Joseph's father pulled a silk, seamless suit from a box, that Joseph could have sworn was older than him. Pete sprawled about the bedspread, giving Joseph a go ahead look of some sort.

"What's this?" Pete sat down beside him, finally removing the reading glasses that were always hanging from the tip of his nose.

"My suit I wore for some dance when I was younger . . ." He left his words hanging in the air, chuckling deeply at the look of confusion written on his son's face.

"And you're giving it to me because . . ."

"Because your mother thought it'd be a good idea. She says you'll be going with a very nice girl, whose mother is quite the saint." Joseph couldn't help but roll his eyes. Of course his mother would talk up Betty Lee before having even met her yet—he saw this coming from a mile away.

"Yeah—Betty Lee. She's okay, I guess."

Pete raised both brows, pinning Joseph with a knowing stare. "Just okay? With all your mother's been saying, I'd figure she'd be angel on earth."

Definitely not Betty Lee, Jospeh thought to himself. "Well, I mean, she's great and all, I just—I just don't feel anything."

"Well, son," Pete shrugged halfheartedly. "Of course you don't feel anything. You're sixteen-years-old. I wouldn't expect anything more. And even with all of a front your mother puts up—neither does she."

Joseph smiles, running two fingers down the crease of the suits tie. "Thanks, dad."

"Anytime, kid."

The next morning, Lark waits patiently for his mother to finish the stack of pancakes she'd promised him the night before. The morning is quiet, and this is when he realizes his father must've gone into work earlier than usual.

Cathy places a plate in front of her son, who sits still and waits for some sort lecture that's sure to come.

One mere slant at the clock hanging above bookcase, and Lark knew he'd be late for school. But why would he care? School was a place where Bobby Stinger would push him into the lockers, while Jospeh Ellington looked away as thought he had no idea of his best friends wrong doings.

There was no point.

"Mom," Lark began, swirling pints of syrup along his stack of pancakes. "Would it be alright if I stayed home today . . ." His words began to trail when Cathy turned to him, the preparation of a scowl in tow.

"And why would you do such a thing?"

"I've got practice with Miss Linda at six, and with this kind of weather, it'll surely be dark before five, and it's dangerous to be out alone—"

"You know I could if I would, sweetheart. But you know what your father'll say if he were to find out you skipped school because of darkness. You'll be fine, dear."

Lark was reluctant to nod along to his mother's words. He couldn't deny it, he was afraid to walk home in the dark. But he knew if his father were to hear of his son being afraid of the dark, he'd have Lark's head.