Date: Sat, 21 Jan 2017 09:05:56 -0600
From: Kurt King <kingkurt1339@gmail.com>
Subject: The New Life of Xander King Chapter 10

	This story may contain sexual acts between males, persons below the
age of consent, and relatives. If this offends you or is illegal for you to
read where you're at, please close this website and go elsewhere.

	This story is fictional and entirely the work of the author's
imagination. And resemblance to persons, places, or things, real or
fictional, are entirely coincidental, and any views stated do not
necessarily reflect those of any companies or organizations which do exist
in real life, nor necessarily reflect the views of the author.

	This story is the property and copyright of the author, do not
share, reproduce, repost, or any other such act which is illegal to do
without the author's permission.

	Don't forget that you can always contact me to give me feedback! I
can be found at kingkurt1339@gmail.com, and I do my best to respond to
every email if I can! Any comments, questions, or suggestions are always
welcome, especially as I'm constantly changing events that happen in the
story, and will be publishing other stories!

	Voting is now: Zack: 4, Matt: 4, Benj: 3. I get tons of emails, but
almost no votes. To vote for the next King you wish to see published
alongside NLXK, just go to the end of Chapter 9 and look at the three
options, then email me your pick. All three of those Kings will make an
appearance in NLXK (in some order that may or may not be different than
what's posted).

	As always - donate to Nifty to keep the archive running!

	In the last chapter, Xander was supposed to start at school, and
ended up getting scared and not showing up. Luke talked with his fraternal
twin brother, Greyson, via Skype, then when Xander didn't show up to
school, went by his place after to see if he's alright, where it was
revealed that his older brother, Kevin, was one of Xander's abusers. Luke,
wanting Xander to see that he isn't his brother, tries to talk Xander into
hanging out with him. Xander agrees, but to only two hours.

	This chapter is the day before their hangout (so the Friday
following that Monday), and unlike all other Chapers published and written,
this one has only one POV – Xander's. I got to the end of events in this
chapter and went 'this is pretty long by itself, and if I try to add
something else in, it'll just be awkward'. So here ya go – a chapter of
nothing but Xander!

~~Chapter Ten – Allowance~~

[Xander]

	Mr. Scott made me get a haircut. I don't like it. It's not short,
still a little shaggy, so I can still hide behind my eyes when I need
to. He said it was getting too wild. I didn't want to get a haircut. The
stylist is currently washing my hair of the clippings.

	"You have blond roots," she says as she washes my hair. "I thought
it odd you had such blond eyebrows with brown hair."


	"You're not supposed to dye your eyebrows."

	"No, you're not!" She laughs. "It's a fair bit dangerous. Why do
you dye your hair? I bet you'd look pretty handsome with blond hair."

	"You dye your hair?" Mr. Scott asks me, and I feel my face heat
up. "To keep it brown, you'd have to have done it while you lived with
us. How'd you hide that?"

	"I take care of my own trash."

	"Yes, you do," he laughs. "How come you dye your hair?"

	I don't answer. It's really blond, almost white. Platinum-blond,
Ben would call it. I'm starting to remember things from back then, other
than that I liked him. I'd forgotten a lot, because I have a horrible
memory. But other kids always made fun of it, so I started dying it. I'd
use money I stole when I was running to buy dye for it. They raped me, so I
stole whatever cash they had.

	After they make sure there are no clippings on my neck and my hair
is dry and styled (I don't like that, but she puts gel in it anyway), we
leave. Mr. Scott then takes me to the D.M.V., or the Department of Motor
Vehicles, to get me a state I.D., but I don't know why he wants me to.

	I jump when the picture is taken. They use a flash, and that scared
me. They have to take it again. A minute later, I've got a state
I.D. Mr. Scott then takes me to a shopping district in town, parking in
front of a store.

	"A few things," he says. "I'm going to be setting up some stuff for
a small project of mine, and will be awhile. You're free to wander around
the stores here and buy what you like," I don't have any money. Not on me,
anyway. I forgot to put some in my pockets, because he rushed me out of the
door. "Just let me know when you're done, if I don't contact you first."

	"I'll stay with you, sir," I say.

	"And that's another thing," he hands me an envelope. It's a little
thick. "Do you know what an allowance is?"

	"What I'm allowed to do?"

	"No."

	"The number of times I'm allowed to break rules?"

