Hector Salazar is fourteen years old. He lives with his father, older brother and grandmother in a one bedroom apartment. His brother and father work to support them and keep them in the home that his grandmother tends to. His grandmother stood over his bed and shook him awake. "It's time to wake up, You have to go to school." She called out gently and musically. Hector rolled over and swallowed. His sinuses were stuffed and his throat was scratchy. "Abuela, I feel sick." He croaked. She frowned and patted his chest. "I'll speak with your father." She said softly and shuffled out of the dark room. Hector didn't hold out much hope. A few minutes later, His father loomed in the doorway. "You're sick?" He asked. Hector sat up in bed. "I have a sore throat and my nose is stuffed up." His father frowned, but Hector could not see it, the rising sun streamed through the windows of the main room and was on his father's back, leaving his front in shadows. "You'll go to school. Your brother and I work no matter what, You have to learn at school. Learning is more important than sore throats." Hector had expected as much. "I know, Papi." he said softly. His father stood a few moments more in the doorway and then left it. Hector began to dress himself. He woke up everyday at sunrise and got dressed to begin his long walk to school. There were no school bus stops in his area. He took himself into the other room and sat at the kitchen table as his grandmother gave him a plate of scrambled eggs and some milk. He heavily salted it and began to eat. The steaming eggs felt good to his throat, but the glass of milk served only to congest his nose more. His father sat reading the paper and his brother was not up yet. They would take a truck with some other workers to their work sites in the next few hours. Hector glanced at the clock and knew he'd have to be starting to school to make it on time. He collected his red backpack and coat and said goodbye. His father grunted in reply and his grandmother made him promise to be good and study hard. He walked down the four flights of stairs, glancing over the railing to see the stairs below before he went down each one, in case there was someone there who might cause him harm. It was something his brother had taught him. He pushed open the heavy steel door to the outside world and was met with the cold air of morning. He pulled his coat tighter and shifted his backpack higher. He had not walked so far as to have his apartment building completely out of sight before he made a decision. He didn't feel like going to school sick. There was a park on the way to school, and he decided he would stay there. He told himself no one would notice if he did not go to school that day. He continued his steps, warmed slightly by the feelings of rebelliousness. Skipping school! What a thrill. He walked his well worn path until he came to the entrance to the park. He stood at it and felt a small pang of guilt. He had promised his grandmother to be good and to study. He looked at the park, with it's smattering of climbing stones and rusty swing sets and sand box and then looked at the sidewalk that led to school, an hour or so more away. There was a school closer to where he lived, but Hector's father wanted him to go the extra distance because he believed the school Hector went to to be a better school in a better neighborhood. Sometimes, he wished on the long walk to school, that he went to that school that was closer to him. Sometimes he didn't feel like making the long trek to and from school. He entered the park and set himself on one of the stones, shrugging off his backpack. He sat and thought and thought, thought and slowly got cold. He hugged himself and slowly realized that a day of studying in a heated school was better than a day of rest in a cold park. He sighed, telling himself that a day in a warm bed was better than both of them. He grabbed the straps of his backpack and left the park, feeling warmer already with his activity. He continued down his path to school, swinging his pack back and forth. He swallowed and felt the scratchy irritation of his throat. What a rotten day this was turning into. The time he had wasted in the park would now make him late for school.

Cindy opened the car door and slid in, throwing her purse into the passenger's seat. She inserted the key, turned the engine on. The dials lit up, clearly indicating she had 30 minutes to get to an office that was 45 minutes away. She put the car into reverse and was backing out. As she pulled into the street, her husband came running out of the house, waving his arm. She rolled down her window. Her rushed over and held out her cellphone. "Almost forgot this." He smiled and she took it with a thank you. "And almost forgot breakfast." Her handed her a piece of toast. It was smothered in butter. "Dan, I wanted strawberry jam!" She looked at the butter with mild repulsion. "I'm on a diet, I don't eat butter!" His smile faded. "You don't have to diet, honey. You always look good to me." She looked at his earnest face. "You have to eat something." He said encouragingly. Cindy sighed, putting the toast on her dashboard. "I don't have time to argue. I have to get going!" She gave the husband she was considering fondly as an idiot at the moment a quick kiss on the lips before she turned her attention to the road and sped off. "Don't go too fast!" Dan called out as he waved. He turned and hurried back to the house before his son got into trouble. Cindy glanced at the buttered toast on her dashboard and out the windshield over and over. Her stomach told her that it needed food, and her mind told her she could work it off if she jogged later. Her mouth watered at the obscene amount of butter Dan slathered on, slightly melted from the warmth of the toast. She glanced at the clock and sighed in defeat. There was no way she was going to be early for the interview to impress a potential boss. She needed comfort food. The butter beckoned. She reached out with one hand and grasped the toast. Bringing it up to her mouth, she tentatively took a bite and nearly closed her eyes at the taste of the butter. It was rich. She finished it off in only a few bites, chewing happily. Why did it feel so good to be so bad? She looked at her greasy fingers. She knew she'd regret it later when the scale admonished her. Cindy put both hands back on the wheel. She glanced at the clock and slowly applied more pressure to the accelerator. The car obeyed. She wondered if maybe, just maybe, she could hit green lights all the way and with a little extra speed, get there reasonably on time. She took a right and as she did, she glanced at her passenger seat. Her cellphone sat nestled with her purse. The idea of calling the office to inform that she would be late popped into her brain. It would work well if she did manage to arrive on time, because she could say she had meant to come early, but had been running late, giving the suggestion of early arrivals once employed, and if she didn't manage it, she would still be tagged as atleast a responsible person. She picked up her phone and pressed down with her thumb to active her phone number list. She glanced at the list and then back at the road. She glanced at the list as she cycled through the numbers, then back at the road. She glanced at the list, saw the phone number for the company and hit speed dial. She glanced back at the road and dropped her phone as her hand flew to the wheel to swerve out of the way of a cat that had just darted across the road. "Oh, my God." She exhaled as she looked in her rear view mirror. "Close one, kitty." She looked down at her cellphone dialing on the floor of the passenger seat and checked the road. One hand on the wheel, she leaned as much as she could, which wasn't much, and reached for the phone. She glanced at the road then looked back at her cellphone. She stretched for it. Her butter fingers slipped off the plastic casing of the phone. She glanced at the road and then quickly leaned down and snatched the phone. She straightened in triumph and put the cellphone to her ear. A loud thump interrupted her victory, and she slammed on the brakes. Her tires squealed. Rubber burned. She watched a red backpack tumble through the air and land on the pavement in front of her car, rolling slightly. She stared at the backpack as it stopped moving. Her body was frozen. Her mind replayed the look on the boy's face. She looked in her rear view mirror. "Hello? Is someone there? Can I help you?" The secretary asked through the cellphone. Cindy looked at the backpack on the road and then in her rear view mirror again. She realized she hadn't kissed Jakob goodbye that morning.