#kidfic

Miss J just laughs, “Maddie! It’s Tuesday.”

Maddie blinks at her, not understanding at first. “I know it’s Tuesday, I…”

Then it catches up to her. It’s Tuesday. She’s supposed to pick Theo up on Thursdays now.

To be fair to her, she’s been picking Theo up every Tuesday for almost five months. But Buck switched his parent training sessions to Thursdays a few weeks ago, said it fit his schedule better. (“What schedule?” Chimney griped, “He’s taking an extra month of parental leave.”)

“Buck’s husband picked Theo a few minutes ago, you must have just missed him,” Miss J says. 

“Right, I’m sure—” Miss J’s words catch up to her, “I’m sorry, what? Buck isn’t…he doesn’t have a husband.” She wonders for a brief moment if Miss J means Eddie, which would be an easy mistake to make. But no; she knows Eddie is on duty because Howie is on duty.

Miss J’s warm smile fades, and it’s her turn to look confused, “Yes he does?”

“I think I’d know if my brother got married,” Maddie says, her heart pounding. She’s digging in her purse for her phone, debating on whether to call Buck or Athena first. Someone took Theo from daycare, she thought. Someone who isn’t Buck, someone who lied about being his husband, how the fuck did that happen, I had to practically give a vial of blood to get put on the authorized pick up list—

Miss J pulls up something on her tablet and passes it to Maddie, “Here, look.”

Maddie stares blankly at the tablet for an unknown length of time. Theo’s preschool uses an app for pickup lists, with both names and thumbnail photos of authorized adults. Theodorus Vincent Riley has a very long list, with all the usual suspects: Buckley, Evan (father). Riley, Petra (grandmother). Han, Maddie (aunt). Han, Howard (uncle) Diaz, Edmundo (family friend). Grant-Nash, Athena (family friend). Wilson, Henrietta (family friend). Wilson, Karen (family friend). Panikkar, Ravi (family friend). 

The last, and therefore most recent, is the one Maddie can’t stop staring at:

Kinard, Thomas (stepfather).

There’s a thumbnail photo of a familiar handsome face with an awkward smile next to it. 

What. The actual fuck.

Maddie Han is a busy woman, with a lot on her plate, but not so much she’d forget her brother getting married. To his ex. To his ex that vanished almost immediately after Bobby’s funeral, right when Buck needed him, froze him out and hasn’t been seen since. 

She passes the tablet back with shaking hands. Miss J is looking concerned and a little embarrassed, “Is there a problem?”

mr. poop is nice, theo decides, sometime between pizza and a theo-sized bowl of ice cream while they watch lilo and stitch. not the lilo and stitch theo’s seen before, but an older one, a cartoon, with a lilo that seems like she feels like theo does sometimes, snarling in a way that’s familiar and a stitch that’s weirder and uglier that makes him, it? whatever. this cartoon stitch is more interesting.

“ohana means family,” mr. poop says, next to theo on the couch, in time with the movie. “family means nobody gets left behind, or forgotten.”

but theo’s seen this movie before. lilo gets left behind. nani goes off to college. he knows how this one ends.

so: mr. poop is full of—well, poop.

it makes theo—angry.

theo has a flash of a thought, that dumping mr. poop’s bigger, grown-up-sized, half-finished bowl of mint chocolate chip onto his own head might cool his brain down. from the angry. and doing so will probably have the added benefit of making mr. poop angry. because grown-ups usually get angry at theo for these flashes of thoughts. if mr. poop is angry at theo, then theo won’t be alone in his anger.

so that’s exactly what he does.

the bowl is heavier than he expects, though, so he ends up clocking himself in the face with it more than wearing it like an upside-down ice cream hat like he’d imagined. it hurts, his head hurts, his nose hurts, and it didn’t go like he expected it to, and the frustration of it all balls up hot and tangled in his chest and he just has to SCREAM! about it.

and. stupid mr. poop! he doesn’t DO what he is SUPPOSED TO when theo Acts Out. he doesn’t look a theo all pinched and unhappy, he doesn’t snap his words like scissors, he doesn’t throw up his hands or walk away. he just keeps repeating, soft and kind like a trap, hey, h-hey, buddy, what’s wrong, why, let’s see, you’re ok, you’re ok, you’re—

“liar!” theo yells, because he is not ok, because none of this is ok.

