Author's Note: This went up as a one-shot a few days ago, but upon thinking about it, I decided it really is too short and self-indulgent to stand alone. Better to put it here. Sorry if you end up seeing it twice!

Seaside Beach Friends
Summary: Hunk is uncomfortable because his t-shirt keeps riding up on his tummy, but then he meets Lance and they become Seaside Beach Friends.

"To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world."

- Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

Hunk was wearing a pair of nylon swim trunks and a bright yellow t-shirt. The swim trunks were new, purchased only the night before when, in a flurry of last-minute preparations, it became apparent that his older ones had gotten lost in the move. "Maybe I should just stay here with you," Hunk suggested. His voice verged on hopeful, but, no – his mom grabbed the car keys, lips set in a grim line.

"We planned the house closing around getting you here in time for camp," she said, "and I'm not letting something like an extra trip to the store keep you from going."

So they purchased the swim trunks, and now here Hunk was, standing in front of the registration desk at the neighborhood elementary school, wearing a yellow shirt emblazoned with the words SEASIDE BEACH FRIENDS. He usually liked the color yellow. It reminded him of happy things. Not today, though, because when they got to the check-in table, the teacher looked at Hunk, raised her eyebrows, and said, "I'll see what I can do."

In the end, the shirt they handed him barely fit. Hunk stood there, stiff and replete with misery in his too-tight shirt while his mom kissed his check and rubbed it in with her thumb. "Try to have fun, okay?"

He was ushered onto the playground to wait for registration to end. There, a mob of kids was swinging from the monkey bars, going down the slide, and pushing themselves on the swing. Hunk stayed on the four-square court by himself. One of the teachers gave him a popsicle. It was grape, sticky-sweet and unappealing, but Hunk hardly registered the taste. He was watching this wiry kid fly across the jungle gym when someone shoved him between the shoulder blades, knocking the popsicle stick out of his hand. It skittered on the ground, and Hunk turned around to find a boy his own age wearing sunglasses. "You're new."

Hunk looked around, half-expecting to find some other kid. "I'm Hunk."

The other boy dropped his glasses onto his chest while he gave Hunk a once-over. "More like 'chunk'."

A knot formed instantly in Hunk's throat. He knew he was chubby. Sometimes kids reminded him, and sometimes it was well-meaning adults who didn't have shirts in his size. On another day, he might have been able to brush it off, but today, standing in the strange playground, it was too much. The taste of the popsicle flipped over, turning nasty in his mouth. He tugged hopelessly at the hem of his t-shirt.

"Well, aren't you going to say anything?" The mean boy took a step toward him, and Hunk stumbled backward. His sandal hit the edge of the four-square court, which made him feel trapped. Bright sunshine shone like a spotlight on his head; he felt like he was burning up. There was a sharp jab in his stomach. "Hey, talk to me, fatso!"

That was the final straw. The stress and anxiety of that dreadful morning came rushing in all at once, and Hunk's stomach gave up its contents. It came out in a stream of puke, which he belched onto the concrete along with a mouthful of saliva.

The boy jumped back, safely out of the splash zone, but soon he recovered enough to say, "Ew, gross! Guys! The new kid just threw up."

This tantalizing description summoned several other kids who came running to the four-square court. The puddle of vomit was spreading just beyond Hunk's toes. The smell made Hunk want to throw up again, but his chest was so tight he was scared that he might choke.

"Look at it. It's purple. Nasty!"

"Probably 'cause he ate so much," said a girl, and a few others made noises like a pig. "Popsicle eater! Popsicle eater!"

Hunk had always been an anxious kid. When he was stressed, all kinds of bad habits came out. Like throwing up, which happened a lot, and chewing on his nails. And one more thing which made his mom so upset she'd taken him to the pediatrician when he first started doing it. Without thinking, Hunk's hands gravitated to his face.

"Is he picking his eyelashes out? What's wrong with you, anyway?"

At this point, their voices were a fuzzy background noise, painful to Hunk's ears but otherwise mashed and indecipherable. He could feel the tears gathering at the edge of the lashes he had pinched between his fingers, and the fact that he was on the verge of gagging was about the only thing that held him back from sobbing. He was hovering on the edge of a full breakdown when a voice sang out: "Seconds on popsicles! If you want 'em, come and get 'em!"

