Chapter 2: WHEN IT WAS STILL LAFLEUR

Once, before everything fell apart, Chez was called LaFleur. He loved that name because it had belonged to his mother.

Seventeen Years Earlier

Down a weathered sidewalk, two boys walked with backpacks slung over their shoulders. The smell of changing leaves wafted in the autumn air, and the sound of construction echoed from somewhere in the distance. One of them, Kevin, a lively sixteen-year-old with a mop of curly red hair and thin eyebrows, gestured wildly as he spoke. Looking more like a squirrel than most, he waved his hands, recounting an episode of his favorite TV drama.

Kevin was fascinated by androids. He was convinced they were being secretly perfected to infiltrate human society as agents of control. When he and Chez first became lab partners, Kevin immediately suspected him of being an android, citing Chez's monotone voice and complete lack of expression as undeniable proof.

But he eventually dismissed the idea, reasoning that no government would waste cutting-edge AI on an android that looked as unremarkable as Chez.

Chez's glasses, lanky frame, and stoic demeanor made him an awkward standout among his peers. Like a caged sparrow in a pet store of tropical birds, surrounded by color and noise, he remained plain, quiet, and undeniably different.

Kevin reasoned that an android would either blend seamlessly into the mundane crowd or stand out in a way that could be easily dismissed—like an eccentric athlete or a strikingly beautiful person whose odd behavior is written off as a quirk. Either way, its actions would go unnoticed or excused, creating the perfect cover for subterfuge.

Chez barely registered the impassioned argument drawn from an episode of a drama about the perils of AI autonomy in government agencies. Kevin stressed that as engineers, to avoid creating technologies that could spiral out of control or be weaponized against humanity, they bore a profound moral responsibility.

"I've more pressing concerns to consider than whether or not something is moral," remarked Chez, "such as what I will eat for breakfast."

Reaching the end of the street, they turned and climbed the apartment steps.

"Will your mom be upset you're late?" Kevin asked, shifting nervously as he trailed up behind him.

The building housed four apartments that shared a communal backyard. Chez lived in the smallest unit with his mother. Though compact, the two-bedroom apartment felt cozy and was bathed in natural light from a large bay window overlooking the sidewalk—a feature of the house his mother often said was her favorite. That evening, however, the curtains were drawn, leaving the apartment quiet and dark.

"Mom knows we have a project due," Chez replied in his usual monotone. "It's not like we haven't stayed late at the tech lab before."

Chez unlocked the door and stepped into the darkened room. Flipping on the light, he began, "I guess Mom must hav–"

"SURPRISE!!!"

Alice LaFleur and half a dozen neighbors rushed out from their hiding places. They smiled and laughed while Ms. LaFleur presented a cake with the number seventeen on it. The room was adorned with colorful streamers and decorations, with a paper "Happy Birthday" banner hanging above the table.

Chez smiled, embarrassed, as Kevin gave him a one-armed hug and exclaimed, "How could you forget your own birthday?" Chez realized Kevin had been sent to delay them at the lab that day, and though they weren't close, he felt grateful for his classmate's effort to be part of the moment.

Ms. LaFleur watched as her son blew out the candles and thanked everyone for making his birthday special. He cut the cake and personally handed out slices, starting with the elderly widow on the sofa in front of the bay window, whose arthritis made it hard to move.

"What a good boy," one neighbor said to another, noticing how attentive Chez was to the old woman before serving the other guests. Ms. LaFleur smiled with pride, watching her son's kindness. The neighbors shared stories of how he'd bring in their bins or carry groceries for them when there were many. The LaFleurs were well liked, and Ms. LaFleur, barely in her 30s, was admired for raising her son so well on her own.

She watched the two young boys eating cake under the hand-drawn birthday banner and quietly wished she could capture the moment. The neighbor beside her, an older man in his sixties, offered to take and develop the photo, knowing she wasn't fond of technology. She was about to respond when a knock at the front door interrupted. Ms. LaFleur excused herself to answer it.

She smiled at the appearance of their landlord. "Oh, Mr. Baker, you're just in time. Won't you come in for some cake?"

"No, Ms. LaFleur," the grizzled old man said, brushing aside the invitation. "I'm just here to give you this." He handed her an official notice and waited while she read it. After a moment, her curiosity shifted to concern.

"This notice states our rent will increase in two months," Ms. LaFleur's brows furrowed. She seemed to expect Mr. Baker to deny it, but he didn't.

Instead, Mr. Baker explained that the rent increase applied to all units, not just hers, and that they would either need to pay the higher rent in two months or leave so he could find another tenant.

Ms. LaFleur licked her lips, glanced around to make sure no one had noticed, and stepped outside into the cold air, closing the door behind her. Wrapping her arms around herself, she dropped her voice so no one would overhear. She explained that she couldn't afford the rent increase on her waitressing salary and begged the landlord to delay it for seven months.

