the room once. Earlier I put my ear up against his door and tried to listen, but Dad talks very fast when he’s upset, and I don’t know how to write or spell in German too good. These were the only words I could understand:

• nine (no)

• ya (yes)

• Doom kof (stupid head)

I wondered who Dad was calling stupid head. He didn’t sound happy at all. He also only talks in German if he’s talking to family, but Dad hasn’t talked to Uncle Lev since I was three, so that made it even more confusing. Maybe he was calling someone on Mama’s side of the family. That wouldn’t make sense since he is shy and usually only says a few things when we do see them. Maybe he is calling Oma, though I don’t think they call that much either.

I went back to the kitchen and asked Mama if someone had died. She said “thankfully, nobody we knew,” which basically confirmed my theery theory — someone died. It must’ve been a cousin or very distant relative. Or maybe it was Oma, and Mama is lying so I don’t freak out even though Oma is super old and her fewnerl funeral is coming any day now.

Dad was so busy on the phone that he didn’t even come to dinner. I was starting to get scared. Maybe nobody died at all. Maybe Dad was finally sick of me, and he was sending me to live in Germany with Uncle Lev.

I don’t want to move to Germany. I like my life as it is right now, living in New York with Dad and Mama, even if I do have that annoying class with Mr. Todd every Tuesday.

Wednesday

Dad still won’t tell me what’s going on. Mama told me not to pester him with questions anymore, and that he’ll come to me when he’s ready to talk. But I’m ready to talk NOW, and Dad’s calling a bunch of people still.

He’s talking in English today. It doesn’t help as much as you’d think. He’s lowered his voice to a mumble and he’s also stuffed a towel under the door crack. I don’t understand what’s going on or why everyone’s keeping the answers from me.

I wish I had a brother or sister so I could talk to them about stuff like this. Mama is no help right now. She keeps all of Dad’s secrets.

Thursday

Dad is usually quiet around other people, but he isn’t quiet when he’s at home with me and Mama. Home is where he gets to be loud and talky, where he laughs and teases us all the time. If you saw him at home, you wouldn’t be able to tell he’s the same dad as the one my teachers see.

But he’s acting funny today. Even funnier than before.

Even though Thursdays are for scary movies, Dad didn’t seem like he was in the mood. He didn’t remember that today was Thursday at all. When I went to go find him, he was sitting in his office, staring at a wall and doing nothing. He didn’t even notice me until I called his name like four times.

I did not enjoy seeing Dad like that. He looked like he was lost in space somewhere. Even though he agreed to come out for our movie, he didn’t talk or joke the entire time, which made the movie feel longer than it really was. I think his weird mood scared me even more than Saw with the lights off.

After the movie ended, I told Mama there was something seriously wrong with Dad. But she told me not to worry. She said Dad was waiting to hear back from some people on the phone, and it was making him ankshus anxious, that’s all. She wouldn’t tell me who these people were, or what they were going to tell Dad, or why he was waiting for them spacifcly specifically. I don’t understand how a phone call would make him anxious in the first place. He is very good at sounding like a smart businessman on the phone.

I wish these people would hurry and call Dad already. I need him to go back to normal, because we’re supposed to watch Texas Chainsaw Masker Massacre next week and I definitely can’t do that one on my own.

Thursday

I heard a name today.

I still don’t know who it belongs to or what it means, but I think this is a good step in solving the mystery.

Since I got home from school, Dad and Mama have been doing lots of talking in their room with the door closed. I listen from the stairs where I can hide behind the railing if they come out. It’s harder to hear from there, but I get in REALLY big trouble when I’m caught eezdropping eavesdropping.

They went back and forth in German for a long time. It was hard to tell what they were feeling because German sounds angry even when it’s not. I waited for a long time before they finally switched back to English.

“It’s not fair for Erik,” Mama said.

I held my breath and listened careful. A lot of things are not fair for Erik. They could’ve been talking about anything at all.

“I know,” Dad replied. “But it’s not fair for Charles, either.”

I listened for as long as I could after that, but nothing they said gave me more clues about this Charles person. I ran back upstairs to write everything down before I could forget.