Every head on the playground turned. One dropped a jump rope and ran, and soon all activities were abandoned. Soon only the boy with the sunglasses remained, but they weren't alone for long. An unknown kid hopped the wooden barrier holding the mulch in place. He was darker-skinned than the other boys, though not as dark as Hunk, and he had a look on his face like Hunk's cat after she'd knocked all of his belongings off the bedside table. In other words, satisfied.

He shoved the sleeves of his t-shirt up to his shoulders and asked innocently, "Don't you want an extra popsicle, Liam?"

The mean boy – Liam, apparently – wrinkled his nose. "You aren't going to fool me, Lance McClain! Besides, didn't you know? Chubby here ate all the popsicles. He ate so many he puked."

Maybe, on a different day, Hunk could have kept the wounded noise inside, but not today. It welled up in his throat, thick and tight, bursting out of him like a soup bubble. He hid his face into his hands, not wanting to be seen, not wanting to be ganged up on –

"Anyone would be sick after seeing your face, Liam. In fact, I think I'm going to hurl right now." Lance made a realistic gagging sound.

Liam managed to look both mad and embarrassed at the same time. "Nobody asked you to come over here, Lance."

The new boy shoved Liam's jabbing finger away. "Well, nobody asked you to pick on my friend."

Hunk's eyes snapped up, surprised by the label so suddenly bestowed upon him by this boy he hadn't even met. For the second time, he felt the urge to look around and see if there was another kid lurking in the bushes, but he was the only one there. Him and Lance.

Liam got in Lance's space. "Don't make me laugh. That new kid's not your friend. You don't have any friends, stupidhead."

Lance pantomimed falling tears. "Boo hoo. Mean ol' Liam called me a name and hurt my feelings. I'm going to write about it in my diary!" He dropped the act. "Geeze, what's your problem? My sister says bullies are all insecure, diaper-wearing babies. Are you a diaper-wearing baby, Liam?"

Something had escalated in the last few minutes; Hunk could feel it. Lance's taunt felt real, and something real simmered back in Liam, something his round cheeks and crooked teeth couldn't hide. Hunk had a vision of what he might be someday, this mean kid. Someone who did more than shove and call people 'stupidhead', that's for sure. Today, though, he settled for answering in a voice that bubbled with anger. "Someday, somebody is going to get tired of your big mouth."

The boy called Lance rotated his shoulders. "Yeah, yeah. Why don't you go fall off the swings or something?" That was when Liam tackled Lance. They fell down on the pavement, screeching and hollering, and Hunk covered his face again, hoping the whole situation would go away. He heard shouting, the thud of some body part hitting the ground, cursing, slapping, and finally the sound of retreating feet. Then it got quiet. Someone nudged Hunk. "Are you alright?"

Hunk dared open his eyes. Lance was there, scrapes on his cheeks and knees, and – absurdly – a sandal in his hand. They were alone. "I'm okay. Are you hurt?"

Lance dropped the sandal back on the ground. "No way. My sister Veronica taught me how to deal with jerks. You smack 'em until they squeal and then you hock a big wad of spit –" He gathered some in his checks, as though to demonstrate.

Hunk's stomach gave a dramatic twist. "Don't!"

"Sorry." Lance swallowed, rubbing away saliva from his chin with the back of his hand. "He deserved it, though. Liam's always picking on everybody. My brother says some people just come out chewing on their mom's tits." He face turned red as he said the word and his voice took on a confidential note. "Luis swears a lot, but if Mama heard I copied, she'd be mad. You won't tell, will you?"

Hunk was positive his own mother would give him a spanking for using that word, but there was something nice about being trusted with a secret. Friends did that, right? He tried not to panic when a hopeful little spark went off in his stomach. Instead, he said shyly, "I won't tell."

Lance stuck out his hand. "I'm Lance."

Shaking hands felt grown-up, official. Hunk gripped tight like his uncle taught him. "I'm Hunk. I just moved here."

"My family moved here, too," Lance told him. "But we've been here for ages, now. Have you been to the beach yet?"

