Thomas studied Sophie as she paired knives and forks together, the butterfly nestled in her straight black hair glittering in the florescent lights of the community center hall. When she'd walked through the door, he'd hoped she was another volunteer. Get a chance to talk to her. But she was so much more. He'd worked alongside her for only those few minutes, yet he felt like he'd known her for a lifetime.

"I know who you are." Brodie whispered beside him, like they were sharing state secrets instead of a box of forks. "Christopher Harrington's son, right?"

The Harrington name came with privilege and not all of it was a perk. His father could make, or break, a rising politician's career, and Christopher Harrington had decided to pave the road to the White House for his son. Sure, this meant plenty of opportunities to do good, make actual change, but it also meant favours, backroom deals, and a world full of people ingratiating themselves to him to get in his father's good graces. As such, not many people treated him like just another student on campus. Or volunteer at the soup kitchen. Many didn't actually care what his opinion on any matter was.

Thomas removed one of the two knives Matt had put side by side and replaced it with a fork, and moved further down the table. Sophie was different. When he'd introduced himself, her expression hadn't changed at the mention of his last name. No dawning of recognition, no excitement at the opportunity to impress, like Brodie was. Even though Kaja had called him out for his celebrity status, she ordered him around the kitchen like it didn't matter. For the first time since coming to New Haven, the ice in Thomas's veins thawed.

Until now.

A mouthful of white teeth beamed at Thomas. "Can I get a picture?"

A weight fell into his stomach, and the practiced response flew from his lips. "Let's get dinner over with first, then a group photo." His dad drilled into him the importance of protecting the family brand and avoiding one-on-one pictures with people who had not been properly vetted. If it was impossible to circumvent the picture, he's instructions were to at least ensure others are included. Never take a photo that could be used to endorse a candidate. Or tarnish the Harrington name.

Sometimes he wondered if this life was for him. If the good was worth the uncomfortable. Miranda came to mind. She'd been their housekeeper for years, before he was born. Practically a member of the family, she'd wrap him in hugs when he hurt his knee and distracted him with games of chess when he missed his parents as they headed off to another political dinner.

Then she'd been deported. A mix up with her immigration papers. They were spending time at the beach house and she'd taken him into town for ice cream. Two officers arrested her on the main street and he'd sat in the quaint Hampton police station waiting for his parents. His father searched for Miranda for weeks, tracking her through various immigration weigh stations, only to find her back in Guatemala. Not surprisingly, Miranda decided to stay in her homeland, not willing to trust there wouldn't be a repeat of the ordeal in the future.

His mind had obsessed on her story, not wanting another family, another person, to be treated that way. It wasn't enough to protest. Someone had to do something, change the system from within. Miranda and others like her deserved fair treatment. He could be that person.

"Done?" Matt bobbed at the end of the table, like a buoy in the harbour.

"Let's see." Thomas scanned the long tables lining the dining hall, rows and rows of silverware at every seat. In the center of each white tablecloth sat a collection of brightly coloured but obviously fake leaves. On the walls, paper turkeys and pumpkins completed the cheery Thanksgiving theme. "Looks like it."

"Can we get back to the match now?" Matt nodded in the direction of the chessboard.

Thomas held up a finger. "Ah, Sophie." Her bright eyes landed on him and he swore he could feel the impact of her gaze on his skin. Like a feather tickling his wrist. Her straight black hair swung with the motion, and she tucked a strand behind her ear. "Anything else you need me to do? Matt here wants to resume our game."

Her facial features softened, the curve of her lips a sure sign he'd done something right. "We have about an hour before final prep stations. Can you beat him by then?"

"Yes." Both men said in sync.

A wide smile graced her mouth and an effervescent fizz buzzed in Thomas's chest. "I was referring to Matt." Even if she was joking, the bubbles didn't dissipate. Alongside being smart and completely unimpressed by his background, she had a sense of humour, too. He was in big trouble here.

The board sat exactly as he'd left it, and Matt took the same seat. "Still your turn."

