Meteor Game

by Piganon, SkragAnon

Summary:

It's Time to Get Slightly Acoustic!

 

After horrifically embarrassing himself and shaming his family back in his hometown of Rockbottom, Anon Y. Mous makes a dramatic move from Northern Pangea to the sunny beaches of Caldera Bay. Abandoned by his Father with an ultimatum, Anon is sent to graduate Senior Year while having to navigate the challenges of being perhaps the only mammal in a Saurian-dominated community. The weather's nice--but the radios are on the fritz, and cell service seems awfully spotty recently.

I'm sure that doesn't mean anything though.

===========================

A rewrite of Goodbye Volcano High, with Anon included in the main cast as a twist.

Notes:

"The dream is never that entertaining
When I wake up I’ll lose everything
My world is never that wonderful
The night is always black and cold
My heart is full of jealousy
So won’t you just
Let it rain on me."

Chapter 1: Let It Rain On Me

Sometimes things don’t work out the way they were supposed to.

I thought that I was going to get a fresh start after moving here.

Finally experience what it’s like to be a teenager. Hang out with friends, do stupid shit and get in trouble for it, and so much more.

But what I wanted the most out of all of this was to finally start my own life.

I wanted to finish school, go wherever the fuck I felt like, and just never look back on the shitstain that was my childhood.

But now, for some reason, I know that’s never going to happen.

It’s a shame too. 

The stars are beautiful out tonight; glittering diamonds across a canvas of midnight blue, the moon shining high above.

The ocean hangs beneath it all, separated from me by a couple feet of damp sand. The waves consume the horizon far as I can see, seaspray and shadow blending together into nothingness. The tide comes in close enough to tickle my tennis shoes with speckles of salty foam.

I’ve been staring out at the water for…Fuck, who knows how long. The air’s cool, but the glowing bonfire beside me drives it off. It feels like it’s just me and the fire.

But we’re not alone.

There’s others hanging around the fire with me, their bodies illuminated by the shifting firelight. Eight in total, four on either side of me, ringed about the pit. They’re there, but it’s like encountering something underwater. They’re blurry, hard to make out, and though they’re speaking to one another everything sounds muffled. I can hear the murmur of the water against the sand as it rushes in and recedes, I can hear the crackling stir of firewood shifting in the rocks near me. Just not them. I gave up trying to listen some time ago. 

“What do you think?”

The first voice besides my own rocks my world, cutting through the quiet of the beachside twilight like a knife. I twist my head to look in the direction it came from.

The figure that’s been standing at my right side is looking me dead in the eyes.

Something about them is less smudged. Clearer, more corporeal. Clearest most of all are their eyes. They hold the same shine as the fire in front of us all.

“You’re part of this too.”

They come a step closer to me, and their arms raise to present me something. I take it off their hands. 

It’s a book. Hardcover, wrapped in red binding with golden lettering. Stickers are across the cover, bright and gaudy, and masking tape is pressed across a portion of the spine and subheading at the front. 

Goodbye Volcano High greets me, the first of the three words scribbled on in black sharpie. The End, punctuated by a heart.  

“It’s your decision,” the figure tells me. They rest a hand upon my right forearm, and give me a soft squeeze.

“What’s it gonna be, Anon?”

They know my name. But I don’t know theirs.

Who are you?

I try to say the words, but nothing comes out. The rest of the world may as well not exist anymore; the book in my hands, the others by the fire, the beach and the ocean and the night. It’s all secondary as I look into their eyes. 

“Anon?”

The more I look into those amber pools, the more a word starts to surface in my head.

A word that crawls slowly from my lips.

“...F–”

 

=================================================

“--UCK!”

The cry escapes me as my world is rocked violently underneath me. My eyes shoot open, and I’m blinded by the sheer brightness of the sunlight violently assaulting my corneas with all the intensity of a hate crime. When the hell did it get so bright out?

The metaphorical assault is joined by a literal one as knuckles rap against the side of my head. I wince, leaning away from the contact.

“Language,” a gravelly voice all too familiar to me growls at me. “You better knock that shit off by the time we get there. You need to make a good impression.”

“Sorry, Dad,” I mumble as I bring my hands up to my face. One scratches the side of my noggin that he just lovetapped with the flat of his hand, while the other rubs between my eyes, trying to clear out the crusties impairing my vision.

The wonderful haze of sleep, so rudely interrupted by whatever the hell that was, quickly gives away entirely as I start to recollect my current situation. I’m sitting in the passenger seat of my Dad’s Ford Bronto, and have been for at least a couple hours now. Passed out as I was, I was spared the monotony of the bulk of our most recent trip to my home for the next eight or so months of my life. Not without cost. I’m uncomfortably warm, a bit sweaty, and my windpipe is the kind of hoarse that you can only get from snoring sitting up. In other words, I feel as bad as I look.

My backpack’s jammed between my legs. Glancing over my shoulder, I see the backseat, laid flat to be conjoined with the trunk, is filled with totes and the odd duffel bag or two. A McDino’s paper bag filled with wrappers is awkwardly jammed against the center console behind the driver seat. A styrofoam cup with the same logo, smelling of rancid minimum wage black coffee, is taking up a cupholder between us. 

Dad’s seething about something. Hard to tell what these days. His bushy brows are furrowed, and that thin, wispy thing he calls a mustache is twisted with his lips in a sneer. A scraggly goat-tee joins the fit to certify his boomersaurus credentials. Mom claims he used to have long hair, but now he’s as bald as me, his bare scalp blemished with a handful of liver spots.

“That pothole probably knocked me clear out of alignment. God, the roads here suck.”

I huff. “So that’s what knocked me awake.”

He shrugs. “Was about to wake you up regardless. We’re almost there,” he waves a hand towards the windshield, pointing out at the city in the distance.

We’re on a bridge over the sea right now, moving steadily with the flow of traffic. A collection of suburbia and business sectors is jutting up right down the middle of the skyline, growing larger and more dominant as we creep ever nearer. 

A myriad of traffic signs swarm overhead, giving dozens of different warnings for upcoming turn-offs as we’re approaching land once more. All of them give way to a massive one that stretches over the length of the bridge. 

WELCOME TO 

             CALDERA BAY!

The huge, bold letters are filled with a collage of bright, colorful images and drawings, styled in the facsimile of a ‘50s greeting card. 

The view’s beautiful, but it’s not the first time I’ve seen it before. When it was determined this was to be the spot of my exile, my parents and I took a trip down to scope out the area. We did so a second time to get a feel for the apartment they had chosen me to move into.

Those two times hadn’t phased me much. They just felt like little vacations, in a way. But now, the sight of Caldera’s sprawl filled me with a weird sort of dread. This time I was staying. This time, it’s for real. 

Something else that probably wasn’t helping with that uneasiness was how weirdly quiet the car ride currently was. I only just noticed the fact the radio was off, leaving nothing but the muted sounds of traffic and the wind, the engine humming and our breathing. 

“Why aren’t we listening to any music?”

“See for yourself,” Dad scoffs, leaning forward and twisting the volume knob on the radio from mute to fifteen.

The droning crackle of static moaned high and leveled out, ugly and grating to the ears. There were little chops of tangible sound mixed within the blur, the feminine voice of a Saurius XM radio jockey fighting for life amidst the chaos.

“######--FEST–######--AMP BABIES–########--IFTY-THOUSAND ON TH–”

Dad groans, lurching over and snapping the knob back to zero. The static flatlines to silence, something I now had a newfound appreciation for.

“Geez,” I wince.

“It’s been like that for nearly an hour now. I’m surprised it didn’t wake you up when it started happening.” 

Dad shook his head as he kept speaking, “GPS crapped out around the same time, too. Between the box and the alignment, I’ll be surprised if I make it out of this Dodger hellhole by the end of today. Yep, just been me, quiet and your snoring for a good while now.”

The implication in his words was clear. I glance away from him, off to the passenger window. The ocean visible outside of it is rapidly giving way to the coastline. Bodies of every shape and every shade of the rainbow can be seen around the sand.

“Sorry. Just didn’t sleep too well last night.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, and I can see him shrug in my periphery. His fingers tap along the leather of his steering wheel.

“What would even talk about to begin with?”

That makes me frown. I don’t give him an answer, and he doesn’t seem eager to pursue conversation in spite of it.

Silence remains our mutual companion as Dad curves our car onto one of the offramps from the bay’s bridge, merging us into city traffic. Despite all the stereotypes I’ve heard online about commutes in places this end of Pangea, we’re moving at decent speed. Not exactly fast by any measure, but slow enough to let me take in the scenery of my new stomping ground.

Even though we’re still in one of the main arteries of the city, I catch expanses of red-brick buildings mixed with more modern architecture, townhouses and apartments vying for space alongside entertainment and commercial districts. Not exactly too dissimilar to my hometown, just more colorful, vibrant and sunny. What really makes it stand out are the people. 

Up until these past few months, I could probably count on my hand the amount of Saurians I’ve met before. It’s not that our kind and theirs don’t get along–that’s a subject covered in just about every history class I’ve ever had before. No, it’s just that Rockbottom was situated up near the northern tip of the continent. Cold and chilly as could be year round, something they don’t really deal with well. I’m used to seeing nothing but other humans around me.

And now, I think me and Dad may very well be the only humans in the whole city.

The sidewalks and venues we ride past are cramped with colorfully scaled figures, feathers and crests and claws and everything you could think of aplenty. Raptors and Hadrosaurs mingled with Ceratopsids and Sauropods, grinning and laughing and living like they all weren’t as different from one-another as they were different to me.

A large shadow glances over the car, and I lean my head against the glass to try and catch a sight of what it could be. At first, I thought it was a low flying plane of some kind, only to realize those were wings. Too big to be a bird, had to be a Pterosaur. 

“They can even fly.”

Dad huffs the words out, and I glance over towards him. His eyes are fixed on the road ahead, but they’ve narrowed slightly. He must’ve seen the Ptero too.

“Stronger than humans, faster than humans, tougher than humans. God gave them all the gifts, huh?”

He shakes his head. “Used to have technology in our favor, until we gave them that too. Now we’re just second class by comparison.”

He finally looks over at me, if only for a brief moment. There’s irritation in his gaze–irritation over the car, irritation over my new neighbors, irritation over this whole situation. But there’s also the faintest hint of what almost looks like concern, a softening of the harshness of his face. 

“You need to be careful here, Anon.” 

He sighs before I can respond, tilting his head to look back at the road. He works his jaw for a moment before he continues, abruptly changing topics. “We should be at this new school in a couple minutes. I’ll be meeting with your landlord afterwards to get the rest of your stuff moved in. Your apartment should be good to go by the time you’re out of class. 

“Then you’re on your own.”

I’ve felt like I’ve been on my own for a long time now.

“You’d think that, ungrateful as you are.”

I scowl, looking back at the window once more. We’re starting to peel away from the heart of the city, moving swiftly down the road. I can start to see the ocean again, growing closer and closer. 

We don’t speak for the remainder of the car ride, brief as it is. Before long, Dad steers us off the main road, and onto a smaller two-lane that’s surrounded by lush foliage. The palms and other brightly-leaved trees eventually peel away, revealing the center of the rest of my High School career.

Volcano High.

A large, marbled-colored T-shaped building, three stories high and covered in swaths of plant overgrowth bears that very name across the front, a large analog clock cresting the top of the building, its hands poised to indicate it was close to ten in the morning. A low, long-stepped stairway lead up a pair of thick double doors, girded with columns. Planters of vibrantly colored bricks surrounded the entrance, filled with equally vibrant plants, and even more vibrantly-scaled students. 

Away from the main building rested three more. A large gymnasium complex off in the distance, a library far closer to the main building, and a third whose function I couldn’t quite make out. The road led away from the main hall and towards a parking lot before the library, which my Dad curved into, finally bringing the Bronto to a halt after hours on the road.

We were the only souls present, besides a handful of feathery Saurians hanging out by a pair of cars. A few of them were staring at us, and I could see them talking to one-another. Gawking at the monkeys, no doubt. A growing sense of nausea hints at the bottom of my gut, as I realize this might be the start of the first day rumor mill I’m no doubt going to be immersed in.

Wordlessly I reach for the handle of my door and try to open it–only for the handle to uselessly swing out to no effect, the door not budging an inch.

I glance over at my Dad, a silent question for him to unlock the door. He looks back at me.

“We need to talk.”

So we’re doing this. Goddamnit, haven’t we been through this routine enough?

“Classes are gonna start soon, Dad. I thought you didn’t want me to be late?”

“We can spare a minute or two.” He pauses, before adding, “...Besides, this is probably the last chance we’re gonna get to speak face-to-face for–Well, for awhile.”

“I’m sure you and Mom are thrilled about that.”

“Don’t be a smartass, Anon,” he grumbles, bracing his arm against the back of his seat so he could shift about to face me more directly. “I know you probably don’t care, but your Mother and I moved heaven and Earth to make this little second chance of yours a reality. Nothing about this was easy.”

“Except the part where you get rid of me.”

He opens his mouth. I look him dead in the eyes as I speak first.

“After all, easier to get me away from home than having to keep dealing with my screw-ups, right?”

“Yes, and it was your fault ,” he immediately counters, his voice firm. “What those kids did wasn’t right, by any means, but you and you alone posted that shit online, son. You’ve got no one to blame but yourself!”

The bite in those words knocks the wind out of my sails. My expression shifts from something defiant to something…Weaker. Dad takes a deep breath through his nose, working his mouth for a moment as he looks away from me. He stares off at the library.

“...None of this is easy, son,” he repeats his earlier words. His voice is softer now. “Like or not, this is the best fresh start you’re getting. The best second chance–and the last one, too.”

He clears his throat. “Look, we’ve…Been through this whole trainwreck a half-dozen times before. Just listen to me one last time, I’m not fighting you on it. The circumstances aren’t ideal, far from it, and I take no pleasure in shipping off my boy some featherback shithole halfway across the continent.” 

He sucks in a breath that hisses through clenched teeth. He sighs it out.

“But…Maybe this’ll do you good. Maybe–Maybe the independence will help you figure yourself out. Maybe we coddled you too much, or…I don’t know anymore, son.” 

Dad rests a hand against the steering wheel again, squeezing it slightly as he tried to think. I couldn’t find words to say. My mouth felt dry.

“--You remember the deal of this whole arrangement, yeah?”

I nod slowly. “College or military.”

“College or military,” he repeats back at me. “I only want one of those things for you, Anon. I’ve read some good things about this place. You coasted along on bare minimum back home, but maybe if you apply yourself here, you might be able to make it.”

He looks me in the eyes again. “That’s what I want you to do, more than anything, Anon. Make it. Make the most of this. It’s not a punishment, son, it’s…It’s an opportunity. Reinvent yourself, get a better view on things. Hell, just make some friends.”

In a school full of Meteor Dodgers? Not fucking likely.

My silence is my answer to him. As he waits for me to speak, he glances down at the clock. Just a couple minutes until classes start now. I’ll be lucky to make it to the building before the bell rings.

“We’re outta time,” Dad says, leaning over to unlock the car. The Bronto audibly clicks as the doors unlock. 

He raises the hand nearest to me, seeming to shift a little closer, before he hesitates. At the end of it all, he just lets out a breath and rests that hand on my shoulder, giving me a firm squeeze.

“Goodbye, son,” he murmurs to me. “Good luck. Text us later to let us know you made it to your apartment.”

“Bye Dad.”

I waste no time with the reply, just like I waste no time with opening the door and swinging myself onto my feet. I shut the passenger side behind me, and I start to walk.

As I hear the engine grumble to life and the faint creeping of rubber on asphalt, I glance over my shoulder to watch my Dad’s car vanish down the road we had come from, further and further until the trees at the edge of campus consume it.

That anxiety in my gut flares with renewed anger as I realize, for the first time, I actually am on my own now. 

My eyes linger on the road for a moment longer, before I close them and take in a long, deep breath.

I take one step forward. My feet feel like they’re made of lead.

As I take another, I open my eyes. The campus of Volcano High greets me, welcoming me. Or challenging me. Probably a bit of both.

Fuck it.

Here we go.

A spark of motivation begins to warm up in my chest. This could be a new start afterall. If I just play my cards right, Rockbottom will probably be a distant memory by the end of the week. Baby steps first. Just gotta keep walking forward.

I leave the library parking lot behind, passing by the pair of cars where the raptor pack had been leering before. They must’ve left at some point during my Dad’s last speech towards me. Fine by me–the less interaction I have to deal with, the better.

I walk along a path of white pavement, stretching across the verdant green grass of the campus, bridging the library and the stony planters surrounding the entrance of the main building. I quickly begin to realize just how warm it is here.

No, fuck that, it’s hot.  

Up north as it is, Rockbottom was fairly chilly most of the year. It could get a bit balmy during the summer, but the temperature here is something else entirely. I can already feel the hint of sweat on my brow. My shirt-jacket, light as it is, is already beginning to feel uncomfortable.

This is going to be an adjustment. 

Compounding that discomfort is the fact that my hopes of making it to my first class unnoticed are quickly dashed. There’s still a small cluster of bodies still mingling outside of the main doorway, leaning against railings and sitting on the planters as they converse with one-another. Scales, tails, feathers and frills. It’s never not going to bug me just how varied Saurians can be.

And as I draw closer, one by one, they begin to notice me.

Some are more discreet with their glances, but a pair of triceratops are full-on staring holes in the back of my head as I walk past them. I catch a few mutters of “human” as I scale the stairway, having no desire to figure out what exactly they’re saying.

I brace a shoulder against one of the front doors. It’s heavy and sturdy, taking a bit of force to budge open. Finally, it jerks free with a wide swing–

And my eyes promptly bulge at what awaits me.

The main hallway is crammed full of students. Compared to outside, few are idle, the rainbow of bodies moving in every direction as people filter towards their first classes of the day. 

I only realize I’m standing in the doorway like a moron when someone bumps into my back. Flinching, I look over my shoulder.

I’m met with a pair of bright blue eyes and violet bangs, crowned with a pair of white horns. A muzzle of slate gray scales, a thick jacket that looks a little similar to what I’d wear. 

“You gonna go in, dude…?”

Her speech is slow. It almost sounds like she’s spaced out. I swear I can catch the faintest hint of a skunky smell on her that would probably explain it, but the alarms in my head are slowly beginning to whir to life, and I don’t have time, nor a want, to look into this random stoner. 

“Yeahsuresorry,” I quickly mumble out, shuffling forward. I catch a glimpse of her cocking a brow at me as I swing my eyes ahead and just start walking down the hall. 

Stonersaurus might’ve been the first person to notice me in the building, but she wasn’t the last. The sirens are quickly reaching a DEFCON volume as several packs of people slow their pace or outright pause to gawk at me. The volume of the hallway chatter was overwhelming and completely random, but a singular theme slowly but surely begins to emerge in the crowd. 

“Holy shit, is that a human?”

“He looks so…plain.”

“Dude needs some fashion pointers, for real.”

“Are all humans bald like that? I swear I’ve–”

“He kinda looks like a modeling doll.”

“That our new mascot or something?”

I keep my eyes down, avoiding contact as I try to increase my pace. I can feel spaghetti bubbling up in my pockets, we’re about to experience a full-on pasta spillage at this reach. 

The mental sirens erupt into a wail as a particularly bold raptor lurches out from the crowd, grabbing my hand with a claw. I’m shocked by a number of things. The brazen act itself, of course. The texture of the Saurian’s scales, oddly cool against my palm. But most of all WHAT THE FUCK WHY ARE YOU TOUCHING ME–

“Wo-ho-hoooo! Human skin’s weeeiird! ”

I jerk my hand free and pick up the pace, doing my best to control my breathing. Christ this is awful, I knew there was going to be some level of novelty to this arrangement but this reaction is off the fucking charts.

“Yo, new guy, come back!”

“Let me grab a selfie with you dude!”

The voices are joined by an undercurrent of smartphone cameras clicking off. Dazed, I round the nearest corner and do everything in my power not to break into a sprint.

Don’t sperg out. Do not sperg out, Anon. You just fucking got here and you’re making a scene chill the fuck–

“Mr. Mous?”

A masculine voice calls out my last name. I can feel my heart doing calisthenics in my chest, how the hell do these freaks already know my name?!

Before I can get any further, the sound of shoes reporting against the polished tile floor clacks behind me. A firm hand rests on my shoulder, stopping me, and my eyes widen as I notice the fingers of said hand are tipped with claws.

“Anon!” 

I jerk around, pulling myself free from the claw of my most recent assailant–

What greets me is definitely not a student. The Saurian’s a predator, judging from how sharp the teeth in his confused smile are. His scales are lichen green, accented by random, sharp lines of a yellowish shade around the side of his head and about his neck. His short, sage-green hair is swept back, and a number of long, thin spikes crown his skull. He’s wearing a plain dress shirt, blue tie and some dark slacks.

Seemingly caught off guard by my reaction, and more likely my general sense of panic, the older man raises his claws in a calming gesture.

“Woah, hey! Easy, everything’s alright. You doing okay, Mr. Mous? You look pretty spooked.”

His flat voice betrays his age, though there is a hint of concern that tinges it. Swallowing, I give him a shaky nod.

“Y-Yeah, I’m fine, just got a little, uh…overwhelmed back there.”

I nudge my chin in the direction behind him, and he looks over his shoulder. A handful of students are nosily peering over at us. A glare sent their way by the faculty member–at least that’s what I assume him to be–causes them to turn away and start to walk off.

“I’m beginning to see why,” he huffs, looking back towards me. “Seems like you had quite the reception. I’m sorry for that, Anon. I don’t think it was malicious on their part, they were probably just curious about you. We don’t get too many Humans in our area, admittedly.”

Too fucking curious, they were treating me like I was a zoo animal.

“What was that?”

I quickly clear my throat. “Nothing, sir. Anyways, you seem to know who I am. You are…?”

He huffs. “Apologies, I should’ve started with that. I’m Principal Sereno, head of faculty here at Volcano High. Due to the unique nature of your transfer, I wanted to meet you personally and guide you through the first steps. Something your parents found appreciative.”

That catches me off-guard. Mom and Dad never put in that kind of effort, low bar as it really was, back at Rockbottom. I almost feel a flicker of appreciation. Almost.

It quickly curdles though. I can’t help but shake the notion of what the real undercurrent of this decision was. Dad probably spoke to this guy hoping to minimize my chances of fucking up my first impression.
Likewise, it only now occurs to me that this guy was looking for me. Shit.

“Ah…Well, uhm, nice to meet you, sir. I wasn’t aware I was supposed to come see you, or I would’ve, uh, gotten here sooner.”

And not let my Dad hold me in the car for one last sermon.

Principal Sereno was quick to shake his head. “No worries! I was waiting at the front door to receive you, but I got dragged off to attend to another matter. If not for that, we probably would’ve spared you that whole rigmarole you just went through.”

He laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry about that, again.”

I shrug. “It’s fine, probably would’ve just happened at lunch anyways. Might as well get it out of the way now.” Hopefully…God, I don’t want to go through that again.

“A fine way of looking at it.” He gave a nod of approval and a slight smile, before he jerked a hand over his shoulder, pointing in the opposite direction.

“If you’ll follow me to my office, we’ve got a good bit to cover. Nothing too complicated, just getting some basic paperwork sorted while I tell you about our wonderful campus. We’ll have you attending homeroom in a jiffy. Sound good?”

I quietly nod to him as he turns about and begins to walk, and I follow after him. The hall’s growing increasingly quiet by this point, such that I can begin to audibly hear our footsteps echoing around. Soft murmurs of conversation trickle through as we pass by closed classroom doors, and the odd shade of a tardy student darts about a juncture at the far end of the corridor.
All the sudden, that quiet is immediately stolen from us. A loud, discordant mess of a noise blares out across the halls, loud as could. I snap my eyes up towards the nearest source of the noise, and I’m met with a brown polymer cube resting against the seam of the pale brick wall and the panels of the ceiling, a mesh covering over the front. 

The onslaught of sound is equal parts a bell ring and what almost sounds like a doppler radar going haywire. What the fuck?

Sereno slowed his stride a little in front of me. As the cacophony finally dies down, I can hear the end of a frustrated grumble leaving him. He raises a claw to rub along the bridge of his snout.

"Unbelievable! That’s the fourth time this has happened already…”

I can’t help but raise an eyebrow.

“What the hell is it?”

Shit. The suchomimus glances over his shoulder, giving me a stare that carries the slightest hint of disapproval.

“Language, Mr. Mous.” He paused for a moment. “As for what it is, I’m…Not entirely sure. It’s what pulled me away from meeting you at the doorway, though.”

He began to walk at full speed once more, and I picked up the pace to match him, listening to him as he carried on.

“It’s been happening through the morning. I asked the custodians to take a look at the intercom system for any obvious damage, but they said everything was fine. And yet, it’s still happening. We’re having an IT guy coming in later this evening, hopefully we’ll be able to get it sorted.”

Great, I get to deal with that for the rest of the day.

After what felt like ages, the principal finally stops in front of an ornate wooden door. On it is a small, gilded plaque that displays the word “Principal” on it. It seemed oddly old fashioned, given the state of the rest of the building.

Sereno turned the knob and swung the heavy door open, its hinges whining softly. It revealed a decently sized room, the bulk of it consumed by a large, heavy desk of dark wood, stained with patterns of black. The surface of the desk was consumed with loose papers, a stack of manila folders and random knick knacks of school memorabilia. A pair of computer monitors and a mouse and keyboard fought for space amidst the clutter.

Shelves lined the sides of the room and behind him, filed with books and files upon more books and files. Large, bulky plaques of wood and metal hung near the ceiling; decades-old trophies from victories of the “Volcano High Razor Wings.” Must be the school’s sports team.

He slumped into a large, padded office chair on the other side of the desk. He gestured to a pair of equally large, worn leather chairs on my side of the table.

“Please take a seat while I go look for your file.”

I oblige, sitting down in one of the leather chairs. God, were these things designed with elephants in mind? The cushions are practically swallowing me whole; anything close to comfortable is a far-fetched thought. I can hear the dusty shitter of a computer tower hidden near his feet humming to life as he shakes his mouth, the glare of the two monitors faintly visible against his outfit. As Sereno tries to work with his desktop, I keep glancing around the room. It’s kind of boring, admittedly. Musty and old, but after the sensory overload I just experienced? It’s kind of refreshing.

That, and the room’s surprisingly chilly thanks to the air conditioning. I could’ve kissed him just for that.

I’m drawn back to reality as Sereno lets out a low sigh. The kind of sigh Dad always made when he was forced to tangle with a problem his tech illiteracy only exacerbated.

