Chapter Text
Ben was already filled with dread.
Around him, the school was quiet. The classroom windows were dark and empty. It was still early in the morning, nearly an hour before the first bell would ring. For now, there was only a burst of sunlight on the walls, and a wind shivering through the trees, and a few crows squawking from the rooftop edges. No one was here.
No one could see him yet.
Above the main building entrance, there was a hollow square painted on the wall, filled with the symbol of a wood-eating bug. The words below were written in a bright, ocean blue.
SAINT CARVER HIGH SCHOOL
HOME OF THE BEETLES!
As his dad drove through the parking lot, Ben leaned his head against the window, trying to think positive thoughts. He wanted to tell himself that things would be different this year. Today was a fresh new start, and he could reinvent himself at any time. But the longer he stared at the school, the more the feeling of dread twisted in his stomach, which made him remember how previous years had gone, which only made him realize that he was lying to himself again.
Quietly, he blew out a sigh.
“Don’t fog the glass.”
Ben made a face, wiping the window with his jacket sleeve.
Every time.
He waited until his dad parked the car to undo his seatbelt, still trying to stay positive. He knew the library would be open this early. He was pretty sure he could hang out at a corner table until first period started, like he usually did. From there, he could go to class, keep his head down, eat lunch in the library, and hopefully finish the day without having to talk to anyone at all.
He reminded himself that things wouldn’t be different this year. They never were. He had tried to hope before, and he had continued to hope after that, and now he just hoped that things would be a little less painful.
“Thanks for the ride,” he said, fumbling with his bag.
“Benjamin.”
Ben stopped with his hand on the car door. When he looked back, his dad was leaning an elbow on the wheel, his wolfish features twisting in sympathy. Ben immediately sensed the beginning of a talk.
Oh, God.
His dad put a paw on his shoulder, giving a small shake. He was attempting to smile.
“You look good,” he said.
“I guess,” Ben replied, looking away.
“How you like the clothes?”
Ben glanced down at himself, tugging on the collar of his V-neck shirt. His bomber jacket was just slightly too small, and he had to wear the jeans high up on his waist. “They look expensive.”
“I like them,” his dad said.
“You bought them.”
“Well, yes.”
Ben felt the pit of dread again. “They look like I’m trying too hard. You know, I don’t . . . wear this kind of thing. They don’t even fit me that well. People are gonna notice.”
His dad’s paw pinched the collar of his jacket, bending it back and forth. “You should want people to notice.”
“Dad.”
“You’re fine, Benjy. Have some confidence.”
Ben gripped the passenger door handle, trying not to sigh.
“Any nausea?” the wolf asked.
“Not really.”
“Your lips are chapped.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You brought your chapstick?”
It was a struggle not to sound annoyed. “Yes, I did.”
His dad swiped a padded finger along Ben’s cheek. “Well, hey, you should be done with the pills this month. It’ll be over soon.”
“Thank God.”
“You know, I don’t see a single pimple.”
“Yeah. Worth it.”
The paw fell to his shoulder again. “They were very worth it. I’m glad you stuck it out.”
“Yeah, sure.”
His dad squeezed his shoulder. Ben juggled his backpack and the hard plastic shell of his violin case, feeling trapped in the seat. Outside, a crow flew from the top of the school roof, cawing loudly through the dawn.
There was a moment of silence.
“Senior year!” his dad said, like he couldn’t believe it. “You ready, Benjy?”
“Yeah,” Ben replied. “Woo-hoo. Almost done.”
“Last year to make some friends!”
Ben made a face.
His dad leaned over, sniffing his hair. “That’s a good smell. New shampoo?”
“Jesus, Dad.”
“You know, that’s what makes you stand out. The girls really notice.”
“Cool, Dad. That’s really cool.”
“Are you. . . .” His dad glanced at the dashboard, ears twitching. “Interested in any girls?” When Ben didn’t answer, he took the silence as embarrassment. “It’s okay if they’re anthro. Don’t let people call you names. You know, your mother and I were very—”
“Can I just fucking go, please?”
The paw squeezed again. This time, the grip was very hard. “Don’t swear at me.”
“Dad.”
“What did I tell you?”
“Dad,” Ben said. “Can I please just go?”
He looked over at his dad, and he saw that the wolf’s expression was now bristled, the neck fur turning sharp. Yellow eyes glinted with the same brightness as the parking lot lights.
Ben wished he hadn’t said anything. It was always safer to play along.
Just nod your head.
Don’t talk back.
Let him think whatever he wants.
“You know,” his dad said, “you have to start trying, at some point. You have to take a chance. You can’t just spend your whole life—” He waved a paw. “Playing video games in your room. That’s not real. It’s not good for you.”
Ben looked away.
“You have to try, Benjamin. You have to take these steps. I’m not going to let you be a loser all your life.” There was a sigh. “Don’t you want to have friends?”
Ben sucked down a tight, fluttering breath.
Loser.
Fuck you.
He balled his fists.
“When are you going to start trying?” his dad asked.
“When you start listening to me!”
He hadn’t meant to raise his voice. It was a split decision, a live wire reaction, and it caused an immediate flood of silence. When he looked back, his dad’s expression seemed to be carved out of stone.
