Saturday night comes quickly, and before I know it, I am packing an overnight bag and sneaking quietly out the door, double checking to make sure that Jared and Gen are occupied with something else.

Marianne gave me the address; since I don't have my truck here, I am relieved that it is within walking distance of the Padalecki residence. I easily get there in twenty minutes, stepping into the small house just before six thirty. Compared to Jared and Gen's, it's tiny, like the one my mom and I lived in back home.

"He's already eaten dinner," Marianne explains, rushing to get together the rest of her things. She scrambles for something in her coat pocket, a folded up yellow slip of paper. "I made a list," she says as she hands the paper to me, and I open it, glancing at what's written on it. "It's stuff that he likes to do, movies he likes, and foods he prefers. If you go by that, you should really have no trouble. Oh, and he likes it when someone reads to him right before he goes to bed." She talks fast, and as I try to keep up with it, I notice Peter sitting on the floor in front of the television in the living room, watching Hotel Transylvania.

"I should be back tomorrow night around seven," Marianne continues, "I put my cell phone number on the fridge, in case anything comes up." I nod, already knowing that I most certainly will not call her. Peter seems like a good kid, and he'll probably be fun to babysit.

After Marianne leaves, adding that I can borrow her car if I want to take Peter out for ice cream or something, I sit on the couch behind Peter. He seems very absorbed in what he's doing, spelling out words with blocks that have colorful letters on them. Watching, I remember doing that exact same thing when I was a kid. I would sit on the floor for hours, getting caught up in how much fun I got out of it as my mom watched every now and then.

Knowing how much he is probably interested in it as someone who is autistic, I leave him be, watching the movie that's on and glancing down at him every now and then to make sure he's not breaking any of his toys.

When the movie is over, I take Peter upstairs to his room, which he has to point out to me. It's your average boy's room, one with blue walls, a Star Wars bedspread, and toys scattered all around the floor.

I tuck him in and get ready to leave, but he stops me and holds a book out, a Magic Tree House, Ghost Town At Sundown. I remember reading those kinds of books when I was little, too.

After only five and a half pages, Peter is already nodding off, his eyes drooping until they eventually close and he starts snoring quietly. I smile softly at the sight and close the book, placing it on the nightstand by his bed. Freezing, I notice the scab on his elbow, my stomach twisting as I remember when that bully shoved him. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to forget about it right now. Getting upset about that will do me no good.

I shut off Peter's light and exit the room, leaving his door open a little bit as I go downstairs and find my overnight bag.

After taking a quick shower, I put on my pajama pants and Avengers t-shirt, and I decide to sleep downstairs on the couch. I haven't ate yet tonight, so I pop a bag of popcorn and put a movie in.

My phone rings. I scramble through my bag, trying to find it before it stops ringing. As I finally feel it, I pull it out and answer it, too occupied with the movie and my drowsiness to read the name on the caller ID.

"Hello?" I answer, my voice clearly showing off how sleepy I am.

"Hey, where are you?" I furrow my eyebrows as Jared's voice comes through the other end, and wonder why he's calling me at half past ten. I was hoping I could slip away without them knowing about my absence.

"Babysitting," I reply, short and sweet. I hear him sigh, like he's trying to think of what else to say, or he's frustrated with me. "I'll be home tomorrow night, 'kay?"

"Charlie, what's going on?" Jared asks, and my stomach twists. He is starting to figure it out, by the tone of his voice.

"What do you mean?" I respond, playing dumb and keeping my voice neutral.

"You're never home." I haven't really thought of his house as my home yet, and I might not for a while. "And when you are, you stay in your room. What's going on?" I take the phone away from my ear a second, so Jared doesn't hear me sighing deeply in frustration. He can't know. He can't.

"Nothing's going on, Jared," I answer. "Just— you know how teenagers are. They need some time to...find themselves." I cringe, knowing that he is too smart to buy this bullshit, but it's all I can think to say. "I'm fine, okay?" He sighs again.

"Really?" He asks, doubtfully. I can't say I'm fine again, I can't lie again. But I won't tell the truth either.

"Good night, Jared," I say, hanging up so he doesn't have time to say anything else, so I don't accidentally spill the truth to him.