“Today just keeps throwing curveballs,” he mumbled, shaking his head. He gives the mouse a little frustrated jerk, before he leans back in his seat. 

“Seems our whole system is having a bit of a rough patch. I can’t access your files, or, well–anything, really. Let me try something real quick…”

As he leans back in, I decide to pull my phone out and take a glance at the time. What confronts me immediately has me puzzled. My cell service is at a grand total of zero bars, and what’s stranger still, small flickers of visual distortion keep ghosting across my lock screen.

“My phone’s messed up too.”

“--What’s that?” Sereno asked, shifting his gaze away from his monitors. I raise my phone towards him, and his brow furrows. The Principal reaches into his pocket and withdraws his own PaleApple brick, and the huff that escapes him is all I need to know that he’s experiencing it too.

“Weird…”

“Yeah,” I mumble. “On the drive in, my Dad’s radio was messing up too, kept playing static. Think there might be a cell tower down or something?”

A stupid question, one that I already realize the answer to. He speaks it before I can.

“Maybe? That wouldn’t explain the intercom though.”

Doesn’t explain the visual distortion either.

The suchomimus shakes his head with a grumble. “It doesn’t matter, nothing we can do. Hopefully, it’ll sort itself out in a few minutes. We can discuss something while we wait either way.”

The Principal stands up and walks past the desk and me in kind, moving towards the door to his office and closing it. The silence of the room becomes all the more deafening, punctuated only by his voice as he moves back towards his chair.

“May as well go ahead and address the elephant in the room. As you probably already know, we’ve been made aware of the circumstances involving your transfer here to our facility.”
…

W h a t ?

No, I did in fact not fucking know that.

My body immediately cramps up, and I can feel my chest tightening. It feels like an anvil is pressing on my lungs.

So every single teacher in this school already knows? Raptor Christ, no. Anything but that.

My breathing hitches a bit, and my face was probably an open book, because Sereno immediately raises his hand in a placating gesture.

“Don’t fret, young man. We know that the circumstances of your transfer were…nothing short of complicated. But I’m here to tell you that we are keen to keep this matter private. No one will hear a word about this from one of our teachers. You can rest easy.”

Rest easy?! How the fuck am I supposed to rest easy when all of my teachers know what happened?!

I sink back into my seat with a defeated look. 

Sighing once more, Sereno folds his claws on top of his desk. The looks he gives me is equal parts comforting and serious.

“Let’s go back to the beginning. I was under the assumption this had already been made clear to you. Due to the unique nature of your academic transfer, the board of your hometown was compelled to exchange information regarding your academic history with us. Part of this information was the circumstances that led to your decision in the first place.”

He raised one of his hands towards me, leaning in a little closer. He spoke a little more slowly now, emphasis on each and every word.

“Anon, please believe me when I say that we want to help you make it through this year. All of us are here to support you, not sabotage your social life. I understand that you might feel less comfortable in this completely new environment, with people that aren’t your own species.”

He pauses, letting me digest the words before he continues.

“However, our staff will make sure that none of this will follow you here. Our lips are sealed, Anon. And if you ever need to talk to someone about this, my door is always open for you.”

Despite his reassurance, I can’t help but feel a sting in my chest. This is not at all what I signed up for.

I can’t force myself to mask the discomfort on my face, but I swallow and nod towards him. This seems to be enough for him, because he nods back towards me, before leaning back in his chair once more.

“With that settled, I can move on to covering some of the programs and benefits we can offer you during your stay with us for your senior year. Sound good?”

I quietly nod a second time.

Sereno proceeds to break out into what could only be described as a lengthy, well-rehearsed tirade. He covers a bit of everything–the history of the school, his own time spent within its faculty, their accolades and graduation rates. He soon shifts on to the programs provided to students here, and it doesn’t escape me that he heavily emphasizes financial aid and lunch assistance options that are available to me.

Guess the staff know I’m a broke Skinnie, too. Figures.

The Principal’s definitely saying a lot, and I really should be interested, but I’m just checked out. My mind keeps wandering back to that black bolt of anxiety firmly wedged in my chest: they know.

Sure, it’s just the teachers right now, but all it takes is one old man to have some loose lips one morning without realizing, and suddenly every single student in this shithole is going to be laughing at me.

I’m compromised. Cover blown, cornered. I–

“Mr. Mous, did you get all of that?”

–really should have been paying attention. Shit.

Clearing my throat, I give him a firm nod. “Absolutely, sir,” I lie through my teeth. “I’ll be sure to look into them.”

He hums, giving me a stare, before he glances back at his monitors. He quickly shakes his head.

“Good. Unfortunately, it looks like our system still isn’t responding, and we’ve about run out of time. I don’t want you to miss your first class of the semester after all.”

I blink at that. “But, what about the paperwork…?”

“Can’t really give it to you if I don’t got it printed off, can I? Should’ve prepared for that ahead of time.”

Shaking his head again, he continues. “Don’t worry, I’ll find a way to get these documents sorted for you. In the mean time, go ahead and get moving. I believe you’ve got Roberts, right?”

That name sounds familiar. I nod towards him, moving to stand as he does the same. He plants a claw on my shoulder as he ushers me towards the door.

“Lucky for you! She’s a great mentor, be sure to listen to her. Her class is Room 045. This floor, head down the hall to the right, you’ll see it eventually.”

He swings his door open for me, and gestures out to the hall. 

“I’m sure you’re gonna do just fine, Anon,” Sereno says with a smile. “Have a great day. I or someone else will contact you about those papers later today, alright? See you then.”

I mumble something akin to a response before leaving. He doesn’t stop me to confirm what I said, shutting the door behind me. 

This…I don’t like any of this. 

The urge to fake being sick just so I can go home is ever present, but I shut it up immediately. There’s no way in hell my parents would allow that. So I do the only thing that’s left for me to do. 

Armed with Sereno’s directions, the homeroom really wasn’t that hard to find. After a minute or two of slow strolling down the halls, buying myself as much time as possible before I’d have to go through the dreaded introductions all over again, I eventually find my way to a thick, light-tinted wood door, a rectangular pane-glass window framed with metal jutting through the middle-right of the doorframe. 

A small, black plastic slide with the white numbers 0-4-5 rests in a metal holder on the front of the door. 

Here we go.

“--Who’s next?”

Those are the words I hear as I slowly swing the door open. I guess I was hoping I might be able to sneak into the classroom without being noticed. A stupid thought; every scaly snout and pair of diamond eyes in the classroom swings my way immediately.

The room itself is what I’d expect from your average modern classroom. A rectangle with walls half painted khaki and teal green, divided down the middle. A simple wooden teacher’s desk at the front, with three rows of desks adjacent from it, stretching back to the far wall. Posters, some of them motivational, some of them informational, all of them educational, line the walls and the huge whiteboard at the front of the room.

Every seat is filled with a Saurian of some variety–save one, the very last seat in the middle row. All of my fellow students are eyeing me with confusion, curiosity or disinterest.

Standing across from me, right in the middle of the classroom is a tall figure wearing a long-sleeved, white-cuffed and collared black dress. That snout and those claws make me assume she’s a carnivore; her scales are lavender, with dark patches of violet around her golden eyes. Her white hair’s done up in a bob past a pair of stubby horns on her brow, and there’s a golden crest along the middle of her snout.

She must be Roberts. She looks too mature not to be a teacher.

“Hold that thought,” she says, her voice confirming that she was the one who I had accidentally interrupted. There’s a professional neutrality in her voice and masking her face. 

She waves at me to come closer. Nodding quietly, I shut the classroom door behind me as I awkwardly shuffle over towards her. I do my best to ignore the rest of the students gawking at me, difficult as that is. Ms. Roberts’ own stare is no less piercing. I find myself staring at the floor instead of making eye contact with either of the two options.

“Class, this is Anon Mous,” she says, her voice smooth, slow and controlled in a way that betrays her experience with orating to a group of bored high schoolers. “Mr. Mous is a transfer student from up north, who has chosen to spend his Senior year with us here in Caldera Bay. Everything I spoke about earlier–the challenges that you’ll be facing this year? This is especially true for him. Mr. Mous is in an environment he isn’t familiar with, surrounded by strangers. I’m sure you can only imagine the kind of pressure that might put you under, which is why I hope you will all do your best to help Anon feel welcome and safe here on campus.”

Roberts shifted her gaze towards me. “I’m glad you were finally able to make it, Anon. I was beginning to wonder if you had gotten lost.”

Nothing in the way she said that was accusatory in any way, I know, but there’s something about her expression that makes me feel nervous. I grimace apologetically.

“Sorry, ma’am. Mr. Sereno was–”

“I’m well aware of your meeting with the Principal,” she says, raising a claw as she cuts me off. “I’m sure our Principal has left you well informed on the many opportunities and advantages afforded to you here at Volcano High, yes?”

I really should’ve paid attention to him, shit. “Sure.”

“Good.” She pauses for a moment, before continuing. “We were discussing plans for the future when you arrived, Anon. College, careers and other such aspirations. Reed here had just finished sharing his own plans.”

She gestures to a raptor towards the far end of the classroom, the only empty desk right behind him. He screamed the color pink, for lack of a better word. His scales were varying shades of pink, striped with lighter patterns, a darker shade around his muzzle. His hair and what looked like the feathers of his long tail, curled near the base of the desk, were likewise pink. His eyes were a striking purple though.

“S’up,” he says to me, giving a little wave with a claw. I return the gesture before looking back to Roberts as she looks back to me.

“Let’s continue that topic,” she says, folding her arms once more. “I think it’ll serve as a good icebreaker for you, Anon. Tell the class what you plan to do once you graduate, and I’ll give you some feedback on it.”

F u c k.

I can practically feel sweat beginning to bead at my brow. I know I was going to be put into some kind of a spotlight initially, but having to share my future plans with these people leaves me feeling uncomfortable.

Then again, my Dad’s ultimatum is still there. Maybe that’ll suffice.

“Well,” I begin, jamming my hands in my coat pockets to hide their nervous fidgeting. “Part of me moving up here was that I’m supposed to try and go to college. If that doesn’t pan out, then I’m gonna enlist in the, uh…The Military, I guess.”

Roberts gave a hum. “Having a back-up plan in case your original goal falls through is smart. In this case, you’ve chosen an option that is always going to be available to you outside of some bizarre circumstance. While armed service is far from ideal for many people, it can still provide you with skills, discipline and support that you can use to reorient your life in a worst case scenario.” 

She pauses, eyes narrowing a little. “And, do tell, what exactly do you intend to go to college for?”

Of course she’d press for details. I frown slightly, falling silent. Part of me hopes that she’ll sense my hesitation and give me an easy break, but her gaze on me doesn't falter. I glance away from her and out to the class.

Some of the students have lost interest, stealing glances at their phones or other things. I catch a glimpse of a monochrome thing with wings in the back of the class sketching something on a notebook. Meanwhile, the others are still watching me with rapt attention. The pink one the teacher had referred to as Reed was among them, and a lilac-scaled woman with a crest across from him was staring over at me with wide, green eyes. She seemed positively fascinated by me. Eugh.

Roberts clears her throat to get my attention and prompt me to speak. I grit my teeth, feeling ready to implode. I search my head for some kind of answer, anything, even an absolute bullshit one.

But all I come up with is…

“...I don’t know.”

When I look at Roberts again, her lips have curled into a slight frown. 

“You don’t know?” She repeats the words to me, and all I can do is nod. A long hum escapes her.

“Well, you have eight months to figure it out, at least. Let’s hope something here inspires you.”

She shifts her attention away from me, and to the rest of her students.

“Does anyone have anything they’d wish to ask Anon before we continue?”

A hand immediately shoots up. It’s the green-eyed starer from before. I get a better look at her as I glance in her direction. She’s a herbivore of some kind, or I think so at least. There’s a long crest emerging from the back of her dark blonde hair, an orange stripe running down the front of it and the rest of her face. She’s wearing a short sleeve dress shirt with a pink bow, and a pair of pink-accented glasses.

God, what a geek .

“Hi there! It’s nice to meet you!” She chirps out as she lowers her hand, gesturing to herself with it. “I’m Naomi, she-her.” 

Christ, a Tumblrsaurus too.

She blinks a little. “What was that?”

“Ah, sorry,” I clear my throat. “Nice to meet you too. Uhm, what did you wanna know…?”

Smiling, she folds her hands on the desk before her. “What’s it like where you’re from? I’ve always heard humans tend to live in Northern Pangea, and, well–I’ve never been there before!”

“I’ve always heard it’s like, super cold,” Reed chimes in bluntly. “Like, winter-all-the-time and worse cold.”

I shrug. “Yeah, it’s…Pretty chilly up there usually. Kind of mild this time of year, but it snows during the winter.”

Reed leans back in his desk. “Wild. I think I’d literally turn into an ice cube.”

“Not exactly,” Naomi replies with a soft laugh, glancing between me and him. “But, you’re not too far off. Saurian biology really doesn’t do too well in extremes of that nature, save for a small handful of really hardy subspecies. It’s why there’s always been such a large population divergence between the north and the south historically, even after our species became socially integrated.

“I’m sure, by contrast, you must be finding it pretty hot down here, right?” She says as she looks back to me, still smiling. 

I don’t know what it is about her that makes me feel so uncomfortable. She’s being perfectly pleasant to me, friendly even. Maybe it’s not her–it might just be her people in general.

I might not ever get used to these guys.

I just shrug again. “I mean, it’s really warm compared to what I’m used to, but it’s not too bad.”

The death glare of the sun I experienced just from walking between the parking lot and the front door would beg to differ.

“Good old endothermic temperature regulation at its finest!” Naomi nods. “There’s actually an entire course I’m going to have to take on you guys once I graduate! I’ve done some preliminary stud–”

“In the interest of not turning this into an impromptu biology lesson, let’s put a pin in that for now, Naomi,” Roberts cut in, immediately snuffing the imminent yap session. Naomi blinks, but nods all-the-same.

“Right, right! Sorry! Got carried away,” she replies with a sheepish laugh.

“Anyone else have anything to ask…?” Roberts glances about the room again, but this time, no one else raises their hands. 

“Very well. Anon, you’ve got a seat for you at the back. Once again, welcome to Volcano High, and welcome to my class.”

I quietly and eagerly nod to the teacher, before I begin to make my way towards the rear of the classroom. I slide past Reed and Naomi as I go. 

The former gives a nod and a muttered “Yo.” The latter just smiles up at me and gives me another wave as I move past her.

I slump into my desk, and find that it’s got a nice amount of space to it. Considering how big some of these guys can get, I think furniture being a bit too accommodating is going to be something of a recurring theme around here. I slide my backpack off, resting it against one of the desk legs as I look ahead.

Roberts had paused long enough to let me sit down, but she’s already speaking once more.

“Now then, we’ve still got plenty of time, let’s keep going. How about…”

She scans the crowd, before pointing towards the row to the left of me, at a green-scaled Dino wearing some really ratty clothing. Damn, he looks worse than me, somehow. 

“Milhouse, you’re up. Plans after graduation.”

The absolute manlet of a Saurian–dinolet?--begins to reply to the teacher, but frankly I’m not paying attention. My eyes are boring a hole in the desktop between my hands as I begin to tune out the rest of the class.

It’d be a lie to say I’m interested in what this dork has to say about his future, yeah, but my decision to ignore him is coming more from the fact that Roberts’ little icebreaker has left me feeling…Unsettled.

Because I realize now that I really don’t know what I want to do once I graduate.

I know I don’t want to enlist, at the very least. But in terms of actually going to college, I’m just coming up with a blank.

I should at least have some idea or hint of what direction I’m wanting to go in. A field, a major, anything. But I don’t. Nothing sounds so appealing or certain in my head that I could say I’m ready to commit at least two years of my life to it.

And as the class continues to unfold around me, the conversations of these multicolored weirdos reaching me as absolute white noise, I’m just left to stew in the reality that I feel lost.

It’s something I never had to worry about until now. Graduation, college–it all seemed a million years away, this time last year. A problem for older me to deal with.

Well, I am older me now. And older me is still a fucking loser, surrounded by scales and claws halfway across the world, away from everyone I’ve ever known, with not a single idea of what to do next.

…Fuck this, I can’t deal with it right now. This is just the recent portion on the pile of stressors this morning, and I feel ready to explode.

I need something to vent my frustrations on. I need a distraction.

I need to shitpost.

I glance around the classroom for a moment, trying to get a feel for whether or not pulling my phone out is a good idea. Most of the class is fixated on Roberts and her current subject; looks like she switched over to analyzing some purple-scaled bitch with long hair across the other side of the room. Think I overheard the name Stacy–whatever. 

To my immediate right though, I finally see what I’m looking for: another student on a mobile device. It’s the gray thing I saw doodling earlier when I was getting grilled at the front.

It doesn’t take me long to figure out what kind of Saurian they are, those huge, white-feathered wings curled upon on their back immediately give them away as a pterosaur of some kind. If Reed screamed pink, they scream monochromatic. Gray scales with a faint hint of blue, long silver hair, a black crop top and pants, all tattered and torn up. Between this one’s fashion and Reed’s loose tank top, the amount of skin you’re allowed to show in this school is starting to feel a bit obscene. 

The one thing broke the monotony of their color palette was their eyes. Bright orange, positively vibrant when contrasted with the rest of them.

Something about them almost feels familiar.

Either way, they’re on their own and haven’t been disturbed, so I’m going to assume Roberts doesn’t give a shit. They’re positively engrossed with the screen, clawtips typing away rapidly. 

…That has to be a woman, right? Doesn’t matter.

I look away from the ptero as I jam a hand into my pocket and pull out my own phone. Much to my delight, it appears to be working; there’s no immediate loss of signal like back at Sereno’s office, and there certainly isn’t any weird artifacting across the screen this time around.

Still wonder what the hell that was about.

The moment I pull up my browser, I’m greeted with a sprawl of open tabs, each dedicated to an individual board. It doesn’t take long to hone in on the video games board. Easy pickings for (you)s.

My trained eye hones in on a thread debating the upcoming Pachystation Five. Oh, yeah, it’s all coming together.

My fingers dance to the tune of my inner muse, finally free to inflict sweet, sweet trollage on some sweaty nerds. A masterclass TRVTHNVKE about all the ways in which the Pachystation Five, like its predecessor, already has no games swiftly lies in the palm of my hands.

I crush the captcha, and brace myself for the imminent catharsis of momentarily annoying random strangers on the internet. I press the little blue post button…

…

…Any day now.

My brow furrows as I watch the progress at the bottom of my screen, so rapidly filling in every instance up until now, has slowed to a standstill halfway across the screen. And then, suddenly, it snaps to black. “Not connected to the internet.”

The cell’s went down, again, and I can even catch the little flickers from before hinting for milliseconds here and there about my screen. What the actual–

“Anon!”

My heart stops as a familiar voice shouts my name. My head snaps up, and on reflex my phone snaps down, muscle memory to quickly hide the contents of my screen kicking into effect.

Roberts is looming over me, an annoyed look on her face and arms folded across her chest.

“I don’t know what the policy on phones was in your former homeroom, but in my class, you will give your fellow students the same attention they were gracious enough to give you earlier. Do you understand?”

I should just nod and accept the scolding. I was stupid and got caught. Besides, it’s not the end of the world, it’s not like she’s demanding I give my phone to her or anything.

Except, this is kind of bullshit. Why is she singling me out? The feathered bitch beside me has been using a phone for awhile now, and Roberts hasn’t said a single word.

“Why is she allowed to use her phone, then?”

The words, egged on by my frustration over the moment and this day in general, are punctuated by me jerking my thumb in the direction of the pterosaur. I catch her reaction out of the corner of my eye; blinking, she looks up from her device, eyes wide with confusion, and then anger. She jerks her nearest wrist up, flashing me what looks like a tie-dyed bracelet of some kind. Her beak opens to speak, but Roberts gets to me first.

“What they are doing has no bearing on you, and I do not appreciate the implication of your question.”

She pauses, looking over at the pterosaur.

“That doesn’t mean you’re excused though, Fang. Unlike Mr. Mous, you know better. Don’t let me catch you with it out in my class again.”

Fang? Who the hell names their kid Fang?

Fang huffs, shaking her head as she slides the phone into her backpack. “Doesn’t matter either way. It’s not working.”

“Ugh, mine’s not working either!”

“Same! Like totally dead.”

Other students chime out similar frustrations over their phones, earning an eye roll from Roberts. 

“Anyone else care to update us on the–”

The teacher is cut off as, suddenly, a new noise peals out over the campus: the intercom’s bell working without interference, delivering a short, loud and ultimately clear buzz. An entirely different animal to the audio nonsense that it deafened me with earlier.

“Seems like the bell’s working again though,” says Naomi, glancing up at the ceiling.

“How fortunate,” Roberts huffs. “We’ll continue this conversation next time we meet. I’d ideally like to get a feel for what each of you intend to do going forward. For now, you’re dismissed; I wish you all a good first day of your Senior Year.”

My classmates begin to rise out of their seats, slinging backpacks and bags over their shoulders. I begin to do the same, only to catch that pterosaur glaring daggers at me. 

“Way to be a narc, dude,” she snaps at me lowly, side-eyeing me as she stands up and stalks her way out of the classroom.

“Fang!” Naomi calls out after her, following her out of the classroom. Reed peers at me over his shoulder as he stands up, but ultimately turns his back to me and walks off.

I feel the slightest bit of guilt over all of that settle in the pit of my stomach. There really wasn’t anything gained by dragging that chick into it. I just made myself look like an ass out of a kneejerk reaction.

Smooth, Anon.

As I try to follow in the wake of the other students, I’m stopped by Roberts.

“A word, Mr. Mous.”

Swallowing, I nod and turn around to face her. The ceratosaurus folds her arms again as she looks at me.

“I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume what happened back there wasn’t done with malicious intent,” she says, speaking slowly. Her tone is professionally calm as ever, but there’s an undercurrent of seriousness to it now. 

“You had no way of knowing regardless, new as you are, but Fang’s chosen pronouns are they-them. They are nonbinary. Do you know what that means?”

Oh my fucking God, you have to be kidding me.

I’ve always heard that things down south were a lot softer, but this is a joke. I’m getting held up by a teacher over pronouns, on my first day. Christ alive, kill me.

“Sure,” I lie through my teeth. Roberts can either tell I don’t mean it or something in my expression is giving away my disdain, because she narrows her eyes at me.

“I will not demand you to understand the beliefs and choices of your fellow students, Anon, but you will respect them at this school. It’s a shockingly low bar of respect to achieve, and I expect you to make an effort to meet it. Are we clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I flatly reply. Anything to get this over with it.

She hums at that. “Very well. Be on your way.”

I turn to go, but I don’t escape without a final remark from the teacher.

“Oh, and Anon? Were I in your shoes, I’d apologize to Fang. It’s the least you can do.”

“I’ll look into it,” I tell her, not bothering to look back as I B-line for the still-open door. 

I need to get away from here. Away from this class and away from these people. Not even to lunch yet, and I’m already fumbling my second chance.

Dead head down the hall, I see Naomi hovering near the right wall, glancing down at her phone. She raises her head towards me as she hears my footsteps, and her eyes immediately widen.

“Anon!”

She calls my name out. Nope, not in the mood for another lecture, least of all from this geek.

“Hey! Could we talk for a–”

I brush past her, purposefully moving faster now. I just try to ignore her, pretending like I didn’t notice her as I slip through a crowd of chatting students.

I faintly catch a glimpse of her starting after me, but when I look over my shoulder a few seconds later, she’s nowhere to be seen.

…Maybe that was the wrong move, too. She seemed fine back in the class. 

With a frown, I pull open my phone, finding that along with the bell’s clarity, cell service has briefly returned once more. Unfortunately, my masterclass of a shitpost is gone, wiped from the dialogue box.

My frown morphs into a scowl as I flick away from the imageboard, and pull up a digital copy of my schedule, trying to find the room number for my second period.

I’m starting to think coming here may have been a mistake.

Chapter 2: Across The Sea

Summary:

"You heard me on the radio
about one year ago
and you wanted to know
All about me and my hobbies
My favorite food and my birthday
Why are you so far away from me
I need help and you're way across the sea."

“Hey. My name is Anon. I’m not from around here. I don’t really have any hobbies.”

It’s the beginning of my second class of the day, History. Third, if you count Homeroom. I had settled on those sixteen words as my rehearsed greeting on the way from the class prior to it, Math.

I had come into Math still off-kilter from the fallout at the end of homeroom. I knew I was going to have to introduce myself again, but I wasn’t able to get into the headspace in time.

I was a stumbling mess, too focused on how erratically my heart was thumping in my chest when I had to deal with a couple dozen pairs of eyes on me all-over again. It only got worse when I heard the snickers start. 

Not this time, though. No, that stale, to-the-point blurb appeared to be just boring enough to earn the disinterest of my classmates. Of the scaly bodies that fill the rows of desks laid out before me, well over half of them are looking at each other, staring off into space or stealing glances at their phones.

The only one who really gives a shit is the teacher. A spindly tan-scaled oviraptor named Mr. Osborn, the sloped crest at the top of his head ringed by a balding half-circle of brown hair. 

The history teacher glanced between me and the rest of the class.

“Anything else you’d like to add, Mr. Mous?”

“Not really.”

Osborn clicked his tongue, looking back to the class once more. 

“Does anyone have any questions they’d like to ask?”

Silence. The sound of someone struggling to hold back a sneeze. The click of a pen. 

“Very well. Welcome again, Mr. Mous. Feel free to take your seat.”

I quietly nod and do just that, navigating my way towards the right most row of desks. There’s a pair of empty ones in the middle of the row, and I claim the furthest back of the two.

The indifference I’m finally met with is like a balm. No one’s looking at me, no one’s asking me stupid fucking questions about what it’s like in the north or what it’s like to not have scales, so on and so on. I’m able to just exist. I relish in the dismissal. 

As I start to fish around my backpack for the folder I’ve dedicated to this class, my hand bumps into something with a dry, crinkled texture. My stomach grumbles softly at the realization of what it is.

Packed lunch. Mom or Dad must’ve slipped something into my bag before Dad and I left the house in the early, early hours of the morning. 

Just gotta make it through the next hour or so, and then I can finally eat.

As I pull my chosen folder out, I can hear Osborn doing a roll call, moving down the class row by row. At the current rate, my row’s going to be last. 

When the train of “Here”s and “Present”s finally nears me, it reaches the empty desk in front of me first. 

“Naomi?”

Wait a second.

Osborn looks up from his clipboard, glancing over at the seat in front of me from across the length of the class.

“Hm, looks like she’s not here,” the scrawny raptor murmurs, scratching a mark on his paper.