Around them, sunlight poured across the asphalt, slanted and warm.
“Can I go now?” Ben said.
His voice was shaking. He wished it wasn’t shaking.
Slowly, his dad pocketed his keys. He made sure the teacher’s parking pass was hanging from the rearview mirror. He reached behind Ben’s seat and picked up his briefcase. He took his time with every action.
Finally, he said: “You’re grounded.”
“Oh, big deal,” Ben answered.
“You can walk home, too, if that’s how you’re going to behave.”
“Fine,” Ben replied. “I’ll stop by mom’s grave. Tell her about you.”
His dad gave him a startled, furious look.
Ben jerked open the door, stepping out, flinging his violin case onto the asphalt as he slung his heavy backpack across his shoulder. He yanked the case by its handle and stomped across the parking lot. He didn’t feel like he was able to breathe until he touched the metal latch of the school doors.
When he pushed inside, he turned to the right, making an immediate beeline for the library. He was already planning to find a seat in the back, where no one else would see.
Here’s to senior year.
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First period: AP Lit.
Ben brought his textbook, the copy of As I Lay Dying that he’d skimmed over the summer, and the long cylinder of his violin case, which he was unable to store in the orchestra room. He showed up to class one minute before the tardy bell. By then, most people had chosen seats near their friends. The only spot left was a single desk near the window, three rows before the back.
Perfect.
It was a very good seat. Out of the middle, not too close to the front, and people only surrounding him on three sides. He wouldn’t be the center of attention, and he could look out the window whenever he was bored. The best word to describe it would probably be “defensive”.
That was the name of the game this year.
Keep his head down, at all costs.
Ben strolled around the front of the class, feeling good about his luck. He glanced over the heads of three dozen humans and anthros to see who was sitting next to him. As he reached the last row of desks, his heart began to sink.
Shit.
Her.
A preppy shark sat in the desk behind his own. She was wearing a pink cardigan, a black crop top, a navy blue skirt that barely reached the middle of her thigh. Her head was earless, and her neck was gilled to the shoulder.
Her name was Hannah Cousteau. Ben hated her more than any other person in the school.
At the moment, she was chatting with the rest of her friends, who were all arrayed in a circle around her. Ben prayed for a moment of safety. Instead, as he shuffled down the line, he accidentally kicked someone’s backpack. Hannah turned, noticed him, and immediately peeled a smile.
“Oh, look who it is!”
Ben scowled, taking his seat. The rest of her friends began to coo.
Goddamnit.
It had to be first period.
Just my luck.
He had known Hannah since middle school, when they’d both been enrolled in the gifted program. Way back when, they’d been partnered on a group presentation, and Ben had been very awkward with her, since it was the first time he’d ever really talked to a girl, or even really had much of a friend. Hannah had strung him along with just enough sweetness that he thought he had a chance. Of course, when they finally presented to the class, she had laughed at his weak, stuttering voice along with everyone else.
Ever since then, from sixth grade on, she had always made overtures about them still being friends. Why was he being so mean to her? Did he have to be such a dick about things? In freshman year, her friends had approached him in private, telling him she actually had a crush, and would he want to meet her after class?
He’d never fallen for that. He knew it was a trick.
He hated her fucking guts.
The problem was, she knew that he did. And that just made it worse.
Ignore her.
Don’t say anything. Don’t look at her. Don’t give her anything to work with.
If I just keep my head down—
A pencil poked his back.
“How’s it goin’, dude?”
Ben froze. He didn’t answer. He tried to control his heart as it leapt into his throat. After a few moments, he heard another round of snickering bubble up through the clique. Panic began to set hold.
Do I look weird by ignoring her?
Probably.
Just say nothing. It’s safe.
No, actually, if I ignore her, that’s confirmation it’s bothering me. I’m giving her what she wants. But if I already tried avoiding—
The pencil poked him again, right below the shoulder blade. It was just a little too firm to be friendly.
“Come on, broski,” Hannah said, her voice like sandpaper. “What’s the news?”
Ben gripped the edge of his notebook.
The teacher was still jotting on the whiteboard. All the kids were catching up after summer break. It was going to be at least a minute before class started. Realizing he had to stall until he was safe, Ben twisted around in his seat, preparing himself to chat. He met the eyes of six different girls, all of whom were very obviously waiting for him to talk.
I’ve made a mistake.
Shit.
“Nothing much,” he said, trying to sound casual.
Hannah leaned on her desk, letting her gray skin shine beneath the morning sun. Shadows danced across her gills.
Ben managed to avoid glancing at her tits.
“Yeah?” she asked. “Whaddya do this summer?”
“Oh, you know. The usual.”
“Usual?” She tasted the response, nodding. “Yeah, yeah, that’s right. Video games. Always got the latest console. Which one’s that again?”
“PS3,” Ben said, not wanting to say so, because every detail gave her more to work with. “It’s got better exclusives.”
“Right, right. Hey, you still read GameInformer?”
That was something he had admitted to her all the way back in sixth grade, when he had been excitedly spilling about his hobbies. Nearly every time they had talked since, she had found some way to mention it again, like the idea had really just tickled her.