“ok, ok,” mr. poop keeps repeating as his hands tremble in front of theo’s face and smooth his hair away from his forehead. “it’s ok, you’re ok, ok? i’m a professional. i can handle this.”

mr. poop’s big blue eyes are wide and shiny and theo is quite sure he’s lying. he tells mr. poop so, repeatedly and at volume. but theo is very small, and he can only yell and struggle and run and hide so much before his batteries are drained.

mr. poop, on the other hand, is very tall, and very good at finding, apparently, and not afraid of or disgusted by the worst theo can throw at him. which is weird. he just—waits theo out. then, he wipes theo’s face off with a baby wipe, even though theo isn’t a baby, thank you, then picks him up and carries him down the hall to the bathroom.

ugh. bath time.

theo expects mr. poop to lose his cool any minute now. doesn’t he know the bathroom is theo’s favorite place to get into things? there are SO many things to get into. toilet paper. dirty underwear—which, if it wasn’t supposed to be worn like a hat, then it shouldn’t be that shape. SHOWER GEL. so many bubbles. theo looks around for something to do, when—

mr. poop plunks a bucket full of toys in front of him, and folds his long legs to sit on the floor across from theo. he picks up a toy helicopter from the bucket and spins the spinny-thing on the top of it.

“i know these aren’t—i keep these here for my niece and nephew,” mr. poop explains. “i thought you might like them too, while we get you cleaned up.”

on one hand, getting cleaned up means losing the battle of wits to mr. poop. on the other hand, a bucket of bath toys usually means The Works: bubble bath, at least 50% more splashing in the tub allowed, making a cool mohawk while his hair gets shampooed. theo peers into the bucket of toys. there’s a fire truck, an assortment of boy rubber ducks and girl rubber ducks and other rubber ducks that he can’t tell are boys or girls (including one that has a big tire painted on its back, for some reason), a funny fat little tugboat like the one he saw on his daycare’s trip to the harbor.

a tugboat, for the tub.

tubboat.

“deal,” theo nods definitively.

“de—really?” mr. poop asks. his eyebrows scrunch toward his hair, taking the splotches by his eye with them. theo has splotches like that, too, though his are further up. he wonders if mr. poop got kissed by the same angel he did, when he was born an impossible number of years ago. probably 50, theo reasons. maybe even 55.

“i thought you were going to fight me on—y’know what? never mind,” mr. poop continues, ruffling theo’s hair despite the clumps of ice cream in it. he stands, slowly, and it sounds like allllllll of his bones go pop, pop, pop, like he’s full of rice krispies. he might be even older than 55, theo thinks. he wonders if mr. poop is older than cars.

theo knows it’s not nice to throw toys at people, but it’s a little bit funny to throw a rubber duck at mr. poop as the old man shakes out his legs. mr. poop catches it before it hits the ground, and to theo’s surprise, he has a big, real smile on his face as he turns around and goes to toss it back to theo, underhand and soft and patient in a way that makes theo want to GROWL.

mr. poop is not good at playing by the rules.

theo winds up, really puts his arm behind his next throw—

“damn it,” mr. poop cusses into the bathroom cabinet as he rummages around.

“bad word!” theo yells gleefully. mr. poop is very bad at this. everybody knows you're not supposed to cuss.

“shi—shoot,” mr. poop yelps, then smacks the back of his head on the underside of the shelf.

“you’re so bad at this,” theo tells mr. poop, whose face has gone bright red, helpfully.

“yeah,” mr. poop sighs. “i’m out of the baby shampoo—”

“i’m not a baby!”

mr. poop sits down in front of theo again. “you’re right, big guy. not a baby. i just meant—the no-tears gentle stuff, huh? i forgot to get more of that and bubble bath after the last time jee and nash were here.”