"No," Hunk admitted. That had, in fact, been one of the reasons his mom signed him up. Back home, he'd spent hours seaside, and he'd cried almost as bitterly about leaving it as he had his grandparents and cousins.

"Well, don't worry. We get to spend all day there for the rest of the summer! If the teachers ever finish sign-ups." It was at that moment the lead teacher gave a shout, and kids started queueing up. Lance asked, "Does your tummy still hurt? They'll call your mom if you feel sick."

Hunk felt a cramp of indecision. A few moments ago, all he wanted was for his mom to come get him; forget the stupid beach. But calling his mom would mean leaving Lance, and he wasn't sure he wanted that. He made a decision. "I feel better now."

"Great! Let's go get in line." Lance started off at a run, but when Hunk hesitated, he paused. "Hunk?"

Hunk wanted to go. He'd decided to go, but when he looked at the other kids, hollering and pushing and laughing…

A shadow eclipsed his view of the crowd, and a hand was thrust in his face. Lance wiggled his fingers. "If you want, you can hold my hand."

Doubt evaporated. Hunk accepted Lance's offer, and that was how they arrived in line. A teacher gave them an approving look, though it sharpened when she saw Lance's scrapes. For a moment, Hunk was sure she was going to yell, but in the end she just asked if he needed a Band-Aid.

"You got any space ones?" Lance asked.

They didn't have space ones, but there were plenty of other choices. Ten minutes later they were marching down the sidewalk with the rest of the group, Lance sporting not one, but two Band-Aids. He poked the one on his puffed-out cheek. "It's not fair. They always gots Spiderman but never Hawkeye. I like that he shoots arrows."

Hunk nodded sympathetically. His own favorite superhero was Ironman, who was always working on neat gadgets. He liked to imagine what it would be like to build his own flying suit. He'd even drawn some blueprints before his mom caught him and told him that under no circumstances was he to take apart the toaster again. He'd explored her terms – "Even if aliens come?" – but they were surprisingly firm: "Even with aliens. You'll have to leave saving the world to the grown-ups for now."

It was a shame suit-building would have to wait, but Hunk didn't really mind letting the grown-ups save the world. That seemed like a really big job. Plus, he was scared of flying.

The school was located only a few blocks from the local beachfront, so it wasn't a long walk. A breeze kicked up, and a familiar smell wafted to Hunk's nose. As they crested the top of a hill, he was able to see the horizon, grey-blue on blue. He took in the beach with its sand and swirly foam, and for a second he was wasn't far from home in a new place where he didn't even know his address anymore. There were terns, just like Samoa, and they were calling to each other. While he watched, another bird, a seagull, dove down and snatched a chip bag. A teenager threw a rock at it, but missed.

Lance tugged on his hand. "It's pretty, right?"

Hunk nodded, awed. "Pretty."

The teachers were drawing everyone in. "Listen up, campers. You know the rules. Everybody stays together – no wandering off where a grown-up can't see you. You can play in the sand or go in the water with Miss Cindy, but there will be no shoving anyone underwater. That's not nice. Do you understand?"

A chorus of voices answered in the affirmative, and she pulled open the wooden gate, leading them onto the beach. The sand was hot against Hunk's toes. The sinking feeling as the soft ground yielded made him smile. A lot of the kids had already run off, but Lance stayed with Hunk. "Do you want to swim?"

Hunk was a little hesitant around water. He wasn't a strong swimmer yet, but he could pick up shells or let the water hiss over him. "Okay."

The two of them played for what felt like hours, first in the water and then in the sand. The more they got to know each other, the more Hunk liked Lance. He was daring and funny. He didn't tease Hunk when he obsessed over their sandcastle construction and even stole the shoelaces Hunk needed from a teacher's sneakers. That escapade made Hunk's heart thump. He would never have done it on his own, but Lance just slapped his back. "Don't worry. If we get caught, we'll just tell 'em what we're making. They won't care. It's just more fun to sneak!"

There was a certain logic to this, and Hunk found he kind of relished the adventure of it – once it was already done, at least – and it was rewarding to see his drawbridge working, especially when Lance exclaimed, "Wow! You're a genius, Hunk!"