Peter Hill is one of the most likable kids I have ever met.

I asked him this morning what'd he want to do today, and he said he wanted to go to the zoo. So, here we are, walking around looking for the penguins. He loves them, he told me, and he's never seen them before, only in movies.

The zoo is packed with people today, what with it being the weekend, but Peter does not seem to care, so I have no reason to, either. As we walk around, the little boy beside me dragging me along with him as he looks for the penguins, I ask him if he's hungry, and he says yes, he is hungry. So, we get French fries and sit at a table with an umbrella thing hanging over the top to keep the sun from hitting us.

"You like it here, Peter?" I ask, and he nods, coating his fry in ketchup before taking a bite out of it. "Have you ever been here before?" He shakes his head, and turns his head to the side, watching something. I scoot a little and see what he's looking at; a small duck is standing on the ground, taking little steps in random directions. Peter laughs in amusement as it makes a quiet noise, and I grin.

Peter is quiet. It takes me the rest of the day to figure this out. I think he is one of those kids that will only talk to you if he feels comfortable enough around you. I guess we are not quite there yet.

I buy him an ice cream, because what kid doesn't like ice cream? I also get myself one, though I feel a little old for eating a chocolate twist. Oh well.

We find the penguins eventually, and when we do, Peter's face lights up in the biggest, happiest smile I have ever seen in my entire life. The four or five penguins that are at this zoo are swimming around underwater in their giant glass tank. Peter presses his nose against the glass, in deep search for the animals. Suddenly, I hear him gasp loudly, and put his little hands against the glass, turning his head to look at me with his big bright eyes.

"I see them!" He exclaims, putting his forehead against the hard, clear surface once again. I step forward a little and see them, two black and white penguins swimming around on the other side of the glass, right in front of Peter's face. I smile, taking note of how happy this makes him.

Eventually, I persuade him to pull away, to give the other families a chance to see them. He pouts, but listens anyways, and he cheers up when I tell him we are going to see the monkeys.

Monkeys have always sparked a happy feeling deep inside me. I remember when I was four, and my dad and I went to the zoo. It was the only time I have ever been to the zoo, and it's my only memory of a time I shared with my father.

I was too short to see what was going on, so he lifted me up on his shoulders and I could see the monkey, climbing around the ropes and things with her long arms. The thing that I really took notice of, though, was the little baby monkey, the same color as the mother, sitting against her mother's stomach. The bigger monkey held onto the baby with one of her arms and swung around using her legs and her free arm.

At the memory, I feel a strong yearning for my dad, which I find strange. How can I miss someone I barely even remember?

I brush it off. I can't think about that right now, not when I'm babysitting Peter and trying to give him a day to remember.

"There they are," I say, pointing towards where the monkeys are. Peter raises his head suspiciously as I take his hand and lead him towards the human-like animals. We continue walking, and squeeze through the group of people to see.

The mother monkey looks like the one I saw when I was little, only it's a little bigger. It is sitting against a hanging rope, it's baby cradled against her stomach. She seems tired, unmoving. "Why isn't it doing anything?" Peter asks, looking up at me with a quizzical expression.

I shrug. "She's probably tired, Peter," I reply, and that's answer enough for him.

After walking around all day, marveling at all the different creatures, Peter gets tired, and we decide to leave at five thirty. He sleeps the whole way back, and when we get there, he is still out, so I take the liberty of carrying him inside and putting him in bed.

Marianne arrives back home at seven thirty, while I'm finishing up Peter's dinner. His nap only lasted an hour, then he awoke and came drowsily down the stairs to the smell of me cooking a hot pocket, one of his favorite foods, according to the list.

I am surprised when Marianne offers me a twenty dollar bill for my services, but I decline. But then, she insists, she I feel obliged to take it, as a token of her gratitude. Then, I take a good fifteen minutes to fill her in on everything we did, and she seems a bit surprised that I took him to the zoo. Then again, she is also relieved, because apparently Peter has been bugging her to take him there forever.

I return back to the Padalecki's, hungry from not having dinner but not planning on eating their food. Guess I'll have to skip it tonight.

Jared gives me a second glance as I step inside and scurry up to my room, but he doesn't say anything. He doesn't really have to, because it was all in that look he gave me.