"Chez is graduating in May," she explained. "We can't find another affordable apartment without changing school districts." She looked at him with pleading eyes. "Chez's school has one of the only STEM programs and a scholarship to top universities. If he leaves in his senior year, he could lose the chance to apply."

Mr. Baker muttered, reprimanding her for putting him in a tough spot. He had already given her a lower rent out of sympathy for being a single mother with a teenager, but times were hard for everyone. He couldn't continue renting below market value. Two months was enough time to find a new place, and if she was concerned about her son's education, she should speak to the principal about finishing the year. But her problems, he said, were not his concern.

Ms. LaFleur watched in silence as the man disappeared down the stairs. She took a deep breath, folded the notice, and tucked it away to read later. After a quick shake to prepare herself, she put on a cheerful smile, turned, and reentered the house. After all, it was her son's birthday. The news could stay in her pocket until tomorrow.

Days passed quickly, filled with both routine and unease. By Friday afternoon, the school bell rang, and students spilled out of classrooms, eager for the weekend. Chez grabbed his backpack and shuffled towards the exit. Halfway down the hall, he stopped, noticing his mother outside the principal's office. Dressed modestly in a simple red dress, she stared at the floor, her back against the wall.

Chez called twice before she noticed. She looked around, confused by the commotion, then smiled and asked about his classes. When he asked if she had seen the principal, she laughed, assuring him it was nothing to worry about, and shifted the conversation to his night class.

Chez's high school partnered with a local community college to offer after-school science and technology classes for advanced students which counted toward university credit. He had taken advantage of the classes as soon as his teacher had mentioned them, since they were free and funded by the school.

"There's no class today," Chez lied. Ms. LaFleur cheerfully suggested they walk home together and stop for ingredients to make hot pot ramen. As they walked, neighbors waved, and she waved back a bit wistfully. Though she was upbeat in conversation, Chez sensed something was off.

They stopped at the local grocery store to buy ingredients for the LaFleur family hot pot. As she handed him items to place in the cart, she asked about his class project. Chez answered absentmindedly, as it was typical for her to take an interest in his academics. When he looked up, he noticed she was staring at him with soft brown eyes. He asked if something was wrong.

Ms. LaFleur looked away, bit her lip, and sighed. Leaning over, she placed her hands on his and said, "I was just wondering..." She paused for a moment too long.

"– When did my son get so handsome?!" she squealed like a fan girl, and vigorously ruffled his hair.

Shocked, Chez raised his hands in defense, complaining they were in public. His mother laughed, grabbed the cart, and sashayed down the aisle. "How can I not tease you when you look so serious?" she replied in a singsong voice.

As they picked up the last few items for dinner, Chez wondered if he had misjudged what he'd seen outside the principal's office. Maybe nothing was troubling Ms. LaFleur after all.

A few days later, the LaFleur household was in a whirlwind of activity. Ms. LaFleur breezed in and out of rooms, carrying armfuls of clothes and personal items. She dropped a bundle into Chez's arms and instructed him to find a place for them in his room. Boxes in the living room were marked for items to give away or store. Stunned and confused, Chez followed her around, trying to discover what had sparked the sudden frenzy.

"It's simple," she explained, frowning at the two lamps in her hands. "I'll be moving into your room." She set the nicer lamp on the nightstand and carried the other into Chez's room. Both rooms were being rearranged to fit three people.

When Chez asked why, she explained they were subletting the other bedroom, and a potential renter would be coming the next day to see it.

"Now we must get the whole place cleaned and rearranged. How exciting to have a roommate," she laughed.

Chez asked many questions, most of which Ms. LaFleur brushed off cheerfully. But despite that, he gathered that the potential roommate was an older woman with no nearby family. She would be renting his mother's room, and aside from the bedrooms, the rest of the apartment would be considered shared space.

Chez glanced at his bedroom, wondering how two people would share such a small space. The exact reason his mother was bringing in a third person was hard to pinpoint, but he suspected it had to do, as it often did, with money. No matter how frugal they were, the cost of living always seemed to climb, whether it was food, rent, clothes, or other basic necessities. These days, most people balanced on the edge of poverty, hoping desperately the wind would not blow. Sometimes he imagined a world where he could provide for his mother the luxuries she never had. His lips pressed tightly together.

Noticing Chez's expression, she asked him to be patient with the changes and reminded him the older woman was all alone. She explained that being part of a substitute family, sharing meals, and connecting with others was important for people of that age.

Knowing he would be unable to dissuade her, Chez nodded. "Wonderful," Ms. LaFleur exclaimed, brushing past him. "Oh, and you'll need to prepare your own dinners on Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays, starting this Wednesday," she added, disappearing into his room.