“No,” Ben said. “Not really.”
Hannah made a cooing sound, like she was genuinely sad. “That’s too bad.”
“I guess, yeah.”
“Hey, nice clothes, by the way.”
A few snickers bubbled out from the sides, which he barely heard over the din of the class. Even still, they stuck out in his ear like a ringing bell.
This was a mistake.
Turn around. Stop talking.
“Yeah,” Ben said, pulling the lapel of his bomber jacket. “They’re alright.”
“Did Mr. Finch buy those for you?”
“Why do you ask?”
The snickers increased. Some of the other kids were taking notice. Behind Hannah’s friends, a poster of Mark Twain was plastered across the wall, his head haloed by a quote written in elegant, cursive script: Kindness is the language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see.
“No reason,” Hannah said, letting a smile carve through her snout. “Just looks like he bought them for you, is all.”
This meant they looked weird. This meant everyone could tell he was trying to look cool by dressing up. This meant he really looked like a dweeb, and a tryhard, and a poser, and he should never wear this outfit again.
His entire body crawled with embarrassment.
“Well,” Ben replied, “he’s my dad, so . . . yeah. He did.”
“Oh, yeah,” Hannah answered. “I could tell. You got Mr. F all over you.”
Ben felt a stab in his gut. “Does your dad buy your clothes?”
Hannah took this in stride, fluffing her cardigan the same way he’d fluffed his jacket. “Actually, no. I have a job.”
“Good for you.”
“You wanna know what it is?”
“Not really.”
She tittered. “Oh? Why not?”
“Because I think,” Ben said, having enough of this conversation, “you should just . . . work harder. At the job. And not bother me here.”
There was a stunned silence. All at once, the rest of the girls erupted into open laughter, no longer bothering to hide. Ben blushed as hot as the morning sun.
That was stupid. That was stupid.
Why did I say that?
“Oh, my God!” Hannah cried, grinning all the rows of her teeth. “Benjy! What does that mean?”
“Nothing,” Ben said, turning back in his seat. “Just—no. Nevermind.”
“Come on, broski! Explain!”
He said nothing. His face burned very hot.
She poked him with the pencil. Her friends were talking aloud. He heard his own voice being mocked. Ben noticed people ahead of him turning back to see the ruckus, and he felt like sinking into his seat, wishing he could disappear entirely. He flipped to a random page in his textbook and desperately pretended to read.
There was a creak behind him, a groaning of wood, and he suddenly felt Hannah leaning over his shoulder, poking her sharp snout directly into his ear. She was a member of the varsity surf team, and he could feel every ounce of muscle she’d earned on the waves, pressing down from above. “How do I work harder, Ben? Huh? You got some tips for me?”
He didn’t answer. He was terrified to speak.
“Come on,” Hannah said, her breath hot and salty. “Be a pal, amigo. I mean, hey, if you really wanna show me how to work—”
“Quiet, please!” the teacher called.
Hannah continued to hover over his shoulder, like a wave crashing into a beach. Ben did not look. Eventually, she sat back down in her seat, her tail slapping heavily on the tiled floor. At the same time, their AP Lit teacher—a serval named Ms. Kimathi—walked out to the front of class and began to lead them through a discussion of their summer reading, the upcoming AP exam, and the expectations for the first half of the semester.
For a long time, Ben stared down at his book, barely paying attention.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Afterwards, he became a few different people.
In second period, he sat down in the back of the room. He pulled out his AP Calculus textbook like everyone else. He tapped his desk with a knuckle and waited for class to start. When roll call came, he answered to the name Benjamin Finch. By the time the teacher turned back to the board, and all attention was finally away from him, the Ben who went to Saint Carver High School was already gone.
Now, he was Benjamin Phoenix, captain of a fearsome galleon, dread pirate of the West Indies and all their territory. They called his ship the Silent Saber.
His men scoured the coasts of the Indian Isles, taking what treasure they pleased. They scuttled Spanish frigates across the Cayman Sea. They raced through the treacherous corals of Haiti’s shore, dodging mortar fire from an English man o’ war. As a statement, they raided the sugar plantations along the coast of Havana, putting the landowners to sword and freeing the slaves, for the pride of a pirate’s life was their freedom.
In a fit of bravado, Benjamin Phoenix stormed the walls of a Spanish fortress, using the cover of a seaborne squall to shield his advance. He blasted the portcullis with a salvo from the Saber’s broadside. He dueled the castellan on the ramparts of the keep, deep in the blinding rain. Lightning flashed as he parried a deadly thrust. He replied with a stroke of rapier steel, and he skewered the famous swordsman straight to the heart.
As he kicked his opponent’s body from the battlements, his men celebrated his name, raising high the pirate’s flag.
“Ben-ja-min! Ben-ja-min! Ben-ja—”
“—min?”
Ben looked up, startled.
He was sitting in the school auditorium, halfway through third period, in the pit below the stage where the orchestra usually played. Most of the class was looking at him.
“I said,” the teacher said, “could you read from page thirty four? The section: Methods of Timbre and Form.”