“A friend of mine in Student Council mentioned they were going to have a meeting around this time,” a woman sitting at a desk on the other side of the room says. “She’s probably there.”’

“Would make sense,” replies Osborn. “She is President this year ‘n’ all. Good for her! Moving on. Mr. Mous, already know you’re here. Annie?” 

“Present,” the femoid behind me, ironically another parasaur, calls out.

As the roll finishes up with the two other students in my row, my mind drifts off to ponder the realization that just hit me. I dimly pay attention to Osborn as he pulls out and begins to narrate a powerpoint presentation about himself, his class and what to expect this year.

Naomi. Same name as the geek from Homeroom. If there was anyone I could expect to be Student Council President, it’s definitely her. 

Fantastic. I’ve condemned myself to being deskmates with her for the next couple months. Kill me now.

Oddly enough, she isn’t even the only one from Homeroom I’m going to be sharing another class with.

The pink one in the tanktop. Reed. He’s in my math class.

I remember seeing him clear as day when the ceratopsid teaching the class–think his name was Marsh–was beginning to introduce me.

Even when I began to succumb to my inner sperg and floundered over myself, I never noticed Reed snickering or whispering like the others. He just watched me, cool and neutral as could be. I swear I saw him stealing some glances my way while the syllabus was being read out.

He’s probably pissed at me for the situation with his friend. Wouldn’t be surprised if Naomi is too, judging from the way she tried to follow Tusk or whatever the fuck her name was. Not to mention the fact I blew her off in the hallway immediately afterwards.

Definitely not putting your best foot forward right now, Anon. Need to start working on that. Fast. 

The hour passes by slowly, but it passes by all the same. Osborn is apparently nothing if comprehensive, and his powerpoint stretches on throughout the entirety of our class time. I swear I actually catch hints of additional slides yet to be seen when the bell rings out, signaling our freedom.

People are shooting out of their desks the moment the bell begins to sound off. Osborn doesn’t even try to halt the flood, just calling out after us.

“Remember! You need to get your textbooks before the end of the week! I’ve only got enough loaners for a couple people. Have a good day, welcome back to school!”

I’m quick to make a B-line down the hallway as I exit Osborn’s class. I slept through my opportunity to grab breakfast with Dad during the ride up, and as a result my stomach is growling up a storm. That packed lunch is practically burning a hole in my backpack right now. 

It’s not hard for me to figure out where the cafeteria is. I just follow the movement of the herds of Saurians all heading in the same direction, keeping myself as meek as possible as I go. Between that bullshit when I first entered the building and these front-of-the-room introductions, I’m sufficiently over the welcome to Volcano High experience. The sooner I can settle into being a fly on the wall, the better. 

The hallway I’m currently trailing the student stampede down ends in a double doorway, the metal doors flung wide open, the entry between them clogged with an ever-moving flood of scaled bodies. Following through with the rest, I’m finally afforded some breathing room as the crowd crush disperses and splits off in various directions. Their bodies shifting aside reveals the lunchroom to me in its full splendor.

The vast chamber’s walls are a blend of light beige and white, punctuated frequently by posters and bulletin boards; most pertaining to upcoming events or High School spirit, some of them being generic motivational garbage. A long glass display near the back shows off a large collection of trophies of every shape and size. The ceiling is high with a huge skylight dominating most of it, bathing the lunchroom in the warm, natural Caldera Bay sunlight. Several rows of long, rectangular tables dominate the center of the room, with bench seats on both sides. In the corners of the cafeteria, smaller circular tables of streaked wood with offensively bright, colorful plastic seats are also visible. 

Even at a glance, it’s a lot better than what my old school had to offer. More than double the space, and unlike Rockbottom, half the tables aren’t ready to fall apart. At least, they don’t look like they are.

Two bustling lines of students have formed on either side of the lunchroom, both heading towards intakes into what I can only assume is where you get your food from. The students emerging into a smaller reception area between both lines with trays in hand only confirms my suspicions. 

The sheer volume of students is going to make getting lunch while leaving myself enough time to actually sit down and eat a pain in the ass. That’s a problem for future me to deal with tomorrow, though. Right now, I have something home-cooked calling my name, and a prime opportunity to score a decent seat for myself. 

Those circle tables off in the peripherals of the lunchroom are already calling to me. Seems like the best place to score some privacy while I eat. Carefully navigating my way through the clumps of chatting students moving about the cafeteria to find their desired seats, I make my way to the round table closest to one of the cafeteria’s corners. I pick the seat on the far end of the table and hunker down, leaving my back facing the wall with the rest of the room spilling out before me.

Perfection. Total privacy. Sweet freedom to browse my phone without some mouthbreather glaring over my shoulder, and no way for another nosey Saurian to catch me off guard.

Not that it seems like I need to fear that last part anyways, or at least it doesn’t seem that way. Peeking up as I open my backpack and sift a hand around inside, I’m relieved to see that everyone else seems content on leaving me alone. I catch more than a few glances, and at least a handful of very direct, curious stares my way, but it looks like the novelty of my newness is finally beginning to ebb out.

I finally feel that distinctly dry texture in the depths of my backpack, and seize hold of it before yanking out. What I bring forth is a brown paper bag–or at least, the remains of one. It’s become more than a little crumpled up over the course of my trip and the first half of the school day, forming a crinkly cocoon around a bulge of foodstuffs. Really hoping my food didn’t get squished, otherwise I’m gonna be pissed. 

Speaking of food, as I go about unfolding the bag and opening it up, I take some glances at the trays of the students closest to me. What I find leaves me a bit confused.

Something you always heard about Saurians back at home is how they eat like, well, total animals. When my parents made the decision to send me here, I caught more than a handful of gossip about it from my extended family. Concerns that I’d be forced to eat leaves and raw flanks of meat. Having been able to count the number of Saurians I’ve met before today on one hand, I could only assume those concerns were justified.

But what I’m seeing now are just trays of normal food. Looks like a burger day of some kind. Sure, the ones I can easily identify as herbivores are often toting around large helpings of salad on their trays, and the beefier carnos seem to distinctly lack any greens on their plates, but beyond that it’s just food. Pretty tasty looking food, if I’m gonna be honest. Even from here, it smells good too. 

Hopefully I’ll get the lunch situation figured out whenever I’m called in to finish off that paperwork at some point today. Not that I’m exactly sure where to start, but there’s a very blurry note in my recent memory that sounds like it alluded to something about how this all works. Damnit, I really should have been listening to Sereno when he was talking earlier. 

My eyes are torn from the meals of my peers as I dump the contents of the paper bag onto the table before me. What awaits me is a bundled up paper towel, a small and fairly crinkled up snack-bag of potato chips, and a large sandwich in a tight ziplock bag. 

The thickness of the ‘wich is already peaking my interest. Could it be?

I pop the seal on the ziplock. The smell immediately hits me.

It is it.

Pulling the sandwich free from its tomb only confirms my suspicions, much to my delight. It’s a Mous household classic, a staple of my mother that I’ve grown up with. White turkey cold cuts in the middle, a slice of swiss cheese and a spread of spicy mustard on the bottom, contrasted by some baby spinach and tomato on the top. A sprinkle of salt and pepper.

I practically rush to get the first bite in. The taste is divine, that kind of deliciousness that makes you close your eyes for a moment, just to really savor it.

I’m surprised Mom actually thought ahead enough to take the time to make this. I was just expecting a PB’n’J, or . . . I don’t know, really. 

Come to think of it, I’m surprised I got anything at all.

The realization makes me pause in dining. A new feeling settles in my gut alongside the first few bites of the sandwich. Something somber.

At first, it’s just over the realization that she cared enough to put in the effort in the first place. It’s quickly replaced with the understanding that this sandwich is the last bit of anything resembling home cooking that I’m going to have for . . .

At least the next four months or so of my life. Maybe more, if I don’t end up going back home for the holidays. Of which there is a depressingly high chance I won’t. 

I shove aside this sudden fit of mopeyness and go back to finishing off the rest of the sandwich. It’s not like I didn’t know this was going to be the case when I agreed to this. It’s not like this was something that special to begin with. It’s a sandwich that I’ve seen her slap together a thousand times before.

Stop being a fag, Anon. It’s fine. You wanted this and so did they.

I only manage a few more bites before I toss the leftover half of it back on top of the ziplock. The taste just isn’t there anymore.

The chips look nice at least. The black plastic and aggressive orange highlights tell me it’s barbeque flavored. 

Picking up the little snack bag, my fingers grip the top and begin to try and split the seal down the middle.

–Holy shit, this bag is not budging.

Of course it’s my luck that I get that one stubborn pack that’s secretly got some kind of level up shoved into it in the factory. I clench my brow and tug with more force as I am forced to contend with the fact that, in the battle between me and this tiny baggy of potato chips, the chips are somehow winning.

I stop trying to rip the damned thing in half and lean in to peer at the seal for a moment. Did I miss some kind of tear here label?

I inspect the top, and nope, no label. I flip it over and look at the bottom–

“You having some trouble man?”

“SHIT!”

I nearly jump out of my seat and my own skin in the same motion as a masculine voice suddenly fills my ears, a rather close voice at that. The question startles me enough that, in my autistic panic, I let go of the bag entirely. The chips flop onto the table next to the remains of the paper bag and the leftover portion of the sandwich. Still intact, still uneaten. 

You win this battle, you spud bastards. You will not win the war. 

Forsaking my new sworn enemy to its victory, I quickly glance over at the owner of the voice. 

I’m met with a slim figure with dark gray scales. The wings sweeping up from his back are a clear giveaway he’s a pterosaur of some kind, but unlike Fang, these wings are leathery. I catch hints of orange stripes along them, aggressive and bright against the rest of his scales; a wide crest at the top of his head and the one beneath his chin are similarly colored. So are his eyes to boot.

If there is a word to describe his fashion sense, it is…Unique. Resting over a black button up is the tackiest bomber jacket I’ve ever seen before, its whole length covered in vibrant green-and-coral floral patterns. The table cuts off most of his legs, but his jeans are a very light gray in color.

There’s a lunch tray in his claws, and a smile on his beak that’s plainly apologetic and just a little concerned. 

“You good?” He laughed softly. “Didn’t mean to scare you like that. You were pretty locked in there–my bad.” 

“Y-Yeah, I’m fine,” I clear my throat and sit up a little straight, to at least try and look a little normal. “Sorry for flipping out, I didn’t hear you come up.”

“Don’t mention it.” He shrugs, still smiling, a little more genuinely now. He dips his head chin towards the table. “Care if I sit?”

“...Why?” I can feel my brow furrow on reflex. “Do you need something?”

“Well, y’know, I was gonna–”

He pauses, blinking. Another laugh escapes him as he reaches a claw up to massage his face for a moment. His fingertips end in little orange dots, weird.

“I totally got distracted by the whole spooking you thing, my bad,” he huffs, resting his tray on the table. “Let’s start over real quick, for real this time.”

The same hand lowering from his face flips around to gesture towards himself. “I’m Naser. Class President of V-H and President of the Student Life Association. Plus a bunch of other stuff, but that doesn’t matter right now.

“I’m gonna assume you’re Anon, right?”

“What gave it away?”

“Call it a hunch,” he grins, before leaning across the table and offering his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Anon.”

“Nice to meet you, Naser,” I reply to him, standing up and leaning forward just enough to meet him halfway. We give each-other a firm shake before I sit back down. He takes the initiative and lowers himself into one of the seats near my end of the circle. Thus far, he seems pretty alright, so I don’t protest.

Not that I really could if I wanted to. I don’t want to make a scene to begin with.

Internally, I roll that name around on my tongue a few times. Naser . Definitely doesn’t sound local–or, does it? Between Naomi and Fang, half of the people here have something quirky going on with their names.

I don’t know if I really have room to talk on that front, though.

“Guessing you’re here on some kind of Student Life thing, right?” I ask him, collecting the chip bag once more and idly tugging at it as I speak. “Checking in on the new kid, seeing how he’s doing?”

“Well, I don’t want to reduce it to just that.” He pauses. “But also yes.”

He shrugs, raising his hands in a little gesture of surrender. 

“S-L always likes to try and make an effort to reach out to incoming transfers during their first few days. Make sure they feel welcome and have a hand offered to them that isn’t, like, twenty years older than them at the minimum.”

He collects the burger from his tray in his hands, dipping his beak towards my sandwich as he adds, “Feel free to keep eating by the by, don’t stop for my sake.”

Still making no progress on the final boss of potato chips, I drop them in favor of taking a bite of my sandwich once more. The ptero beside me sniffs the air, and lets out a whistle.

“That smells pretty good! Something packed from home I’m guessing?”

“Yeah,” I nod, giving the sandwich half a little shake. “Parents packed it for me before we headed up this way. You were saying?”

He shakes his head. “We can circle back to that in a bit. Tell me a bit about yourself! For instance, what made you guys move here?”

There’s a little spasm in my core. Goddammit this day is never going to end, is it? Even at lunch I’ve gotta do this song and dance.

“Eeeeh...” My voice trails off as I buy myself time, trying to think of an excuse palatable enough to move on from this. “Just wanted some new opportunities, I guess. It’s a whole thing, I don’t wanna get into it.”

“I get that,” Naser nods. “What’re your folks doing now that you guys have moved down here?”

“Still working the same jobs they had before.”

“Like remote or something? That’s pretty convenient.”

“No, not exactly,” I frown a little. 

Naser squints. “I don’t think I follow.”

“My parents didn’t move down here with me. I’m on my own.”

The pterosaur, who had been leaning in to take another bite of his burger, pauses mid-lean and blinks at that. 

“Come again?” There’s disbelief in his voice.

Between the expression on his face and that tone, the spotlight I’m put under right now feels far different than any of the prior introductory bullshit today. My palms feel a little clammy. 

“Y-Yeah,” I nod a little. “Parents couldn’t, uh…Afford to uproot. They managed to work out some sort of deal, got me situated with an apartment on the east side of town.”

There’s a look that flashes in the ptero’s eyes at that, likely trying to think of what complex I might be referring to. Whatever his judgement is, it doesn’t surface. He just gives me a reassuring smile.

“Geez, man, that’s rough. Sorry you’re having to go through that. I can’t imagine making a move that drastic.” 

Before I can answer, he cants his head to the side a little .”Well, not exactly, but I kinda can.”

I quirk a brow. “You a former transfer student as well?”

He huffs, quickly shaking his head. “Oh, no-no-no, my family’s lived here my whole life. I’m a local through and through.”

Naser raises a hand, waving it in a little half-circle as he continues. “It’s more the whole, parent thing. My own Mom and Dad just recently left on a long business trip, they’re flying over to Isla Nublar as we speak. Don’t think I’ll be seeing ‘em again for a couple months.”

Isla Nublar. That name sounds familiar. Of course, there’s countless islands off the coasts of Pangea, too many to remember them all. Nublar’s…East of Caldera Bay, I think? No, West. Maybe?

Who cares.

“That’s rough,” I reply, mouth half full with a bite of my sandwich. 

“You get used to it,” he shrugs, only for that smile of his to immediately perk up again. “But, at the same time, it’s kinda refreshing. Means I’ve got a bit of freedom around my house, you know?”

He blusters his lips, rolling his eyes as he quickly adds, “Believe me, they drilled in their expectations of me in that regard over the weekend. Naser, you’re the man of the house while we’re gone! It better not look like a bomb went off when we get back! ” 

His voice had slipped into an accent, seeming to mimic his Dad if I had to guess. It definitely confirms my initial suspicions about his name, though. Seems his family must’ve moved in from elsewhere across the continent at some point before he was born. Probably one of the eastern regions if I had to guess. 

He chuckles a little at his own impression; I phone in a small laugh to try and keep up the vibe. 

“‘Course, it’s nothing really new for my family. You guys move around a lot before this?”

I shake my head. “Nah, we stuck around one spot more or less. This is my first real brush with independence from ‘em, if I’m honest.”

“Oh yeah? Where’re you from?”

Damnit, I walked right into that one. Pasta levels in my pockets are beginning to climb.

“Eeeh, you wouldn’t know it. It’s kind of a small town.” 

Not exactly a lie.

“You’re probably right,” Naser shrugs, another laugh escaping him. “My geography of the northern territories isn’t the best, admittedly.” 

He bought it, score. Time to land this redirect.

“I get it. So, hey, question. Someone in my class said Naomi was president here. Were they wrong or something?”

“Huh?” He blinks,before shaking his head. “Ooooh–nah, see, she’s student council president. I’m the class president. Sameish title, pretty different though.”

“How so?”

“She actually plans stuff out, and I get to look important and give speeches once in a while.”

I swallow a bite of my sandwich. “I’m guessing you like public speaking?”

“I certainly like to try at it.” He winks as he adds, “Never said they were good speeches after all.” 

That gets a genuine laugh out of me.

Chuckling in kind, Naser opens his mouth to speak, only to pause. He glances up for a second before snapping his fingers.

”Shoot, almost forgot about the whole reason I’m here.”

I give a little nod in reply, and Naser is quick to continue.

“So, I’m guessing you became quite familiar with this weird technical hang up we seem to be experiencing in the region this morning, yeah?”

I nod again, “Radio was dying in my Dad’s car earlier, plus nothing seemed to work right during Homeroom.”

“Yep-yep. Earlier today I had to stop by the office between classes, and Sereno mentioned to me that it got in the way of getting you fully processed. So, he asked if I’d be willing to walk you through the last bits of the paperwork. Which brings me to–well, asking you exactly that. You in?”

I blink. “Seriously? When?”

“After classes let out. I’ve gotta be in the Student Life office for a bit anyways, so I figured you could just stop by there after fourth period and we’ll get it sorted. Seems like a better time than having to hang out Sereno and the other fossils some more, y’know?”

He’s not wrong. Besides, out of everyone else I’ve encountered today, Naser is proving to be one of the least obnoxious. Not that that’s a high bar to clear right now. 

Fuck it, why not?

I give a nod. “Sure, sounds good.”

The pterosaur flashes me a smile and thumbs-up. “Sounds like a plan then. The office is on this floor, between the 1-10s and the 1-20s. You’ll know it when you see it.”

“When you say office, do you mean like, an actual office, or just some classroom they let you use?”

“Oh, no, actual office,” he nods. “Big desk, plaque, the whole nine yards. It’s pretty snazzy.” 

“Really?” I hum. “Gotta admit, it’s been kind of a shock, seeing all the stuff they provide you guys here.”

I glance away from Naser for a moment as I say that, taking a second to just look out across the expanse of cafeteria. It’s the first time I’ve actually cared to peer at it since I sat down.

The sun from the skylight’s bathing clusters of students across the room in warm light. The tables aren’t even the only places I spot people; I catch a few pteros and similar flying Saurians chilling out in little nooks and hangouts up towards the ceiling. A pair of Sauropods are craning their necks up to meet them.

There’s just a palpable air of mirth at the moment. Even though it’s school, it seems like people really want to be here. Maybe it’s just the excitement of the first day back.

I never felt this kind of vibe back at Rockbottom though. If it existed, I sure as hell didn’t notice it. It wasn’t as though my former school was the worst around. There were far poorer, far trashier precincts bordering mine, and I heard no shortage of horror stories about them. It’s more so that it just felt like they were doing what was obligated of them. The bare minimum to meet the threshold.

I just can’t help but get the sense that people give a shit here, for lack of a better term.

When I look back at Naser a second later, his expression’s still as welcoming as ever. His words only serve to reinforce what I was thinking.

“What can I say? You picked a pretty great school, Anon.”

For perhaps the first time this morning, a smile crosses my face.

The rest of the lunch period passes by fairly quickly. Naser makes for decent conversation, if nothing else, telling me about Caldera Bay and its hot spots. The best places to get something to eat, where to absolutely avoid, and so on. 

He also takes the time to tell me a little more about himself. The amount of extracurriculars this guy does is insane. Head of the debate team, something called the Young Leaders League, does volunteer work, even submits articles to the school newspaper. I try not to let this hint of Journo behavior taint my first impression of him. The fact this school even has a student newspaper is, in-of-itself, a surprise to me.

He similarly tries to pry into my own background, and I do my best to dance around it. I can easily pick up disappointment over my vague answers, but he doesn’t press any of the issues further. The respect for my privacy is a refreshing thing, to say the least.

Our conversation is finally cut into by the school’s bell ringing out, briefly drowning out the chorus of conversation across the lunchroom. The clamoring of a hundred rising bodies and shuffling feet swiftly follows it. 

Naser rises from his seat, taking a moment to stretch. His wings flare out a little behind him as he does so–and I swear something about the wing closest to me catches my attention. Him speaking draws my attention away from it before I can fully recognize whatever it was that caught my eye.

“Well, better get moving! Don’t wanna be late on the first day, right?”

“Yeah,” I simply agree, bundling up my trash into the brown paper bag it had been stored in, wadding it all together into a nice, tight ball. “Thanks for talking with me, Naser, I appreciate it.”

“No problem. Remember, second floor after classes, alright? It won’t take long.”

“I’ll be there.”

“You better,” he smirks, before raising an arm towards me, fist extended. “It’s been nice to meet you, Anon. Catch you later, alright?”

I give him a nod as we bump knuckles. The dark pterosaur grabs his tray and flashes me a wave as he turns to walk away. I follow him, tossing my trashketball into the same garbage can he rests his tray above.

We split up afterwards, heading in opposite directions. I take a look over my shoulder as he heads off away from me, and I finally realize what exactly caught my eye a moment ago.

One of his wings is mangled up. The left one is barely half the size of the right, looking a little withered. I don’t know how the hell I didn’t notice it before while he was sitting next to me. 

There’s no way he can fly with that thing like the other pterosaurs I’ve seen. Poor guy. 

My thoughts on Naser’s lopsidedness are cut short when a burly Trike in a letterman jacket shoulder bumps the shit out of me as he walks past, causing me to stumble forward. We both exchange a glare at one another, but considering this dude is twice my size, I don’t press the situation. I just start walking, heading towards the nearest stairwell.

Two flights of stairs later, I arrive at the top floor of the building. I huff as I pull out my phone and glance at the photo of my schedule again for what must be the umpteenth time by this point, just to confirm I’m where I should be. FamConSci 312 stares back at me.

…Is that right? I definitely don’t remember my advisor listing a science class to my parents and I back when we were planning this whole thing out. Far as I can recall, I’m supposed to have Home Ec. Cooking, taxes, shit like that. Did my schedule get screwed up?

Taking a glance at the nearest hall, I find that I’m all the way at the 340s. My class is on the other end of the floor, and but a second later the warning bell chimes out from a nearby intercom. I groan as I begin to leg down to the opposite end of the main corridor. 

No time to second guess myself. If there has been some kind of mix-up, I’ll just have to get it fixed tomorrow or after class.

Rounding the corner sharply the moment I spy the 310s, the doorway I’m expecting is just a couple yards away from me, wide open and inviting. I quickly filter in, not wishing to be late and potentially earn the teacher’s ire if they turn out to be a bitch.

The classroom that greets me is definitely different from the prior ones I’ve seen so far. Rather than desks, this time a handful of circular wooden tables are scattered across the length of the main room, each with a smattering of chairs around it. Some three, some four or five. This slight messiness continues on past the seating arrangements. Near the teacher’s desk at the front is a cabinet overstuffed with files and spare supplies, and the whiteboard behind it is wreathed in a long garland of fake yellow flowers. The color of the petals is muted and dull, and the whole thing looks about five years too old to still be on display. 

The walls are covered in various posters; I don’t bother to read the finer details, but their titles speak of everything from nutritional advice to budgeting tips. Behind the tables, there’s two doorless entryways that lead into a backroom without any lights on. The light from the main room lets me make out what looks like a sink and a stove–some kind of small cook station. Vague outlines beyond it suggest several more such work areas.

There’s a faint smell of cinnamon in the air–and a couple dozen eyes peering up at me from the tables. 

My classmates are all peering at me. I’ve been standing in the doorway like a retard. Shit.

Clearing my throat, I manage to swallow the imminent pasta blowout building in my pockets and offer a sweaty-palmed wave of a hand before I quickly sit down at the nearest empty table. 

Whatever interest the rest of the room had in me quickly begins to peter out, the sound of muted conversation brought on by my silence quickly rising to a higher level. I glance at the teacher’s desk for a second time and find it to still be empty; guess whoever it is is running behind today. Oh well.

I quickly decide to make use of the time to catch up on the shitposting that I missed out on at lunch, thanks to Naser’s arrival. Not that his company was particularly bad by any means, but this is the longest I’ve gone without a harvest of (you)s in months. I’m beginning to get the shakes. 

Pulling open the browser on my phone, I decide to discard the video games board for the time being. Trying to go for a post on it resulted in that whole ptero-gender shit earlier. Bad juju. 

Politics is pretty rife for threadshitting at any time of the day, right?

Sliding over to one of my countless open tabs, I quickly refresh the board. What I’m met with actually surprises me.

Top of the catalog, there’s a thread talking about people having trouble connecting to the internet.

With hundreds of replies.

I scroll down a little, and my brow begins to furrow. At least a couple HAPPENING threads, one blaming the Microraptors for whatever’s taking place. Another talking about phone lines being down. And of course, the obligatory BHC thread. 

…This isn’t just happening locally?

What the fuck is going on?

My attention is drawn back up to the hottest thread, the first one I saw. I need to investigate this further. 

I jam my finger on the screen and open the thread. It takes a second to buffer, and I’m immediately struck with fear that another conveniently timed wave of EMP bullshit has come to ruin my browsing yet again. The glowies can only keep a Skinnie down so long before he loses it. 

Relief blossoms in my chest as the OP finally fills my screen. I begin to scroll down–

“ Hey there!”

JESUS–

I look up at the voice in my ear and immediately lean back in my seat as I find a snout FAR too close to me to my liking. If I get startled by one more Saurian today, it’s not going to be pretty.

Said snout, now spread into a sickeningly cheerful grin, belongs to one of the shortest dinos I’ve met all day. They’re clearly some kind of raptor, judging from their general build and the huge tuft of violet feathers jutting out from their long, spindly tail. Their scales are a light peach color, with a ring of violet around their mouth. The raptor’s hair, a similar shade to their feathers, is wavy and messy. They’re wearing blue overalls over a white shirt, with what looks like yellow knee socks. A pair of large, round glasses rested over their pink eyes.

By comparison, the figure looming behind them is far taller, nearly a whole torso higher, if only a little bit broader by comparison. Aqua-blue scales, a long crocodilian snout, shaggy purple hair and eyes to match. What little clothing I could make out beyond the form of the microraptor looked like a gray varsity jacket of some kind. His expression was far more neutral by comparison.

