"John Austin Foster. I demand an explanation."

I say nothing. I need to process this nonsense, because this didn't come from my Mom. It came from Grandma Enedith, as soon as I walk in the next morning.

Moreover, Grandma doesn't like it when I speak, so I'm debating whether to tell her to fuck off or not.

Maybe it was the door, or my name said aloud, but this summons Mom from the kitchen. The old hellspawn continues her rant.

"I just heard from your mother that you spent the night out of the house. Just how old do you think you are, young man?"

And then the Kingdom of Weird ensues when Mom herself speaks.

"He's sixteen, and he's been watching movies at a friend's." Then, to further confuse me, she smiles. "Right, honey?"

"While he lives under my roof, that's not acceptable!" She points her cane at me. "Know your place! Your curfew is 8 p.m. until you're twenty-one!"

I allow my mind to drift somewhere happier, thinking about Uncle Owen. It's hard to believe that he was raised by this woman and survived. It's no wonder he decided to move to Celadon Bay, of all places. He was probably running away from Grandma, like the birds that should be populating the willow outside. Dad does the same thing.

This reminds me that I have a Dad who spends sixteen hours each day at a restaurant, where I could go and hang out any time. That is definitely an idea right now.

When I tune back into the living room, Mom and Grandma are having a quite heated argument as usual, but that means they're not focusing on me anymore. I take the chance to walk past them and into the kitchen, where I grab an apple before exiting through the back door, leaving the women to their own endeavors. Not unlike last night, ten minutes later, I meet Dad at Sad Aloha. He's behind the counter, loading a fridge with beer.

He doesn't notice me until he's done, and when he turns around, he gets startled.

"You know, I've heard the stories from your mother about this shady guy scaring Grandma around every corner, but I didn't give her enough credit."

"Ohhh, spooky."

"I know, right?" He ruffles my hair, like he used to do when I was a child. "One day he's going to give her a heart attack!"

"Wouldn't that be a shame?"

"Such a loss."

"Regarding that..." I say, getting Dad's attention. "Assuming the old hag dies..."

"Language."

"Sorry."

"I know you don't like her, but don't forget we're pretty much invading her house," he scolds, although his smile is ever present. "And I know you can be more respectful when speaking about your Grandma."

I want to tell him that she doesn't earn my respect in any way, and I know that Dad himself doesn't like her any more than I do. That said, I acknowledge he has a point, so I turn my eyes to my crossed arms and stay silent.

"Your question?"

"Right. Assuming Grandma Enedith dies... do we get to go back to Celadon Bay?"

Dad's smile morphs into pursed lips. I can tell he's looking for a way to tell me 'no' right away, but he doesn't know that, right now, I don't want him to say yes.

"Here's the thing, Champ. Uncle Owen lent us the money to start this restaurant. Before going anywhere, I'd have to sell it for at least something resembling the price we paid for it, and as you can imagine, businesses in Maple Heights aren't the boom."

"Not to mention that Grandma is going to outlive all of us."

And not to mention The Fist going rampant through town, cheapening every kind of property.

"I know you never wanted to come here to begin with. Your mother knows, too."

"Unlikely."

"We do, Champ." The automatic door whirrs open, but Dad's eyes are still locked on mine, and I can't look away. "We do. But sometimes we have to do what we have to do."

"Good morning!" This comes from whoever just entered.

"We're not done with this conversation, okay?"

I just nod as Dad greets the customer, who turns out to be someone I know.

"Hey, look! It's the Foster kid!"

"Morning, Rude," I greet back, sitting straight. My first impulse is to ask what the hell is this guy doing here, but then it makes sense for him to be in the coolest place in the entire Maple Heights, even if it's about ten in the morning and it's Sunday.

"Rude?" Dad asks, maybe thinking I'm the one being rude.

"Rude Riggs," he says, offering a hand for a shake. "That's the name."

Dad takes the hand. "Thomas Foster."

"So you two ARE related," Rude replies. "The resemblance is uncanny."