Ben muttered an apology, flipping through the pages of his music theory textbook. He read aloud for nearly a minute. After a point, the teacher called on someone else, and Ben relaxed in the foldback chair. He tried to rosin his bow. He listened as the teacher used the popcorn method to call on different students. He found that none of the kids could read the text as well as him.
He paid attention for a while.
Soon after, he became Benjamin Phoenix, captain of a prototype starship, intrepid explorer of distant stars. They called his ship the Burning Gold.
It was the third decade of the Succession War. The belt of Jupiter’s moons were still under siege. After the Sinoleians launched devastating nanoplagues across the surface of Luna, reducing the entire colony into a frothing sea of metal, Earth became desperate for resources. One of Jupiter’s moons, Callisto, was the last source of refined antimatter left in the system. If the Sinoleian Hegemony was not repelled, the entire war might be lost.
Enter Benjam Phoenix, grizzled veteran of the Sirius Blitz.
Using prototype stealth technology, Burning Gold slithered between the blockade of Sinoleian cruisers, stealing back the hydroponic farms of Ganymede in a series of pitched battles. Once discovered, he piloted a fighter inside the upper atmosphere of Jupiter itself, dodging neutron torpedoes through the screaming red of a hydrogen storm. He managed to find refuge in the heart of Callisto’s antigrain factory, where he met Susan Carver, a fox anthro researcher who thought she had discovered a fatal flaw in the Sinoleian’s cybernetic implants.
In another life, Ben and Susan had been lovers. They had been engaged to marriage, and even kissed a couple times. But that was over now.
“I have my duty,” Benjamin growled. “And you had your chance.”
“Oh, Benjamin!” Susan cried, throwing herself into his arms. “Damn the stars, and damn the fleet! If you die tonight, I will surely never—”
“—go around the room and introduce yourselves!”
Ben bolted upright, suddenly alert.
It was fourth period. The class was AP Art History. Most of his classmates were girls, and the walls were covered in posters of Michelangelo, Rembrandt, and Picasso. He vaguely remembered choosing this class as an elective.
He should’ve remembered what social science classes were like.
“Give at least one interesting fact about yourselves!” the teacher said, obviously excited.
Oh, fuck you.
A wave of responses trickled in a line around the class, moving steadily from row to row. Ben didn’t listen to a single word. He was too busy worrying about what he would say. As his turn to speak drew close, he grew more and more panicked.
An interesting fact about himself?
What was safe to say?
Get fucked.
Just leave me alone, for fuck’s sake.
Finally, his turn arrived.
“Uh,” Ben said, glancing at the other kids. “My name is Ben, and . . . one time I got lost at Seven Stags. Security had to look for me.”
It was a lame answer. Even still, no one cared. The responses continued to the end, and soon the teacher was going on a tangent about herself, describing her recent trip to see the Van Gogh museum in Amsterdam, and how much she related to the struggles of a starving artist.
Ben rolled his eyes.
He watched the traffic out of a nearby window until the lunch bell rang.
He shuffled from class. Because the portables were far from the main building, he didn’t get to the lunch line until it was stretching out the door. While he waited, he watched the surrounding people out of the corner of his eye. Their voices were very loud. Eventually, he got chicken nuggets and fries.
With his tray in hand, he made his way directly to the library, where he sat down at a far table. He opened a copy of Animorphs. He read and ate his food. He didn’t become someone else, but he managed to feel immersed for a time.
Soon, the bell rang again.
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Fifth period: Biology.
Ben leaned against a locker, trying to kill time.
The tardy bell had rung a few minutes ago. The teacher still hadn’t arrived. By now, the hallways were completely vacant, and the chaotic din of lunch was fading down to the personal chaos of thirty students milling in front of a door. People kept trying the handle, as if the whole thing was a test. When he’d first arrived, Ben had joined the effort to peer through the plexiglass window, seeing only an empty maze of chairs and black, non-reactive desks. A couple fume hoods blinked in the corner.
“Bio teacher took a bio break,” he had said, hoping someone would hear him.
No one laughed.
He went to the bathroom, just so he wouldn’t be seen for a while. After sitting in the stall for a couple minutes, he returned to class, saw the teacher still wasn’t there, and found that most of his classmates were already forming social groups.
Ben sighed.
He leaned against a locker and folded his arms. As he glanced away from the crowd, he tried to distract himself.
Slowly, he became Benjamin Phoenix, intrepid hunter of the occult, the scourge of every demon who dared cross his path.
The hallway was black. Rubble and bone covered the floor. Old wires dangled from the ceiling above, pulled through the styrofoam tiles like intestines from a belly. Benjamin Phoenix stalked through the abandoned corridors of Saint Carver High, feeling every sound echo back from the rusted lockers and wrenched open doors.
His nerves were alight. He knew his prey was close.
Suddenly, a black shape rushed him from the dark. He fired his shotgun. The muzzle flare gave a brief glimpse of sulphuric eyes, lunging for the kill. Benjamin Phoenix went sprawling across the dirty linoleum tiles, losing the shotgun. He scrambled away, narrowly dodging a pounce that would’ve torn away his throat, and slashed out with his machete, taking an entire festering arm at the stroke.