	"No!" He laughs. "It's money you're given for doing chores and
such," I start to protest, since I don't have any chores, but he holds a
hand up. "I know you don't have chores, Xander, but you help out around the
house when you can, and you keep your room clean. We've set up a trust fund
in your name that you can't touch until you turn eighteen, and the
allowance is our way of allowing you to have money. Every month, on the
first, five hundred dollars will be deposited onto the card in there. Right
now, it's got the minimum balance to be open, so you can't spend any money
on it until the first of next month."

	I open up the envelope while he talks, and find a debit card with
my name on it. I don't like that it has 'Alexander' on it. So does my
I.D. The envelope is filled with twenties, and I feel my eyes widen in
confusion and surprise and fear.

	"With everything that's been going on," he says. "We've kind of
forgotten about your allowance. We know you came to us kind of late in
June, but we're giving you a full months' allowance, and a kind of advance,
just because you've been coping with things so well since you've come back,
so you've got four months' worth of allowance in there, or two thousand
dollars," I feel my eyes practically bulge out of my head. "I figured you'd
prefer cash over it all being on the card, so you know you've actually got
it. Once the money is getting deposited on the card, just present it, and
when prompted, your I.D., and should they give you any trouble, just ask
them to contact the manager. If you're still getting issues, contact me, or
ask them to contact me."

	"Yes, sir."

	"You can spend the money on whatever you want," he says. "Food,
games, toys, whatever you want. I'd recommend getting some clothes, you've
only got a few sets, and you could do with a little more variety. Plus, you
could use a few more sets of workout clothes. There's a sports and outdoors
store right there, try them if you want to look at them. There are two
clothing stores right there, and even though it's Friday, there's a pet
store right there, if you want to look at pets. Avoid that store there."

	I look at him curiously without meaning to.

	"It's a sex shop," he says, and I feel my face heat up, and he
laughs. "They shouldn't let you in anyway, but avoid them. There's a toy
shop there, a games shop there, an ice cream store there, a few
restaurants, over there's an electronics store, there's a shoe store. Feel
free to go anywhere, but not the sex store."

	I feel my face heat up again when he says that, and he smiles at
me.

	"Go on," he gets out of the car, looking back in at me. "Unless you
want to come and sit down and listen to me talk about boring stuff. I know
you'll get bored very easily, and figure that if you wander around, you'll
be able to find some stuff you want. And again, Xander, this is your
allowance, it's your money, not money you have to pay back. You've already
earned it."

	I shove the envelope into one of my pockets. I wander around a
couple of the stores, play with the dogs they've got at the pet store, and
eventually make my way into the one he told me was a sporting and outdoors
store. They're huge, and their staff is supposedly really friendly.

	They have a ton of sunglasses. Finn likes sunglasses, even though
he never wears them, because he likes to give himself headaches because
he's an idiot. At least he's not stupid and an idiot, like me. He wears
plenty of sunscreen, but doesn't wear sunglasses because they're black, not
white, and it throws off his looks of being a ghost. This store has some
sunglasses that have white frames and black lenses. He could probably use
those, the lenses are opaque, so one can't see past them and see his
eyes. That would still freak people out. I know it would freak me out, but
that's because I'm a coward.

	"Would you like to try on a pair?" An associate walks over to me.

	I jump, shaking my head and taking off to a different part of the
store. I find a bunch of soccer balls in this aisle and wander around in
it. Why are there so many different colors for soccer balls? I like these
ones that are dark green with really bright green parts. I think boys who
play soccer are sexy, and wish I could play soccer, but I suck at it.

	Another associate approaches me, and I get scared and go to a
different part of the store, finding myself an in aisle full of knives. I
look at them, wondering if maybe it would be a good idea for me to carry
one with me when I'm on my walks. That way, if one of THEM comes after me,
I can stab them and run away and scream for help. That might help me not
freak out, having one on me.

	An associate approaches me. He's huge, probably at least six feet,
and he's got a ton of muscle and looks like he weightlifts cars. He asks me
if I need help finding anything. His voice is deep and loud and booming and
scary, and I shake my head and leave, finding myself over in the
shoes. Shoes are part of clothes, right? Mr. Scott said to buy clothes.

	I try on a bunch of shoes, and then decide I'm going to get some,
so I go and grab a cart from the front and then return to the shoes, where
an associate is messing with the boxes. He looks at me, then asks if I was
still trying on the shoes, and I nod. He tries to help me, but I get scared
and take off to the clothing section. I did end up with five pairs of
shoes, though.