“who’s that?”

mr. poop smiles brightly. “my niece and nephew. my sister’s kids. jee’s a little older than you, and nash is a little younger than you.”

theo nods as he feels a sort of burning feeling in his chest. it feels weird, for some reason, to know there are other kids in mr. poop’s life.

maybe it’s because he’s only ever been an only. everybody always tells him he’s bad at sharing. that’s just one of the things that’s wrong with him.

he hopes mr. poop doesn’t notice.

it takes some convincing, but theo agrees to a bath once mr. poop finds a body wash to put in the water to make a few bubbles. theo didn’t like the first few mr. poop offered. most of them smelled too—serious, probably. for old people like mr. poop. one of them smelled exactly like mr. poop. definitely no. one smelled like cotton candy, which was fun, but it made theo sneeze over and over again, which was NOT fun.

mr. poop went back to the cabinet one more time and brought back a bright green one that smelled like the beach.

“i, uh,” mr. poop said, turning red again as he opened the cap and handed it over. he had a look on his face that theo thought looked sad, but also like mr. poop had done something he shouldn’t have. “this is the last one to try, i’m afraid.”

theo breathed in the scent. it was fun, like sunscreen and funnel cakes and limeade, and didn’t make him sneeze. it kind of reminded him of the old movie they were watching, before he—oh, he really messed up, didn’t he, dumping mr. poop’s ice cream on his head?

“i’m sorry, mr. poop,” theo says, the words leaping out of his mouth like they do sometimes. but at least this time, they’re nice, and he finds that he means it. “i’m sorry i made a mess, and i’m sorry i was mean.”

“aw, bud, it’s—well, it’s not ok, i guess,” mr. poop says, shifting to lean against the side of the tub. theo gets a grumbly feeling in his tummy until mr. poop talks again. “but today’s been a lot, hasn’t it? new place, new people? i get it.” mr. poop picks at his hands. “i, uh, i get overwhelmed like that too, sometimes.”

“overwhelmed?”

mr. poop smiles and nods. “yeah. like, things are too much?” he puts his hands by his head and makes an explosion noise as he flings them out.

“but—you’re so big! you get the, the too-much too?”

mr. poop nods again. “i think everybody does, at some point. some people are better at it than others, though. me, i’m—i might be big and strong, but i’m not so good at it. seems to happen more for me than it does—everyone else.”

theo eyes him suspiciously. “i don’t b’lieve you.”

“yeah, that’s fair,” mr. poop sighs and leans his head back against the wall with a soft thud. “sometimes i say things the wrong way, without meaning to. sometimes i say mean things because they’re mean. and sometimes i don’t say anything when i should, or when i want to.”

theo goes still, on the outside and the inside, for the first time in—a while, he thinks. then he nods.

“yeah, i figured you’d get it,” mr. poop says, heaving himself forward. instead of grabbing the bottle of body wash out of theo’s hands, he just points at it. “you ready to make some bubbles?”

the body wash that smells like the beach makes…okay bubbles. but it smells good. mr. poop looks a little sad, but also a little happy, and he doesn’t sound or act like he’s upset with theo, so that’s fine.

theo’s pretty sure he hasn’t done anything wrong when mr. poop frowns suddenly while he’s trying to work the ice cream out of theo’s hair, but grown-ups have frowned at him like this before, then told him what he did, so theo feels himself shrink a little as he waits to hear what he messed up this time.

“h-hey, where’d you go?” mr. poop asks, booping theo on the nose.

that’s a good sign, a nose-boop.

“you made a face,” theo informs mr. poop helpfully.

“i—oh,” mr. poop replies. “it’s just, i think this body wash is drying your hair out, and i don’t have any other shampoo.”

theo looks at mr. poop’s hair, which is kind of curly, and has some grey parts in it. he decides his earlier guesses at mr. poop’s age were too low. mr. poop HAS to be at least 100 years old.

“do old people like you not use shampoo? or, is it shampoo for old people, like there’s shampoo for babies?” theo says the last word with distate, because he is not a baby.

mr. poop’s face crunches and he barks out a loud laugh. “oh, my god,” mr. poop wheezes, burying his face in his elbow. “karma is such a bitch.”

“you said another bad word,” theo says gleefully.