A deadly duel began. He slashed and dodged, taking a few swipes from the demon’s claws, and giving several more in return. He hacked at the demon with the righteous fury of a child who’d lost his parents to demons. Suddenly, the shape rushed again. Benjamin Phoenix was slammed into a locker. Metal belched with rust. He went tumbling towards the double doors at the end of the hallway, bleeding and breathless.
It was too late. He was going to die.
Benjamin Phoenix opened the double doors—
The double doors opened.
Ben blinked.
Two figures marched into the hall. The first was the school’s truant officer, Tiffany McNamara, a middle-aged rhino with a heavy paunch, who had a reputation for being a humorless bitch. The second was a skinny rat, who was wearing a ripped pair of jeans, a sleeveless blue vest, and a tattered black T-shirt. Currently, McNamara was dragging her by her arm.
As the doors swung open, conversations began to pause. As the sound of heavy boots filled the hall, everyone stopped to look.
Ben slunk against the lockers.
“What’s going on here?” McNamara asked, scanning the crowd.
“Uh,” a nerdy crow replied. “Our teacher’s late.”
McNamara blew out a breath. “I better not hear any of that ‘legally allowed to leave’ shit.”
“Oh, yeah. Totally.”
The rhino’s radio began to squawk. She blew out another breath, hiked up her duty belt, and threw the punkish rat by the arm, flinging her bodily towards the crowd. Several people had to dodge out of the way.
“Listen up, Solcaster,” McNamara said.
The rat caught her balance, immediately returning a glare. The spikes on her vest shined beneath the fluorescent lights.
“I’m gonna look for your bag,” the rhino continued. “I got a good idea where you tossed it. For your mom’s sake, you better hope I don’t find it.”
The rat snorted. “You couldn’t find your own pussy, fatwad.”
“Watch your tongue.”
In response, the rat stuck out her tongue.
“Gonna tell me what you smuggled into school?” McNamara asked.
“Donuts and bacon, officer.”
A few of the kids snickered. McNamara glared through the crowd. The laughter stopped. “I’m gonna snap your board, too. Just to be safe.”
The rat rolled her eyes.
“Stay in class,” McNamara said. “Next time I catch you, it’s last strike. You’re done.”
The rat did not respond.
McNamara pulled up her duty belt, unslung her radio, and began to murmur a response, heading back across the hall. She flung open the double doors and marched toward the exit, her boots echoing far behind her.
The rat blew a raspberry at the closing doors. “Stuff it up your leather cunt, you bitch!”
There was no response. The rat loudly cracked her neck, flexing the length of her tail like a pink, hairless whip. She glanced back at the rest of her fellow students. Most looked away, and she seemed to like it when they did.
She turned again, as if feeling a particular gaze.
Ben met her eye.
Time slowed. For a long moment, the two of them looked at each other, holding an eye contact so intense that Ben felt unable to blink, like her expression was directly pinning him against the lockers, like the green eyes and pink nose and long white whiskers were combining together into the vortex of a black hole, dragging him down with a dark, malevolent gravity.
“Somethin’ funny, numbnuts?” the rat asked.
The spell was broken. Ben shook his head, lowering his gaze to his shoes. He heard a derisive snort. After a few seconds, he risked a second glance. The rat was now focusing on the double doors at the end of the hall. A sneaker tapped anxiously into the tile.
Eventually, she sighed, glaring at the floor.
He watched her again. This time, he noticed there was a wedge cut out of her ear, creating a jagged fissure through the rounded flap. A piercing bulged by the scar. He looked down at the patches on her vest, seeing an overlapping forest of band symbols and anarchy slogans and whatever random bits of decoration she had managed to sow into the fabric.
He wanted to ask about it. He wanted to touch the piercing on her ear.
He—
“Sorry, sorry!”
A male badger in a tie came waddling up to the door, awkwardly pushing his way through the students. There was a rattling of keys. The door swung open.
“Bio teacher took a bio break!” the badger said.
No one laughed.
They all shuffled into class. Lights went on. People poured between the desks and chairs. Ben tried to take a seat by the window. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the rat choosing a spot nearby. His heart spiked. He immediately darted toward the other end of class, flinging himself into the furthest chair he could find. He yanked out his textbook and notepad just to keep himself busy.
Class started. The teacher apologized, sipping coffee from a thermos and fumbling through an introductory speech.
“Don’t get too comfortable!” he said. “We’ll be changing seats!”
A syllabus was passed around. Ben tried to focus on reading it, but his heart wouldn’t stop throbbing, and his eyes kept glazing away. He could feel the rat’s presence off to his side, like an invisible wall. He kept his gaze rigidly toward the front. On an intellectual level, he knew that she probably wasn’t looking at him anymore, but, emotionally, he couldn’t stop thinking about the way her eyes had drilled into him, like she was peeling away his clothes.
Stop it.
Stop.
You’re being weird. She doesn’t care. You’re making a lot out of nothing because you never talk to anyone.
Don’t make this a thing.
Stop it. Right now.
He took a few deep breaths, managing to follow a section of the syllabus being read aloud. He thought he was fine for a while. Then, without warning, he took a glance toward the rat, actually saw her sitting at her desk, confirmed she wasn’t looking at him, felt his heart spike again, and stared angrily down at his own desk, now feeling just as panicky as he did before.