	The youth section is right by the shoes, and I find a bunch of
clothes that I think look nice. All of my shoes come from the Under Armour
brand, which I think is weird, because it's not armor, and most of it
doesn't go under clothes, unless it's, like, a hoodie or a jacket or
something.

	I try on a bunch of clothes, and think I look stupid in all of
them, but Mr. Scott told me to use the money to get some clothes, so I pick
out the outfits I think are the best, buying enough that I think he'll be
happy. I know the tax rate here is seven-point-eight-five percent, so I do
the math on my phone to make sure I stay in budget.

	"Excuse me, Miss?" I approach a girl working in the clothing
section. She's got short blond hair and glasses, and looks friendly. I try
not to be scared, like I was with everyone else. "Miss?"

	"Yes?" She looks at me when I say it the second time. "Oh, hello,
there! How are you?"

	"I'm okay, ma'am," I hold up one of the hoodies I tried on. "I
don't want this one, but it's all unfolded. How do those tables work? I
can't figure them out."

	"Those tables?" She frowns for a moment. "You mean the folding
tables?"

	"Yes, ma'am."

	"Oh," she smiles at me. "Don't worry about refolding them, just put
them on that rack there, and I'll take care of it."

	"I've got three hoodies and eight shirts I don't want," I say. "And
you're supposed to put things back how you found them. I can't get them to
fold right."

	"Come on," she gestures for me to follow her, so I do.

	She shows me how the tables work, and I realize that the hoodie
wasn't folding to look like the others because there are two different
numbers the tables have to be on, one for hoodies, and one for shirts, and
it was set for shirts. She helps me with the shirts and hoodies, and I put
them all back where I found them.

	I know Mrs. Scott bought me a bag, but everything I have, my shoes
and clothes, are all Under Armour, so it would look really weird for me to
have a different brand bag. I've still got budget, so I look for a good
bag, and then get socks and underwear, too, so everything matches. I get
two backpacks, then seven hats, and I'm still under budget. Wallets and
lanyards are added to the mix, with budget to spare. Then I look for
sunglasses again. This time, I try not to be scared when he offers to let
me try one on, and I like them, so he lets me get a pair of them, walking
me over to the registers.

	When he does that, I feel like I did something wrong. The cashier
glares at me as I put things on the counter, and she doesn't touch
anything. I even remove the hangers for her and everything, but she just
keeps glaring at me. The guy who walked me over put the sunglasses down and
left, and that made me feel fine, but then she's just glaring at me.

	"What is with you kids and pulling stunts like this?" She asks me.

	"Huh?'

	"You and I both know you can't afford this."

	"Yes, I can," I say. "I stayed in budget. I did the math."

	"Don't lie," she says. "I'm tired of you kids always doing this,
you can never afford all of this, then you try to get discounts, and then
get mad because you can't, and demand a manager. You've got hundreds of
dollars' worth of stuff, if not over a thousand dollars' worth of
stuff. Where are your friends at?"

	I stare at her, confused. I've got the money, why does she think I
don't? Mr. Scott said it's my money, I can feel it in my pocket. The lady
keeps saying that, and I get scared. I don't know what to do. I'm not
trying to steal or play a prank. I want to buy these. Mr. Scott told me to
buy clothes. I got workout clothes and regular clothes and winter clothes
and shoes and backpacks and hats and a pair of sunglasses. I can pay for it
all, I did the math.

	I try to tell her I can afford the clothes, that it's in my
allowance, but she doesn't believe me. I go back through sorting the
clothes left in the cart.

	Then I realize I only have four boxes of shoes. But I was trying to
buy five. I realize I'm still wearing one of the pairs on my feet. I forgot
about that, the scary guy chased me off in the shoes area, and I must have
forgotten to put these back in the box, so she could ring them up and
remove the tag.

	"I think-" I start to tell her, so I can get my old shoes back and
the box for these ones.
     "What you think," she says. "Is that you were going to play a prank on
us. You can't afford this, kid."

	"I'm not playing a prank," I protest weakly. "I think I forgot-"

	"Listen here, brat," she grabs my arm, and I feel my body freeze
up. "Stop playing this little game of yours and get out of the store."

	I don't know what to do, and she want start scanning my stuff, and
I don't know what to do, and so I jerk my arm out of her grip and run. I
want to get away from her accusations and her hatred, and so I run. The
alarms go off as I leave, and now I'm scared. I can't see, I'm crying, my
eyes are shut, I don't know what to do.