“we’re gonna have to make a swear jar,” mr. poop howls. “oh, my god.”

theo doesn’t know what god has to do with it, but he really wants to do the shampoo mohawk thing. especially since the bubbles in this bath are getting sadder by the minute.

mr. poop recovers, then leans over the tub to grab a jar sitting in one of the corners. he unscrews the lid and says, very seriously, "now, i don't know if you'll like the smell of this. it doesn't smell like beach. but it's either this, or having hair like straw. like the scarecrow, with straw coming out of your noggin." he gives the hair behind theo's ear a gentle tug, and theo can't help but laugh.

this shampoo isn't like the shampoo that theo is used to, that comes in a bottle and smells kind of powdery. it's some sort of goop in a tub, and it smells like strong mint. he wrinkles his nose, because it is strong, but he takes another whiff, and decides it's not too bad. it sort of smells like mr. poop, but not like the body wash from before.

theo nods in approval and grabs for the jar.

"uh-uh," mr. poop says, quickly lifting the jar out of theo's reach. "we gotta be careful, or this will make a big splat! in the tub, ok?"

theo pouts, because this sounds like the usual grown-ups-not-letting-theo-do-things thing.

but then, mr. poop surprises him. "you know how i know that?"

theo shakes his head. no, he doesn't know that, mr. poop. he just got here.

"the last jar of this i had," mr. poop says, like he's telling theo a secret, "i picked it up when i was showering after work, when i was really, really tired. and it slipped, and it went splat! all over the tub!"

theo looks at mr. poop's hands, at his reddened, bony fingers and his short, worried-on nails and the rough spots on the sides.

"i mean it!" mr. poop continues. "it went everywhere! just last week, i found a glob of it waaaay up there!" he points to the ceiling above the tub. "i don't know why they don't use a pump for this jar. they do for the other one, and after the formula changed on this one, it's so runny, a pump just makes sense." mr. poop catches himself as he rambles, like theo does sometimes. "anyway. you probably don't want to know all of that. it's just, even old people, with their old people shampoo, need help sometimes, too."

theo doesn't think this is true. being a grown-up looks so fun, mainly because grown-ups don't need help, like little kids do, like all of the grown-ups he knows all the time tell him he needs.

"just—can i help you with this?" mr. poop asks.

that's new.

theo nods, yes, just for the novelty of being asked.

mr. poop grins and scoops out some of the goop with his fingers before plopping it on theo's head. "you want to help me with this part?"

this, theo knows how to do.

it's a weird sort of shampoo. it doesn't make foam, which makes him sad about the shampoo mohawk he'd hoped for, but somehow mr. poop gets it to make one anyway. he grabs a hand mirror for theo to see. the mohawk is flopped over at the top, a bit like the swoop of a hershey's kiss, he thinks, and it's not foamy, but it is, without a doubt, a mohawk, and theo hoots and splashes in the tub in joy. the countless rubber ducks in the tub with him bob in the ripples.

mr. poop has strong fingers, theo thinks, as he gets some of the best shampoo scritches he's ever gotten in his life.

they leave the shampoo stuff in while mr. poop scrubs at theo's face gently with a cloth to make sure all the sticky ice cream is gone. theo had managed to even get some up his nose, a fact that he is proud of, even though it was gross to get back out. mr. poop makes soft clicking noises as he inspects where the bowl came into clumsy contact with theo's cheek and nose and brow, and informs him, softly and kindly, "you might end up with a bruise or two, kiddo." he looks kind of sad about it, but not mad or upset with theo. the spots on his face are tender, but it's nice when mr. poop runs over them lightly with his thumb, like he cares.

mr. poop smiles when he rinses theo's hair of the shampoo stuff and grazes his fingers over the birthmark at theo's hairline. "we match," theo says, pointing to the edge of his left eye, where mr. poop has a similar spot.

uh-oh. mr. poop looks like he's about to cry. theo wasn't even trying to say the wrong thing, that time. he feels a buzzing well up in his chest and arms and face, but then, mr. poop says, "yeah, we do," and smiles, even though the crying part is still there. he sniffles. "that means we're special."