The way she had talked to the truant officer reminded him of his dad.
He began to dread going home. He wished he hadn’t talked about mom. He replayed the conversation in his dad’s car over and over, picking through the little details, peeling away his assumptions of the situation.
He felt completely unable to sit still.
The breathing didn’t help.
If he could just—
“Here’s your new seats!”
Ben staggered back to focus.
Ahead, the teacher had unveiled a drawing on the whiteboard, depicting the entire class laid out in a maze of desks. Names were printed at every seat. It seemed like the teacher had randomly assigned partners for the rest of the semester. Ben had read this in the syllabus, but completely glazed it over.
Goddamnit.
He searched for his name, eventually finding it toward the northeast end of the room, close to the door. He was going to share a two person table.
Benjamin Finch – Lynn Solcaster
Solcaster.
That was the name McNamara had used. That was the rat. He was going to be sitting next to her for the rest of the year.
Oh, my God.
Why.
WHY.
People got up. Chairs groaned. Ben yanked up his bag, slinging his textbook and notes beneath his arm, shuffling through the river of bodies. By the time he managed to free himself from the traffic, he saw the punk rat—Lynn—already sitting at their table. There was an empty chair by her side.
He hesitated. He breathed.
Quickly, he sat down in his new chair, feigning a sense of calm. He laid out his books. He made a point to glance at her in greeting, like it wasn’t a big deal.
“Hey,” he said.
The rat spared him a glance. “Wassup, chucklefuck.”
“Oh, you know,” Ben said, desperate to sound cool. “Fuckin’ the chuckles.”
The rat peeled her eyes from the door, giving him a longer glance. “Come again?”
“That’s what they said.”
The rat centered her gaze on him.
“The chuckles,” Ben said.
Lynn raised a brow. After a moment, she snorted, revealing a hint of buckteeth. She returned to watching the door.
Well.
I tried.
Ben looked the other way, trying to focus on class. He managed to listen to the professor talk about semester long projects and possible grading curves. He made a note about extra credit. His heart slowly calmed.
I’ll just ignore her.
It’s safer.
She’s probably gonna be expelled by the end of the week, judging by her attitude. Why should I bother trying?
She’s not worth much.
Like most people.
The minutes trickled by. The badger sipped more coffee and rambled about various topics, only barely touching on actual biology. When he glanced at the clock, he made a small yipping sound and waddled over to a stack of papers on his desk.
“Practice test!”
Everyone groaned. Ben looked up at the ceiling, whining from his chest, noticing from the corner of his eyes that Lynn was doing exactly the same. He stopped immediately.
“Now, now,” the badger said, handing out stacks for kids to pass around. “It’s only practice! No points at all! I just want to see how much you remember!”
The tests went around the room. Ben took one copy from his neighbor, fished one out for himself, and tried to pass the last one to Lynn. He found her already halfway out her seat, waving it away with a pink hand.
“I’ll be back,” she said.
“. . . alright.”
She left the room without grabbing the hall pass, clearly breaking into a run the second she was free. He heard her shoes squeaking on the tile as the door slammed shut. After a moment, Ben shrugged, tossing the paper onto her side of the table and beginning to fill out his own.
Probably going to find her bag.
Bet it’s full of drugs.
He shook his head, trying to focus.
“Work with your partner!” the badger said. “Talk about your answers!”
He took the test alone. It was easy enough. He had expected a Gen Ed class to be pretty easy, compared to how it might’ve gone with AP Bio. He was able to race through the questions without a single pause.
This was good. Easy was exactly what he wanted.
But as he flipped the test onto its back, he found his mind beginning to wander. He started thinking about his dad again. He remembered the things he’d said, and he had to resist the urge to plant his head on the table.
What is wrong with me?
Why can’t I just be normal?
He sat at the desk, no longer writing. He felt the clothes his dad had bought for him. He remembered the way Hannah’s friends had snickered behind his back, waiting for him to do something weird. He remembered seeing so many people make new friends.
He looked up at the ceiling.
After a while, he glanced around the room, taking note of all the kids who were working together on their tests. The room was full of noise. Even the teacher was laughing.
He was alone.
He gripped the edge of the desk.
He felt a large, impassable gulf opening up inside him.
I’m such a fucking loser.
Without thinking, Ben leaped to his feet, squeaking his chair across the tiles, rushing for the hall pass and bashing his way through the door. Voices seemed to chase him into the hall.
He took a long, sucking breath.
Slowly, he began to roam through the empty corridors of the school. He had no destination in mind. He just felt very strongly that he needed to be somewhere else.
The gulf inside him only grew wider.
He took a drink from the water fountain. He read the numbers on the lockers, imagining what was inside. He did a few laps around the science wing. Occasionally, he stopped close to the other classrooms, hearing the muffled lecture through the door. He peered inside. He saw many faces. He darted away.
At some point, he passed by his own locker, which he opened. There was nothing inside but textbooks and a year old water bottle. He closed it, opened it again, picked at a cheap book cover with his nail, and suddenly slammed it shut. He was surprised by his own violence.
He pressed his back to the wall, sinking to the floor.