Hunk was having a really good time. The only problem was his stupid t-shirt. Eventually, Lance noticed and asked, "Why do you keep doing that?"

Hunk yanked on the fabric with both hands. It stretched, but he knew it would just pull up again if he let go. "It's too small."

Lance scratched the back of his head. It was matted where he'd been lying on his back, and grains of sand went flying everywhere. "Why don't you just take it off, then?"

A wave of insecurity gripped Hunk. He didn't like going without his shirt, even at the pool, but that was stupid. What kind of sissy was scared to take their shirt of? So he made up a different reason. "I'll get sunburned." He felt bad straight away because Hunk never, ever burned, not even back on the island and he spent practically all his time in the sun. It was an excuse, and his mom said excuses were lying.

Lance was unimpressed. "I got suntan lotion in my bag. Here, I'll take mine off, too." Lance stripped off his own shirt and flung it into the sand. Then he propped his knuckles on skinny hips, which were barely holding up his swim shorts. Hunk could count all his ribs. "Ta da!"

A giggle erupted before Hunk could stop himself. He shielded his face. "Ugh. My eyes!"

"You're just jealous," Lance said and struck a body-builder pose. "Well, dude? Are you going to let me hog all the ladies' attention by myself?"

Ladies? Gross. Hunk dithered, twisting his shirt in his hands.

"Come on, Hunk. Please?" Lance gave him a pleading look, and Hunk felt himself weakening. One arm at a time, he extracted himself from the yellow SEASIDE BEACH FRIENDS shirt and laid it on the sand. He stared at it, scrunched up and lifeless. He scratched his belly. It felt better. Lance, who had been digging around in his bag, came up with bottle. "Found the lotion. It's too bad we don't have any snacks, though. I'm getting hungry."

Hunk completely agreed. He looked up at the sun, still high the sky, and wondered what time it was. "Maybe we could ask?"

"I've got a better idea! Let's go to my house. It's just down the street, and we can get some snacks."

"I dunno." Hunk looked over his shoulder where the teachers had set up an umbrella. One of them was sitting in the shade, keeping an eye on the proceedings, while a few others were out with the kids. None of them seemed to be looking at Hunk and Lance. "I don't think they'll say yes."

"Let's not ask, then," Lance said. He pointed toward the wooden fence that divided the beach from the road. If Hunk squinted, he could just see roofs over the rise. "Look, it's really close. Nobody will even notice we're gone!"

Hunk was getting really hot and hungry. If they went to Lance's house, they could sit in the shade for awhile and have something to eat. Plus, if Hunk knew were Lance's house was, maybe they could play there together after camp was over. With one last look toward the umbrella, Hunk followed Lance to the fence.

Lance's house was just a few minutes down the road, up a dirt driveway into a big yard with a shed and a house with a porch around it. Chickens fluttered around them as Lance marched confidently to the back of the house and swung the screen door open. "Mama! I'm home!" he shouted. After a moment of listening, he grinned at Hunk. "The coast is clear."

"Why do you go to the beach club if you live right here?"

"My parents are busy." Lance said. "Plus mama thinks it will keep me out of trouble."

Lance led them into the kitchen, which reminded Hunk a lot of his family's back in Samoa. There was a sink and a wooden cutting board and several cast iron pots hanging on the wall. An old refrigerator hummed in the back, which Lance dragged an empty wooden carton in front of it. Standing on the carton, Lance was just tall enough to reach the freezer door, which he swung open so violently he almost smacked himself in the forehead.

"Two left!" he exalted, handing Hunk a pair of plastic cups. They were filled with something white. Lance squished it unto the whole frozen treat came free. He shoved it in his mouth. "Mm."

Hunk mimicked him. "Mm!" It was creamy and sweet and tasted like cinnamon.

"It's from Sammi, our milk cow. Mama whisks it." Lance demonstrated the churning motion. "It's good, right? A lot nicer than those nasty popsicles."

Hunk had to agree. These were much better. Snacks demolished, Lance guided him toward a narrow staircase beyond the kitchen. Upstairs was a long, narrow hallway with a bathroom and two bedrooms, plus a pull-down staircase that led into a dark square in the ceiling. Lance pointed. "That's where Veronica sleeps. Grandma and Papi sleep there. And this is my room!"

