Bread in

Daniel called Friday night. "Mom and Dad are chasing me around the neighborhood. They're fighting over whose weekend it is. I don't know whose house I should go to. What should I do?"

I asked him where he is, and he said he rode his bike to 31 Flavors.

I called the police. The police called me. A police officer said Daniel asked to spend the weekend at my apartment, and both parents had agreed. The police drove him to my building.

He was excited that he didn't have his toothbrush. He was excited to use my green-striped soap. My bed was just big enough for Daniel, warm and scrunched up next to me.

In the morning we had hot chocolates. Three each because that was all the food I had. Daniel said he was still hungry. I checked all my pants for change and then we walked to the grocery store. We bought a loaf of bread. I let him pick it out. I tried to look calm, like everything was OK, but I was scared he'd ask for something else.

We took the bread back to my apartment and I let him eat in bed since I didn't have a table. Daniel said, "I love your apartment."

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