“Hey!” The smaller of the duo repeated, an admittedly infectious degree of mirth in their voice. “You’re the new guy, right? I mean, you gotta be–only human I’ve seen all day.”

“U-Uh, yeah,” I say. “I’m Anon–”

“Yooo, four letter club! Let’s go!” 

The raptor cut me off, enthusiastically pumping their arms as they grinned. 

“Sage.”

The taller, significantly more tired looking Saurian behind them murmured the word out. His voice was deeper compared to that of his shorter, upbeat companion. The raptor looked over their shoulder, seeming to blink, before looking back at me. Their smile was already back on their face.

“Oh, right, forgot! I’m Sage, he’s Leo! Super cool to meet you, dude.”

The taller guy, presumably Leo, gave a short wave of a hand at mention of his name. I swear his fingers looked like they had a bit of webbing between them. 

“You cool if we sit?”

Sage had asked the question while they were actively pulling out the chair right beside me and sitting in it, leaving me with approximately half a second to even consider it. Leo sluggishly followed suit in the chair past them, nudging his friend’s shoulder with an elbow. 

“You didn’t let him answer, dude.”

“It’s, uh. It’s fine, I don’t mind.”

I do. Was really hoping to be able to glide through this period in relative silence, but that seems to be a fleeting dream today. Oh well, it is what it is.

Sage cocks their head halfway over their shoulder, flashing their teeth in another grin as they give a dismissive wave. 

“See? He’s cool with it! No harm done.”

Before either of us can get a response in, Sage turns their full attention back to me, eyes wide and rapt with fascination. They almost remind me of that Naomi chick from homeroom. Almost.

Speaking of, is this a guy or a girl? I genuinely can’t get a read, and it’s starting to piss me off a bit.

“Soooo, buddy! Where’d you come from? You from anywhere around here? I heard there’s a lot of humans that live over in Pebble Beach from a friend! You one of ‘em?”

The sheer speed that the questions fly out of Sage’s mouth is beginning to make my head spin. The saccharine overload of their personality is probably meant to come off as endearing, but it’s only serving to grate against me.

“I’ve never really heard of Pebble Beach before, and I’m not from anywhere around here. Sorry.”

“Oh, I got’cha! It’s like this town a couple miles north-westery from the Bay, real pretty! Don’t know why they call it Pebble Beach though, all the beaches there were pretty sandy last time I went up. Talk about false advertising, am I right?”

They snicker at their own joke–and quickly resume talking once more.

“So, you’re, what? From the northern areas?”

“Yeah, around there.”

“Anywhere in particular? I’ve got some relatives that have made trips up that way before!”

“I don’t think you’d really know the place, it’s kinda small.”

“What’s it called?”

Holy shit, there’s no getting away from this person. I can feel myself getting boxed into a corner. 

“I, uh…I don’t–”

“Hey.”

Leo interrupts me, nudging Sage’s shoulder again to get their attention. He speaks as the microraptor shoots him a confused look.

“Any idea where Williston’s at? She’s usually pretty on time, yeah?”

The microraptor’s eyes widen.

“Oh, shoot, you’re right!” Sage pauses, and when they speak next, their voice radiates concern. “Do you think I should go look for them?”

“Nah, just give it a minute,” Leo shakes his head. “I’m sure she’ll show up.”

“Hopefully,” Sage murmurs, before looking back at me. The concern on their face immediately brightens once more. 

“Willy’s the teacher of Home Ec here at Volcano High! She also handles all of the culinary programs too. She’s like, the sweetest old lady ever, you’ve got no idea. You’re gonna love her.”

So this is the right classroom after all. Wonder what’s up with my schedule then.

“Still don’t know why you’re taking this class,” Leo grumbles. “The stuff you’re already taking is like, this but better.”

“Yeeeeeaaaaaah,” Sage agrees, canting their head from side to side like a metronome. “But you’re here! And so is our new pal, Anon! Totally worth it!”

Really making some assumptions buddy. 

“Speaking of,” Sage rambles on, focusing on me in particular once more. “Soooo, why’d you decide to take this class?”

I rub the back of my neck. “I dunno, parents assumed it might be good for me since I’m gonna be on my own. I kinda agreed with them, I think. I don’t really remember.” 

Sage blinks. “You’re on your own?”

Shit. 

“Uh, yeah–parents didn’t move down with me.”

Sage frowns at that. 

“That’s rough,” Leo interjects. “You got an apartment or something?”

I nod. He hums, “Privacy’s probably nice though.”

“I guess,” I shrug. 

Though the frown on their face is fading, I notice that Sage is glancing between me and Leo as we converse. As much of a conversation as our short exchange was, at least. 

“Still, sucks that you’re making a change this big on your own,” they say, voice slowly beginning to climb back to the bubbly tempo it possessed before. “I think what you said is a good idea, though.”

They pause mid-sentence, eyes widening. “--Wait. Waitwaitwait, do you not know how to cook?”

They start to lean towards me. All it takes is a hesitant nod to earn a squee from them. 

“Dude, I’m so teaching you how to make stuff! It’s happening, guaranteed.”

“Sage likes to cook,” Leo murmurs. “If you couldn’t tell.”

“Like?!” The microraptor blusters their lips. “Cooking is my–Oop, wait, hold on a sec!”

The raptor raises a hand towards me, finger extended as they look towards the doorway. 

What comes into the classroom first is green-scaled, short-muzzled head, grey hair done up in a neat bun, a pair of wide spectacles resting along the bridge of their snout. What follows is a long neck. Followed by more neck…And more neck…

Holy shit.

I’ve seen Sauropods from a distance, but this lady seems to be taking it to be a bit of an excess. It’s almost comedic how long the elderly herbivore’s neck extends, looking like a grassy serpent hovering in the air through strength of will. 

Following behind the extensive scrag is the actual body of the teacher. A somewhat round, homely figure, torso wrapped in a thick winter sweater, with a long, floral-patterned skirt hanging around her legs. A tail of equally stupendous proportions waves behind her. 

A sweater. In the middle of the most tropical September I’ve experienced in my life. Fucking Saurians. 

“Sorry for the delay, class,” the senior saur-citizen chimes out in a soft, light voice as she hobbles her way behind the desk at the front of the room. “Had a mix-up at the front office that required my assistance, I won’t bore you with the details.”

As the longneck begins to fiddle with the monitor of the computer by her desk, her kindly expression begins to grow frustrated. Tech illiteracy and old age go hand and hand, I suppose. 

It’s all Sage needs to shoot up from their seat, practically vibrating with eagerness as they bound their way up to the front of the room. The teacher smiles warmly as she sees the microraptor coming her way, and the pair actually share a hug. Seems they’re familiar with one another–makes sense, given what the microraptor was saying a little bit ago.

I focus on opening my backpack, getting out the usual materials. I catch sight of Sage helping the Sauropod activate the projector and get a slide presentation of some kind set up. Not exactly a surprise, today’s nothing but class intros. 

I catch them glance back my way once or twice as they speak to each other. Which reminds me, I’m probably going to be asked to introduce myself, again.

I begin to rehearse my sixteen words again–only to hear a click of a tongue to my left.

“Hey,” Leo says along with it, asking for my attention. As I look over at him, he pauses for a second. His brow furrows–he almost looks uncomfortable. 

Same, bro. Same.

“Sorry about Sage,” he murmurs. “He, uh…He can be a lot.”

Wait, that’s a guy? 

I must’ve made a face, because the blue Saurian frowns a little.

“He means well, promise. He’s just eager to meet new people. If it’s too much, I can say something.”

“It’s alright,” I reply, swallowing down the impulse to take him up on the offer. Leo nods in response, before looking forward. I follow his eyes to see Sage skipping back towards us, a smile still on their–no, his face. Gonna take me a minute to get used to that. 

“Back!” He chirps as he sits down between us, shimmying in his seat. “Willy needed some help ‘n’ I wanted an excuse to say hi!”

Sage snickers as he turns his attention forward as well. I follow suit as the teacher clears her quite lengthy throat. 

“Good morning to you all!--Oh, no, I suppose it’s afternoon now, isn’t it?” She scoffs softly. “For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Mrs. Williston. Welcome to, ehm, Family and Consumer Sciences.”

She pauses, taking a moment to wave around her copy of her own syllabus in her hand. She slowly swivels her neck about to glance towards the powerpoint projected on the board behind her.

“Back when I was your age, this was called Home Economics! And it’s still what everyone I know refers to it as, so, that’s what we’re going to call it as well moving forward. Good? Good.”

The longneck bobs her head in a nod at her own question, before her neck shifts about to focus on me. She offers me a smile from on high.

Here we go.

“Before we get into this overview, I’d like to take a moment to introduce Anon! He’s a new student at Volcano High, and will be joining us for our journey together this semester.”

My peers across the room are glancing in my direction once more. Sixteen words, Anon. Get them out quick and this’ll all be over soon.

I’m fully expecting the call to stand up and introduce myself. But it doesn’t.

“How has your first day here been so far, Mr. Mous?” She asks me instead.

I blink, a second or two passing as I’m caught off-guard by the unexpected question. Williston doesn’t seem to mind though, merely smiling down at me still.

“Uhm, it’s been pretty alright,” I finally say, nodding slowly. “Interesting to say the least.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” she beams. “I hope you’ll find my class to be enjoyable.”

I’m anticipating the usual ask to follow that up, but it doesn’t. Williston smiles at me one last time before she looks elsewhere in the class, immediately picking up where she had left off.

“Now then! I don’t have too much for you all today, just going to go over what to expect with our class this year and then I’ll have some forms for you to take home. Sound good? Now, as you might know…”

Williston began to work her way through her slides, speaking efficiently. She kind of strikes me as a kinder, more approachable Roberts in terms of tone. It’s pleasant, and even better, she surprisingly spared me the usual shit I’ve had to otherwise deal with today.

The presentation itself isn’t anything to knock home about. Williston highlights the core blocks of the class throughout the semester, expectations going forward, tardy policies. It’s all delivered with a sort of briskness that you’d expect from someone who’s probably given this spiel a hundred times before.

It doesn’t escape my notice that beside me, Sage gets visibly giddy whenever she begins to cover the portions of the class that’ll be dedicated to cooking. Leo wasn’t lying.

Despite looking to be twice Mr. Osborn’s age, Williston manages to clear covering the curriculum in less than half the time it took the History Teacher before lunch. As her presentation ends on a blank, black slide, she claps her hands together and sweeps the class with her gaze.

“Any questions?” Upon being met with silence and a few shaking heads, she nods and adds, “Very well! I’m going to be passing out release forms to you all now, these are just papers you and a parent need to sign to ensure they know you’ll be working with hot surfaces that could burn you. Nothing you haven’t seen before in chemistry or other such classes.”

She makes her rounds to each table, dolling out enough papers for each student as she passes by. I can hear her softly humming to herself as she slips the three of us our own forms, before moving on to the rest.

I pick the page up and glance over its contents as she finishes her lap around the classroom. True to what Williston said, it’s a simple legal document, written so concisely that an idiot could understand it. Informing you of the potential risk of taking this class, that you are expected to essentially practice common sense, yadda yadda.

At the bottom of the page is a pair of lines, requiring two signatures. One from me, another from a parent. Guess I’ll be forging a signature when I get home–not that she’d know. Or care. No one actually reads these things, right?

“Alright!” Williston calls out as she slips behind her desk once more. “That’s all we’ve got today. Easy-peezy little intro. It looks like we’ve got about twenty minutes or so left, so feel free to talk among yourselves or do homework if you’ve already got some.

“Just keep the volume down, dears,” she adds with a smile. 

Conversation quickly begins to fill the air. I’m forced to jump a little as Sage slaps his hands on the table and stands up. 

“I GOTTA go tell Big W about some of the stuff I baked up this summer, been looking forward to this for weeks!”

Before either Leo or I can reply, Sage is already moving up to the teacher’s desk, tail-feathers sashaying about happily as he goes. 

Though the rest of the room is talking among themselves, there’s an awkward silence that hangs between Leo and I for some time after Sage departs. I glance towards him and find him looking at his own, eyes pinned on the screen in his webbed fingers. 

It’s strange. The quiet should be comforting, but being in such close proximity to this guy has left me feeling a bit obligated to say something. 

I just, don’t know what to say.

“...Uh.”

His eyes flick up from his phone and glance towards me at the noise.

“We don’t gotta talk,” he softly replies. “It’s chill.”

I blink. “Y-You sure…?”

“Yeah,” he nods, sighing softly as he continues. “I’ve been where you’re at before. I get what it’s like. Sage wanted to be friendly, but if you’re just trying to vibe, it’s fine.”

It almost feels like he’s trying to find an out from the conversation himself. 

“Uh…” I clear my throat, idly tapping my phone case while I try to think of what to say. 

What should I say?

He’s offering me the chance to disengage. Even said he’d speak to his hyperactive counterpart earlier. I should want this–I kinda do.

But it’s not like either of them have been rude or weird. Sure, Sage is a bit…Well, REALLY overwhelming, but I never really got the hint that it felt fake or forced. Just too much to handle for my tastes.

I doubt Williston’s going to let me slink by without tablemates, so I’m gonna have to learn to deal with some people in this class regardless. Might as well be them. 

“...Nah, we can chat.” That’s what I decide to say. “You two seem alright.” 

Leo grunts softly at that, lowering his phone a little. 

“Cool,” he bluntly replies with a pause. “So, you got any hobbies?”

“Eh, not really.” 

He hums. “You kinda strike me as a gamer.”

Is it that fucking obvious?

I shrug, “Yeah, I’ve got a few consoles and a toaster of a PC. Gonna have to set them up later today.”

“Knew it.” He pauses, squinting for a moment. “Xrox?”

“Xrox,” I agree. “The Pachystation doesn’t have any games after all.”

I just flew a little too close to revealing my power level with that last bit. If Leo caught it, he doesn’t let it show. 

“Mmh, I mean, it does. Can get the same experience watching their playthroughs online though.”

“You’re not wrong. So, what do you play? Rock Ring?”

“Yeah, among other things,” Leo nods. “You?”

“Same.” Wait. There’s an important distinction that needs to be made. “Which Rock Ring’s your favorite?”

Please don’t say Five. Please don’t say Five. Please don’t say–

“Oh, I love Gargantuans man. Probably the best in the series.”

The tiny bit of comfort I felt around this moody blue-and-purple freak just died. Leo’s face betrays no emotion, but I know for a fact my expression has twisted into a scowl of raw disgust. 

Fuck this, I’m moving to another table first thing tomorrow. It’s taking every ounce of my willpower not to pummel this jabroni on the spot.

Suddenly, Leo snorts. His long snout twists into a snaggletoothed smirk, a throaty laugh never quite leaving his chest.

“I’m screwing with you dude. Breach is the best, obviously.” 

Maybe there is a Jurassic God after all.

“Don’t fuckin’ scare me like that again,” I grumble at him, shaking my head as the mounting terror in me at encountering a living 434 fan dies away. Leo just laughs again, a little more audibly this time.

The remainder of the class passes by quickly as Leo and I converse with one another about vidya. Naser was nice enough to speak with earlier, don’t get me wrong, but it’s genuinely refreshing to actually talk to someone that’s more my speed about a thing I actually find interesting.

The bell spells an end to our conversation just as we stumble over the topic of a certain hat salesman and his sweet little lies about the sky’s rim. We both stand from our seats, Leo taking the time to grab Sage’s backpack for him. He hands it to the microraptor as he comes skipping over to us. It’s only now that I realized just how short Sage is, standing at my shoulder. By contrast, Leo looms a good head over me. 

The three of us walk out together as Williston says her goodbyes to the class, reminding us to try and get our forms signed and returned to her by the end of the week. 

We pause in the hall, hanging near the wall as other students pass by us. Leo and Sage turn to look at me, the former of the two speaking up first.

“So, where you headed next?”

“Schedule says my last class is a literature one, down on the second floor.” I glance between them as I add, “You two?”

“Calc,” Leo groans.

“Psych for me,” Sage chimes in, bouncing a little as he grins. “I’ve got Lafferty for it and I’m super stoked! I’ve heard he’s hilarious!”

“Don’t know who that is,” I gently remind him.

“--Shoot, right! I’ll have to fill you in next time we see you.” He firmly nods, before he gives me a grin. “Oh, before I head out? Got something for you.”

Sage slips off his backpack and fishes into it. He withdraws a huge ziplock bag, crammed full of some equally large cookies. Holy shit. That’s not chocolate chip, that’s not even chocolate chunk. That’s chocolate fucking boulder. 

“Have a cookie! I made them this morning for my friends,” he says. “And since you’re now my newest one, that means you get one too.” 

On one hand, accepting food from a Saurian was always one of those things my Uncles and Dad always told me never to do.

On the other hand, I can smell those cookies from here. And goddamn, they smell delicious. “Really? Hell yeah,” I say, reaching over and snagging one from the bag. “Thanks, man.”

I give the cookie, which is almost the size of my hand, a brief once-over, before I’m unable to resist the impulse to take a test bite. Something which Sage is clearly waiting for with rapt attention.

I think I can physically feel my arteries clogging. This might actually be the best cookie I’ve ever had in my entire life.

“...That’s dangerous,” I finally say. They’re the only words I can possibly muster to describe what I just experienced.

“Spent all summer getting good at ‘em, among other recipes,” Sage beams. “The secret ingredient is lavender!”

He then gave me a wink. “ Or is it? ”

“...Is it?”

“You’ll never know,” Sage smirks, stowing away his cookie bag once more before shooting a pair of finger-guns my way. “Alright, I gotta get going! It was nice to meet you Anon! See you tomorrow!”

Sage turns to leave, only to pause and quickly wrap Leo’s torso up in a tight hug. The taller student hesitantly returns it with a single, mumbling something beneath his breath. I could hear the microraptor giggle as he released Leo and disappeared down the hall. 

I use the brief interaction to finish off the chocolate chip discus Sage left me with. As I take my last bite, I glance back at Leo. He looks embarrassed, presumably from the PDA. He clears his throat, taking a second to find his words.

“So, uh, hey. Would you wanna exchange numbers or something? Could play some RR together tonight, if you’re down.” 

That makes me pause. Did I hear that right?

“Anon?”

“Huh?” I shake my head.

“Sorry, it’s loud out here. I said–”

“N-No, you’re good, I heard you. It’s just…” I end up shaking my head again. “Nevermind. Yeah, here, let me get it out.”

I fish my phone out of my pocket and pull out my contacts, and we briskly exchange numbers. Leo gives me a wave as he begins to turn around. 

“Catch you around man,” he says to me in parting.

“Later,” I call out to him, before looking down at my phone screen.

The sight of the pictureless contact, having yet to be given a name, leaves me with an odd feeling. It’s the first time I’ve added someone onto my phone in…

God, I can’t even remember.

I shake off the weird melancholy that’s come over me and begin to move to the nearest stairwell. Just like before, I don’t want to be late. I start mulling over those sixteen words all over again as I prepare myself for what I hope is the final introduction for the day.

And yet, when I finally reach the room on the second floor with the correct number corresponding to it, I find that all that anticipation was for nothing. The wooden door’s locked and closed, and a piece of paper is taped to the front of it. It’s blank, save for a few words in all caps right in the middle, bold and black.

“CLASS CANCELLED, REPORT TO LIBRARY FOR FREE PERIOD”

Guess I’m not getting my start on Literature today after all. Oh well. I turn right back around and start to head towards the stairwell once more, knowing I’m going to have to exit the building to reach the library.

Just before I can reach those front doors I so retardedly stepped through this morning, the final bell rings, signaling the start of class. I just roll my eyes. If I’m already going to be late, I might as well take my time getting there from here-on.

A decision that’s immediately countered the moment I feel the afternoon heat envelop me like a smothering blanket.

Holy shit, it is hot outside.

I had hoped it was going to cool down as the day went on, but if anything it just feels like it became even worse. The sun’s just a little bit beyond its apex by this point, glaring down at me like the wrathful eye of God Himself.

The campus, largely devoid of bodies now, is admittedly very pretty to walk through. A shame that I’m unable to appreciate my trek back down the stone path as I bake all the way to the library’s double doors. By the time I reach them and swing one open, I’m drenched in a new layer of sweat.

I’m immediately reminded why air conditioning is one of the best inventions of all time too.

After taking a minute to not look like a moron on the verge of heatstroke, I make my way further into the library itself. Shortly beyond the entryway is an administrative terminal of sorts. Seated behind it is a middle-aged raptor woman in business attire. She asks me for my visit, and after telling her about the situation with my class, she hands me a clipboard with a list of names with blank spaces behind them. I sign it before handing it back to her.

“You’re free to explore the library or hang around the outside planters for the duration of your period,” she tells me. “Please keep your noise to a minimum if you remain indoors, thank you.”

I give her a nod before I make my way towards the main collection. Fuck going back outside.

The bulk of the building consists of rows upon rows of thick, gray-painted wooden shelves taller than me, lined with books of every description, fiction and nonfiction. Wide windows around the length of the library let in sunlight, creating pools of shadows between the middle-most rows. 

I spy a number of fellow students as I sate my boredom with my exploring, presumably my classmates. I don’t recognize any of them–at least, none that I can see thus far.

Towards one of the far walls of the building rests a long row of school computers with dead monitors. I take my seat at one of these computers and am tempted to pull out my phone again–but pass. 

Finally getting to the shitposting I’ve been denied three fucking times now would be sweet, but I didn’t leave Math class today without a parting gift from Mr. Marsh. A day one worksheet. Homework on the first day, what a dick.

No, better to get this out of the way now so I have more time to focus on unpacking my stuff later.

I take my precious time with the worksheet, allowing myself to drag it out to try and make passing the time go by a little quicker. It definitely doesn’t take the whole period to complete, but by the time I do finish the problems, I’m left feeling a little too much brain drain to think of any good bait.

I piss away the remainder of my free time doomscrolling. 

The bell finally rings for the final time today. It even noticeably stretches on a little longer than expected compared to the rest. Packing up my stuff and slinging my backpack back on, I file out of the library and head towards the front door.

Battling the still-grueling heat of the outside world, I now find the previously enjoyable quiet of the campus has been destroyed. Hundreds of bodies are filing out of the main building and its surrounding auxiliaries. The crowds split between a distant bus lane and the parking lot I’m currently passing by. 

I almost begin to naturally follow the flow of traffic, before I remember–that paperwork.

Time for that meeting with Naser. 

Doing my best to navigate through the hordes, I finally slip my way back inside the main building. 

Admittedly, I’ve completely forgotten what the exact room numbers he mentioned earlier were. I just begin to wander the halls, filing down one at a time until I finally spy the plaque I’m looking for: “STUDENT LIFE OFFICE.”

I rap my knuckles against the light wooden door.

“Come on in!” Calls a voice that I immediately recognize as Naser’s.

Upon opening the door, I’m met with a small office, the bulk of which is taken up by a pair of large wooden desks in a L shape before me. The desk directly before me, upon which rests a laptop and a small collection of papers, is occupied by Naser. Behind him is yet another glass-paneled trophy case, filled with various awards. 

Sitting at the desk to his right, resting along the wall to my left, is Naomi. 

Shit.

There’s a wide window behind her, its shutter open and revealing an eye-level view of the lush gardenscape outside the building. The sunlight illuminates her as she glances up at me. She gives me a smile and wave.

“Hey there, Anon,” she greets me. She sounds cheery–but doesn’t seem surprised by my presence.

“Nice to see you finally made it,” Naser says, smiling in kind. “There should be a spare chair over there by the other end of the room, pull it on up and we can get started.”

“Sorry about that,” Naomi adds, wincing. “Still getting some stuff set up in here.”

“It’s no big deal,” I reply, walking over to the chair in the aforementioned corner and collecting it, repositioning it to rest opposite of Naser at his desk. I promptly sit down in it.

“Let’s go ahead and get started,” Naser tells me, sliding over one of the forms along the desk my way. “This really shouldn’t take that long, promise.”

He begins to lead me through the beginning of finalizing my documentation. Mostly, it just consists of him narrating some prewritten lines and indicating where and what I need to sign. Frankly, this is so mundane that I don’t really see why the Principal had him bother with this in the first place. Any clerk could’ve done it. 

I kinda feel bad for wasting his time.

As I sign, listen and sign some more, Naomi glances up from whatever project she seemed to be working on, speaking to me.

“So Anon, what did you think of your first day at school here with us?”

“It was…Pretty alright,” I say, pausing a minute as I skim over a portion of text on the current document I’m working on.

“Really? Just alright?” I can see her brow furrow a little.

“I mean, it wasn’t bad,” I reply. “Just, y’know. Different.”

“Probably a lot to take in on one day,” Naser interjects. Naomi nods at both of us.

“Makes sense,” she says, before she pauses. “Well, I’m sure things’ll only improve going forward. Every first time is always a little bumpy after all.”

Her smile returns as she adds, “Did you make any friends since we last saw each other?”

“Well, I met Naser here,” I tell her, taking a moment to decide on my next words. I pause in my writings, glancing up at the ceiling for a moment. “Met these two guys that I’m probably partnered with in Home Ec. One of them gave me a cookie.”

“Sage,” they both say in unison.

“Ooooh dear,” Naomi groans. “I really, really hope he didn’t put you off. He’s a sweetheart, just a little..Much at times.”

“Yeah,” Naser agrees. “He makes some pretty killer food though.”

Naser seems to pause for a moment. I catch his expression shift a little in the corner of my vision, his smile seeming to dampen a little.

“There…Wasn’t a problem or anything, right?”

The glimmer of hesitation in his tone is enough to make me blink–not to mention the words of the question itself. Huh?

“No?” I immediately reply. “Why would there be?”

“Ah, just, y’know. Like Naomi said–he can be a lot.”

Naomi didn’t bring in her own two cents this time.

The conversation dies there. As I finish one form and then another, both Naser and Naomi have stopped speaking for a moment, save Naser giving me brief instructions here or there as I continue on my way. The atmosphere of the room has definitely changed.

I can only bear it for so long before I finally put down my pen and raise my eyes, looking between them. It’s my turn to ask now.

“...Uhm, is everything alright?”

Naomi sighs at that. “Hopefully,” she says, glancing over at Naser. He clears his throat, seeming to mull over his words for a moment.

“So, I heard about what happened earlier today, at the end of the Homeroom you shared with Naomi.”

Goddamnit, I had a feeling this was going to come back to haunt me.

“What about it…?”

Naser rubs the back of his neck, “Well, it’s just…From what Naomi told me, you got into a little spat of sorts with my sibling. I just wanted to kind of, see what it was about, you know?”

I blink. “Your sibling?”