The room Hunk was lead into was packed with personal belongings. There was a cot squished into a corner, a bureau with clothes hanging out of every drawer, a tiny desk, and – against the back wall – a set of bunk beds with a blanket hanging down over the bottom. Lance jumped inside.

"I sleep on the bottom! You coming, Hunk?"

Hunk was distracted by the desk. It had several textbooks propped on a cinderblock. Hunk read the spines with interest. Algebra. Geometry. Pre-Calc. "Whose are these?"

Lance rolled out of bed. "Those? Those are Marco's."

"Do you think he'd be mad if I looked at one?"

"Those stinky math books?" Lance looked at him like he was crazy, and Hunk's shoulders shrank. He should have expected that kind of reaction, but after the shoelaces… Before he could finish his thought, Lance climbed up on the desk chair and grabbed one of the books, which he thrust in Hunk's arms. "Here. Marco won't mind."

With this, he wiggled back into the bottom bunk, and this time, holding the textbook against his chest, Hunk followed. It was dim under the bed on account of the hanging blanket, but Hunk could still see the pages of the math book. He flipped through them reverently, reading the diagrams and their explanations with greedy eyes. His auntie used to give him workbooks to play with, but he usually finished them the same hour he got them, and none had anything as interesting as this.

Lance, laying on his stomach with his chin propped in his hands, said, "You really are some kind of genius, aren't you?"

Hunk jerked up from his reverie. He'd heard the word thrown around, of course, but his mom didn't like it. 'Gifted' was what she called him, which was sometimes good and sometimes bad. It was good when you fixed the washing machine just by looking and seeing what was loose. It was bad when you took grandma's antique clock apart or poured water in the gas tank of the car to see what would happen.

"I'm good at numbers," he decided. "And building things. Like the sandcastle."

"That sandcastle was so neat!" Lance enthused, making noises to simulate the drawbridge and the sounds of cannons going off, which they had made from little shells and bits of rock. Those parts were just make-believe, of course, but it had still been fun. Lance sighed. "I wish I was smart."

Hunk thought Lance was smart. He'd been able to distract the kids on the playground with the story about the fake popsicles, and he knew what to do to make bullies go away, and even more than that, Lance was nice, really nice, and that was a lot better than being smart, wasn't it? Hunk decided he had to say something. "I like you the way you are, Lance."

Lance brightened. "Really? Really, really?" When he got an affirmative answer, he practically wiggled with happiness. "This is the best day ever. We're gonna be best friends, Hunk. Marco and Bo are best friends, and Robin and Luis are best friends. We can be best friends, too. And best friends tell each other stuff."

"Like what?" Hunk wondered, even though his heart was thudding in his chest, thrilled by the prospect of having not just a friend but a best friend.

Lance dug under the pillow and came up with what looked like a giant grey sweater. It was obviously a hand-me-down, but Lance seemed enormously proud of it. He hooked his thumbs in the material to show off the symbol emblazoned on the front. NASA.

"It's the old space program, you know?" Lance said. "I want to go to space one day. That's my thing. When I'm big, I'm gonna enroll in the Galaxy Garrison."

The Galaxy Garrison. Hunk had seen shows about it on television. They explored space and went to places far away. Once, he and his grandad had watched a whole documentary about the distant planets where they went to learn new things. It had been exciting…and a little scary. "The Galaxy Garrison," he muttered.

"Yeah!" Lance got onto his knees and pulled the blanket fully down over the opening between the bunks. It cast them in near darkness, but before Hunk had a chance to get nervous, there was a click and light filled the space again. But not sunlight. It came from a flashlight in Lance's hand, but unlike a normal flashlight, this one had a cap over the end. The cap was filled with holes, and that was what the light shone through. Hunk looked up and his mouth fell open.

It wasn't holes – it was stars.

Lance stared, just as mesmerized as he was. "I want to see them for real," he murmured. "I want to fly there."