	I trip and fall and hit the asphalt hard, and I curl up into a ball
and start crying, and someone honks their horn, and then there's yelling
and people touching me and sirens and I'm freaking out and people are
touching me and I get scared and start fighting them, and my arm hurts, the
one she grabbed.
	Sometime tries to hold me down, and I'm scared. I don't know who it
is. My body hurts really bad. I'm scared, they're trying to hurt me, and
they're yelling at me, and someone's picking me up, and I fight them and
fall again, hitting the ground hard and hitting my head, and I start
screaming at them to leave me alone, that I'm sorry, that I just wanted to
buy some clothes and shoes and backpacks and hats and sunglasses and
underwear and socks and that I could pay for it and that I'm sorry and they
won't leave me alone.

	"No one's going to touch you," someone says beside me. His voice is
soft, gentle. I'm still scared, and I tell him I'm sorry. "You're fine,
okay? You're okay. My name's Landon, can you tell me yours? I don't want to
call you 'kid'."

	"Yes," I cry. "I wasn't playing a prank! I'm sorry! I'll pay for
it!"

	"Yes?" He asks, then laughs. "You answered the question, that's not
a typical response. What's your name?"

	"Xander," I sniffle.

	Something is different about his voice. It's kind. Not fake
kindness, but it sounds kind. And concerned. He's probably worried about
whatever it was that set the alarms off. He's probably the store's
security, or maybe the police. I'm probably going to jail. I wasn't
stealing!

	"Are you in pain?" He asks me.

	"No," I answer, but then my entire right side feels like it's on
fire. "Yes! Ow! It hurts! I'm sorry! I wasn't playing a prank! I'm sorry!"

	"You hit your head pretty hard when you fell," he says. "And you
scraped up your side pretty bad. Can you sit up?"
     "Maybe," I answer, unsure this time. I didn't lie the first time, I
wasn't in pain when I answered, I was in pain before, and I got in pain
after. I try to sit up and look at him. "Ow."

	He's probably forty, he's got short-cut brown hair and gentle brown
eyes, and reminds me of my shrink. There are a bunch of police officers and
a EMT guy and a tall guy in the store uniform standing around me.

	"I wasn't playing a prank."

	"I wasn't accusing you of playing a prank," he says. "I'm-"

	"I would've had eighty-seven cents left!"

	"Huh?" He looks confused. I'm probably going to get into trouble
for confusing an adult.

	"I did the math!" I try to explain, but I'm in pain, and I'm
scared, and my thoughts are all jumped up. "On how much everything costs!
The tax is seven-point-eight-five percent. I would've had eighty-seven
cents left after I paid! I did the math, that's what it said!"

	"Why'd you run?" One of the officers asks me.

	"The lady was scary and accusing me and she grabbed me and I got
scared and didn't know what to do!"

	"Why'd you run off with their shoes on your feet?" He asks. "Were
you planning on buying those?"

	"Yes, sir," I answer. "The scary guy chased me off in the shoes
area, and I forgot to put my shoes back on. I thought I did that and put
the box in the cart. I tried telling her that, but she told me I was trying
to steal because I couldn't afford anything. I wasn't stealing!"

	"Stop the interrogation," Landon says to the officer, who starts to
protest. "His parent or legal guardian isn't present, and nor is his legal
representative. The kid's injured, and needs to be checked out. Let the
EMT's do their work."

	That's not easy to do. I keep flinching whenever they touch
me. They seat me in the back of the ambulance with the doors closed. There
are two of them and Landon in there. Landon says he's a social worker. They
have me strip to my underwear, because I tore up my pantsleg and I'm
covered in scrapes from when I first tripped, from my leg all the way up to
my shoulder, and I've got a cut on my head from when I fell when one of the
police officers apparently tried to pick me up to restrain me. I try not to
let them know my arm's hurting, I'm good at doing that. I don't want to get
into more trouble than I'm going to get into.

	Because he said they needed my parent or legal guardian present, I
gave him Mr. Scott's number, and because he said they need my legal
representative present, I gave him my lawyer's number. He got a voicemail
for Mr. Scott. I never learned Mrs. Scott's number, or I'd give it to
him. My phone got busted when I tripped, and I can't turn it on. She put
her number into my phone, and I never looked at it. Mr. Scott gave me his
number, and so I memorized it.

	They made me give the officers the shoes I was wearing, and they
haven't give me the ones that were mine, which are clearly not the store's,
because they're the ones I've had since the orphanage and are really dirty
and used and worn-out and in need of replacement. I only wear the running
shoes Finn bought me when I'm running.