He nods, “Yeah, Fang. They’re my older sibling.”

As I look into his eyes, it immediately hits me. They’re the exact same color as the feathery punk’s.

Besides that, they look absolutely nothing alike. The differences in their wings alone make them look like entirely different species. Goddamn.

Naomi finally speaks up again, “I don’t think you meant it, but you did misgender them. We’re just both concerned about it, is all. I was hoping to talk to you about it after class, but I don’t think you heard me when you passed by me.”

No, I did. I just kept moving.

Kind of like how I want to move right now. I am really getting interrogated over this? I could deal with the teacher being a dick, but getting grilled by these assholes is another thing entirely.

–Calm down. You sit right beside Naomi in one class, and Naser was nothing but pleasant earlier. Not to mention, they’re both in positions of relative authority.

I can’t afford to piss either of these people off.

“So, do you wanna say why what happened, happened?” Naser finishes for both of them. There’s concern in his expression, and a bit of guarded skepticism in his eyes. “From your side of the story.” 

I drum my finger against the desktop for a moment. 

This is such a nonissue that it isn’t even funny, and yet my heart’s beating a million miles a minute.

I feel put on the spot. Way more than any class introduction or other situation today has forced me to. One of my legs is shaking of its own volition.

It doesn’t take long for me to reach the conclusion of what I want to say to him:

The truth.

“...To be honest, man?”

Naser leans in a little. I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck.

“I’ve been on edge all day today, big move and all. When Roberts snapped at me like that, I just kinda…I dunno. Assumed the worst, thought she was picking on me for being human. So, when I saw someone else on their phone right beside me, I let my temper slip a bit.”

I give Naser a frown. “That’s it, I swear. I didn’t mean to cause a problem for anyone, let alone your sister.”

“Sibling,” Naser gently corrects. “But, I get it man. I believe you.”

“So, Fang being enbie isn’t a problem,” Naomi gently interjects, tilting her head a little.

“What? No,” I reply to her, doing my best to mask the mounting annoyance that this they-them shit is still being brought up. “I didn’t know about it to begin with. It doesn’t matter to me.”

She sighs at that, “Good, I’m glad to hear it.” She glances over at Naser, and I follow her gaze.

The ptero’s visibly deflated, bringing up at hand to massage his brow. “Thanks for talking to us about it, Anon. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that, but they’re Naomi’s friend and my family. We both just want what’s best for them, you know?”

I shake my head, “It’s fine. If I had a sis-bling, I’d probably do the same.”

If he notices the near-slip, he doesn’t let on. His smile starts to pick up again as he asks, “We cool?”

I nod back at him, “We’re good.”

“Just try to be mindful in the future, now that you know,” Naomi adds, smiling at me once more. “It’s all I ask.”

“I’ll do my best,” I tell her, suppressing my urge to roll my eyes. “Now, can we get this finished?”

Naser firmly nods, "Definitely." 

 The room’s atmosphere is light again as we wrap up the rest of the documents. After I finish signing the last one, Naser takes a second to review it before he folds the stack together and taps their edges into alignment against the desk.

“Alright, you should be good to go!” Naser says, resting the stack on the desk before him. “I’ll get this dropped off at the front office before I leave today.”

“Cool,” I reply, pushing myself out of my chair. “Thanks, Naser.”

“You bet.”

“I hope you have a good day Anon,” Naomi says, giving me a wave. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I just wave back at her as I move towards the door. I turn the doorknob–

“Actually, hey, Anon?”

I pause and look over my shoulder as Naser calls to me. “Yeah?”

“Would you like a ride home?” He asks me, jerking a thumb in the direction of the window by Naomi. “I don’t know if you’ve got a car, but I figured I’d offer. We’re about to head out here soon anyways.”

“We are?” Naomi blinks.

“Wouldn’t you rather finish this yearbook stuff back at the house than here?”

She hums at his response, before giving a shrug. “Can’t say you’re wrong.”

Naomi stands, beginning to collect the project she had arrayed out on her desk and file it into her backpack. Naser rises around, looking back to me.

“You in?”

I’ve really had my fill of these two today, especially after the fucking stunt they just pulled.

I’ve had my fill of everyone today, really. 

But it is hot as balls outside. And that is a long ass walk.

“...Sure,” I shrug. “If you’re offering, I’d appreciate it.” 

“Great! Just give me a sec,” he tells me, getting his own stuff situated. Rather than sling his own backpack on, he just carries it in one of his hands. Have to imagine the wings make it difficult.

“Alright, let’s get a move on,” he says to the both of us as he approaches the door and I. I open it for him, letting him and Naomi go first before I follow behind them.

Naser leads us out of the main building and to the parking lot by the library, which is now largely vacant, save a few stragglers dotted across the asphalt. He fishes a pair of keys out of his pocket, and presses the unlock button. A clean, dark gray sedan towards the front of the lot audibly clicks.

We pile into the car; I let Naomi take shotgun, given she’ll be in the car longer than me. As I adjust my seat belt, I’m surprised at just how similar the vehicle’s interior is to the cars people back home drive. I had always heard Saurians had adjustments compared to vehicles solid to humans, on account of how different our bodies are.

As I look closer, I do notice some differences though. The back of the driver and passenger seats are noticeably slimmer than normal, allowing Naser to let his wings rest against the sides more comfortably. Naomi has curled her tail into her lap, resting her hands on top of it.

“Isn’t that uncomfortable?” I ask her, causing her to glance over her shoulder as Naser begins to pull out from the parking lot and away from the school. “I kinda figured you’d have different seats for your tails.”

“Oh, we do,” she quickly replies, nodding, “The seats in my family’s car have gaps towards the bottom we can slide our tails through, for instance. Naser’s just doesn’t.”

“Ptero tails are pretty short,” Naser says. “So it doesn’t really bother me as much. Plus, since this was and still is my first car, Dad didn’t wanna spend a premium on making it too fancy.

“By the way, Anon, you said your apartment’s on the east, right? You mind giving me your address?”

“Oh, yeah, thanks for reminding me.”

I pull out my phone and look up the note where I saved the information pertaining to my apartment. The address, account numbers, other stuff. After I give it to him he begins to enter it on a GPS app on his car’s center console. Meanwhile, Naomi looks back at me, beginning to speak once more.

“Fun fact, it’s actually a whole field of medical engineering, figuring out ways to make products safe and comfortable for different Saurian species! It’s not what I plan on going into, but I’ll probably have to take a few courses on it in University.”

She raises a hand, and then a finger as she lists off, “For instance, did you know that in order to make it easier for sauropods to drive most commercial vehicles without extensive modifications, we developed a padded neck post that you install on the roof of the car?”

“Neck…Post…?” I squint. “How the hell does that work?”

“They wind their necks around it once they’re seated, and stop once their head is an optimal position to drive the car without taking up too much space.” She moves her hand in a clockwise spinning motion as she explains. “It’s actually the only way some species, like Diplodocus, can legally drive.”

I furrow my brow. “That sounds weird.”

“It looks even weirder,” Naser says.

The rest of the drive up is predominantly filled by a deluge of more Saurian medical trivia by Naomi. To give her credit, if health is the field she’s wanting to go into, she’s essentially a walking textbook. I think I end up learning more about dino biology quirks in this car ride than I have over the course of my entire life. 

When we finally arrive at our destination, she’s giving the both of us a miniature lecture of the invention of acid-nullifying tissue paper to safely combat congestion and illnesses among some kind of carno called a Dilophosaurus. 

“Sorry to cut in, Professor,” Naser briskly interjects the moment the parasaur finally offers a pause in her rambling. “Anon, is this it? Map’s showing this is the place.”

I had glanced out the window by this point. What I’m met with is a tall apartment complex, several stories high made of worn brick and concrete facades. There’s an office at the very ground floor, and a long, zig-zagging stairwell alternates between the floors above it, each containing a pair of apartments opposite of one another. Most of the windows along the building have their shutters down, and more than a few are cracked. It’s nestled between a couple far better townhouses alongside the right side of the road.

I sigh softly. “Yep, this is it.”

As I unbuckle myself, both Naser and Naomi shift about in their seats to look back at me. Naser is the first to speak.

“Well, said it earlier, but I’ll say it again. It’s been nice meeting you, Anon. I hope after all the craziness you still had a good day.”

“If not, I’m sure tomorrow can always be better,” Naomi nods, smiling. “Welcome to Volcano High, Anon. We’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

Unfortunately.

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” I tell them, leaning over to open the door. “Thanks again for the ride guys. See you around.”

“Hey, don’t forget,” Naser calls to me as I turn to close the door behind me. “We’ve got an assembly tomorrow morning! Better not miss it, your’s truly is the speaker.” 

“We’ve got pictures next Friday too!” Naomi adds. “Bye for now, have a good night!”

“See you guys,” I say again as I finally shut the door. 

I take a second to watch Naser drive off, before I turn and start to head towards the stairway along the side of the building. My trek is, unfortunately, quite a long one. I have to leg it up four flights of stairs before I finally reach my floor. I’m huffing for breath as I stagger towards the door with my number on it.

Room 404. My new home away from home.

Goddamn, fuck that climb. At least I’ll definitely be getting some sort of cardio in, between the walk to and from school and the stairs.

I sift through the front container of my backpack for a moment, pulling out my keys for the first time today. I select the newest addition of the admittedly sparse keyring, and open the door. I nudge the lightswitch with my shoulder as I stumble inside. 

To call my apartment a shoebox is an understatement. I walk into the “living room” of a space that combines the kitchen and living room into a single floor. I’m standing on a square of old carpet with a cheap, mass-produced dollar store couch, armchair and a small coffee table between them. A plywood TV stand rests on the far end of the wall, sans a TV. 

To my left is the other square that makes the rectangle of my living space, the carpet giving way to white tile. The kitchen itself is fairly simple–a stove, a microwave, some overhead shelves and pantry space, with more shelves at the bottom near the floor. A partially-ajar lazy susan rests in the corner of the L-shape. A dishwasher rests at the far end near a humming white brick of a fridge.

There’s two doors on the far wall across from me. The one to my left, closest to the fridge, is my bathroom. The one directly ahead of me, open to a dark room without the lights on, is my bedroom.

It’s not much, but honestly, for the deal we got on the price of rent? It could be a hell of a lot worse.

The house is notably devoid of anything resembling decorations. What it is filled with, right now, is a number of boxes and totes, none of them open. The very same that had been stuffed inside of my Dad’s car earlier today.

I take a moment to survey the amount of work before me, before I spy what appears to be a sticky note left on the fridge door. I walk over and peel it off, bringing it closer to my eyes as I read what’s scribbled on it.

“Got your stuff up here for you. Made sure your appliances all work–they do. You do the rest. Leftover pizza in fridge. Call mom when your home. – Dad”

Should probably get that over with already. They’re likely expecting me by this point; wait anymore, and they’ll end up calling me instead. And I really don’t want to deal with a pissed Mom and Dad right now.

That pizza’s life is numbered in minutes, though. Moment I’m off the phone I’m chowing it down.

I walk over to the cheap couch in my not-so-living-room living room, tossing my backpack off and leaning it against it before I flop down on the cushions. I promptly discover that, not only does it look cheap, it also feels extremely uncomfortable! Not like I’ll be in here much anyways.

I pull out my phone and open my contacts. I’m immediately greeted with a number I don’t recognize! The shock fades a moment after as I recall meeting Leo earlier today. I take the moment to properly label him, before I navigate away from his number and pull up my Mom. 

I take a breath and prepare myself. This is probably going to be a slog, but it should be the last form of social interaction I need to force myself through today. You’re at the finish line, Anon. 

I press call; the phone screen shifts to a mostly black call menu as it begins to ring. I put the phone on speaker and rest it on the couch arm closest to me, staring down at it as it cycles. 

The tone rings four times; halfway through the fifth, it abruptly stops. There’s a moment of silence, followed by the sound of something shifting faintly in the background.

“Hello?” A woman’s voice says. “Anon?”

“Hey, Mom.”

“Hi honey,” she replies. She sounds tired. “I was getting worried about you. What took you so long getting home? You didn’t have trouble getting back, did you?”

“No, I didn’t,” I tell her. “I actually got a ride back from some people I met today.”

“--Seriously?” There’s a new energy of interest that enters her voice. It’s like I can feel her sitting up in her seat on the other end of the call. “Who, why?” 

“Well–”

“Actually,” she cuts me off. “Let me get your father on the line first. That way you don’t need to make two calls.”

“Sure.”

There’s a period of silence as Mom fumbles with her phone, trying to make the call a three-way one. It takes her a minute, but before long the phone begins to ring all over again. By comparison, Dad almost immediately picks up.

“I’m here,” he says over the line. His voice has a crackle to it, and there’s a faint rumble in the background. He’s still driving, using his hands-free.

“Hey dear,” Mom says. “Anon’s on the call.”

“Hi Dad.”

“About time.” That’s the greeting I get from him. There’s irritation in his voice. “Let me guess, you forgot to call when you got home? Did you even read the note I left you?”

“Psu.” Mom murmurs, half a warning, half a plea.

I swallow down the urge to snap at him. What the fuck is his problem? 

“I only just got to the apartment a minute ago,” I tell him, taking great care to monitor the bass in my voice. He’s pissy, and he can and will make a mountain out of a molehill if I let him. “I had to stay over to finish some paperwork. Whatever was going on with the radio screwed the school’s computers up.”

He grunts at that. “...Make sense,” he says after a few moments. “It’s kept happening throughout the day, you know. All the way up my drive back. Last spot of it came when I was passing through Hell Creek.”

That’s only a couple hours away from Rockbottom.

“My phone and the television were being weird all day, too,” says Mom. There’s concern in her voice. She almost sounds spooked. “I couldn’t get ahold of your father earlier. Neighbors were saying the same thing.

“...I…I don’t really like knowing this is going on while you’re this far away from us, Anon. If something happens–”

“It’s fine,” Dad cuts her off, his tone firm. “He’s fine. It’s probably just a solar wind or something, they happen all the time. It’ll pass. No need to get squirrely over this.”

Mom just lets out a hum. Dad continues in her stead.

“So, how’d your first day go?”

Over the next couple minutes, I relay a summary of the day’s events to my parents. They seem to take genuine interest in learning I was brushing shoulders with the class president and student council. Mom sounds enthusiastic when I mention meeting Sage and Leo; Dad is notably silent. I leave out the bullshit that happened this morning. Even if it was over something stupid, Dad could easily lose his shit if he learned I got into any form of trouble on the first day.

“It sounds like you’re making new friends already,” Mom beams.

“Yeah,” Dad grumbles. His end of the call is beginning to sound a bit choppy. “Just be careful, –right Anon?”

“I will,” I tell them.

“You’re probably tired, not to mention the stuff you’ve still gotta get sorted at your apartment,” Mom says. “Text us tomorrow, let us know you made it home safe. I love you, Nonny.”

Dad says something, but by this point he’s becoming too indecipherable to understand. He must be passing through a deadzone. At least, I hope that’s what is going on.

“See you guys,” I tell them. “Bye for now.”

“Bye son,” Mom says. I assume Dad’s static mirrors her, and I hang up the call.

The silence that follows in the wake of the call going dead is a liberating one. At long last, after an entire day of people, I’m free. Truly free. 

…Just have to get my apartment sorted first.

Ugh.

Over the course of the next couple of hours, I unpack my belongings, box by box, tote by tote. Some of it are initial supplies for me to live off of–some food, drinks and amenities. It’ll save me from having to go get groceries for a little while. Other boxes contain my clothes, which I hang and store in the closet in my bedroom.

The heavier, sturdier totes hold my electronics. Namely a small TV, my consoles, my junker of a PC and its brick of a monitor. She isn’t pretty, but she’ll play Counter Spike and Titanfin 2 without much issue.

I take my sweet time setting them up and blowing off the dust they had accumulated back home. They survived the trip all the way to the south, like hell I’m going to let them get damaged now. 

By the time I’m finished giving each device a little test to ensure it can still boot up properly, I’m walking back to the living room, allowing my PC to finish setting up. By this point, there’s a small pile of used cardboard and a stack of empty totes on the couch. Save one, yet to be opened cardboard box. 

Time to wrap this up.

I move towards the box and pick it up, finding it to be surprisingly heavy. I heave it over into my room and place it on top of my now-made bed. I finagle with the seal of the tape holding the top together before I finally get a grip and pry it open. I lift one of the panels to peer at what’s inside.

The pink haired, moe-eyed soulless stare of a Saturnia poster looks back at me.

I slam the box close like I had just been lunged at by a venomous snake. I feel fucking stupid over the fact the mere sight of my old paraphernalia is enough to have my heart pounding in my chest. 

I don’t remember packing this box. I sure as shit wouldn’t do it now. Either I did and forgot, or Mom must’ve gotten it together for me. Dad sure as hell wouldn’t.

…It doesn’t matter.

I take the box and carry it over to my closet. I shove it into the furthest corner of the space, and further bury it behind the empty totes from the living room.

And that’s where it’s fucking staying, until I find the time to hurl it into the nearest dumpster.

That part of my life is done.

Never again.

. . . 

I need something to eat.

I do my best to push aside the sheer, gut-churning revulsion I’m still feeling over that reunion with my past as I make my way back into the kitchen. I open the door; a red-and-white checkered box with the label “Pizza Al’s” greets me. 

Well over three-fourths of a large pepperoni pizza are inside. Well, the receipt stapled to the side of it says large. This is more like an extra large in my experience. Saurians must like their sizes big.

I take two of the slices and save the rest. Something to eat off of for the next couple of days.

I glance at my phone as I listen to the microwave whirr. I contemplate shooting Leo a text and taking him up on that offer for some Rock Ring, but the mere thought of video games just conjures that fucking poster in the back of my head all over again.

The saucy cheesiness of the freshly-nuked ‘za filling the air is a nice distraction from it. 

 Warm plastic plate and even warmer slices now in hand, I skulk my way towards my bedroom, turning off the living room lights as I close the door behind me. My room’s dark, illuminated only by the faint-blue glow of my computer monitor. My homepage, a blank blue sea filled with icons and folders, takes up the screen.

I changed the wallpaper I used to have after the incident. Rather, I just got rid of it, causing it to default to this stock one. I have yet to change it to something else.

Maybe another time. Not tonight.

I open the browser and navigate my way to the boards. I’ve been denied all day today. I won’t be denied again.

It’s over. I can shitpost in peace now.

“At least this day can’t get any worse,” I murmur to the silence. 

What Mom and Dad were saying on the call earlier, not to mention what I read all the way back after lunch, makes me curious though. I wonder if there’s any more news on whatever the hell is going on. 

I boot up the politics board. The only place for trusty, bipartisan and coherent information.

…There’s a pinned thread.

A thousand-plus posts. 

The OP is an image of a grainy photo of some kind. It’s hard to make out. 

I click on the thread.

As I begin to read, my eyes slowly widen in realization of what exactly I’m seeing.

It’s a short paragraph, followed by the links to nearly a dozen different news articles, their titles all confirming what’s been written. I’m not talking small schizophrenic clickbait hubs like you usually see. These are actual handles. Old York Times, Pangea Post, others.

Scientists announce the discovery of a previously unobserved, ten kilometer asteroid, now labelled as CO-103. Stated to have a significant chance entering the solar system–

…And a non-zero possibility of collision with the planet.

Scientists are saying the asteroid’s electromagnetic atmosphere is likely to cause interfere with electro–

Darkness. The fading thrum of both my computer and monitor dying at the same time fills the air. 

Leaving me alone in my room, the only light being the faint illumination of the night sky through my open blinds.

I glance towards it. At the barely-visible stars through it.

. . .

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Notes:

Hey hey, Snoogers

Been a little bit. Finally at you with more MG content.

If you've been curious as to what I've been up to since the first chapter was published, I was interviewed on Humo's livestream here ( https://www.youtube.com/live/6MiQ0Kp8P8s?si=6bOQxtek1SQkmNKv&t=311 ) shortly after the first chapter went up! And about a week ago at the time of writing this, I was also included in his Writer's Roundtable for Thanksgiving! ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EvCGzRuK0Hs ) In between getting my shit rocked on Sparking Zero and other shenanigans, I provide some thoughts on my writing process as well as my plans for the future. If you haven't already, you should totally check out his channel--both he and JakeParade (go read Punch Drunk Gator) are amazing and kind people that help bring life to our community. Much love to both of them.

I've recently started a new writing schedule where I'm trying to get at least a thousand words done per day. I'm going to try and stick to this as much as possible to keep churning out the content. We're past the main setup chapters for MG, and I'm excited for where we're about to go.

As always, let me know what (you) thought in the comments!

We're all gonna make it bros,
Until next time. :>

Chapter 3: In the Morning

Summary:

"I know it's
Harder to forget
You lean on
My silhouette
And I'll hear you in the morning
'I'm feeling so alone.'"

>be me

>caucasoid skinnie male

>forced to transfer to libshit dodger school

>try to blend in

>day ends with a meteor moving towards the planet

what did (((they))) mean by this?

 

It takes me a good minute to slide the captcha into place as I walk down the street. It promptly takes another when I fat finger a wrong key and have to redo it all over again. 

I smile as I see my post go live in the thread, before I stow my phone in my pocket. I look both ways for oncoming traffic before I dip between two parked cars and cross the road, resuming my route to the school once I’m on the other side. 

Frankly, I’m running on fumes right now. I didn’t rest well last night. My body’s got that funky ache right now, that grogginess you only get when you wake up in the middle of a sleep cycle. 

Thankfully, the (you)s will energize me more than any cup of coffee could. At least, I hope they will.

The fact I got any sleep at all is frankly a miracle.

I was up half the night staring at the news.

CO-103. Ten kilometer-wide asteroid. 

Non-zero possibility of collision. 

My Feather feed was, and still is full of nothing but posts related to the news that broke last night. Some of it is genuine scientific analysis.

Well, barely any of it is. Most people are just freaking the fuck out or posting safe-edgy zoomerisms to farm for likes. More than a few are trying to twist the meteor to support their political positions. 

A certain basketweaving forum is, likewise, overflowing with threads related to the space rock. Such that the jannies have begun to religiously strike down any posts even tangentially related to it. 

For free, of course. Plus the obligatory tip.

I’ve decided to make the most of the opportunity to cast some easy bait. But, deep down, I’m actually not sure what to think yet. 

Nothing ever happens, Anon.

…And yet, electronics getting fucked with by something on the edge of the solar system is something, right?
I can feel my heart already beginning to race as I edge towards the cusp of internally freefalling once more, but I’m stopped from taking the mental plunge by a sudden vibrating sensation against my right thigh.

I pull out my phone to find it buzzing in my hand. As I flip the screen up to face me, I find an alarm message staring back at me: “TEN MINUTES UNTIL CLASS STARTS.”

Goddamnit. 

I press the alarm off as I try to pick up my speed. Before long, I’m slowly back down to my prior pace. Nope, this morning is just as hot out as it was yesterday, and the sun is already beating my ass. I think I would keel over if I tried to sprint the rest of the way.

Underestimated the length of time it’s gonna take to walk to campus in the morning. Guess I’m going to have to start getting up earlier. Alternatively, I need to speak to the administration about some form of public transit. Maybe a bus, maybe a metro. I saw more than a few of them on the drive to and from the high school yesterday.

Losing even more sleep doesn’t sound particularly appealing, and neither does sharing a bus with a bunch of other students and-or homeless crackheads.

Maybe I’ll get lucky and win the lottery, buy myself a car. And a ticket out of this fucking city while I’m at it.

A realization dawns on me as I see the outline of Volcano High in the distance, now beginning to draw ever closer. There’s an assembly of some sort today, Naomi and Naser mentioned as much when they dropped me off yesterday. There’s no way they’re taking the role of every student present for something that huge.

I’ll just slip in in the middle of Naser’s speech and blend in near the back. Thank you, Jurassic God, for this get out of jail free card. I promise to make the most of it.

My phone starts to vibrate for a second time as I finally set foot on the campus grounds, B-lining past the main building and towards the gymnasium. The “ur late dumbass” alarm is joined by the muffled sound of the bell sounding off within the interior of the school, faintly audible on the outside thanks to some open windows and doors. I jam my thumb against the power button and silence my device’s yapping. 

Which reminds me. Son of a bitch, almost forgot to reap what I sowed.

I pause on the steps of the gymnasium entrance, pulling out my phone and opening up my favorite spearfishing imageboard once more. 

I was hoping for at least two rows of replies. Instead, all I find is a single response.

>skinnie

>dodger school

nice fanfic retard, hang yourself

I sigh as I power off my phone and stow it once more.

Mediocre, Anon. Do better next time.

I reach for the handle of one of the double doors–only for that very same door to come slamming out at me with face-crushing intent. 

I let out a totally-manly noise of fear as I stumble back on reflex, missing a step on the short stairway as I do so. I try my best to recover the slip, but fail and teeter over backwards. I end up falling flat on my ass on the nearby grass surrounding the entry. 

“Oh, shit! My bad man,” A voice calls out to me from the door. A familiar voice.

I realize who it belongs to as I open my eyes to find a pink-scaled claw outstretched to me, offering a hand up. I get a better look at my mysterious doorway assailant as I accept it.

Also, damn, Saurians have zero body heat. As my fingers touch his striped wrist, it’s the first time I’ve ever felt one’s scales before. They’re bizarrely cool to the touch.

The raptor’s pink brow is furrowed as he leans back and helps me to my feet. With a surprising degree of ease too. He looks fairly lanky, but that dino strength is no joke. 

“Sorry,” he tells me again, jamming his claws into the pockets of his torn jeans once I’m up. He’s wearing a loose tank top once more, a pair of bulky headphones dangling around his neck.

“It’s fine,” I say as I dust myself off. There’s some grass stains on my pants, but I can’t say I give a shit. “Not like you did any permanent damage.”

I glance back over to him, “You’re Reed, right?”

“Mmhm. Same one from Homeroom.”

“And math class,” I reply. 

He nods. “Yep, and you’re Anon. Unless, y’know, another bald human’s shown up.”

“Still just me. Sorry to disappoint.”

He snorts softly, “So, where were you headed to?”

I furrow my brow. “The assembly–same as you, I’d imagine. Right?”

“Nope,” he said with a shake of his head, before jerking his chin back towards the main building. “I’m skipping out. Gonna go do my own thing.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause that’s a lot of time to do shit in, and I’d rather spend it doing, like…Literally anything else besides watching Mims and Fang’s bro bomb jokes on stage.”

He pauses, tapping a clawtip against his chin for a moment, “Actually, that does sound kinda funny. Shame about the whole, news about dances ‘n’ clubs ‘n’ stuff between it all.”