Hunk looked at his new friend, who had just shared a big dream with him. His heart felt really warm, and he wanted more than anything to give Lance a hug. Friends gave hugs, right? He decided to risk it, and held out his arms. Lance caught his look and propped the flashlight on the pillow. They embraced in the light of the stars.

When he pulled back, Hunk felt a sense of calm he didn't usually feel. Sitting back on his heels, he stared at the pin-point lights. "They really are pretty."

"We could go see them together," Lance suggested. He dived back under his pillow again, which seemed to be the place where all his treasures were stored. When he came up this time, it was with a crumpled poster that looked like it had been torn off of a wall, maybe at a grocery store where people were allowed to pin up wanted ads and pictures of lost cats. This one was a Galaxy Garrison poster. A line of cadets were saluting on the front, and a rocket ship blasted off into a background dotted with swirling smoke. Lance smoothed it with his hand. "It says, 'Join Us Today!' Luis read it to me. He says I'm dumb, because the Galaxy Garrison wants geniuses, not stupid boys from Cuba. But you're a genius, Hunk! And I'm studying really hard. I can say all my letters and count to a hundred and even read some of Veronica's books. Well, mostly I 'memorized the books, but that's almost reading. Soon I'll be able to do good math, like you and Marco, and I know I'll be a good flier. I just know it."

Hunk looked at his new friend, fully convinced that Lance could do anything. "Space," he said, in both humility and wonderment.

"Space," Lance agreed.

They had made their way down to the kitchen when the back door slammed. Lance froze, his eyes very big, and then a masculine voice called out, "Anybody home?"

Lance gave Hunk a thumbs up. "That's just Marco. Marco! Come meet my friend Hunk!"

From the back of the house, a teenage boy came in. He was easily as big as a grown-up with brown hair like Lance and a sleeveless shirt that showed a tattoo on his bicep. Hunk gaped. This was the brother who wouldn't mind people borrowing his math books? Marco knuckled his brother's scalp, drawing a protest from Lance. "You're home early, Lancito. Get in trouble again?"

"I just wanted to show Hunk my room! He's really cool and smart, Marco. We built a sandcastle, and Hunk made this neat drawbridge that really worked! We're going to go to space together."

"Space, huh?" Marco's eyes lit on Hunk, who had just enough time to squeak before the older boy swung him up in his arms. Hunk's eyes flew wide. He hadn't been lifted so easily since he was a toddler; even his mom had a hard time hefting him these days. However, this boy did it with barely a grunt of strain. "Well, hello there, gordito!"

Hunk didn't know much Spanish, but some things were too common to misunderstand. In an instant, all the calm he felt collapsed into a brittle pile. His hands went to his lashes, and his eyes flushed with tears.

Alarmed, Marco asked, "Hey, what's wrong?"

Lance danced foot to foot, a troubled line down his forehead. "They were picking on him today, Marco. They called him fat. He doesn't like it."

With a sound of understanding, Marco sat Hunk on the countertop. "Listen to me, kiddo. First off, 'gordo' is a common Latino nickname for friends and family, not an insult. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. Do you believe me?"

Hunk looked to Lance, who was quick to reassure him. "It's true, Hunk. It's not a mean name. Marco wouldn't do that."

Wanting it to be true but only partially convinced, Hunk sniffed. He had snot on his face, and that made him ashamed. He tried to rub it away, but before he could far, Marco handed him a handkerchief. It was wadded up and not very clean, but Hunk took it anyway. "Thank you."

"Those kids at school gave you a hard time today, eh?"

Maybe it was the sympathy in Marco's eyes, or maybe it was how much he looked like Lance, but something inside Hunk broke and he started blubbering. "They-they said I stealed the popsicles, and then I threw up and they made oinking noises." Tears spilled over his cheeks, and he hiccupped his next few words. "It was scary."

And he was scared, but not just of Liam and he other kids on the playground. He was scared of new foods and a new language and a new house. It was too much. He thought of the comforting weight of the math book in his arms. What if it was too scary, going to school? Maybe it would be better if he stayed in the apartment where he could hide behind the aloe plants and have plenty of space to learn by himself.

Marco crossed his arms, looking a bit like Lance when Liam was calling names. "Maybe I'll have to come to school and give those kids a talking to."