	"WHERE IS HE?" I hear Mr. Scott roar.

	At this point, I have my pants back on, and they're treating my
side and arm. The cut on my head doesn't need stitches, and I'm happy I
don't need them this time. There are only two rips in my pants, so I can
kind of wear them again.

	I'm happy I have my pants on when the door to the ambulance opens
up, so that no one sees me in my briefs. Mr. Scott and my lawyer are
standing on the other side, along with an officer and the tall man in the
store associate uniform.

	"Xander!" Mr. Scott exclaims, and I'm scared. I'm probably in
trouble. "Are you alright?"

	"I'm scared," I say. "I've got a lot of scrapes and stuff. I
would've had eighty-seven cents left."

	"Huh?" I'm definitely going to get in trouble for causing a big
problem, and for confusing so many adults. "Wait, you mean after you paid?"

	"Yes," I say. "After I paid. The total, after tax, was one
thousand, nine hundred, ninety-nine dollars and thirteen cents. I had two
thousand from my allowance. Eighty-seven cents is the remainder. I had to
use my phone to do the math. It's all busted up from when I fell on it. I'm
sorry."

	"I'm just glad you're okay," he looks relieved, then glares at the
tall man. "Tell me, Thomas - did you have them run the total cost of what
he was trying to get yet?"

	"Yes," the man answers.

	"And was it what he said it would be?"

	"Yes," the man answers. "The cashier said all she did was ask him
if his parents were around, and he took off."

	"She lied," I say. "She kept accusing me of stealing and trying to
play a prank! Everyone there but the nice lady in the clothing were really
scary and kept scaring me, and then she kept accusing me of trying to play
a prank and steal! I got scared!"

	"Xander's got high anxiety levels," Mr. Scott says. "He scares
easily, and he never lies. If he says she did what he just said, then she
did it. I'd suggest you run the tapes and see, unless your cameras don't
record audio."

	"I've got them pulling the tapes now," the man, Thomas, says.

	"Good," Mr. Scott doesn't allow him to continue. "Because I sent
Xander off on his own with two thousand dollars to buy whatever he wanted,
and it looks like he chose your store to do it, and one of your associates
began making false accusations of him. And Xander, who the hell is this
man? He's claiming to be your lawyer, but he's not our lawyer."

	"We have a lawyer?" I ask.

	"Who is he?" Mr. Scott asks.

	"My lawyer," I answer. "I didn't know we had a lawyer. Mr. King
said to call him if I needed a lawyer."

	"Adrian King?" he asks, and I nod. "Why?"

	"I smashed my phone," I pick it up, wincing. "It's all busted,
now. Sorry."

	"It can be replaced," Mr. Scott says. "Xander, why were you going
to spend all of your budget here?"

	"You said to get new clothes because I don't have enough," I
say. "But that meant my outfits would look off with my bag, so I had to get
new bags. Then hats, too, because it's sunny, but because it's sunny, I
need sunglasses, too. And I need socks and underwear, too, because mine are
all old, and don't match with Under Armour, because they're different
brands."

	"And who are you?" Mr. Scott looks at Landon.

	"Landon," Landon steps out of the ambulance and extends a hand to
Mr. Scott, who shakes it. "I'm a social worker. I happened to see him run
out of the store, I nearly hit him when he fell and had to swerve to the
side to avoid it, thoroughly angering another driver, who laid onto the
horn. If you don't mind my asking," he lowers his voice, though I can still
hear him. "Is everything alright with Xander? He's jumpy and fearful, and
has quite a few underlying issues, I'm sure."

	"He's a recovering trauma victim," Mr. Scott answers.

	No, I'm not. I'm worthless and pathetic and an easily-scared piece
of crap.

	"He's probably already got one," Landon says. "But if you need
someone for him to see, I deal with adolescents, and could help, if you
don't already have him seeing someone."

	"We've got one of the best," Mr. Scott says. "And Xander won't open
up to her. She's been dealing with youth for forty years. What are you,
fifteen?'

	"Twenty-five," Landon answers. He's not forty? Why did Mr. Scott
think he was fifteen? "I wouldn't consider myself one of the best, but I'm
someone youth tend to confide in, particularly boys such as Xander."

	"Look younger than you are," Mr. Scott says. "So too does Xander
.He's thirteen."

	"He looks ten," Landon says. "Younger, actually, but I'd have put
him at ten, were it not for the way he acts."

	"Just turned thirteen last month," Mr. Scott says.