“Uhuh.” I give him a nod. “Well, I gotta go find a seat before it starts. See you, Reed.”

“Hold on,” he tells me as I start to turn away. I give him a questioning look. Reed motions over his shoulder with a thumb.

“Wanna come with?”

I squint. “Why?” I ask him a second time.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you since yesterday. Seems like a good opportunity to get it over with. That and, y’know, it’ll be a better time than baking to death inside of that auditorium, promise.”

There’s no tension or underlying hostility in his or his face, but I can already tell this is going to be about the shit with Fang, again. I was hoping that Naser and-or Naomi would’ve cleared it up with the both of them, but I suppose I can’t escape this.

Getting a lecture about they-them’s pronouns twice in the span of 24 hours really isn’t in my interest. But then again, he’s not wrong. Even if I spend it all on my phone, that assembly is going to be boring as hell. I also doubt I’m going to escape this conversation entirely. If I don’t get it over with now, it’ll probably just come up later during math.

“Won’t they notice that I’m missing,” I point out, trying one last time to wiggle out of this. “I’m kind of the only human here, I’m not exactly easy to miss.”

Unfortunately so, really.

“Dude, there’s like, a million people in there. They’ve never taken a role for these things, like, ever. They won’t go lookin’ for you.”

Damnit, he’s throwing my own earlier reasoning back in my face.

“Fair point.” I bring a hand to my face and massage it. This is probably a stupid idea.

“--Fine. Lead the way.”

“Killer,” Reed says, turning and beginning to walk. I follow him, picking up the pace a bit to walk beside him after nearly bumping into his tail. I only notice now that he’s got a small, khaki colored backpack on. 

As we move, Reed really doesn’t say much, seeming pretty content to just vibe out as we walk. With nothing else to really say yet, I just let the silence hang between us.

Said silence is eventually broken when he leads me inside the main building. He dips into the nearest stairwell, and I follow him. We climb flight after flight of stairs, all the way up the third floor.

“Where in the world are we going,” I ask him, looking over to him as we stroll through the central hallway of the highest floor. It’s eerily quiet, the whole building in. With such a lack of motion and noise, our footsteps are audible on the tiles.

“You’ll see,” he replies, giving me a little smile. “Best spot in the entire school.”

I frown a little at his vague answer, but choose not to press him on it. 

About halfway down the hall, Reed dips into a corridor to our left. As I follow him, I see that we’re moving towards a large door. Upon opening it, I find that we’re at yet another flight of stairs. A single one this time, which ends in a small platform and another door. Sunlight streams through a window in the middle of it.

Did he take me to the fucking roof?

My suspicions are confirmed when he opens the door, and the smell of the open air rushes in to greet us. I follow Reed outside–

And, much to my surprise, I’m met with a view that left me speechless.

The rooftop is surrounded by a waist-high barrier built into the building itself, its surface composed of large, white tiles. There’s a generator on the roof of the entry behind us, and on either side of it are far taller sections of safety fencing.

It seems the school uses this for some sort of botanical project. There’s planters and vases with large, colorful flowers and ferns of every variety, plus some rows of produce. The biggest items I can see are a pair of huge cacti with pink flowers, nearly twice our height. There’s a handful of large, iron-framed glass greenhouses as well.

The greenery is impressive, but what’s so breathtaking is the view.

Up here, so high in the air, Caldera Bay spills out to us in every direction. The sky is beautiful, blue and vast, spotted with white clouds. The beaches and the ocean beyond the school are on full display, the salt of the sea palpable on the cool winds that buffet us. I glance over my shoulder and I’m met with the mountain ranges, towering over us in the distance, huge and verdant.

I've never seen so much green in one place in my entire life.

I hear a little chuckle, and I look back to see Reed giving me a smirk. He rises from a kneeling position. Looking past him reveals that he’s jammed the doorway with a thick textbook, blocking it from fully closing. Presumably to prevent us from getting locked out.

“Knew you’d like it,” he says to me, walking ahead towards the far end of the roof. I follow him as he brings us to the edge closest to the beachside.

“This is kinda like my happy place. Me and the gang come here all the time, but it’s become more than just a hangout spot.”

Reed looks away from me and towards the distant shores of the beach. 

“But enough about me. What’s up?”

I flinch slightly as he suddenly looks back at me. I’m not really sure what to even respond with.

“What?”

The Velociraptor, or at least I think that’s what these guys are called, chuckles slightly before pulling something from his pocket. It’s a cigarette. The paper that envelopes the tobacco is slightly crumpled up due to its extended stay in Reed’s jeans. 

“I was asking how you’re doing so far, man. You seemed really on-edge yesterday. I mean, I get it, it was your first day and all. But I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t misreading things.”​

…What? First of all, this is the first time I’ve heard him say a single sentence without using words like “Bro” or “Dude.” Secondly, why the hell would he care?

I mean, I’d think it’s pretty nice of him to at least give a shit. But considering that up until now, the only time we’d ever talked was right before I ratted out his friend for being on her phone, it just seems…weird.

“Are you not mad?”

Reed’s hand, which was going for a lighter, stops as he looks at me. 

 “Huh? What’s there to be mad about? Far as I know, you didn’t do anything to piss me off.”

I try to hear if he is being sarcastic. I detect nothing. He really isn’t upset in the slightest, or he’s great at masking it. 

This is already not going how I anticipated it. The offer to talk seems genuine.

I’ve also only known this dude for a day. Better to keep things close to my chest.

“Nevermind. Anyways, I’m fine, really. It’s cool that you brought me up here though. This spot is, uh…It’s nice.”

Reed raises an eyebrow at me with one of those looks that just screamed “Seriously?”. I know, way to subtly change topics.

Eventually he just shrugs.

“Well…Whatever you say, bro.”
I see Reed’s hand enter my field of vision. He’s holding something right under my nose.

“Go on dude, take it. I got plenty.”
He was offering me a cigarette.
. . .
With a sigh, I grab the cancer stick and pop it between my lips. 

“You a first-timer?”

I shake my head, and Reed’s eyes light up. 

“Sweet, I don’t need to teach you then.”

He hands me his lighter before resting his arms on his torso. I look back at the cigarette in my hand, before sighing. What am I even doing up here?

After lighting up, I take the first hit. Yep, that first contact still tastes as awful as I remember.

I catch a hint of mint in the bitterness. As I exhale, the smoke leaves me with prickled skin.

Ah, yeah. There’s the mellow.
. . .
Reed is looking at me again.

It’s not just looking at me or in my direction, though. It’s a look.
Why does everyone keep giving me that look? Is it pity? If so, I don’t need it.

I flinch a little as Reed chuckles. 

“Dude…You say you’re alright and all, but you don’t play the part. It’s like you’re constantly expecting someone to jump you.”

I tried to shoot back with something, anything really. But I couldn’t find it.

After all, Reed was right.

It’s a condition my last couple weeks at Rockbottom taught me. It didn’t matter how much you tried to just blend in and have people forget you existed. Someone would remember and make it his goal to make every day of school as unbearable as possible.

It didn’t go away. Someone always remembered.

I know that it’s not the same here. But what the fuck am I supposed to think when this place doesn’t feel right for me either? Everyone here talks like they have a massive stick up their ass. The whole pronoun horseshit is just the cherry on top.
As I take another drag from the cigarette, I start to feel my body becoming less tense. Reed leans forward on the railing. I end up joining him, my eyes flicking between the distant waves and the trails of our cigarettes.

I still have to give it to him, this really is a beautiful view. Peaceful even. But I still can’t relax completely while Reed is looking at me. 

Even though he said earlier that he wasn’t mad, I just can’t believe him. He’s gotta have some kind of ulterior motive for bringing me up here.

I never provide him a response for the statement. He doesn’t seem to push it. No, he shares in the quiet with me for a couple moments longer. Then he suddenly interrupts it.

“Hey, Anon?”

I shift the lean of my body a bit to better look at him. He gives me a little tilt of his head.

“What’s your read on the asteroid news?”
I shouldn’t be surprised it came up, but part of me feels annoyed that the space rock is rearing its ugly head again. It’s everywhere. Even up here, separated from the rest of the school, I still can’t escape it.

I debate what to say as I hit the cigarette once more. I settle on my words as I flick some ashes free from its swiftly-disappearing form.

I’m not going to use this as a crutch, but I think the smoke helped me figure out my thoughts on the matter for good.

“It’s going to be a nothingburger.”

Reed squints at that. “Nothing, burger..?”

“A nothingburger,” I repeat. I roll my eyes as I continue. “It’s a tiny blip on the radar that the media’s inflated out of proportions to make headlines. It’s typical fearmongering journo-shit.”

Reed doesn’t interrupt me, and I don’t stop myself.

“No one’s gonna remember this by the end of the week. In a couple months, they’ll put out a report where it passed by us a million miles away, and it’ll never be mentioned ever again.

“Nothing ever happens.”

Nothing ever changes.

The raptor gives me a thoughtful look for a moment. He eventually settles on a shrug.

“I can see your point, kinda. It’s how I tend to look at stuff. Out of my control, no reason to worry about it. But…”

His voice trails off, and he looks back to the ocean. His brow furrows slowly.

“This just feels different, dude. I dunno. I just got this feeling in me and I can’t shake it.”

“You’re anxious, which is exactly what the reporters want you to be,” I counter.

He shakes his head. “Maybe, but I mean–like, the internet and the power outages. That’s not nothing, y’know? If it was just a random rock, that’d be one thing. But it’s only just visible to us now, and it’s hitting us that hard already.”

My thoughts go back to my phonecall with my parents yesterday evening. 

“Sunflares do that all the time,” I say to him, echoing my Father. “It’ll pass.”

Reed doesn’t respond at first. He takes a drag from his cigarette, and lets out a quiet huff.

“I hope so,” he finally says, his voice softer. “Everything just feels different now.”

“You’re telling me.”

Silence drifts between us again. Reed taps a clawtip along the steel of the railing, earning a soft report. He speaks again.

“It’s kinda put things into perspective for me, actually. Had me thinking all morning.”

“About what?”

“About…How do I put this?”

Reed chews on his inner-cheek for a moment, before he finally looks my way again.

“You ever felt like you spent your whole life worrying about the wrong stuff?”

I can feel my eyebrows rise.

“What do you mean?”

Reed snuffs out the rest of the cigarette on the side of the railing. He tosses the filter at a small waste bin near some of the plants. Lighting another one, he continues. 

“Like, you look at all the stuff that other people have planned for their future. And then you look at what you want to do with your life and just think ‘Man, isn’t that pathetic?’. It seems like almost all of my friends want to do something big when they get out of here.”

As he speaks, he jams his cigarette towards the distant ocean, like he was pointing out the individuals among the waves.

“Naomi for example. She wants to go to med school, become a doctor or…Something. I ain’t got the brains for that kind of stuff. Then there’s Trish–I don't think you know her, but she wants to become an entomologist. Bug scientist, whole lot of research.  I don’t have the patience or discipline to do that.”

He takes a very long drag from his cigarette before finishing.

“Well, and then there’s Fang. They wanna hit big with Worm Drama.”

What in the actual fuck is Worm Drama? I can only assume it’s, like…Poetry about bugs? 

My confusion must’ve made it to my face, because Reed clears his throat.

“Worm Drama’s a band. Our band–me, them and Trish. We’ve been playing since we were, like, middle schoolers. We’ve all been with it for the long haul for years now, but recently stuff’s gotten kinda…” 

His voice trails off, and he does a little loop-de-loop with the cig in his fingers. He finally lets out a sigh.

“It’s not important, not gonna bore you with it. The band’s Fang’s dream though, right? Just like becoming a doctor is Naomi’s, and reading about bugs all day is Trish’s.”

He gestures to himself.

“The point I’m tryin’ to get at is, it feels like everyone around me has a clear goal. Something important they’re working up to. And I just, don’t, I guess. And I was fine with that for a while, ‘cause it just didn’t matter. But now?

“I can’t help but wonder if I’ve spun my wheels doing nothing worth anything.”
I barely know the dude and he’s laying himself bare, Jesus. I couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t completely ruin the moment, so I just kept my mouth shut and nodded. 

He responds by jamming the cigarette towards me now.

“And to be real with you, Anon? I get the feeling that you’re the same.”
I think he just called me a loser.

I start to scowl at him. He shakes his head.

“Your own words, man. Remember what you told Roberts yesterday? You’ve got no idea what you wanna do once you’re out of here.”

My mouth immediately shuts, my words dying behind my lips. It’s hard to mask my discomfort. I’m feeling a little put on the spot.

He chuckles softly, giving me a knowing look.

“Relax. See, there it is again. You look like I’m about to mess you up.”

I give him a frown. I can’t help but shake my leg a little to try and ease my nerves. 

“...It’s hard to explain,” I eventually reply to him. “It’s nothing major, just…”

My voice trails off. Reed is quick to speak again.

“I’m gonna guess something bad happened to you.”

My heart’s trembling again. He keeps talking.

“Between the in-the-headlights look stuff and the fact you moved all the way down here, by yourself? Something must’ve went down.”

I stop leaning on the railing, standing up straight as I turn to face him completely.

“How do you know I'm living by myself?”

He raises his hands in a placating gesture.

“Easy, bro. A friend mentioned it to me after school yesterday.”

“Who?”

“Sage. He said him and Leo are your partners in Home Ec, right?”

Of course the only two people who seemed genuinely friendly to me thus far would somehow be in the same loop as this dude. Small fucking world.

“Ah, uh…Yeah, right.”

I clear my throat, trying to lower the spergout I can sense building inside of me. I need to chill out. I also need to get off this fucking subject. Reed’s not going to let go without some kind of answer, though.

I let out a long sigh.

“Look, I’d just rather not talk about that sort of stuff, alright?”

Reed lets out a hum, before he shrugs again.

“Sure, man.”

He peers at me before he continues. His tone’s a bit gentler. 

“I’m not tryin’ to, like, interrogate you. I just get the feeling that you don’t feel like you fit in anywhere at this school, and I want to…Help, I guess.”

He snorts, “I can’t blame you if you do. Shit man, we’re not even the same species.”

I regard him for a long moment.

“Why?”

“Why?” He asks back at me.

“Why would you want to help me? You don’t even know me, dude.”

Reed sighs at that, looking out to the sea again.

“‘Cause I’ve been in your shoes for a long time, bro. I get what it’s like to feel like you don’t belong. Being on the outside. It sucks, but I’ve learned to deal. I can only imagine the type of shit you’re probably experiencing though.

“It sucks,” he repeats. “But having others around makes it suck less in my experience.”

I don’t reply to him for a time. I lean back against the railing slowly, slumping against it. The sun feels warm on my back. The ocean winds blowing on my face are cool.

“...I just feel out of place right now.”

Reed glances my way as I continue speaking.

“I just want to get comfortable and into a routine, but everyone here right now seems deadset on making sure I can’t. It’s not even just being the new guy. I feel like a fuckin’...Exhibit at the zoo. People keep gawking and prodding me and asking me shit.”

I go to take a drag of my cigarette, only to realize it’s spent. Groaning, I toss it into the same bin Reed had thrown away his first into. I glance towards him.

“You mind if I..?”

He just nods, reaching into his pack and sliding out another one. He hands it to me and lights it. I murmur a thank you as I make contact with the fresh smoke.

The latest wave of nicotine-induced relaxation lets my words slip again.

“It hasn’t all been bad,” I quietly admit. “It’s been one day, and I got offered a cookie, phone numbers, even a ride home. People seem friendly. You, Sage and Leo, Naser. Even Naomi, kinda.” 

“Kinda?”

“Yeah. I mean, she seems chill, but then she pulled that…Lecturing me over pronouns shit. Like it’d be any of my fucking business. I apologized, so I hope she’ll let it go, but still.”

I huff. Reed lets out a hum. 

“Yeah, sounds like Naomi. Don’t be too hard on her, man. She’s got a lot on her plate right now, like most of us. Besides, she’s just looking out for Fang.”

He gives me a more direct look.
“Is that why you thought I was pissed at you? The stuff that happened yesterday?”

I nod. He hums again.

“I mean, gonna be honest. The phone thing? Kind of a dick move.”

There’s no hostility in his voice, but I still can’t help but wince. 

“As for mislabeling Fang? Well...It’s not exactly fair to treat you like a bad guy over it. You just met them, you couldn’t of known. Mistakes happen. I just think the first screw-up and the general vibe of the moment made it come across worse.”

…I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that.

Another lecture. Some libshit rant about how I needed to respect the attack helicopter’s chosen identity. General hostility. Not this.

I’m beginning to lose track of how many times this guy is surprising me. He’s easier to talk to compared to most of the dipshits I’ve dealt with up until now. He’s not over the top or rigid, isn’t a massive bore like Naomi either. He’s just kind of normal.

“Thanks man,” I finally reply to him.

“Nothing to thank me for bro,” he shakes his head. “Just keep stuff in mind for the future, yeah?”

I nod quietly. He nudges his head towards me. 

“You were sayin’ though?”

“Right.” I clear my throat. “Like I said, people here seem alright so far. I just don’t know if that’s them genuinely being nice though, or if it’s just because of the…The novelty of what I am right now. The new human in town.”

Reed glances back out at the sea for a moment.

“Can I be honest with you, Anon?”

I give him another nod.

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much. My guess? You’re used to being judged, and you’re bracing for it. But the thing is? We’re all too busy dealing with our own shit to judge other people. So, really, I think this thing will be a good change of pace for you.”

His words ring in my brain like an echo. Before I get the chance to say anything back, Reed puts out his second cigarette. He snickers quietly as he tosses the filter.

“God, listen to me. Sorry man, that was probably waaaay too sappy. But, you get what I mean, right? Just think on it, ‘kay?”
I can’t help but sigh, bringing my cigarette back to my mouth.

“Whatever.”
I shrug, only to realize that my cigarette was already burnt too far down. If I tried to get another hit from that, I’d probably just have a lung full of burned filter.
Reed glances towards his phone as I snub the light and dispose of it. When I turn back to look at him, I find that Reed’s offering me his fist.

“It was fun hanging out with you up here, Anon. You’re a good smokebro.”
I just can’t help it. The way he’s grinning, while his tail wags behind him like he’s some kind of puppy baits a chuckle out of me.

“Better than that assembly by a long shot.”

“For sure. You seem like a good dude. I honestly think you just need to relax a little. Just give it time, things’ll settle.”
I bump knuckles with him. As we pull our fists away, Reed raises his opposite claw. He presents me with his phone, showing me some weird QR code. 

“Here’s my contact info, in case you ever wanna hang out. I’m not busy most of the week.”
. . .

Fuck it, he seems nice. 

I pull out my phone’s camera and scan the code. My screen cycles for a moment, before it automatically generates a fully-filled out contact for him, profile picture and all.
That was two phone numbers in the span of two days. I’m setting a new personal record. But as I stare at the new contact on my screen, I can help but notice something. The profile picture Reed has looks…familiar.

My mouth moves before I can think to stop myself.

“Is that a warlock sigil?”

Instead, my heart stops.

F U C K .

DEFCON LEVEL II. POWER LEVEL INADVERTENTLY REVEALED. BRACE FOR IMMINENT PASTA MELTDOWN.

Reed’s face slips for a second before he snaps his muzzle in my direction. His eyes have a new light to them.

“Dude, you know about LnL?”

The sirens are still sounding in my head at full bore. Unlike before, Reed’s less keen to pick up on my apparent nerves. His expression’s almost giddy. 

“Uuuh…” I clear my throat. “Kinda? I’ve seen some YouSnoot shorts about it. Do you play or something?”

“Do I play?” Reed laughs. “Dude, I breathe LnL! I’ve been DMing campaigns for like, years now! I’ve got a few that–”

Oookay, and tune out.
The rant, eager as it is, fades to white noise as I try to not suffer a mental overload of nerd shit. 

Of all the things I could have possibly pegged this dude for, tabletop roleplaying was not one of them. Reed continues to be an enigma.

While the raptor continues rambling on, my mind drifts back to that contact info. It’s a little silly to think my middle school days would come back to haunt me like this. But I’d recognize that class symbol anywhere.

“--so you could totally join us if you feel like it, Anon.”
Just as I start to listen to him again, I feel a hole starting to eat itself into my stomach. Dear god, no. Anything but that.

 “I’ll-uh…I’ll get back to you on that, okay?”

He gives me a pair of finger guns just as the distant thrum of the bell interrupts us. That’s probably our sign to get back downstairs before we get caught up here. Reed’s phone sends out a notification blip, pulling my attention back to the raptor. He glances down at it before looking back up at me.

“Oh, sweet. Well, it’s been cool up here, but let’s bounce. Naomi told me we gotta be in homeroom in a few minutes.”

“I thought homeroom was only once a week?”

“It is,” he shrugs. “But they’re having a special session or something. I dunno.”

I shrug back, and begin to follow him towards the entryway of the rooftop. 

As we move across the roof, I can’t help but dig deeper into my thoughts. 

This was flying closer to the sun than I should’ve let myself go. Those cigs made me let my guard down a little too much. I still played it safe for the most part, but Reed’s a bit too insightful for his own good. Freakishly so, really.

That might be a problem in the future. If I want to keep being a fly on the wall, I need to avoid bullshit like this.
…But for some reason, part of me doesn’t feel that bad for it. I almost feel a bit of relief for what I did let off my chest. And Reed was also pretty open about his problems, so I guess it was only fair.

Still, I need to keep a tighter lid on my thoughts going forward.
As for that offer? Hard pass. I’d rather die than relive my days as a pimple-ridden, sweaty LnL nerd. I still shudder at the memories.
My monologue is cut short as I accidentally bump into Reed. The raptor’s kneeling down, collecting the book he used to keep the door jammed.

I mutter an apology. Reed doesn’t respond as he stands back up and looks to me, propping up the doorway now with a shoe. Instead, he asks me something.
“Hey, Anon? What we spoke about earlier, Naomi ‘n’ stuff? Did you really mean it when you apologized?"

And there it is. I fucking knew this was gonna come up again. Too smooth, too good to be true.

“Yeah, I meant it. I just want this whole thing to be let go of already. Like you said, I couldn’t have known. It was an honest mistake on my part.”

Reed nods, then leans in and plants a claw on my shoulder.

“Then you should probably apologize to Fang after class.”

I push his hand away as a scoff leaves my mouth. 

“I already did! I apologized twice, actually. Just give it a rest already.”

Reed’s eyebrow raises as he looks at me again. 

“Sure, you apologized to Naser and Naomi. But Fang’s the one you slipped up with bro. If they’re gonna know you meant it, you should say it to their face, y’know?”

You cannot be fucking serious. 

I frown. He presses on.

“Besides, pronouns or not, you do owe them for the phone thing. Still a dick move.”

I groan. He’s got me there.

“Fine. I’ll apologize to her-...THEM after class. Just promise me that I won’t have to keep hearing about this shit afterwards.”

Reed flashes me a smile, and gives me a thumbs-up.

 “It’s a deal, bro.”
He turns and nudges the door open with his leg, slipping inside. I follow after him.

We descend back down the stairwell in silence. Once we reach the door to bring us back into the third floor, Reed stops us once more. He stiff-arms a hand out onto my chest, causing me to grunt. 

“What?”

He clicks his tongue. “Hold up a sec. We can’t go out just yet.”

I furrow my brow, “Why, is someone out there?”

“Nope,” he replies, leaning closer to the door and pressing his head against it. “And that’s exactly why we’re chilling.”

“I don’t understand.”

He glances back at me. “Only way down this hall is from this door to the main hall. If we walk out now ‘n’ a teacher sees us, they’ll know we were up here.”

He gestures to the door as he adds, “Once guys start piling down this way to get to their classes, they won’t be able to tell the difference. Trust me.”

I just give him a nod; I can’t be asked to press further. 

A few seconds pass as we both linger in the stairwell. I finally catch the faint hint of movement of and the sound of numerous voices. Reed nudges his chin up towards me as he cracks the door open. I follow him out into the hall. 

There’s a stream of scaly bodies flowing towards the various classes down this route. We weave through them, going opposite of the student current. 

Sure enough, no one bats an eye at us. By the time we’re back in the main hallway, there’s practically zero evidence of our little rulebreak.

I look towards Reed; he flashes me a smirk.

“Told you man.”

I snort. “You seem to have skulking around this place down to a science.”

“Yup!” He grins proudly. “Family history of it. Mom did it, my big bro did it, ‘n’ I’m following in their footsteps. Gotta carry on the legacy.”

“...Why?”

“‘Cause screw the man, man.” He raises both arms into an exaggerated shrug. “Rules’re meant to be broken.”

I squint at him as we slip into the stairwell to take us down to the first floor.

“I don’t think the teachers at your local high school counts as the man, Reed.”

“Sure they do bro.” He clicks his tongue. “They might be the smallest bud on the branch that’s used to kick the shit out of us, but authority’s still authority.”

He jams a finger my way as he adds, “Don’t forget, it’s your local high school now too.”

I just roll my eyes. “Whatever man.”

Reed rambles a little more about the unfair power dynamics between the students at the High School and their teachers, and how his little acts of defiance are justified as such. I mostly tune him out, nodding along with the odd “uhuh” as we walk.

It just sounds like your average pseudocommie Roarditor soybabble to me, but I can’t deny that he’s passionate about it at least. 

He finally lets it go when we both pass through the door of Robert’s classroom. The ceratosaurus eyes us both as we walk in. Most of the seats are already filled; it looks like we’re the last ones, despite having a sizable head start on everyone else.

It wasn’t just in my head then. He was absolutely moving slow as he ranted at me.

“Skirting the edge of being late as ever, Reed,” Ms. Roberts grumbles. Her withering gaze quickly snaps to me as I walk past her. “And I’m glad to see you could finally join us as well, Mr. Mous. I sincerely hope you don’t intend to make a habit of this.”

Naomi gives a wave and a smile to the both of us as we sit at our desks. 

Fang nods towards Reed, before they eye me quietly for a moment. I don’t look back at them, focusing on Roberts instead. The very act of being near them again is enough to trigger a flash of second-hand embarrassment, or nerves, or something in my gut. 

I cram my spaghetti back into my metaphorical pockets. Stop being such a fag. You just have to apologize and then this stupid nothing-drama will finally be dead and gone.

Then you can go back to ignoring birdbrain and everyone else.

Roberts walks over to the door, closing it shut. She begins to speak as she walks towards the center of the classroom, her gaze fixed on all of us. 

“The Principal wanted the student body to have an impromptu session of homeroom following the assembly, to further clarify certain points brought up during it.”

She pauses, folding her hands in front of us.