"It's been said, though I'm arguably more handsome," Dad says, looking away from Rude briefly to wink at me. Admittedly, Rude is right: I inherited the whole package of Dad's looks, though none of his personality. "Are you related to Willy Riggs?"

"He's my father," Rude replies. Yet another reminder that both Mom and Dad were raised here. "You know Pops?"

"We were high school buddies," Dad replies, leaning on the counter and offering Rude his signature smile. "Wild dude to have around back in the day. Tell him to pay a visit sometime, I'm here all day."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Foster, but I don't believe that will be possible anytime soon."

"Did something happen to Willy?"

"He's in jail." Well, damn. Did I expect any less? I can't really feel sympathy for him like Dad shows right now. Not after having met Newt and Scar.

"Oh. I'm so sorry, Rude."

"Thanks." There's a short, uncomfortable silence among us, but Rude is the first to break it, turning to face me. "Do you think we can have word outside, Newbie?"

"Uh, sure," I reply, and follow him outside.

"You still have to tell me about that girl from last night, Champ!"

I feel my life draining out of my face. Rude definitely heard that. What if he thinks...? No, there's no way he might link that to Scar. I take a deep breath, and give Dad a nervous thumbs-up as I walk out of the door.

"A girl, huh? You work fast, man."

"It's not what you think." I tell Rude instinctively.

"Yeah, you tell yourself that," he says, prodding me playfully with his elbow and breaking several of my ribs. "Who's the girl? Pretty sure I know her."

"There's no such girl," I lie, running my fingers through my hair and thinking three lies ahead of me, but, sometimes it's best to twist the truth just a little. "Mom is kind of strict about me going out at night, so I told Dad it was about a girl so he'd cover up for me."

Though this isn't exactly a lie, Rude doesn't seem to buy it. My pulse quickens as he scans my face with a questioning look, but answers won't come. Finally, he sighs and gives up.

"I'll find out soon enough who the girl is, though."

I decide to take the chance and move the fuck away from the subject.

"Was that what you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Oh, right," he says, shoving his fists in his hoodie pockets. I can totally make the shape of his knuckles through the fabric. "It's about some rumors that are going on about me at school."

"Like?"

"Like, me being associated with The Fist."

So he's breaking the news to me. I play dumb. "The Fist?"

"You didn't hear about that yet? It's the gang of dung-eaters who got Pops in jail. And I'm going to bring them down, one by one."

"Uh..."

Wait just a second. There's a lot to process here. Rude was supposed to be part of The Fist, and that's why he tortures people like Abby and Newt. So what is this bullshit now about him being AGAINST the gang? Not only that, he clearly has a good reason to hate The Fist just as much as my friends. That's assuming his story about his father being in prison isn't just some bullshit he just made up. But, if it's up to me to take a wild guess? He looks genuinely angry as he vows to take them down. I don't want to doubt Newt or Abby here, but this dude is dead-serious, and he's definitely against The Fist.

"What?" He asks, bringing me back to the sidewalk.

"I was just thinking for a second."

"That's wise. Think," he says, tapping his temple with an index. "Don't go just buying whatever dung other people say. I'm not the bad guy people will surely try to make you believe I am."

"But wait. If you're against them," I think out loud. "Why do people think you're with them?"

"Because I have been seen with some members of the gang," he explains, shoving his hand back in his pocket. "But don't get that wrong, Newbie. I have my own agenda."

Now the puzzle fits. Although not really.

"I'm pretty much the last person you need to worry about, Rude." Or am I? I drop yet another lie to reassure him. "I try not to get involved in other people's business."

"You seem like a smart guy, Foster," he says with a smile, making it sound as a compliment. "But smart kids like you always have a way to mess around."

"Nope. Not me." Though I'm already balls-deep in the mud.

"Just don't get nosy on my stuff, and I'll have your back. Deal?"

"Deal."

"Okay. That'd be all." He nods as a goodbye, turns around, and leaves. I watch him walk across the town square in silence. But in my own head, it's all spinning. I need to speak to Newt.