"angel kiss," theo informs mr. poop seriously.

mr. poop smiles like the sun coming out after the rain. "yeah, bud. angel kiss."

the hair stuff melted the rest of the bubbles. theo wonders if mr. poop knows why that happens, if he'd tell theo about it if he asked. he thinks probably so.

this is usually theo's cue to bounce out of the tub and run down the hall with no clothes on and enjoy the feeling of the cool air wooshing past his skin, but this time, he—does not want to do that? it's weird. he doesn't want to put on clothes, as usual, and he tells mr. poop this very seriously, but something in him is content to wait for mr. poop to pull out a hooded towel that looks like a shark for theo to put on, as a—

"compromise," mr. poop says slowly.

"com-pro-my-eyes," theo repeats.

"eh, close enough," mr. poop says as he smiles. mr. poop smiles a lot. it's nice. because he's so old, theo can see the lines on his face that don't snap back as quickly because of his smiles. they're deeper than the ones between his eyes. the ones that mean a grown-up is cross. theo's noticed some people have one, and others have two there. he doesn't know why that is. maybe mr. poop knows, and wouldn't be too grumpy if theo asked him.

mr. poop doesn't tell theo to help clean up after the bath, but theo ends up—well, sort of helping anyway. he rounds up the rubber ducks and other toys from the tub and lays them out in a special drainer thing to dry. while they work, mr. poop explains what each one's name is, if they have one, and where the name came from, and where the toy came from, and before theo knows it, they've cleaned up the tub and wiped down the water on the floor from theo's splashing and put away the hair stuff and all that's left is mr. poop staring at the small amount of body wash that's left in the bottle that theo used, that smelled like beach.

"it's ok, mr. poop, don't be sad," theo says, patting at mr. poop's knee. he knows he's not good at making people feel better, most of the time, but that doesn't mean he doesn't want to try. grown-ups always say, practice makes perfect, so maybe theo will get better at making people feel better with more practice. (if practice makes perfect, he doesn't really get why grown-ups won't let him practice this, but he doesn't really get why grown-ups do a lot of things.)

mr. poop sniffles, then puts the bottle back in the cabinet, and turns around with a smile on his face that even theo can see through. he grabs theo's clean clothes from the counter and lets theo put them on himself, using mr. poop's arm and leg for balance.

stupid mr. poop won't let theo keep his shark towel on over his pajamas. "it's wet," he says, like that matters at all. it's a shark towel. sharks are wet. they live in the ocean. but then, mr. poop pulls a dry dragon towel off the same shelf as the shark one, and theo realizes that mr. poop might be onto something with this whole com-pro-my-eyes thing, even if he's still not sure what eyes have to do with it. dragons are awesome. they can fly, and breathe fire, and—

actually, com-pro-my-eyes rocks, theo decides, as he talks mr. poop into resuming the movie, even though it's definitely past his bedtime. mr. poop said they can watch it until theo falls asleep. silly mr. poop. theo's gonna stay up forev—

— —

it's weirdly bright, theo realizes as he shuffles awake the next morning, and he's—not in his bed, or any sort of bed at all. he's on a sofa, in a bright white room. it smells like coffee, which is gross, and also pancakes, which is awesome. he hears a voice in another room, and realizes—

oh! this is mr. poop's couch, in mr. poop's living room. mr. poop's blanket keeping him warm, mr. poop's terrible pillow under his head. mr. poop's dragon towel wrapped around him still, keeping him company.

mr. poop is making him pancakes.

before he can think or feel too much about anything, mr. poop comes around the corner, carrying a tray with plates of pancakes and a few cups of juice, milk, and water. there's a mug of coffee, which had better be for mr. poop, because it smells even worse up close; the cups of juice, milk, and water all have lids, which means mr. poop brought them for theo.

it's a good thing the cups have lids, because mr. poop jumps when he sees theo sitting on his couch, and the liquids all slosh a little bit. including the coffee. ew.

"oh!" mr. poop says, like he wasn't expecting theo to be there. but that doesn't make any sense, because he brought breakfast for theo. "i didn't—how—oh, wow." he sets the tray down on the side table with a clunk that rattles the silverware next to the plates.

"are you ok, mr. poop?" theo asks, really, really, really hoping that he didn't manage to do something bad in his sleep.

