Later that day, I'm sitting on my bed doing homework while The Hunchback of Notre Dame plays in the background. Luke sits on my notebook and corrects my math occasionally.

I pause and look up, watching Esmeralda's dance at the Festival of Fools. The way she taunts Judge Frollo is absolutely hilarious.

"Seventy six," Luke says.

"What?" I say absentmindedly, not paying attention to the homework.

"The answer is seventy six, not two hundred twenty four. Where'd you even get that number?" he asks.

"My mind's just...not on homework, I guess," I respond, tearing my eyes away from the television.

"Is it about your dad or those creepers! at your school?" Luke says, climbing over and jumping on the Play/Pause button on the remote.

"Both, but mostly Dad. He always shows up like he's just been away on business but he walked out on us and he was drunk and - "

"Cal, relax!" Luke squeaks, suddenly realizing how upset I'm getting. He climbs up my jumper and sits in my shoulder.

"It's ok. I know he's an idiot, you know he's an idiot, your mom knows he's an idiot... we'll be fine. Don't worry."

"I'm not worried, Luke, I'm upset! He just walks in like he owns the place, and acts like he's still the king and he can boss us around. I hate it."

"I know, Callie. I wish I could kick his butt!" Luke exclaims. 

I smile and lightly rub the top of his head with the pad of my thumb. Luke smiles and leans into my touch. 

"CALLIE!" my mom yells. "DINNER TIME!" 

Luke clambers into the palm of my hand and climbs up my sleeve, making his way to his usual perch on my shoulder. He threads his tiny hands into the weave of my hand-knitted jumper and comments, "This one's looking a little worn-out, Callie. Might need to see if you can trade for something at work, hmm?" 

"I'm not a half-bad knitter, you know. I can crochet my own hats and scarves so I should think I can knit myself a jumper," I say, standing up and pulling up the ladder. 

A little later on, my mom and dad and I are seated around the table. Mom's put a clean red-edged white tablecloth out, and she's made a lasagna and garlic bread. As usual, I cut up some of my food into really really small pieces and set it on a napkin with some crumbs of garlic bread for Luke. 

"Don't waste your mother's cooking, girl," my father spits suddenly. Mom has a worried look; Dad never knew about Luke. For a moment, everything is still and everyone is silent. 

Then Luke climbs out of his hiding place my my neck and slides down my arm, sitting quietly on the table and picking up some of his food. 

"Ari, get me a flyswatter," my dad says, his voice dangerously low. "No one move a muscle. I'll kill it girls, don't worry." 

"Dad, NO!" I shriek. Luke looks up, startled, as my father growls and grabs his plate. My pocket person ducks and rolls out of the way as the plates smashes down right where he was a second ago and shatters. He covers his head with his arms to protect himself from the shrapnel, and seems shocked but unhurt. 

"What is that - that ABOMINATION?!" my father thunders. 

"I beg your pardon!" Luke says indignantly. "I'm a perfectly legitimate child! You big people are all size-prejudiced - not you, Callie, but everyone else!" 

"This...this creature knows your name!" Dad splutters. 

"He's got a name, you know!" I snap. "It's Luke. And he's my best friend. He's my pocket person! And I've known him since right after YOU WALKED OUT ON US!" 

My mother, this entire time, has been sitting frozen with a forkful of lasagna halfway to her lips. At my words, she unfreezes. 

"Calypso Anne Davis," she says quietly. "Your father did not walk out on us. We simply recognized our differences and split apart."

"That's a lie! That's a big fat filthy lie and YOU KNOW IT, MUM, WE'VE BOTH BEEN BEATEN BY HIM! HE'S A DRUNK AND HE'S BEATEN BOTH OF US!" 

Dad has got a flyswatter at this point and is slamming down at Luke. He keeps missing but I get the feeling that it won't be long until he gets a hit. So I dart my hand out and snatch my pocket person right out from underneath the flyswatter. Luke is cowering, trembling in my palms. 

"Get out!" I yell. "Out of this room, out of our house, out of my life!" 

Dad drops the flyswatter and yanks open the door. He slams it shut and I can hear the tires screeching as he peels out of our driveway. 

i cuddle my hands close to my chest, breathing as steadily as I can so that Luke and his super-hearing won't hear how fast my heart is beating. My poor pocket person is curled in on himself, shaking. I rub the pad of my thumb against his back and hum quietly to myself. Once he's calm, I set him on the counter, clean up the shattered plate and spilled food, and bring Luke back to the table. 

Then we continue eating, like nothing happened.