“--However, it is my professional opinion that this opportunity to speak with you again as a whole this week is better spent on other objectives. As such, I am going to instead say that if you have questions about what was discussed this morning, I would recommend that you speak to our members of student council.

“How very fortunate that their president is in the room with you at this very moment,” she adds, glancing pointedly at Naomi. “Does that sound alright to you, Naomi?”

The parasaur eagerly nods, turning in her seat to look at the rest of the class.

“Absolutely! If there’s anything you guys would wanna know, just ask me after class, alright? Even if it’s for stuff unrelated to assembly! I can help with a lot of things!”
Roberts gives a nod in reply. 

“Excellent. Thank you, Naomi.”

The teacher takes a moment to clear her throat, looking over the whole of the classroom once more. When she begins to speak again, her pace has gotten a little slower. A little more serious–if that were possible.

“I believe it’s obvious that we’re all aware of what was discussed on the news last night, as well as this morning. If you weren’t before you came here, you certainly are now, after the numerous attempts at humor by our…Wonderful, Class President.”

There’s some soft chuckles from the other students. Reed snorts, balling a fist against his snout to hold back laughter. Fang visibly cringes, looking away and towards the window.

Roberts looks unphased as she promptly continues where she left off.

“--Yes, the announcement of an astrological event like this, combined with the numerous events of interference we experienced yesterday, can easily be frightening. It can be very easy to fixate on moments such as these and obsess over them.

“I am here to tell you that you shouldn’t. There have been moments of panic and distress like this throughout your lives prior to now. You’ve just been too young to realize. During those times, your parents sheltered you from the realities of what was happening. Of how very real the danger might have been, because children aren’t supposed to worry about such things.”

She leans towards us, folding her arms.

“But you’re no longer children. You are each adults, about to pass into the next phase of your life. What you’ve just experienced is one of the first curveballs the world will throw at you. It’s something you have no control over, and you’ll find many more events like this will occur in your life where you’ll be similarly powerless. War, outbreaks of disease, pandemics. 

“It’s easy to give into despair and work yourself into a rut. Instead, focus on what you can accomplish in the moment. If nothing else, if you absolutely must, use moments like these as motivation, or a reason to reflect upon yourself and your actions.”

Roberts goes quiet as she watches our reactions. Most of the room is looking back at her, but just ahead of me I catch Reed staring at the floor. He looks conflicted.

I think back to the rooftop.

You ever felt like you spent your whole life worrying about the wrong stuff?

I chew the inside of my cheek as his voice echoes in my head alongside Robert’s speech. 

In a way, I think I might’ve just been doing that.

Not exactly as he likely meant it at the moment. Well, maybe. We both seem to share a lack of motivation for the future, as he was so willing to point out. 

Maybe it’s not that I was worrying over the wrong stuff, but focusing on the wrong stuff.

Like the poster tucked away in my apartment closet, and all it represents.

How different would things be right now, if I had just spent time pursuing virtually any other interest?

If I hadn’t made those stupid fucking images as some sort of retard wish fulfillment?

I probably wouldn’t be here right now, that’s for sure.

Before I can sink further into myself, Roberts clears her throat. She sighs softly, lifting a claw in a dismissive gesture.

“Now, do bear this in mind. I’ve said all of this because I want to capitalize on the panic some of you may be feeling, in the hopes of providing you tools on how to effectively dismiss it, or harness it. In reality, what’s happened is a classic fearmongering campaign by our journalistic industry. News outlets need clicks, and nothing gets attention like hysteria. 

“If you do any kind of research beyond skimming the headlines, you’ll find that the asteroid is barely on our metaphorical radar at this time. Yes, there is a non-zero chance of collision–just like tens of thousands of other astrological entities our scientists catalog passing through our solar system each yet. The only reason this one got noticed is because of the electronic interference, which likely has a perfectly mundane explanation to it.”

She raises her hand towards us.

“So, likewise, take away from our meeting today to actually look into matters such as these. Alarmism can only control you if you allow it to. The best weapon against shockvertising like we’re experiencing this very moment is an educated reader.”

Damn, Rogers. Spoken from my own heart. Maybe this old bird isn’t as bad as she seemed to be yesterday. She might have a whole tree branch firmly lodged up her ass, but she’s not stupid. 

Maybe a little long-winded though.

Roberts gives us a chance to ask any questions we might have on the matter. No one opts to raise their hand–not even Naomi, surprisingly. Guess people really don’t care after all, or they’re all too busy chewing on what she just said.

Roberts folds her arms once more as she begins to speak again.

“Very well. We have a short amount of time left, so I’d like to conclude our assessments from yesterday. Introducing Mr. Mous delayed us and caused me to miss some of you.”

I feel a touch of worry in my chest as she passively calls me out. It passes as she instead focuses on the person sitting next to me.

“Given how class ended, and seeing as though you’re one of the few left, we’ll start with you Fang.”

The pterosaur blinks, quickly looking away from the window and backs towards the teacher.

“--Huh? Me?”

Roberts nods, “Correct. Please share with us what your plans after graduation are.”

They fidget in their seat for a moment, folding their feathered arms against the desk before them. Their amber eyes look down before flashing up to meet Robert’s gaze.

“...I’m, going on tour with my band,” they say, seeming to pick up confidence as the words leave their mouth.

Confidence Roberts does not reciprocate in any way.

It actually surprises me, the amount of skepticism in the expression the theropod gives Fang. She squints down at the pterosaur, her brow furrowed.

“You’re in a band,” she replies. Her tone sounds painfully underwhelmed.

“Yeah,” they nod. “I’m going on tour with them right after graduation. First step is . . .”

Their voices trails off, a look of contemplation passing over their pale face. They raise a claw to cup their beak slightly. 

“...Is…Uh…”

It’s like they can’t figure out what to say.

“--It’s a work in progress,” Reed interjects. Roberts glances over him. “We’re still feeling it out, y’know?”

Naomi had turned around in her seat by this point. She gives Fang a reassuring smile. 

“That still sounds pretty great! What kind of portfolio do you have so far?”

I can’t help but notice something in Naomi’s eyes as she looks at Fang. I don’t know what the hell to call it. She’s being friendly–of course she is, she’s Fang’s friend, dumbass. 

Still though, it’s like those emerald eyes are a little brighter than before as she smiles over at ptero.

She laughs nervously, “--Sorry, that probably isn’t the right word. Uhm…”

Fang, by contrast, looks ready to fly out of their seat. They raise a hand and anxiously rub a shoulder, looking away from her and the rest of the class. 

“Uh…We’ve got some stuff in the works.”

Roberts hums. When I look back to her, her expression has only grown more stern. 

“Well, you still have some months to think of a viable career.”

I swear I see her roll her eyes as she says this. 

Roberts is already looking away, towards the other end of the class. 

“Francesca?” She calls. I briefly glance in the direction of the woman that answers her. Some orange-scaled hadrosaur, a darker hue than Naomi. Her crest is tall and round by comparison.

I don’t follow the exchange that unfurls as Roberts asks her for her plans. It sounds more positive than what just unfurled, that’s for sure. No, my attention is firmly on Fang.

They’ve sunken into their seat, and their eyes are off towards the window once more. Their arms are folded tight about their chest. Their wings have come to droop a little closer about their shoulders like a feathery cloak.

Naomi’s trying to make conversation with her, too soft for me to make out admittedly. Her expression’s apologetic. Despite her attempts to pry the pterosaur’s attention away from the rejection of her dream, all Fang’s giving her is the odd grunt of acknowledgement every couple of sentences.

“I didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that,” Naomi murmurs. 

Fang just nods, still silent.

“I’m sure it’s gonna turn out fine!” She presses on; Naomi smiles a little wider. “I know you’ve got this. You just have to prove her wrong, right?”

“Yeah,” Fang finally replies. “Right.”

She doesn’t sound like she believes herself, let alone Naomi.

Something thumps softly against a leg of Naomi’s desk. The parasaur turns to look down at it, and my eyes follow. It’s Reed’s feathery tail.

“Pst, hey,” he tells her, nudging his chin up. “Got a sec?”

Naomi nods, leaning in towards him. 

They begin to discuss something about LnL. Something less familiar with the jargon might not have caught on, but it seems like Naomi’s a player in one of his campaigns. Maybe he mentioned it earlier when we were leaving the roof.

Left to their own devices thanks to his intervention, Fang marinates in silence. They’re still watching the sky through the class window. They don’t look as dejected anymore, just contemplative. 

Not wanting them to look my way and see me gawking at them like a tard, I shift my gaze down at the desks–more specifically, at my hands. I look absent-mindedly towards Roberts and whatever student she happens to be grilling at the time here and there as I think. 

It has to suck, laying out your dream like that and having an elder shit on it. I didn’t exactly get a much better response from Roberts once she learned of my lack of direction, but then again, I didn’t have any pride to wound. You can’t have a goal mocked if you don’t have a goal to begin with. 

Not that Fang’s goal is much of one to begin with. Can I really blame Roberts for reacting the way she did? A band, seriously? The world definitely doesn’t have enough local losers playing covers at bars on Friday nights.

I shouldn’t be throwing stones from my glass house though.

They’ve got more of a plan than I do right now after all.

Not wanting to risk a reprisal of the phone shit that got me into this mess in the first place, I busy myself by listening along to the last few exchanges between the teacher and the few remaining students on her list. Someone wants to be an engineer. One guy’s passionate about wanting to become a hairstylist. Someone else has plans to become a plumber like his uncle.

. . . Am I really the only person without some sense of direction here? Jesus Christ.

Before I can begin to drown in the implications, Roberts clears her throat. I glance up from my desk and towards the ceratosaurus. 

“Thank you all, I hope you were able to draw something useful from this little exercise. Now, it seems like we got done a little early, so–”

She’s cut off by the bell ringing to life once more. Her golden eyes drift towards the ceiling.

“Nevermind that,” she picks back up as the chiming fades out. “Expect a short first period. Please don’t delay in getting there, the transitional period is shorter than usual to match. Have a good day, I’ll see you next Monday.”

I rise with the rest of the class. As I sling my backpack over my shoulder, I catch Reed giving me a look. He nudges his head towards Fang.

Right, almost forgot. 

I turn towards the pterosaur, who was just about to start walking off. I loudly clear my throat.

“--Uh, hey.”

They pause mid-step, glancing my way. When they realize I’m looking at them, and indeed was addressing them, they blink and turn a bit more firmly in my direction.

“What?”

 Naomi has also paused, glancing between us. Reed joins her in that regard. I do my best to ignore the slight pressure of being watched as I speak further.

“You got a second?

Their brow furrows a little. 

“We just got told to hurry to our next class,” they remind me. 

They turn and begin to keep walking as they add, “We don’t got the time, sorry–”

“Fang,” Reed interjects, stopping them. 

The pterosaur looks towards him. He gives them the same look he was giving me but a couple moments ago, before nudging his snout in my direction. 

“Just give him a sec, bro,” he tells them. Fang sighs, turning to face me.

“Well?”

I fold my arms to stop my hands from fidgeting like a dumbass. 

“Look, I just wanted to apologize for what happened here yesterday. It wasn’t intentional. I was just, uh…Off my game yesterday. A lot of stuff going on, had me a bit on edge. 

“So, yeah. I’m sorry, alright?”

Fang glances between me and Reed for a moment. They finally shrug before they give me a nod. 

“Sure, alright,” they say. “It’s whatever. Water under the bridge and all.” 

They don’t exactly sound enthusiastic, but it’s a step up from the venom in their voice when they left class yesterday. 

“Cool,” I reply. They don’t respond, looking towards Reed. 

“Remember, meeting at lunch.” 

He flashes them a thumbs-up. “I’ll be there.”

“Don’t let Trish forget either,” they add. “We gotta get this shit settled fast.”

Fang glances back my way one last time, before they turn and begin to walk towards the door.

“See you guys,” they say in passing.

Naomi watches them go before looking my way next. She flashed me a smile.

“Thank you,” she tells me, before she follows after the pterosaur.

Reed turns towards me, raising his hands in a little shrug.

“See man? That wasn’t so bad.”

“If you say so,” I huff. “C’mon, we gotta get to math.”

“True, true. I’ll swap seats with one of the guys next to you, we can be math buddies from here on.”

I loft a brow at him as we begin to walk towards the door together.

“Are you allowed to do that?”

Reed snorts. “He won’t care bro, don’t worry.”

As we make our way out, I glance towards Roberts, and find that she’s looking at me. As our eyes meet each-other, she gives me a nod of approval.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes once we’re out in the hallway.

I didn’t do that for you, you damn fossil.

Whatever, at least this stupidity’s over with.

 

========================================================

 

The rest of the school day went without much of a hitch, admittedly. 

Reed had been right, our math teacher really didn’t give a shit about him switching seats. It’s probably going to be to my detriment though. I spent half the first lecture of the year shooting the shit with the raptor beside me.

History went by pretty quick too. Turns out my initial fears of being subject to an endless tirade of yapping from having Naomi in front of me were unfounded. Outside of some pleasantries when she first walked in the room and sat down, she largely kept to herself. Or rather, she was focused on the lesson. She took just about every opportunity to raise her hand and ask questions.

Lunch was spent alone. Some pizza from home, on my own, shitposting on the phone. A much deserved retreat from the chaos of these multicolored freaks. 

The peace was, of course, short lived. Come Home Ec, Sage was all over me again, intent on chatting up a storm. Leo’s infrequent intervention was the only thing that kept me sane. The microraptor’s enthusiasm thankfully shifted to the lesson itself once Williston began to ramble. I wish I could say it was an exciting topic. It was mostly just reinforcing the safety rules discussed in the forms she sent home with us yesterday.

Forms I totally forgot to complete last night. I hastily scrawl my signature and a fake of my Mom’s onto the papers while she delivers the lesson. No better minute to do something than last minute.

Though it does so at a snail’s pace, third period eventually crawls to an end. I wave towards Sage and Leo as the three of us split and head in our separate directions. 

Time to finally see what my final class of the semester is going to be like.

A quick hustle down the stairwell brings me to the second floor. Remembering the route I took yesterday, I navigate my way towards my Literature class.

What greets me this time is not a locked door with a taped piece of copy on it, but rather a wide open doorway inviting me inside.

As I dip into the classroom, I find for once that I’m fairly early. The room itself isn’t anything to write home about. The walls are painted in a fashion similar to most of the other classrooms I’ve seen thus far. Rather than singular desks, there’s rows of wide tables, with a pair of chairs at each. There’s one or two pairs of students already sitting together, and a few lone ones sprinkled across the other tables. Most are empty. 

I B-line towards an empty one near the back and settle in. Don’t know why a lit class would be organized like this, but everything’s indicating to me I’m going to be getting a partner again. Wonderful.

I busy myself over the next couple minutes browsing the boards on my phone. I glance up every so often as more and more students pile in, looking to see if I recognize any of their faces. I don’t; I’m in a class with complete strangers again, and unlike Sage, none of them seem keen on getting to know me. Table after table fills up around the room. Eventually, all that’s left is the seat beside mine.

Huh, maybe I got lucky. Perhaps I’ll be the sole lone student in the bunch. 

I glance up from my phone once more. The teacher has yet to arrive, and the room’s full of chatter. I eye the door for a moment, expecting our instructor to come through any second now, but they don’t. As I look away, I find myself inspecting the interior of the room once more.

It’s pretty barren, all things considered. No decorations or personal touches. The teacher’s desk in the corner of the room near the front looks empty. There’s a huge clump of stacked books on a wide desk at the far left of the room, but beyond that, it looks like this place was cleaned out. 

Before I can begin to wonder why, the sound boots reporting on the tile floor catches my ear. I glance towards the doorway–

And I’m met with Fang.

The sight of the pterosaur makes me blink. The punk’s looking around the room, clearly trying to find somewhere to sit. Eventually their eyes land on me, and they share in my surprise for a moment.

I watch, in real time, as we both reach the same realization. Fang’s gaze flattens into begrudging resignation; I can feel myself returning the look. 

Fang walks down the row towards my table. They pause beside it, having shrugged off their backpack and dangling it by the strap in one claw.

“Do you mind?”

I shrug. “Not like there’s much of a choice, yeah?”

“Yeah,” they agree with a sigh, before pulling out the chair beside mine and sitting down. 

Fang pulls out their phone a second later and begins to scroll through it. I’m more than ready to resume as much in kind, and try my best to do so.

Try as I might though, a foreboding sense of awkwardness creeps over me. It’s that same sense of unease that wriggled its way inside of me yesterday, when I was left alone with Leo. 

Much like the taller dino had been then, Fang seems pretty content to remain to themself. They’re acting like I don’t exist right now. Which is what I wanted in the first place.

. . .

It went well yesterday with Leo when I decided to say something though.

Might as well try. 

“Hey,” I say towards them. Fang looks up from their smartphone and glances my way. They quietly wait for me to speak further. 

Something about choosing to say nothing at all makes my throat tighten up a little. I clear it, before I force myself to speak.

“U-Uh…How’d your, uhm, meeting go?”

Fang blinks again. “Huh?”

I do my best not to cringe. This definitely isn’t going as well as Leo. I can’t abort yet though.

“Eh, back at the end of homeroom. You told Reed you were having a meeting with him. Him and, uh…Triiiiish?”

I think that’s her name at least. I let the unfamiliar name hang out for a moment, offering myself a lifeline if I got it wrong. Fang gives a nod instead.

“Oh, uh, yeah. It was a meeting about our band, the one Roberts asked about.”

They frown a bit at that. The sour note to their expression gradually fades as they add.

“It went well, I guess. Could’ve been better.”

They squint at me a bit. “Why’d you wanna know?”

I don’t know why, but that catches me off-guard. I raise my hands as I shrug.

“I dunno, I just felt curious, I guess.”

They hum at that. “Sure,” they say, before they loft a brow at me. “Did Reed tell you what exactly we’re getting ready for? He mentioned he got you on the roof earlier.”

I shake my head. “I don’t think so.” I pause, “Well, maybe? He talked about a lot of stuff, admittedly. It might’ve slipped my mind.” 

“Yeah, he said you guys had a whole thing. It’s whatever. Anyways, we’re getting ready for…Well, you wouldn’t know the name. It’s this big audition, though. If we nail it, it’ll be the first step towards becoming an actual band. A recognized one.”

Huh, guess they’re actually taking this stuff more seriously than their slip-up in homeroom implied. 

“That’s cool,” I reply. “When’s it happening?”

“Next weekend. We’re gonna be practicing our asses off starting this evening.”

“Think you’re ready for it?”

They pause at that. The frown from earlier creeps over their beak, and they look towards the front board of the classroom.

“Yeah,” they finally say. “We’re ready.”

Their hands tighten a little around their elbows.

“We gotta be ready.”

If there’s certainty in their voice, I’m not hearing it.

Silence falls over the pair of us again. The frown doesn’t leave their face this time. As their amber eyes fall towards the floor, I can see in their gaze that they’re wrestling something inside themself. 

I know what it’s like to spiral. If nothing else, I’d rather not have a mopey deskmate for the next hour and a half.

“Reed said he tries to take you guys onto the roof all the time,” I remark, trying to throw some sort of distraction. “Any idea why?”

They scoff at that, shaking their head. 

“You’ve got no idea. Dude’s obsessed with that roof, I swear. I think he might be part-ptero with how much he loves heights.”

That frown transforms. It curls into the tiniest hint of a smile. The first one I’ve seen on their face since I’ve known them.

“He’s a weirdo,” they murmur. 

“Yeah,” I agree, laughing quietly. “He’s definitely unique.” 

The silence comes back again, but it’s not as bad as before. It’s not ignoring each-other, so much as it is just coexisting. Mutually occupying the same space. It’s a tiny, minute difference, but it’s enough of one that the anxious feeling in my gut’s far smaller now.

Before either of us can think to break that silence, it’s broken for us. There’s a loud thud at the front of the class; the door’s been slammed shut. The conversation that had been filling the air dies in an instant with it. 

Fang glances up, and their eyes go wide.

“Woah, shit,” they mutter under their breath, sitting up straight.

I follow their gaze and woah, shit. 

I’m stunned as I see my literature teacher for the semester. The reason for his appearance being such a shock is pretty easy to summarize:

He’s human.

At least, he’s some kind of man. As the initial bewilderment of his mammalian nature leaves me, the second thing that immediately catches my eye is that he’s bulky, broad and sturdy. His hair is long and black, and his blue eyes are sullen, sunken beneath a heavy brow. The skin of his rocky face and thick neck was tan, almost to the point of appearing bronzen. 

He was likely more a neanderthal than a human. Some sort of cro-magnon at the least. There’s more than a few breeds of us up north.

Despite his barbaric appearance, he dresses quite sharply. I see a white button-up visible beneath a thick, tweed blazer, brown with lines of a lighter hue in a checker pattern across the length of the article of clothing. He wears black slacks and a pair of brown loafers along with it.

He moves towards his desk at the front and sits down on the edge of it. He folds his thick hands in his lap as he looks upon the lot of us.

“Good afternoon,” he greets us. His voice is deep and bassy. Not a rumble, not hard to understand–his tone is commanding. Everything about him is.

“We are a day behind and have quite a bit to cover, so I’ll keep this brief. I am Mr. Cimms. I apologize for missing you all yesterday; my employment here was a very recent occurrence, relatively speaking. Tasks that required my attention unfortunately prevented me from hosting yesterday. We should have no problems going forward.”

He raises a hand towards us all, nodding as he continues.

“I look forward to getting to know each of you. Ordinarily there would be some kind of icebreaker for days like these, but in the interest of making the most of our time this evening, I believe you’re all adult enough to forgo that so we can dive right into our lesson. Would you agree?”

Some of us nod towards him, me being among them.

That stony mug of his cracks into a smile.

“Fantastic.”

. . .

If a word could be used to describe Cimms, it’d definitely be efficient. 

I finally glance up at the clock to find an hour and a half has come and gone. Not that I would’ve known it.

The caveman had lectured at a pace that just barely avoided crossing the line into breakneck territory. Introductions, syllabi, reading list and an introduction to our first novel, all wrapped up into one airtight lesson.

He’s got an energy to him. Something enthralling. Don’t know how else to describe it.

I think I’m gonna like this class.

A handful of the class glance up at the ceiling as the final bell for the day rings out. Cimms clamps his laptop shut, causing the powerpoint projected onto the whiteboard behind him to cease existing. He reaches up to turn off the projector itself as he speaks.

“We’ll finish that presentation tomorrow,” he says, raising his voice to keep audible over the ruckus of students flooding the hallways. “Please try to at least acquire the first two books on our list by tomorrow, Monday at the latest. Have a pleasant day, class.”

I stand, sliding my backpack back over my shoulders. Fang does the same beside me. I walk with them towards the door–

“A moment if you would, Mr. Mous.”

I blink, looking over my shoulder towards Cimms. The caveman had sat down at his desk, his burly hands folded before him. He raises a brow at me.

“Assuming you have no prior obligations, of course?”

I furrow my brow. I definitely didn’t do anything wrong during this class. Hell, I didn’t even raise my hand once. Avoiding attention was the whole point.

To my equal surprise, in my periphery, I can see Fang’s stopped at the doorway, quietly looking between us.

I decide to give the literature teacher a shrug.

“Sure, I got time.”

I move towards a table near the front of the class, right before his desk. I turn just enough to give Fang a small wave as I go; don’t wanna keep them waiting.

“See ya,” they say with a nod before they exit the classroom. 

As I sit down in the nearest chair of the chosen table, Cimms rises. He walks over to where Fang had stood but seconds prior, and gently closes the door.

“So,” he says as he walks back to his desk. He sits down with a huff. “How have you been doing, Anon?”

“Uh, alright I guess,” I tell him. I lean forward a little in my seat. “Is something wrong, sir…?”

Cimms shakes his head. “No no, of course not. I can understand why you might think so, though. Private talk with the teacher’s never good, right?”

He chuckles quietly at his joke. I force a small laugh back.

Cimms clears his throat.

“Cards on the table, like the other faculty, I was informed about the circumstances of your transfer once it had been decided you would be one of my classes.”

I can feel my expression dropping as the nature of this conversation begins to emerge. My heart sinks with it.

Cimms raises a hand towards his chest as he speaks further.

“Unlike everyone else here, I have an idea of what you’re going through right now. We’re both very out of our element here in Caldera Bay. Moving here as an adult is, admittedly, quite daunting. I can only imagine what a young man like yourself is experiencing.”

“You do…?”

Cimms nods. There’s a hard expression on his face.

“It isn’t easy. But we’ll both find our way, I’m certain of it.”

He makes a show of putting a smile on his face. He raises that same hand that had gestured towards himself, now to me.

“Having said all this, I just wanted to make sure your first days have gone alright. Any problems? Anything I can help with?”

I break eye contact with the caveman for a moment as I consider his question. 

Is there anything I need help with?

Nothing he could help me with, at least. 

And, likewise, despite the petty nothing drama, all things considered? This move could’ve gone much worse so far.

Maybe I should consider myself lucky.

I shake my head.

“Ah, no sir, I think I’m good. It’s been…Interesting, to say the least. But there haven’t been any problems.”

I go quiet as I think for a moment.

No, it hasn’t been horrible. But it’s been far from ideal, too.

“...Except…”

The word escapes me unintentionally. Cimms lofts a brow, quiet, expecting me to continue. 

“...It’s just a lot at once, you know?” I tell him, rubbing the back of my neck. “I’ve never really handled change well, and this week’s been nothing but change so far. I’m kind of nervous at what might come next, if that makes sense.”

Cimms lets out a deep hum. His fingers steeple on the desk between us. He leans forward to the audible tune of his chair creaking. 

“Let me offer you a piece of advice, Mr. Mous.”

He gestures right towards me again.

“Change begins with you, for better or worse. The circumstances you find yourself in are always going to be different. The world never stops. But who you are as a person is entirely up to you. If you don’t let this period of your life sway you, it won’t.”

He pauses, a finger raising to the air. 

“But,” he says, placing great emphasis on the word. “You could also use this as an opportunity to reinvent yourself, if you feel like it. Either way, it all depends on you.”

It’s not a punishment, son. It’s an opportunity.

Him and Dad would get along.

Sighing to himself, Cimms lumbers up and away from the desk once more. He opens the door as he nods to me.

“That’s all, Anon. Think it over. Have a good day now, and remember: if you ever need to talk, I’m always available to you. The same with the rest of your teachers.”

I frown a little, but nod as I stand.

“Right, got’cha. Thanks, sir, see you tomorrow.”

The caveman gives me a wave as I pass by him and leave the class, one which I return as I go. I hear the door click shut behind me as I walk away and down the hall.