"y-yeah, buddy, i'm great," mr. poop laughs, even though he looks like he's about to cry again. "did you—did you know you have curly hair?"

theo knows his hair is a mess, just like the rest of him. it's thick, and what grown-ups call wavy, it gets tangled and poofy, and he hates getting it cut, because who thinks it's a great idea to have loud things around their ears on purpose? he's difficult, his hair is difficult. it makes sense. but, no, people don't usually call it curly.

"do you want to see?" mr. poop asks as he sits next to theo on the sofa, like he's unsure, like theo is a stray cat he's trying not to scare.

"yeah!" theo yells, because sometimes cats hiss back. he throws in a hiss and some cat claws for good measure.

mr. poop seems to relax, and he leans against the back of the couch after pulling his phone out of the pocket of his jeans. "ok, thundercat, let's see here." mr. poop opens the camera on his phone, and flips it to show the both of them on the screen.

"whoa," theo breathes, leaning in to look closer at his hair, which is doing something he's never seen it do before. it's messy, and half-covered in dragon towel hood, but there are a few spirals to it that are new. he looks at mr. poop, whose cheeks have gone pink.

"i, uh, i feel like i should have seen that coming," mr. poop says softly, sort of like he's talking to himself. he blinks then clears his throat. "the co-wash, the, uh, the hair stuff we used last night. my curls got more, uh, defined, when t—when i started using it."

theo thinks for a moment. "it's...magic shampoo?"

mr. poop snorts a laugh. "not magic. just, there's this whole thing about hair types, and not everybody has the same type of hair, and curly hair can get dry, and it needs...different stuff to be happy, than other types of hair."

theo peers at himself on the screen again. "my hair is happy?"

"does it feel happy?" mr. poop asks.

theo flips the dragon hood back and messes with his hair a little. it...does, actually, feel happy. or maybe he feels happy. he nods his head, big nods back and forth, so mr. poop definitely understands. yes, happy. theo feels his hair flop to and fro as he moves.

"we, uh, we match," mr. poop says, pointing to his own hair. it looks like he puts stuff in it, to make it a little crunchy, but yes, it has curls too. the one in front has a lot of white in it.

"yeah, but, you have old man hair, because you're old," theo informs him.

mr. poop leans over and makes a fart noise into theo's hair, which is funny, and feels funny, and theo squeals in delight, and kicks his leg out against the side table.

"ok, rockstar, how about we get started on breakfast?" mr. poop offers.

they end up sitting at the big table in mr. poop's dining room. theo is on a big chair with a booster seat, which mr. poop said was usually for his niece. mr. poop is old, maybe older than santa claus, and kind of goofy, but theo knows it's nice of him to let theo borrow the seat, and the bath toys last night, so he thanks mr. poop for that and for the breakfast as sincerely as he can. sometimes grown-ups think theo isn't telling the truth when he says thank you, probably because he's so bad the rest of the time, but mr. poop just looks at him with his bright blue eyes and smiles and tells theo that he's "most welcome."

after breakfast, after theo trails behind mr. poop into the kitchen and helps to load the plates in the dishwasher, it's time to get dressed for the day. instead of one of theo's usual shirts, mr. poop offers theo a soft dark blue t-shirt with a firefighting dinosaur on it. it has letters on it, and theo's been learning his letters, so he concentrates on getting them right.

"l...a...p...d!" theo says slowly, crescendoing to shout the last letter confidently.

mr. poop grabs his chest dramatically, like theo's seen people do on tv. "oh, so close, bud!"

"l-a-p-d!" theo repeats, because he tried hard to get it right, and mr. poop is acting like theo got it wrong. in a nice way, but still.

"did you know," mr. poop says, "what the l and the a stand for?"

theo doesn't, so he shakes his head no.

"it means los angeles, like where we live!"

"i thought we live in california?" theo asks, confused. "or—glendale?"

mr. poop smiles. "those are both right. but the city, the area, is los angeles."

theo squints at him doubtfully.

mr. poop waves, like it doesn't matter. "we can do geography another day. anyway. los angeles has a police department, and a fire department!"

theo nods. "you're the fire department!"

"yeah," mr. poop laughs. "i'm in the fire department." like that's a different thing. "the l-a-p-d is the police department. los angeles police department. we're l-a-f-d. los angeles fire department."

theo looks at the shirt again, and it clicks. the firefighting dinosaur. "oh! this letter isn't a p. it's a f!"