He stared at the empty hall.
He tried to calm himself down, but his mind kept racing on its own, replaying all the interactions he’d had today, dissecting exactly where he went wrong, picking at every little detail like a sore at the edge of his mouth. For the life of him, he could not make it stop.
He knew his dad would want to talk. He knew that he would be forced to sit and listen.
He missed his mom.
Something burst inside him, and he started to cry.
“You little shit!”
Ben scrambled back to his feet.
His locker was close to a T-junction in the hall. The voice had carried from the right. Feeling suddenly like a secret spy, Ben pressed his back to the lockers, hoping not to be seen. He inched his way forward and took a stealthy peak around the corner.
He saw two figures down the hall. One was the school’s truant officer, McNamara. The other was Lynn. Just like before, the rhino was dragging the rat by her arm, completely dwarfing her in size. Her nightstick was out. She looked ready to use it.
Ben swallowed.
“I knew you’d go for it, you stupid brat! You think I’m dumb?”
Lynn kicked the rhino’s shin.
McNamara hissed, jerking Lynn from side to side as they walked. “Where is it, huh? Where’d you stash your bag?”
“Up your ass!” Lynn yelled back.
The rhino bared her nightstick. “I’ll shove this up your ass!”
“Do it!”
“I will!”
“Fuck you!”
Ben retreated from his vantage point, pressing himself into the lockers. His heart was pounding in his chest. He could still hear the sounds of a scuffle echoing across the hall. It was getting closer. There was nowhere to hide.
He wanted to run.
His legs were rooted to the spot.
“You think this is a game?” McNamara said. “If I don’t know what’s in that bag, I have to call a bomb squad! You want that to happen?”
The hallway filled with the sound of grunts and squeaking shoes. Lynn made a furious hiss.
“Give me a reason, you little shit! I swear to God!”
They were just on the edge of the intersection. They were closing in fast. Before he could stop himself, Ben took another swallow, peeled himself from the lockers, and prepared to jump out from the corner.
What are you doing?
What in the fuck are you doing?
Stop.
No!
“This is it,” McNamara said. “Last strike. You are done. You hear me? I’m not putting up with your shit anymore than I—”
Ben jumped out, prepared to start talking, but his big moment of surprise was ruined when he instead ran face first into McNamara’s chest, which gave him the same impression of her D-cup tits as he would get from an airbag deploying in a crash. He bounced away. The rhino stopped in her tracks, nearly raising her nightstick.
“Who the fuck—”
“Hey!” Ben shouted, doing his best to sound cheery. “Lynn! There you are!”
Both the anthros looked completely startled.
“You got the scavenger thing? I think Mr. Peterson—” He pretended to notice McNamara for the first time. “Oh. What’s going on?”
McNamara stood dead in her tracks, peering down at him from either side of her horn. Just next to her, Lynn glared between the fans of her whiskers.
“I don’t know, kid,” the rhino said. “You tell me.”
“Well,” Ben said, trying to disguise the heavy shaking in his chest, “you know, Mr. Peterson—our bio teacher—he told us to go on a scavenger hunt around the school, and—uh—uh—you know, Lynn ran off to go looking for some food, in the vending machine. Because it’s organic. Biocarbons. Short-chain carbohydrate, fatty triglyceride.”
McNamara did not make a single expression.
“Yeah,” Ben said, suddenly darting back to his locker. He clumsily reopened the door. “See? I was getting water. Cornerstone of life.”
He shook the year old water bottle. Neither girl responded.
On the verge of panic, Ben darted forward, slapping the hall pass into Lynn’s pink hand. “You forgot this. Sorry. Anyway, we should head back. He’s starting the lecture.”
He looked hopefully between the two anthros. Somewhere above, a fluorescent light flickered and hummed.
“You know this girl?” McNamara asked.
“Oh,” Ben said. “Yeah. We’re partners. Sorta. Right?”
There was another silence.
“Yeah,” Lynn said, giving him an odd look. “Right.”
“It’s just a scavenger hunt, right?”
“Totally.”
“And we’d just like to head back to class.”
“Sure. What he said.”
There was a pause. Lynn gave him a once-over, peering at him from head to toe, her tail curling around the leg of her jeans. Ben couldn’t look at her for long.
“Uh-huh,” McNamara said, breaking the silence. “Look, kid. You better not be—” She stopped. Ben fidgeted beneath her gaze. After a moment, she gave a deep, rumbling chuff. “Wait. I know you. You’re Robert’s boy, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” Ben said, faking a laugh. “Mr. Finch.”
“Right, yeah. Good kid, far as I’ve heard.”
He shrugged.
“How’s, uh—how’s he been doing? We don’t see him around, really.”
“He’s. . . .” Ben looked at the opposite wall. “He’s not great.”
“Yeah. Sure.” The rhino scratched her rough hide neck. “All of us are sorry.”
Ben rubbed his arm.
McNamara looked at him a moment longer, ignoring a burst of radio static from her belt. “So. You know this girl?”
Ben gave a stiff nod.
“If I took you and her to the principal, you’d vouch for her?”
Lynn gave him a very sharp look.
“Yeah,” he said.
