A family had come into the orphanage, happy and smiling. The father was a soldier in uniform, and his eyes had the hardened look of a warrior who fought for his beliefs and not those of others. He was the kind of father Tom wanted.

The mother looked plump but beautiful, with delicate features and black hair just like his. Her eyes, too, were similar to his own. Maybe they were their parents? What if the sisters had lied and his mother didn't die?

They had two children already. One was a girl, taller than Tom and maybe only a few months older; she looked innocent and naive, though her eyes also held intelligence in them. Her stare was ever-moving, taking in the Christmas decorations and the many bibles around. She frowned when her eyes met his, and though he tried to smile and make a good impression, he couldn't.

The family also had a boy, maybe three-years-old. He was smiling and trying to escape his mother's hand to join the toddlers in the care of Sister Ann, who sat by the window with them as they read.

It was Miss Cole the one who ordered all the boys and girls from five to seven years old. The family wanted someone of that age, to be either the little sister of an intelligent daughter, or the older brother to their little future soldier. Tom cursed, though he was careful not to be heard. He was slightly older than the age they wanted, but he looked back and saw a smiling Harold sitting on the designated bench for the boys and girls who would be interviewed by the family.

He could feel something burning on his chest. Harold, who would either be adopted or be transferred to another orphanage at the other side of town, smiled and waved at him. It ocurred to Tom that maybe Harold wanted to go away and find a family who could love him, just like him. It was a strange thought, and a stranger emotion, to know that his only friend could disappear from his life just like that.

Harold still deserved to be happy, and as Tom looked at the family as they were being led to the smaller classroom at the end of the aisle, Tom willed to be inside the father's mind and tried to put Harold's smile in his head. The father would see Harold's sweet smile and his innocent eyes; he would look at any other boys and fail to find the hesitant posture and the fidgeting of fingers. He would find them all unsuitable for his family, one too thin and the other with a nose that was too pointy.

Then the father would convince the mother, who is hopeful for another girl in spite of saying she has an open mind about it all. Tom noticed her glances towards one of the girls in particular, a pretty girl named Susan who didn't even know how to read. Susan could get hurt in any moment, though. She was sitting too close to the fireplace and in her hands she had an embroidery needle that could make its way to her eye, or her throat. Anything could happen to her, if Tom willed it so.

"Tom?" said Harold, standing in front of him and partially blocking Susan from Tom's sight. "Are you going to do something bad right now?"

Tom didn't know how Harold could know things like that; he had already surprised Tom once when he tried to steal the buckle of Martin's shoe. Harold had stayed with him through the whole ordeal, and when they finally went to sleep Tom put the buckle between Harold's hand and told him it was for him. Harold had nodded, and maybe he had appreciated the strange gift, but now he didn't look as if he accepted Tom's strangeness.

"They want to take Susan, Harold," Tom whispered. He almost smiled when Harold's eyes widened and he shifted on his feet to see the girl. "I've seen it in the mother's eyes."

Harold scrunched up his nose. "Susan is mean to little Jane. She calls her a whore's daughter and Jane doesn't know what Susan means."

Harold's words were angry, though Tom didn't know if Harold realized Tom was a lot worse than Susan. Susan hadn't killed the kitchen's cats, and Susan hadn't made Dennis Bishop throw up when he showed him the cat's heart. But Harold didn't like Susan and he liked Tom, so maybe he tried to forget about that kind of things.

"I want to go with them, Tom," Harold confessed and looked straight at Tom's eyes. Tom felt Harold's need for affection and the hunger for a family that radiated from the boy. "And I know you can make them take us both. Please, Tom. Make them take us home."

Harold's eyes were bright, shining with hope and a wish that could easily be granted. Tom could try, at least, but he wasn't sure...

"What if they don't like me and want to send us both back because of that?" Tom asked Harold, and for the first time in a long time he heard himself sounding weak in front of another child. Harold grabbed his hand.

"They will like us. You can make them like you."

Tom knew he could, not only because of his talent but because he could know what people wanted and could play that game. He knew Amy wanted an older brother so he made her bleed so they could share blood and be true siblings, but then she freaked out and the game ended.

Tom wouldn't let Harold's game end like his.

"I'll make them take you, Harold. I'll stay and you'll go, and you'll be happy with them."

Harold sought another answer hiding behind Tom's stance and his words. He found nothing more, but at the end of the day he had a new family.

Tom was alone again.