Chez stumbled behind her, dropping the clothes on the bed. "Why? What's happening Wednesday through Friday?"

Ms. LaFleur smiled and eagerly explained she'd applied for a part-time job at the convenience store next to the commercial district. She got the job, and her first shift was Wednesday, so he'd need to take care of the house and cook for himself those evenings.

"The commercial district?" Chez blinked. "How are you going to get there?" An autoCAB was expensive. A ten-minute ride would cost nearly a hundred dollars.

"The bus route stops right outside the store," she replied, unbothered, as she rearranged his drawers.

Public transit was much cheaper than autoCAB as it connected to the ever-expanding electric grid. However, unlike personal vehicles which were often battery operated allowing for better geographical accessibility, public transit could only travel to places on the grid. By extension, the new generation of batteries used in personal vehicles relied on rare earth metals expensive to source, making them increasingly a luxury only the wealthy could afford. AutoCABs or business vehicles were then the only available middle ground.

"But it stops running at 11 PM," Chez reminded her, asking when her shift ended. Sighing, she admitted her shift ended at 2 AM, so she wouldn't be able to take the bus home.

Chez's mouth dropped open in shock, but she quickly reassured him. The store owner, a woman in her forties, offered to take her home whenever she could.

"And on nights she can't?" Chez's normally emotionless voice rose a few octaves.

"Then I'll walk home." Ms. LaFleur scowled. "Honestly, Chez, you're worried about nothing." She raised her hand to stop his protest. "We live in a safe neighborhood, and the store is only an hour away on foot."

Chez wasn't convinced the changes to their life were for the better, but Ms. LaFleur was adamant. She assured him they would both adjust soon. Since Chez's night classes and lab work often ran late on Thursdays and Fridays, he would hardly notice her absence those evenings. She promised to make their mornings special and to set aside a few evenings for just the two of them.

Chez sighed and agreed to help make it work. She smiled sweetly. "That's my boy," she said in relief, and they spent the day preparing their cozy two-bedroom home for a new guest.

The only clean and organized room in the house was Kevin's bedroom. He closed it now and slipped downstairs, navigating the piles of old newspapers, magazines, and dishes piled up along the banister and wall. At the bottom of the stairs, he jumped over a trash pile of empty containers. Around the corner was the living room, in much the same state. Newspapers had been tapped over the windows, casting the room in dim light. In a chair surrounded by empty cans, an overweight man in his late forties sat. He wore a sweat stained shirt and loose fit pants. Kevin paused, looking in, with his hand on the front door.

"I'm heading to work now. Ray?"

Kevin's stepdad worked the nightshift as a security guard at a factory. He wasn't a bad guy, just a profoundly sad one. Kevin waited to hear Ray holler back, but was greeted with quiet, rythmic snoring. His face softened. Of course, he must have fallen asleep already.

Kevin hurried down the concrete flight of stairs to the courtyard below. Why was it called a courtyard? It was just more asphalt and rocks. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, keeping his head down as he walked.

Like many neighborhoods these days, it vibrated with a symphony of chiseling jackhammers, beeping cranes, and the straining engines of construction trucks. High-rises and hotels followed the march of concrete expansion, forcing more and more struggling families out—often toward the river "encampments" beneath the bridge. A grim reality, but all for a just and worthy cause. Or so were the claims of politicians and plutocrats.

As he approached the bus stop, Kevin caught sight of a familiar figure. "Ms. LaFleur," he said, running up to her. He had never seen her at this stop before.

She smiled at his approach, greeting him warmly. She wore a simple plaid and denim uniform with sturdy, sensible brown shoes, yet exuded the grace of a refined lady. Kevin confirmed he was heading to his part-time job. She praised his dedication and drive, but there was a look of sympathy in her eyes that he didn't understand. As her bus approached, Ms. LaFleur thanked him.

"What for?" Kevin tilted his head. Did she mean for the day he kept Chez preoccupied at school, giving her time to arrange for his birthday? It wasn't really something she needed to thank him for. He was happy to do it. Truthfully, he was just happy to have been invited at all.

She paused as if searching for the proper words. "For being Chez's friend." Her words were simple, but there was a weight to them.

Kevin blinked. Chez was a quiet kid, but it wasn't as if he was unliked. He didn't struggle in class or have issues with other students. He wasn't sure he'd call himself Chez's friend. Or maybe he would. Kevin considered his relationship with Chez and, for the first time, thought...maybe he was.

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sure, Ms. LaFleur. He's great."

The bus pulled up, doors hissing open. "I'm glad he's in good hands." She smiled, disappearing inside.

As the bus pulled away, Kevin sighed, wondering what it would be like to have a mother like that. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and waited for his own bus.