McNamara blinked, grimaced, seemed to consider doing exactly that, heard another burst of radio static, and finally threw her grip off Lynn’s arm. “Fine. Go to class.”
Lynn rubbed her wrist, taking a spot next to Ben.
“I meant what I said,” McNamara said. “If I catch you again, it’s your last. Are we clear on that?” She gestured at Ben. “You’re lucky he was here.”
Lynn glanced between the two of them, remaining silent.
“Either way, I’m still telling your mom.”
Lynn made a face.
McNamara pursed her thick-skinned lip, holstered her nightstick, and marched down the corridor, speaking quietly into her radio. She slammed open the doors and disappeared around the corner. Footsteps echoed and died.
For a long moment, the only sound in the hall was the low vibration of classroom lectures, rumbling through the doors.
“So,” Ben said. “You, uh . . . wanna go to class?”
Lynn glanced at him, giving the same odd look as before.
He started walking down the hall. He hadn’t even meant to do so, but he was doing it now, and he didn’t want to stop. Eventually, Lynn started walking behind him. Neither of them spoke. Ben was very grateful for that, because his nerves were going so completely haywire that he probably couldn’t have said a single extra word. His chest felt painfully tight.
Shit, man.
Shit.
What if McNamara calls the bluff?
What if this stupid fucking punk ass bitch decides to drag me down with her? What the hell was I thinking?
This was stupid.
Holy shit, man, this was so fucking dumb.
He was so absorbed in whether or not McNamara would end up dragging him out of class that he nearly missed the class itself. He stopped in front of the door to fifth period biology, blinking at the number. Eventually, he straightened himself, trying to find something to say to Lynn before they entered the door and were surrounded by people. Nothing came to mind.
Don’t do it. Don’t talk to her again.
You’ll be much better off.
He steeled himself, reaching for the handle.
“Hey,” Lynn said.
He paused. All his willpower died. Slowly, he turned around, seeing the punk rat watching him with the exact same oddly curious expression she’d been wearing ever since McNamara let her go. She was watching his expression like she had no idea what to make of him.
“Don’t worry about it,” Ben said, quickly.
Lynn raised a brow.
“It’s not a big deal,” he continued. “Just—you know—I was around, I happened to walk by, and uh . . . you know. It’s nothing.”
The brow raised even higher.
Ben made an effort to shrug, feeling his face heat up with a blush. “Just, uh—don’t talk about it. To anyone. She was right—I mean—my dad is Mr. Finch, and it’d look pretty bad if I got caught, so I would really appreciate it if you could just not . . . say anything. To anyone. Just between us. Right?”
Lynn folded her arms.
“Do we . . . is that a deal? Yes?”
Almost out of nowhere, Lynn began to chuckle.
“What?” Ben asked, feeling a spike of panic. “What’s wrong?”
Her chuckling grew into outright laughter. She looked at him with a grin, her spikes and piercings shining beneath the harsh fluorescent lights.
Ben stood there, completely red in the face.
“Oh my God, dude,” Lynn said. “You look ready to shit yourself.”
“I mean, yeah? Didn’t you see what happened?”
She nodded, looking at him.
“Well, there you go. Excuse me if I’m worried.”
“I think it’s cute.”
“Hey, fuck you.”
Lynn cracked up again.
“I’m not cute,” Ben said. “What the fuck does that mean?”
The rat shook her head, snickering down at the floor. Her voice echoed down the linoleum tiles and off-yellow lockers.
“Whatever,” Ben said, going for the handle again. “Just keep your mouth shut.”
“Hey.”
He stopped, debated saying something rude, and was halfway through turning back around when he realized Lynn was stepping close. He froze in place. The rat was about half a foot shorter than him, but she was dressed like a punk, and had an obvious sort of wiry strength, all of which sent alarm bells ringing through his head. On pure instinct, he almost pushed her away.
For some reason, he didn’t.
He let it happen.
Lynn put a hand on his shoulder, looked him in the eye, stood on her toes, and kissed him on the cheek. As she pulled away, the whiskers on her snout tickled the edge of his lips.
Ben stood in place, completely flabbergasted.
“Thank you,” Lynn said, sincerely.
Ben opened his mouth.
Lynn socked him in the balls.
He sputtered, bending over, clutching his groin, letting out a string of breathless swears. The punk rat gave a final laugh. She stepped around, patted him on the back, and opened the door to class.
“Don’t be weird, man.”
The door clicked shut behind her.
For a minute, Ben hobbled around the hall, trying to catch his breath. A deep ache spread through his belly. As he managed to stand up straight, and the pain faded into a dull, pulsing throb, he ended up only being able to focus on the feeling in his cheek, right where she had kissed him, paying particular attention to the lingering feeling of whiskers trailing across his skin. It triggered a very messy series of emotions.
It was the first time a girl had ever kissed him.
An anthro girl.
A punk.
Imagine what dad would say.
Oh, God.
“Jesus Christ,” he said, out loud.
After a moment, he wiped his face with his hand, straightening out his jacket. He listened to the sound of humming lights and distant classes. He crossed the hall with a couple long strides. And when he flung open the door to fifth period biology, there was only a single thought still burning through his mind.
Here’s to senior year.