"wow, theo!" mr. poop says excitedly, loud with a wiggle in his whole body. "you're sharp! that's right! l-a-f-d!"

now, theo feels the need to wiggle too. he's not sure what mr. poop means by "sharp", because theo is a boy, not a pair of scissors he's not supposed to run with, but he's pretty sure mr. poop is happy that theo got this right. theo's proud of himself. sometimes he gets the letters mixed up, like he did this time. but it was nice of mr. poop to give him some space to figure it out.

theo gets the rest of his clothes for the day put on, a pair of jean shorts to go with the t-shirt and a pair of white socks with red stripes on them. he likes red. red is fast, and loud, just like him.

before he can ask mr. poop what his favorite color is, he crouches down in front of theo with a serious look on his face.

oh.

well.

it usually doesn't last.

maybe someday theo will get better at not being as disappointed.

"hey," mr. poop says, like he's concerned. "i was thinking—well, i had an idea of something fun we could do. but maybe—do you have any ideas of what we can do today?"

usually, when grown-ups ask theo what he wants to do, they end up doing what the grown-ups want to do. what theo really wants to do is ask mr. poop the questions he's thought of, and maybe watch another movie, and maybe go out to the backyard and run around in circles until he feels sick, and maybe after that, after he falls out flat from the zoomies, he can look at clouds, and see if he sees any that look like sharks or dragons or cake or aliens or poop, and point the poop ones out to mr. poop, to see how many he can get away with.

he wants to watch another movie. maybe the frog one. but usually, if he gets to watch a movie, it's just the one. and he wants to finish the one they started last night. the old lilo and stitch, with the lilo who feels like he feels a lot of the time, with the wilder-looking stitch. if that's different about this movie, then maybe—

"i wanna finish lilo and stitch," theo blurts out, instantly regretting it, because he's gotta be smart about these things. think things through, like grown-ups always tell him. blurting things out isn't thinking things through.

"that sounds like a great idea, theo," mr. poop exclaims. "i was going to suggest that, but i didn't want to—i wanted you to say what you wanted first."

mr. poop also wants to finish the movie? awesome. this is going to be the best day ever, theo decides.

— —

about an hour later, as they watch the end credits of the movie, theo thinks: definitely the best day ever.

ohana means family. family means nobody gets left behind, or forgotten.

mr. poop, the oldest man in the world, with his curly old man hair and secret happy-sad beach body wash and too many rubber ducks and really good pancakes, is warm, where theo is curled up next to him.

theo knows his name is buck, even though he's been calling him mr. poop. he wanted to see how long he could get away with it, before mr. poop got angry about it, because grown-ups usually get mad when theo calls them silly names. it's dis-res-peck-full, they say. but when theo calls him mr. poop, buck just smiles, like he likes it. like nobody but theo's ever called him mr. poop before, and something about that tickles him.

theo, because he ruins things, decides to ruin it.

"do you want me to call you buck?" he asks quietly, wanting very badly to bury his face into mr. poop's side, like it's the most normal thing in the world to hide there.

there's a hum, deep in mr. poop's chest. "do you want to call me buck?" he asks, in a way that sounds like he's tiptoeing around this as much as theo is.

he's not demanding respeck from theo, which makes the impulse to call him by the very dis-res-peck-full mr. poop even stronger.

"not really," theo says, feeling like there's no right answer to this problem.

"well, that's ok, then," mr. poop says, and ruffles his hand through theo's hair. "'mr. poop' is kinda growing on me. like a fungus." he laughs. "which makes sense. we're fun guys."

mr. poop wiggles his eyebrows at theo, so theo thinks there's a joke here he's missing, but it doesn't feel bad that he's missing it, unlike usual. this is another question he can ask mr. poop, he decides, but later, when mr. poop isn't laughing, and when theo's own laughter isn't bubbling up in his belly like popcorn.

fun guys, theo thinks. he didn't think much of mr. poop at first. he doesn't think much of anyone who bosses him around because he's a kid and they're a grown-up. but mr. poop is different. theo thinks he might be a similar kind of different.

a similar kind of fun guy.

just—not as old.

which reminds him.