Hunk blinked. Lance's brother didn't even know him. Why would he care?

"We big fellas have to stick together in a world of skinny guys like Lance here," Marco said, nudging Hunk gently in the ribs. His grin was infectious, and Hunk found himself reciprocating.

"Hey!" Lance protested, giving his brother a half-hearted shove. "You don't have to come. It was mostly just Liam, and I already taught him a lesson."

Marco cut his brother a look. "You did, did you?"

Lance kicked at the kitchen tiles. "Aw, I didn't hurt him, Marco."

"He was brave," Hunk whispered.

Marco's look softened, and he grabbed Lance around the neck. "Well, what can I say. My little brother might not have much common sense, but none of us ever claimed he was short on guts. For now, though, I think we'd better get you back to the beach. I have a feeling Lance led you astray, Hunk, and if that's the case, you're bound to have been missed by now."

Lance started to look nervous. "Am I in trouble?"

"We'll talk about it later," Marco promised.

That made Lance wilt, and Hunk put in, "It wasn't his fault. I wanted to come."

"Be that as it may," Marco said, "Lance knows better than to run off when he's in someone else's care. It's been discussed several times. I only hope that when you apologize, Lance, you make it good. Then maybe Hunk's mom will still let him come over for fireworks on Friday."

Lance, who'd been looking very sorry, transformed in an instant. He danced around the kitchen. "Really?"

Marco gave his brother a shove toward the door. "Maybe. We'll have to see how well you grovel."

As it turned out, the two boys had, in fact, sent everyone into full panic mood. Both of their moms had been called, and they and the teachers were rushing around, calling their names when Marco walked onto the beach with a boy in each arm. "Mama!" he called in his big voice, and a woman who could only have been Lance's mother stopped mid-dash and heaved a heavy sigh.

"Thank goodness," she breathed, and then her voice dropped. "Lance."

Lance gulped, gave a tiny wave. "Hi, Mama."

After that, Hunk spent some time crushed to his mother's chest while she alternately kissed and scolded him. Eventually, the tide of emotion died down enough for explanations to made. As Marco had predicted, Hunk's mom was not happy. Of course, Lance probably could've been a hardened kidnapper and his mom still would have forgiven him after Hunk told her about Liam. But Lance wasn't a kidnapper. He was a skinny five-year-old whose lip trembled as he stammered, "I'm really, really, really sorry, Miss Garrett." Then he buried his face in his brother's thigh.

Hunk's mom sighed and got down on one knee. "Face around here, young man," she said. And when she had drawn Lance close, "Now listen. You know what you did was wrong. You scared me. My little boy was missing, and I didn't know where he was. For that, there will have to be consequences. That said, it also sounds like you were good to my boy today. Now, I won't ask you to stay out of trouble completely; I can tell from the look on your face that's hardly possible. But as long as you promise not to go running off again, I think I can see my way into letting you and Hunk play together."

Lance's eyes were huge. "Really?"

Hunk tugged on her arm. "Really?"

She looked at them with fondness, gave both boys a little squeeze. "Really," she said.

Hunk was so thrilled he swallowed his friend in another hug, feeling warm all over when Lance squeezed back. He could hardly remember that morning: watching is mom drive away, the noisy playground, the puddle of vomit. Eclipsing those memories were others. Sandcastles made with stolen shoelaces. Abandoned t-shirts that lost their power to make him feel vulnerable. Milk popsicles. Flashlights made of stars. And hugs. Best friend hugs.

The sun was going down behind the ocean, setting it on fire. Their moms were talking, maybe striking up a friendship of their own, but Hunk wasn't paying attention. He was sitting on the fence, kick his feet back and forth. "I'm glad I threw up," he said.

Lance scrunched his nose. "What?"

"Really I am," Hunk told him. "'Cause you came and helped me, and not we get to be friends."

"Aw, Hunk. You didn't need to throw up for that."

Maybe, but Hunk squeezed Lance's hand tighter in the light of the falling sun.

"People have forgotten this truth," the fox said. "But you mustn't forget it. You become responsible forever for what you've tamed. You're responsible for your rose."

- Antoine de Saint-Exupéry