	"Excuse me," the tall man in the store uniform approaches
Mr. Scott. "I'd like to apologize to you and your son. We've pulled the
tapes, and after reviewing them, have confirmed what he said to be true. He
also looked a fair bit confused when he got to the shoes in the cart, and
she did grab him."

	"Probably because he realized he'd forgotten the box," Mr. Scott
says. "And she grabbed him?"

	"This is why," Thomas, I think that was his name, says. "I waited
for them to pull the tapes before taking a side. The way she acted was
completely out of line, and I can assure you that appropriate action will
be taken. Also, they said they can't see anyone else being rude or
anything, they'd just approach him, and he'd take off to a different part
of the store. Once we noticed him doing that, we had them approaching him,
but they were all friendly."

	"He scares easily," Mr. Scott laughs. "He was probably highly
nervous due to me giving him money and telling him to spend it however he
wants, and then going through crowds. When they approached him, it probably
scared him. I can see how that would be suspicious."

	"Excuse me," the EMT who was checking me out walks to the back of
the ambulance. "I'd like to take him to the hospital to get him tested for
fractures from when he fell."

	"NO!" I exclaim, putting my hands over my ears and closing my eyes.

	No hospitals. They're scary. I hate them. I don't want to go to
one. They'll want to poke me with needles, especially when they find out my
arm hurts.

	"Do you need to?" I hear Mr. Scott ask.

	"No, however," the EMT says.

	"Then we'll decline that," Mr. Scott says. "You're lucky he let you
check him out as much as he has. He's got an intense fear of hospitals, so
we'll decline, unless I determine that he does need to go. If that happens,
I promise we'll go."

	After about ten minutes, the police officers and EMT's are gone,
and Landon has given Mr. Scott his card. The tall man from the story has
gone inside to get my shoes, but he's taking a long time for that. They
probably threw them away, because they look like trash and why would they
keep a piece of crap's trash shoes?

	"Mr. Scott," Thomas returns outside with the shoes I was wearing
when I ran from the store, not my shoes, and he hands them to me. He's got
another man with him. "This is Joshua, our District Manager. He was on a
conference call, and just finished a minute ago, cutting it short to deal
with this."

	"I'd like to apologize about what happened," Joshua says to
Mr. Scott, then looks at me. "I'm terribly sorry about how you were
treated, Mr. King. It was inappropriate and completely against our policy
for her to treat you that way. She should not have accused you of playing a
prank or trying to steal, as she did, and she did not have the right to
touch you, as she did. If you do need medical help for what happened, just
let us know, and we'll take care of the bills. And to make it up to you,
I'd also like to offer you everything you were attempting to purchase for
free, as I have it in my power to do so, and we'd like to have you as a
customer, since you've chosen to spend your money with us today, and we
gave you such a bad experience at the complete fault of our own
associate. Would you be alright with that?"

	I'm not sure on that. What does he want from me, if he's letting me
have it all for free?

	"Xander," Mr. Scott suddenly looks at me. "You're not one for
spending ANY money. You were about to spend all two thousand of it on
clothes and stuff. Did you have any plans for food?"

	Food? I didn't think about needing to buy food, he told me to get
new clothes. I'm hungry, now.

	"I know that look," Mr. Scott laughs. "You hadn't thought about
food. You're hungry, aren't you?"

	I nod.

	Mr. Scott talks to Joshua a few minutes more, and we go back
inside. I can't wait for us to go out to eat, so I grab a snack from the
racks by the registers and walks up to one. The nice lady from the clothing
area is on a register, so I walk up to her to check out.

	"There's my sweet little angel," she smiles at me. "What happened
to you?"

	"What are you doing?" Mr. Joshua asks me, and I look over at him,
scared. "Bring those up here."

	I look at the nice lady, and she smiles at me, and I go up to the
Service Desk. Joshua scans the cookie, and does something on the register,
and then its price goes down to zero.

	"But I wasn't trying to get that before," I protest.

	"On us today," Joshua says.

	"Xander," Mr. Scott says, and I look at him. "Why are you favoring
your right arm?"

	"Please don't beat me!"

~~END OF CHAPTER TEN~~

	Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it!

	Feedback is always appreciated, and I try to reply to every email!
Comments, questions, and suggestions are always welcome, especially as I'm
always changing events and adding things on, and I can use ideas for both
this story and the others.

	Hope you enjoyed this, and stay tuned for Chapter Eleven!

	Did anyone notice that on the last one, it said "Chapter Nine"
instead of "Chapter Ten"?