Another hand goes up. These boys didn’t have families like mine. Far from it. I was steeped in love and compassion, and they were baked in turmoil and anger. “Wow,” I say. “That’s more than I expected.” I don’t know what Phil wants me to do. So, I just ask questions. “Do your friends know about your situations? Or do you keep them away from your house?”

One of the boys blows out a breath. “I wouldn’t let my friends within a hundred yards of my apartment.”

“Do you go to their houses instead?” I ask.

He nods. “Some. There are others who have families like mine, so we hang out at the park a lot.”

“You do have friends with normal families, right?” I ask.

Tic Tac scoffs. “Fighting is normal,” he says. “If I went to a house and there was no fighting, I’d probably run away scared.”

The boys laugh at him, but I can tell by the way they avoid my gaze that this is true. The problems are their “normal.”

“How many of you want to be different when you grow up?” Four of them raise their hands. “How about when you have kids of your own?” I ask. “Would you want to provide a better life for your kids?” This time, an additional four hands go up.

Phil asks, “So you think that your kids deserve better than you got?” He takes in the group. “What can you do to make sure that happens?”

“Don’t get a bitch pregnant so you have to marry her,” one of them throws out.

“That’s a word you use to describe women?” I ask. I glare at him. I shouldn’t. But he has to know this is not all right.

He shrugs. “That’s what they are.”

“Your mother is a bitch?”

He shrugs again and avoids my eyes.

“Your daughter is going to be a bitch?”

He sits up this time. He’s getting defensive, I can tell. I hold up my hand to stop him.

“Every woman is someone’s daughter. Someone at home loves her. And you devalue her and every other female by referring to women as bitches and hos.” I’m from the neighborhood. I could spout off a lot coarser words than they could probably imagine. But they get the idea. “The girl you’re with is someone’s daughter. You have to remember that when you treat a woman poorly.”

The same boy shakes his head. “Some b—” He stops and corrects himself. “Some women don’t want to be treated like somebody’s daughter,” he says. “If their dads ain’t so good, they don’t know no better.”

I nod my head. “When a woman grows up, she accepts the love she thinks she deserves. Do you think that’s fair? Is that what you want for your own daughters?” I look around.

One of the boys leans forward. I have his attention, I think. He looks me directly in the eye as he says, “I will treat my daughter like a princess. Because if I don’t, she’ll latch on to the first man who does, even if he’s no good. My grandma told me that.” He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a picture. “That’s my girl,” he says. He beams with pride.

I lean close so I can smile at his picture. Then I reach out and shake his hand. “Your daughter thanks you. And so will the man she marries someday.”

“You got a girlfriend?” one of them asks. I am suddenly the center of their attention.

I shake my head. “No. I just got out of prison a couple of days ago.”

“He ain’t had time to go hit dat, yet,” one boy says, and another high-fives him.

“I’ve done my share of hitting that.” I draw air quotes around the last two words. “Hitting that’s not enough for me. I want a relationship. I want somebody to share my life. I want someone to take care of me and who will let me take care of her. But even before all that, I want to better myself so that I’m worthy of her.”

“Shit,” one of them grunts. “You don’t even know who she is and you’re already trying to change yourself for her. Fuck that.” He throws his hands down like he wants to brush away my thoughts.

I shake my head. “I want to be better for me. But I have no doubt that whoever I end up marrying will be better for it.” I start to tick items off on my fingers. “I want to go to college. I want to get a good job. I want a house. It may be a humble home, but it will be mine.” I pat my chest. “I want kids to run up and down the hallways. I want to go to soccer practice and coach Little League and I want to hold a little girl’s hand while she dances on her toes in a tutu. I want to watch my kids make it to college and watch them do better than me.” I look at Phil. “Those are my plans.”

He smiles at me and nods. “How many of you have solid plans for when you get out?” he asks.

The boys look toward one another.

“How many of you plan to graduate?” he asks.

Only half of them raise their hands.

“How many of you plan to work?”

All of them raise their hands.

“How many of you plan to have children that you’ll take care of?”

Only the boy with the picture in his pocket raises his hand.

“How many of you use condoms when you’re hitting that?” Phil asks.

The boys laugh.

Phil chuckles. “Then a lot more of you are planning to have kids than I thought.”

Phil picks up a stack of notebooks and passes them around the circle. He gives me one, too, and a pen. “For group tomorrow, I want you to write down one solid plan for when you go home.”

“You mean like college and straight As and shit?” one boy asks.

Phil shakes his head. “College, buy a goldfish, get married, get a job, go to the state fair… Write about something you can accomplish. And tell me in one page or less what you plan to do to get there.”

“Do we have to share it with the group?” someone asks.

Phil shrugs. “Only if you want to.”

The boys all take their notebooks and put them away in their cabins, and Phil breaks up group, sending the young men off to do chores. He stops me, though, with a hand on my shoulder. “You did really well talking to them.”

I shrug. “I have a lot of brothers. It’s what we do.”

“Some of these boys have never had a male presence who will actually listen to them.”

I nod. “I can tell.” I look at the group as they spread out around me, going about their chores. “I might learn as much from them as I can teach them, though.”

He squeezes my shoulder. “No doubt.”

“Where do you want me to go now?” I ask.

“Check in on Karl. I think he’s at the pool.” He looks up at me.

I lift up the leg of my jeans and look down at my tracking bracelet. “Can I get this thing wet?”

He nods. “That model can be submerged, yes. So, feel free to jump in any time.” He grins at me. “Hey Pete,” he says. I turn back. “Tonight, we’re going to let the youth boys use the pool. I’d like for you to be there in case any of them want to talk. After dinner, try to get free of whatever you’re doing?”

“Yes, sir,” I say.