At least I have a name now. In detective stories this is called a leed lead. Charles must be someone important. We don’t have any family members named Charles because that is not a Jewish name, not that I know of, and I don’t have any classmates called Charles either. Maybe he’s one of the people Dad is waiting to get a phone call back from.

I will look more into this tomorrow.

Friday

I made a big breakthrough today with the Charles case!

Dad went back to work again, which means his office at home has no one there to gard guard it. I’m not usually allowed in his office unless he’s around. He says it’s where he keeps all his grown-up stuff, and since this secret belongs to the grown-ups, I knew I’d find what I was looking for in there.

While Mama was cooking, I opened the door and crept inside. Dad had papers all over his desk, which was good for me – there were a lot of places to start looking for answers. All the papers looked the same so I tried not to touch anything that I would have a hard time putting back in place. Even when Dad makes a mess, he has an order. He’d know right away if something was moved around.

The papers were impossible to read. All the words were super tiny, and also confusing. I tried to look it up in my dictionary but even the definitions made no sense.

I went through a few more piles to see if the words got any easier, but they didn’t. I could reconeyes recognize Dad’s signature on a few of the pages. I even saw Charles written some places. Charles Francis Xavier. Sounds fancy, but stupid. What does someone need three first names for?

But that’s not the most interesting part. While I was looking through papers, I found pictures! Well, just one, actually. I couldn’t even take it with me because Dad would notice it missing right away, so I tried to draw it instead.

I found the photo clipped to a bunch of important-looking papers. It had a sticky note on it that said, “This is the most recent picture of Charles we have.”

This was an huge clue, but I wasn’t sure where it fit in the puzzle. I looked more at the photo. Charles reminded me of a haunted Victorian child who’s whose ghost had unfinished business in his haunted castle. His huge, sunken eyes were just FULL of sadness, and I know exactly what sadness looks like because sometimes Mr. Todd makes me look at pictures of sad people and tell him what emoshun emotion that is.

Maybe Charles is the person who died. He could be a relative on Dad’s side, and that’s why Dad had to call everyone in Germany. It doesn’t make complete sense, but I can’t think of a better answer.

I wonder how old Charles was when he died. He can’t have been older than me. I’ve never had this happen to anyone I know, but Mama says that sometimes, kids die, and it’s one of the saddest things in life. It would explain why Dad acted sad the other day.

I left everything as I found it and went to go find Mama. I gave her a big hug, and felt selfishly glad that she doesn’t have to bury ME anytime soon.

Saturday

I heard Mama ask Dad, when she thought I wasn’t listening, if Charles had a “planned day” yet. Dad said no. I don’t know what the “plan” is. I’m stumped. No more clues for today.

Sunday

I can’t stop thinking about the picture of Charles in Dad’s office. I wish I could sneak in and find it again. I’ve never seen eyes look like that.

Monday

Dad finally had a talk with me.

I knew it’d be bad when he called me to sit on the couch between him and Mama. That’s what we do for Family Meetings, and those are for emergensies.

Well, at least I can tell you who Charles is now.

He’s not a business guy. He’s not one of Dad’s long-lost cousins or uncles. He’s not even dead at all.

Charles is a brother.

MY brother.

I don’t want a brother like this. He’s not a cute baby brother that comes from Mama’s belly. He’s an OLDER brother, which means HE WAS BORN BEFORE ME, so I’m not even special to Dad anymore.

Dad explained that Charles is only my half-brother, which means I share blood with him and Dad, but Charles does not share blood with Mama. That’s a lot of fancy talk to say that Dad had Charles with a DIFRENT LADY.

Dad says the lady died about a week ago. Now Charles doesn’t have any parents left. They thought he would have to go to the orphinage. But then the loyers discovered he has a father in America: MY dad. And now he’s coming all the way here from ENGLAND to infulltrate MY home.

I don’t understand how this can happen. Dad loves Mama happily ever after. She is his one true love. I’m hiding in my room right now and I refews to come out, even though I left my good art pencils on the kitchun table and my dikshinary is somewhere else. I am not coming out until everyone says sorry for this terrible prank.

Dad tried to talk to me through the door before bedtime came. He said he knows it’s hard to understand at my age. But I don’t know if I’ll ever understand at all. So I told him to go away.

He’s dead to me now.