Then he turned away from Armando and headed for the rotating wall. He dragged his feet as he walked, and thought sadly about the life he was returning to, with the horrible alcove and his bully of a brother.

He reached the wall and began to search for the lever. That was when he saw a small table with some mail and this mornings newspaper upon it. Oliver saw the sad faces of Mom, Dad, and Chris. He gasped. What were they doing in the paper? He caught a glimpse of the title: Missing Storm Boy. Parents Appeal.

His heart hitched. So they really were worried about him? His feelings of guilt returned tenfold.

He grabbed the paper and unfolded it. It was then that Oliver saw there was more to the headline. Now that it was all visible, the headline read in its entirety: Missing Storm Boy. Parents Appeal for Financial Support to Aid in Search.

His heart sank. Of course, he thought bitterly. His parents werent actually concerned about him. In the short time hed been missing, theyd already found a way to milk the situation for sympathy and money. When he returned home theyd probably be annoyed at him for ruining their moment in the limelight, and for putting an end to whatever money the generous public were being duped into giving them.

He hesitated at the wall, his hand on the lever. On the other side was the world he knew, a world of bullying and torment, of despair and untapped potential. But on this side, on Armandos side, there was so much more. His dreams could be realized here. And Armandos factory felt more like home to Oliver than any of his myriad homes before it had. Here he had a room, he had wisdom and a chance to learn. Hed be mad to walk away from it. He couldnt help but feel like he was supposed to be here. There was nothing for him on the other side, nothing at all. This was where he belonged.

A bolt of courage struck him like lightning. Slowly, Oliver withdrew his hand from the lever. He turned and took a step forward, looking squarely at the figure of Armando on the opposite side of the factory floor. His throat was still thick and sticky, as if it didnt want him to utter the words he was about to, but somehow he found the strength to project his voice across the factory floor and utter aloud the words he so desperately wanted to.

Let me stay and help you. If you let me stay, I could bring a fresh, new perspective.

He bit his lip and watched Armando pause from the other side of the factory.

Stay? Armando called back.