I start for the pool. But at the last minute, I turn back and change into a swimsuit. I can’t help but look around for Reagan on my way. But she’s not there. Then I find her. Wearing a bathing suit and sitting in a lifeguard chair with a whistle between her lips.

I can’t take my eyes off her. She’s watching the pool with the trained eye of a professional. Then she sees me, and her face colors.

God, she’s pretty. I’m a guy, so I take in the very serviceable bathing suit she’s wearing. It’s red, and it covers all the parts of her that should be covered and then some. But she might as well be f**king na**d as far as my nerves are concerned. And my dick, for that matter. I did mention that I’m a guy, right?

She has her legs crossed, and she has a big funky straw hat on her head, goofy white glasses and her nose is creamed with white paste. She’s f**king adorable. She blows her whistle and one of the boys running on the side of the pool slows down, looking up at her sheepishly.

Something hard bumps into the backs of my legs, making my right knee buckle. I look back to find Gonzo grinning at me. You look like you were on the wrong side of a gang fight, he signs, and then he points to my eye.

I shrug. That’s what happens you grab a girl the wrong way. Take note: Some of them can kick your ass.

I thought the other kids were lying, he says. Then he laughs. She really hit you? He looks toward Reagan and grins. That’s what you get for putting the moves on my girl. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. He points a finger at me in warning.

“Why aren’t you swimming?” I ask, using my voice.

He points to the piece of plastic. Kind of hard to breathe when it’s full of water.

“You can’t swim with that thing? Really?”

His face falls. I should have left it alone.

“Then what are you doing here?” I ask. “You could be riding horses or doing something fun.”

He looks toward Reagan. And miss seeing her legs? Absolutely not. I’ll stay right here.

I chuckle and shake my head. The boy’s funny. I’ll give him that. I pull a chair up close to him and sit down. “Just so you know,” I say. “I’ve called dibs on that one. So you can stop dreaming.”

Dude, she punched you in the face. He laughs.

I pat my chest. “I can be charming when I want to.”

When will that start? He grins.

I punch his shoulder. “Do you have any siblings?” I ask.

He shakes his head. You want to apply for the position?

This kid is a lot wittier than I would have guessed. “I already have four brothers, thank you very much. I don’t particularly want any more.”

What’s it like having that many people in one house? Must be a big house.

I shake my head. “No, it’s actually a really small apartment.” I shrug. “But it works for us.”

Do you miss them?

I nod. Particularly Sam. “I do miss them. I only got to spend one night with them before I got drafted to be your mouthpiece.”

At least I put brilliant words in your mouth. He pats his chest. I could be boring. Where would you be then?

“My life could be worse. I’m sitting by a huge pool looking at a beautiful girl with a boy who’s pretty smart.”

Careful or my head’s going to start to swell. He looks toward Reagan. Is that longing in his eyes?

“Stop scamming on my girl,” I warn.

He doesn’t take his gaze from her, but it looks less lascivious and more…needy. Do you think… His hands stop moving.

“What? Spit it out already,” I prompt.

Never mind.

“What were you about to say?” I ask, turning to face him completely. “Ask it. I won’t be able to sleep tonight unless I get to hear what’s going in that head of yours,” I tease.

I was just wondering… He looks toward Reagan again. Do you think there will ever be a girl that looks at me like she looks at you?

I glance toward the lifeguard stand. “How does she look at me?” I ask.

Like she wants to jump your bones. He laughs. But I can tell this is serious to him. More serious than he wants me to know.

I tap his leg with my foot to get his attention. “That’s not the question you should be asking yourself, doofus.”

I’m in a chair, Mr. Mentor Man. You think it’s a good idea to call me a doofus? You might affect my self-esteem.

I roll my eyes. “If you had any ego problems, I’d already know it.”

Forget I asked, he says. He looks everywhere but at me.

“There’s a lid for every pot, Karl. Some fit better than others, but there’s one made just for you. You should be asking yourself if she’s good enough for you. Every single time. Don’t ask yourself if you’re good enough for her because when you find the right fit, you won’t doubt it.”

He grins. I think he likes that answer. And I mean it.

So you think she exists?

I nod. “I think she’s just waiting to find you. So don’t f**k it up by being a smart-ass.”

He points to himself. Me? Never!

Karl’s mom approaches from the other side of the pool. She just happens to have a bucket full of water in her hand and she’s tiptoeing, so I try not to smile. But I can’t help it when she dumps the water down his back. He leans forward, wincing, but he’s also laughing.

“That’s what you get for being a shit this morning,” she says with a smirk. So this is where he gets it from. I like her even more now. She pulls a water gun out from behind her back. She hands it to Gonzo. “Reagan looks like she could use some cooling off, don’t you think?” She winks at me.

Gonzo is suddenly a man on a mission. He hides the gun down by his leg and rolls around to where Reagan is sitting. He stops below her and claps his hands together. She looks down at him, smiles, and says something, but I can’t hear what she’s saying. He grins, pulls out the squirt gun and proceeds to soak her. He doesn’t hit her in the face, but he gets the rest of her pretty well. She puts her hands up to shield herself, and it’s really pretty amusing. Suddenly, his pistol runs out of water, and she climbs down the ladder of her chair. She has a wet towel in her hand, which she proceeds to flick at him until it cracks against his knee.

“Ouch!” I whisper to myself, wincing. But he f**king loves it. He grins and throws his gun to someone in the pool to fill up. The whole time, she’s chasing him around the edge of the pool with the towel, until her dad has to come and send her back to the stand. Mr. Caster points his finger, and she pretends to pout. Then she flicks him on the ass with the towel too. He turns around, picks her up, and tosses her into the water. She floats to the surface and sputters. Her big, floppy straw hat floats there beside her. And her glasses have sunk to the bottom.