Right. Thomas set the timer on his phone, then surveyed the board, clocking his remaining white pieces and Matt's black ones and running scenarios in his head. His father taught him chess one afternoon when a freak rainstorm trapped the family at the beach house. With the power out, his father wasn't plagued by an endless barrage of phone calls. He spent hours explaining how each piece moved, how chess was a game of strategy, and how you had to think about more than the next move. To be successful at chess, you had to play the long game and pay attention to details. Study your opponent. Learn their tells. Discover their weaknesses.

Sure, the lesson was about more than chess. His father's instructions aimed at a life philosophy, but the time with the busy man had meant more than the designer watches and skiing trips. The board game became a beach house tradition between them, and they had no less than three games going at one time.

Matt drummed his fingers on the table.

"If that beat is supposed to be a distraction, it's not working." Thomas crossed his arms and considered moving his rook to block the attack on one of his white knights. The play was obviously a ploy to distract Thomas from Matt's queen. Perhaps there was a way to protect his knight and go on the defense at the same time.

Two short buzzes vibrated against Thomas's thigh, and he didn't need to check the caller ID to know it was his baby brother. He held up a finger to Matt, who glared at the ceiling at the delay.

"I need you to pick me up." The sound of rowdy teenagers in the background accompanied Sam's rambunctious voice. Thomas winced at his brother's exuberance. Sam's baseball team had won their division over a month ago, but the boys still celebrated the accomplishment every chance they got. Today was no exception, it seemed.

"Did you forget?" His nail scrapped against the plastic over of his phone. "I'm not coming home. I'm volunteering today."

"Crap." A woman from the crowd called Sam's name. "Can't you leave early?"

Thomas glanced across the room, searching for Sophie. "No. This is important."

Matt waved his fingers in front of Thomas, blocking his view of Sophie talking to a boy in a pea green jacket. "Hey. Are we playing or what?"

Thomas held his hand over his phone. "Give me a minute." Matt crossed his arms and slumped back in his chair like he'd had his favorite toy taken away.

"... can't get a cab." Sam was shouting in his ear when he returned to the call.

"Why can't you call Mom or Dad?"

"I just sssaid I can't call them." The whine in Sam's tone irritated him almost as much as the slurred words. The sweet boy who'd been his shadow for years was turning into a petulant teen, unable to see beyond his nose.

"Maybe time to switch to water." While their parents never made a big deal about alcohol, let the brothers have a glass of wine with dinner, a cocktail on holidays, a finger of the family scotch now and again, they certainly didn't condone unsupervised underage drinking or drinking to excess. Unfortunately, the parents of some of Sam's friends didn't share the attitude.

"What?"

"Mom and Dad don't need you drunk at dinner."

"I've only had one beer."

Didn't sound like it to Thomas, but he wasn't about to get into a fight over the phone. He found himself wondering what kind of law he could implement to make these situations safer for kids like his brother. "Are you at Greyson's?"

"No. Brinn's."

She was new. "Text me the address. I'll have a car come pick you up."

"Thanks bro. You're the best."

Happy-go-lucky Sam was back, and Thomas couldn't help grinning. When he caught Sophie beaming at him, the warmth expanded in his chest. He'd expected to enjoy today, helping out in the soup kitchen like he did back home always brought a sense of accomplishment. Working alongside Sophie added a sweetness and their time in the kitchen had flown by. Soon they'd be serving pumpkin pie, and he'd have to leave.

Thomas shifted his rook two spaces and sacrificed his knight. He had a bigger plan in mind.

Hi all, D L here. 

Those of you have read Ruby Red will recognize the name Thomas Harrington. He is the older brother of Sam. This story takes place five years before the events of Ruby Red but I couldn't resist a little bit of the "younger" version of Sam here. 

I would love your thoughts on the older Harrington boy. Please comment with a

L for "I like him."

N for "Not a fan."

or

D for "Don't know yet."

Appreciate any and all feedback.