The main corridor’s mostly empty by this point. Some stragglers remain, putting up stuff in their lockers or slowly walking as they chat with friends, but the initial rush of people trying to leave as fast as possible has passed. 

I duck into the nearest stairwell and quickly make way down the flights, heading to the ground level.

The halls down here are as empty as the ones above, which means there’s very little chance of me bumping into someone if I do a little screen surfing.

I pull out my phone and open it, navigating my way towards my browser. I can see hints of the empty cafeteria as I walk through it, using it as a shortcut towards the front exit. 

I’ve got time to kill. Which thread to shit up first–

“Yo, hey!” 

Someone shouts near me. I jolt my eyes up, head on a swivel as I quickly look around me.

“Over here! Anon, right?!”

Oh no, it’s not just a coincidence, they know my name.

My hopes of the cry being for another person dashed, I kill my phone as I look in the direction of the noise.

Lingering a bit further down the side of the cafeteria are two figures. I recognize the first instantly–Fang. That definitely wasn’t their voice though.

The second is just a bit shy of a head shorter than Fang, at a glance. Her scales are a bright violet in color, and I can spot darker markings along her face and–frill? Yeah, she’s got a crest on the back of her head, a crest and horns. Looks to be a trike of some variety. A tangle of springy purple hair rests between her horns, her eyes a slightly brighter hue. She’s wearing a bright, yellow hoodie and black yoga pants, a red O-X on the center of the former. 

She waves at me as I notice her, smiling. 

“Yeah, over here!” She calls again, gesturing for me to come closer. 

Don’t wanna incite a potential trigga moment. With a sigh, I answer her summons and approach. Fang folds their arms as I come closer to the both of them.

“We really gotta stop meeting like this,” they say.

The trike lightly smacks the back of a hand against Fang’s nearest bicep. 

“Dude, be nice,” she says, shooting Fang a little glare. The ptero rolls their eyes.

The smile returns to her face as she looks back to me.

“Looks like I finally get to meet you! Was wondering if Reed was gonna hide you away from me at this rate.”

I furrow my brow. “Does he have a habit of doing that…?”

She shakes her head. “Nah, not really, but he seemed pretty deadset on wanting to talk to you first though.”

“Uh-huh.” Not knowing what to do with my hands, I jam them into my pockets. “So, uh, you’re Trish, right?”

“Yep!” She eagerly nods. “Reed tell you my name?”

I nod back. She leans forward with a smirk.

“Figures. What else he say about me?”

This feels like a trick question, and I feel a little put on the spot. 

Careful Anon, remember what your Uncle always said. There’s nothing more dangerous in this world than an enraged triggette.

“U-Uhm…” I swallow down my slowly emerging reserves of pasta. “He said you guys were in a band, and that…Uh, you liked bugs…?”

The mounting tension in my gut crescendos–and then fades in a snap when that smirk on her face blossoms into a full blown grin. She takes a step forward, fists balled as she pumps her arms a little.

“Dude, they’re awesome!” The raw enthusiasm in her voice is absolutely infectious. I swear her eyes are sparkling. “You gotta let me tell you about all the neat stuff I saw at this entomology camp over the summer! We even got to see some samples of stuff from your territories, it was sick!”

I can’t get a word in one way or the other as Trish scrambles closer to me. The sharp spike of fear at a female being this close to me is somewhat dimmed by the fact that she’s so focused on unlocking her phone, opening her photo library.

“Oh, oh! I gotta show Mango, she’s–”

“ Speaking of the band, ” Fang suddenly interrupts, their voice a little firm. “Trish, we got practice, remember? You can kill Anon with worm facts later, c’mon.”

They nudge their snout towards the direction I had just come from as they say the last word. 

Trish’s expression immediately dims, eyes half-lidding. She sighs quietly. 

“Right, Fang. Forgot,” she says. The sheer lack of enthusiasm in her voice doesn’t escape me.

I feel a little awkward as I glance between the both of them. Trish looks back at me, smiling once more.

“Talk to you tomorrow, ‘kay? It was nice meeting ya man.”

I give her a nod. “Sure thing, nice to meet you too. Later.”

“Later, skater,” she shoots back with a wink. Fang begins to walk away, and Trish follows after.

I watch the both of them depart, before I turn and begin to walk my own way once more, hoping that that was the last of the surprises between here and the front door of my apartment.

My second day at Volcano High was finally over.

Just another hundred and seventy-eight to go.

Notes:

Hey hey, snoogers.

Finally getting Chapter 3 to you, after an extensive delay.
As a side note, the transition from the Word Doc to AO3 significantly fucked up the formatting for whatever reason. I spent awhile trying to correct it, but it still looks a little weird in some places. Going to go back and try to completely scrub it out once I've got some more time this evening.
Work on Chapter 4 has already begun.

To keep things brief, life hasn't been very fun for your resident Skragsmith since last upload. I'm currently having to try and find a new job for the first time in several years after an unforeseen loss of employment at the tail end of January.
But, as the kids say, ball is life. Ergo, to ball is to live. Therefore, we ball.

I hope the new chapter was pleasant despite the wait. The next one is going to be shorter compared to the first three.

Let me know what (you) think in the comments.
We're all gonna make it bros. Until we next meet.

Chapter 4: All I Can Do

Chapter by SkragAnon

Summary:

"There I things I can't forgive
"There are things I cannot allow
"There I things I want to though.
"Oh, how time flies by
"You always have to choose a side
"Everyone is trying to convince
"I can not do, anything for you--
"Heigh-ho, talking is not in my line."

Friday went off without a hitch.

The weekend came and went, over which I admittedly didn’t do a damn thing. For the first time since I got here, I was able to slip into my comfort zone and just exist. I was a terror on the board and the Xrox alike, and felt at peace the entire time because of it.

Much to my delight, the Monday after was just as uneventful as the Friday before. 

Walk to school, sit down in class, keep my head down, do my work, go home, repeat.

I was finally getting into the groove I wanted. Things were starting to go by quickly.

Reed, Sage and to a lesser extent Leo were the only speedbumps to being able to just disassociate through the lectures. Naomi made some small talk, but was mostly too focused on the coursework to acknowledge me during second period; Fang kept to themself during the fourth, browsing on their phone or doodling in that journal of theirs. 

And I was just fine with that.

So far, Tuesday’s going pretty good too.

First period’s just ended. Reed flashes me a wave as I stand and go to exit the class, and I wave back to him in kind.

“You could always come hang with us at lunch, y’know,” he says to me in passing.

“Maybe,” I reply as I walk through the doorway. 

Fat chance. Lunch is me time. It’s the only time during my school day I can be by myself. Reed’s alright, but I’m not giving that up for him. Sorry man.

Once in the halls I make a B-line towards my history class, weaving through the crowd with ease. Now that I’ve learned where my classrooms are, I’ve been reaching them as early as possible. It lets me have a little break before the lesson begins. Not like I’ve got any reason to be hanging out in the middle of the school anyways.

I dip into Mr. Osborn’s classroom and quickly pivot to take my seat. To my surprise, Naomi’s not sitting at her desk directly ahead of mine. If there’s a single Saurian who’s got me beat for punctuality at this place, it’s definitely her. Maybe she’s running late today.

I pull out my phone to kill the time before our lesson begins. Unfortunately the catalog is resembling the dimensions of a coal mine right now. Not a single appetizing thread in sight.

Much to my dismay, my Feather feed proves to be just as dogshit, if not more so. Normie memes, clout-chasing influencers baiting clicks, someone reposting two-year-old drama to cancel a SnootTuber they don’t like. 

I’m in Hell. Save me Osborn.

The bell rings overhead, signaling the start of class. I turn off my phone and pocket it with a sigh, turning my attention towards the front of the room. I begin to pull out my textbook from my backpack, as do many others in the class.

As I do so, I find that Naomi still isn’t sitting in front of me. Not being early is already strange enough for her. Being late is significantly weirder. 

Likewise normally by this point, Mr. Osborn would be standing by his lectern near the front of the class, a powerpoint projected onto the whiteboard behind him. Right neither of those are true. The board, though white, is notably presentation-less. The balding oviraptor is still sitting at his desk in the far corner of the room, leaning back in his seat and staring down at his phone.

An awkward silence hangs over the class as we wait for the teacher to start doing our job. Seeming to finally sense it, Osborn glances up at all of us and clears his throat. 

“You can just talk among yourselves for a minute,” he says. “You’ll see why here soon.”

He looks back down at his phone without another word. He sounded vaguely annoyed at that last part.

Taking up the teacher’s offer, sporadic conversations begin to fill the air. Several of my classmates turn about and begin to converse with their friends, while others go back to staring at their phone screens. I quickly move to join the latter of the two groups.

My feeds remain as boring and cringeworthy as they were a minute and a half ago upon a second glance. How disappointing.

The lull continues, stretching from one minute to the next. I take the opportunity to pull out my tangled earbuds from my backpack, plugging them into my phone and popping one into an ear. 

I sift through the recommended feed of my YouSnoot app. Nothing of interest. I tab over to my subscriptions–and immediately exit out of it, fast as I can, when the first thumbnail I’m met with is of a Saturnia character.

On impulse I slam my phone screen down against my desk, glancing around to see if anyone was looking my way. The noise of the smartphone smacking against plywood earns a few glances from my immediate neighbors, who immediately lose interest a second after. 

Seems like none of them did. Thank God.

I let out a sigh, trying to relax. My heart rate has skyrocketed from its resting pace, palpable in my chest.

I forgot I was still subscribed to that loser channel. Some weird ankylosaurus dude that does nothing but narrate visual novels and other vaguely-moe shit. Definitely cleaning my feed of his shit when I get the chance.

That was too close of a call.

Before I can dwell on the matter further the room’s intercom suddenly lets out a long beep, signalling an announcement is about to come through. Several of the class glance up at the ceiling as a voice crackles over the speaker. Despite the distortion, I immediately make out the speaker to be Mr. Sereno.

“Good morning, Razor Wings!” The Principal says, the brief enthusiasm in his voice quickly fading into professional monotone. “Due to scheduling conflicts, the pride rally for this year’s Homecoming will be taking place momentarily as opposed to this evening. All students and faculty please report to the gymnasium at this time; you will be separated into bleachers dependent upon your grade. Thank you.”

With a clap of his hands Osborn pushes himself to his feet, nudging his head towards the classroom door.

“You heard him. Go ahead and bring your bags if you want, there’s a good chance we won’t be coming back in here.”

Conversation rises back up to a murmur, joining a steady tempo of desks gently shifting and books being crammed into canvas as the class rises to its feet. I join them, slinging my backpack on before I make for the doorway. I don’t feel like wasting time to backtrack to this room if we end up going straight to lunch.

Volcano High’s alive with movement and noise as I follow the rest of the student body through the halls. Some of the other students are taking their time–others not so much. I stumble forward at one point as I’m roughly shoulder-checked by a passing Saurian. I vaguely catch a glimpse of the offender, some yellow-scaled trike, before they slip into the crowd and all but vanish. They were just shy of sprinting judging from the force they hit me with. Guess they’re trying to claim one of the “good” spots at the bleachers.

Can’t exactly blame them. Still, keep an eye out next time, dick.

The swarm of rainbow-colored bodies I find myself in the midst of eventually leads me out the front doors of the school’s main building. The omnipresent sweltering heat of a Caldera Bay morning greets me; it’s a bright and beautiful morning out. I’m starting to think it never rains at this place.

I follow the stream of students along the stone pathways that head towards the looming building of the gymnasium. It’s really not that far of a walk, but by the time I’m nearing the front steps, I’ve developed a fresh layer of sweat that’s making my shirt cling to my skin in the most uncomfortably clammy way possible.

Maybe Reed and Fang have a point with wearing such loose clothing.

I ascend the gym’s steps and cross through the double doors, held open by the repeating conga line of hands shoving it as student after student crams through. Unlike last week, Reed isn’t here to try and pulverize my face by swinging said door in my direction.

I idly wonder where he is for a moment. I can almost guarantee he’s ditching the assembly. Part of me almost wants to join him.

That part is immediately told to shut up when the immaculate, divine grace of the gymnasium’s AC washes over me. It’s like being wrapped in a cool blanket of relief by CaveGod himself. 

Nope, sorry Reed. I am not forsaking this sweet, sweet chilliness to bake on that roof with you.

Blessed by the presence of Volcano High’s air conditioning system, I continue to follow my fellow students through the interior of the gymnasium. It’s my first time in the building, so even if I had the opportunity to somehow separate from the crowd, I wouldn’t. I’ve got no idea where I’m going.

As we continue to march through the wide, windowed corridor the double doors had opened too, I catch a glimpse of a pair of entrances on the far wall. One of the doors is partially ajar, and through it I briefly see a vast collection of descending rows of padded seats. Farthest below in the chamber is a polished wooden stage, on which a podium rests, a wall of green drapes hanging behind it.

That must be the auditorium where Thursday’s assembly took place. It’ll probably be useful to note its location for the future.

Who knows, I might be graduating on that stage in eight months.

The trek through the gym proves to be a surprisingly long one. The exterior of the building looks huge, but it’s somehow even bigger on the inside. I get brief glimpses of other rooms and chambers as I follow the crowd, their signs indicating gendered locker rooms, a weight room and even a wrestling room, just to name a few. 

Volcano High seems to place a lot of stock in its athletics. What a shame that’s all wasted on me.

Eventually we finally spill through a pair of metallic doors, emerging into the actual gymnasium of the complex. Like a lot of stuff at this school, it absolutely puts Rockbottom’s gym to shame. It’s massive; two huge rows of dark blue seated bleachers stretch along either wall of the gym, shocked through with occasional rows of bright gold seats. A number of basketball hoops are folded up near the top of the ceiling, and the hardwood floor of the court is polished to a shine. The center of the court is dominated by the school’s logo, a blue-carapaced dragonfly with golden eyes and barbed legs. 

Gotta say, I’ve never seen a “razor wing” before–I don’t even know if they’re real. 

Maybe Trish could tell me if they are. She apparently loves bugs after all.

What had once been a steady river of students is breaking apart into four streams, shifting to various sides of the gymnasium. I catch sight of teachers, most of whom I’ve never seen before, ushering students to sit in certain portions of the bleachers based upon their grade. Four quadrants for four grade levels.

I just follow the direction of a Saurian I can recognize as one of my classmates, letting him lead me towards the section that the seniors are meant to sit in. This proves to be fairly close, towards the right of the nearest bleachers.

I scan the rows as I shuffle my way up the bleacher steps, trying to find somewhere vaguely uncrowded to sit. To my shock, one of the corners of the top rows hasn’t been claimed. I’m either early or unbelievably lucky. 

I quickly scale the last few steps and move to seat myself in my little pocket. The thick, blue plastic of the bleacher seat isn’t exactly the most comfortable thing in the world, but I’ve definitely experienced worse before. 

My seat provides me a bird’s eye view of the rest of the gym. It’s that view that lets me spy a familiar couple of figures walking up the steps. One short and pink-feathered, the other tall and blue-scaled. 

And they’re both moving right towards me.

Goddamnit.

“Hey, Anon!” Sage cries out to me, voice raised to be audible over the cacophony of a hundred different conversations that’s echoing around the gym. “Care if we sit with you?”

There’s a grin on the microraptor’s face as he approaches, clearly intending on sitting by me no matter what I answer. Leo trails behind him, offering a quiet wave as he follows after the smaller Saurian.

“Uh, sure, go ahead,” I say, doing my best to mask the disappointment in my voice. 

“Awesome!” Sage chirps, situating himself on the seat next to me, coming to sit between me and Leo as the aquatic hunkers down to his left.

“Man, Anon,” Sage whistles, leaning forward a little. “I think you got some of the best seats in the house. The view up here’s crazy!”

Sure was a lot better when I had it to myself.

“Sorry, what?” Sage says with a blink, glancing over at me.

I clear my throat. “Uh, how’s your day been?”

“Ooh! Sorry, it’s real loud in here!” Sage replies, pointing a claw tip towards his head with a snicker. He shifts in his seat, angling himself a little more towards me as he speaks further.

“Been pretty good though! I totally forgot Homecoming was today, I thought it was next week for some reason. I would’ve dressed up in our colors!”

It somehow escaped me today was Homecoming, too. I should probably start paying more attention to the calendar here.

A quick look down at the rows of students below and beyond us does show Sage’s idea would’ve had some merit to it. Now that I’m actually paying attention, there are a lot of people wearing dark blue clothing today. There’s a crowd of figures massing on the basketball court–cheerleaders, judging by their matching uniforms. They’re dressed in designs of glimmering blue and gold, with accents of white.

“Oh well, always next year, right?”

I look back to the microraptor as I speak. Sage snorts at me.

“We’re graduating, dummy. There isn’t gonna be a next year.”

“Oh, right,” I rub the back of my neck, trying to think of a way to divert the conversation.

As I look towards Sage, I can’t help but notice that Leo’s not looking over at us. He’s staring down at the basketball court, or at least in the direction of it. His eyes are focused on something.

He almost looks kind of pissed. It’s hard to tell.

“Anyways,” I say, clearing my throat. “So, what do you guys do for Homecoming?”

“Back when I first came here as a freshman, it used to be an all-week kinda deal,” Sage replies. His tail waves a little behind him as he speaks, the pink plumage rustling with each sway. He sounds vaguely excited as he recounts more–but then again, Sage always sounds excited.

“It was super cool! They called it Spirit Week, and every day there was a different theme to stuff! One day you could wear costumes, another day Seniors would be allowed to drape stuff over them like togas, it was fun! They mixed it up all the time apparently. Then Homecoming would be at the end of the week, and it’d last the entire day.”

“Sounds pretty cool,” I nod along.

“It was!” Sage lets out a groan. “Buuuuut then in Sophomore year, they changed it to just being a single day. It’s so lame.”

“Got’cha. So what’s gonna be happening here in a minute?”

“Weeeell,” Sage began, tapping a claw tip against his chin. “If last year was anything to go by, the Principal will probably give a speech of some kind, then the cheer and dance teams do some combined routines. The leads of the other sports teams speak for a bit–”

Leo lets out a soft grunt of acknowledgement at that. It makes Sage freeze up, a pang of concern punctuating his normally joyous features. The emotion looks strange on him.

“A-Ah…” Sage clears his throat. “Sorry, lost my train of thought. Uhm, usually then the football team has a big moment hyping up the game of the week. Normally we’d let out to go watch games on the football field for the rest of the day, but I guess that’ll, uh…Probably happen after lunch?”

Sage pauses, glancing over his shoulder for a moment. His eyes return to me with a vaguely apologetic look.

“Hey, Anon,” he says, leaning forward as he drops his voice to a murmur. “Do you mind if I…?”

He nudges his head vaguely in Leo’s direction. I immediately shake my head.

“Yeah dude, no problem. Everything okay?”

Sage doesn’t answer immediately. 

“...Yeah,” he reluctantly replies, before shifting away. He reorients to face Leo, his back turned to me.

The pair quickly break into hushed conversation. I turn my attention away from them, not wanting to pry into whatever was going on between them. I pull out my phone and begin to surf once more. I silently hope the time it took for us to walk to the gymnasium was long enough for something halfway entertaining to enter my feeds.

Though I’m not trying to actively eavesdrop, the small amount of distance between me and the couple naturally lets me pick up some snippets. Sage is doing most of the talking. Whenever I can vaguely hear Leo reply, he’s not saying much. It’s impossible to discern what they’re actually saying over the clamoring of the crowds.

A pair of muffled booms echo across the gym speakers. Glancing up from my phone, I see the reason why: down upon the basketball court, Mr. Sereno has come to stand before the assembled cheerleaders, flanked by a pair of middle-aged Saurian men in formal attire. I assume they’re part of the school’s administration. There’s a microphone in the Principal’s hands; he must’ve mic-checked it by tapping a palm against it.

The conversation had petered out at the booms briefly, and swiftly begins to die down entirely as the Principal holds a hand up to the air, signaling for silence. In the relative quiet that follows, I’m able to hear the last bits of the exchange between Sage and Leo.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Sage murmurs. “We can make an excuse–”

“I’m fine,” Leo bluntly replies. He’s looking away from the Microraptor. 

Sage hesitates, before nodding softly.

“...Okay,” he finally says. “Love you.” 

Leo grunts softly in response. Sage looks away with a frown.

–Wait, love you? Are they dating? 

Of course they’re fucking dating. I had just assumed Sage was overly enthusiastic and clingy towards him, but it makes sense. Hell, it’s rare to not see Sage try and hug him whenever they’re leaving Home Ec with me. 

A wave of unsettled heat washes over me. I look away from them, staring down at the assembly below as I stew over the realization. It leaves me feeling uncomfortable.

Two of the first people I vaguely consider friends at this place are fags. I should be mortified, disgusted. 

Right?

Right?

Sure, I’m not exactly as comfortable around them as I was a couple seconds ago, but it’s not like they’re bad people. Sage and overbearing and Leo’s kind of distant, but they’ve both been genuinely friendly to me since I met them.

…Is it really that big of a deal then? It’s not like it’s affected me in any way. 

Maybe that’s why I’ve been so willingly blind to it this whole time, despite how obvious it is.

–I don’t want to think about this right now.

I shake my head, trying to distance myself from the moral quandary as I focus in on Mr. Sereno’s words. The Principal’s been speaking into the microphone for a good minute now, and I’ve been too busy sperging out to really pay attention to it. 

“--here at Volcano High, this year, we’re doing things differently. We’re going to prove to everyone in the Caldera Bay area that we do things with respect, integrity and pride. We’re going to show that we believe in who we are, and that is exactly why we’re the best of the best in our little corner of Pangea!”

The Principal swept his free hand up, gesturing to the line of cheerleaders behind him as he and his aides shuffled off to the sidelines. 

“Our wonderful cheer team is now going to take us away into the opening of our Homecoming celebrations. Please give it up for the award-winning Caldera Bay Sparkling Wings!”

A chorus of cries answers him from around the gymnasium, something the cheerleaders join in as they rush forward and take to the center of the gym court, quickly dispersing into formations. 

At first I merely watch the following performance out of sheer boredom, but that rapidly shifts into a bit of genuine attention and awe over time. I’ve got to give it to them, they’re skilled.

The cheer team pulls stunt after choreographed stunt, each clearly well-rehearsed and drilled, and each more high-flying than the last. Saurian biology lends them a degree of physicality and grace that the cheerleaders back home could never hope to match, their routine set the entire time to an ongoing school pride chant.

The display crescendos into a pair of towers that see two pterosaurs practically launched into the air. Rather than fall back into the arms of their teammates as they had in prior stunts, their wings unfurl and catch the air, causing them to gracefully glide down together in an interweaving pattern. They both stick the landing, arms raising with the rest of the team.

The gym erupts into applause. I find myself joining them. 

The cheerleaders soon disperse, ceding the court floor to the school’s dance team. Unlike the cheerleaders, they quickly lose my interest the moment their first routine begins to the tune of something normie pop song. It’s such urbanite garbage that it hurts my ears.

I’m about to look back at my phone for the rest of the dancing, before an idle thought strikes me. 

One of those two pteros in the cheer team had feathery wings. They kind of looked like Fang. They obviously weren’t them–her wings were a bright pink in color, a shade similar to Sage’s own plumage. 

Still, the thought makes me idly curious. I lean forward, skimming the rows beneath me with my eyes, wondering if I can catch sight of the punk.

It takes a bit of time, but I eventually spot them towards the middle of the bleachers, down near one of the bottom rows. Their wings make them stick out like a sore thumb. I can vaguely make out a puff of purple hair near them which I identify as Trish. Between the two of them is a figure with long, brown hair that I don’t recognize.

With a shrug, I stop staring like a tard and turn my attention back to my phone. The doomscrolling provides a needed mental barrier between myself and the deluge of pop assaulting my ears.

God is eventually graceful enough to bring an end to the dance team’s portion of the rally. The girls shuffle off to the sides of the court, and where they once stood is slowly replaced by a horde of Saurian men. A good many of them are wearing blue-gold jerseys, no doubt marking themselves as members of the football team. A couple others are dressed in button-ups and slacks. Some have no dress code at all. 

This must be the sports section Sage had spoken of earlier. 

Speaking of which, I only just now realize that Sage has been oddly silent throughout the rally thus far. Glancing over at the microraptor, I find him to be watching the court quietly, sparing the odd look towards Leo. His tail has curled around his body. 

By comparison, Leo is positively fixated on someone down at the court. I try to track the point of the aquatic’s eyes to a body among the jocks, but to no avail. 

The pair remain silent over the next couple minutes, and so do I. Sereno and his accomplices take to the court once more, turning his attention to the assembly at large once more as he begins to speak into the microphone.

“Razor Wing pride is a common foundational element across all of our sporting programs! All those trophies that line our halls are proof enough to the excellence, hardwork and dedication these young men put into their craft every single day. I’d like to take a moment to brag on each of our wonderful groups of athletes–they certainly deserve it.”

What follows is a parade of faces I don’t recognize, and truthfully never will. One by one, teams are called up from the small army of athletes, assembling in front of the horde next to Sereno. He hits all of the usuals–the soccer team, the basketball team, the wrestling team. Even lacrosse, a sport I completely forgot exists, is given a moment in the spotlight. 

Each time a new team is presented, Sereno takes a moment to describe how their performances went last year. No doubt he’s hamming it up a bit to keep up the momentum and school spirit, but the track records he lays out do sound pretty noteworthy. At least in-so-far as I can understand them. Sports have never exactly been my strong suit.

Each team’s showing is concluded by Sereno announcing a captain or other chosen individual from among their number, who is then handed the microphone to speak to his peers. The speeches that follow are all fairly milquetoast. None of them are as skilled at public speaking as the Professor, and it shows. 

It’s becoming rapidly clear that he’s saving the football team for last. As the lacrosse captain concludes his little moment in the spotlight, he hands Sereno back the mic. The Suchomimus quickly pivots, raising his free hand to gesture to the lacrosse team–lacrossers?--one last time. 

“Let’s hear it once last time for Volcano High Lacrosse!”

A fair amount of applause answers him.

“And, as one final reminder, they’re still looking for new members! If you’re interested, seek out Coach Maywell. Now, onto our next batch of talented athletes–the Volcano High Swim Team!”

Another moderate round of applause, as well as the odd cheer or two from the crowd, answers him again. I just squint.

“Swim team?” I look towards Sage and Leo. “Who the hell promotes their swim team at a pride rally?”

I want to lay into the absurdity of the moment–seriously, who the fuck cares about the swim team? I’m not able to though, because I’m stopped in my tracks as I catch the pair’s expressions.

They’re both radiating tension. Leo’s hands have notably come to clutch at his knees, squeezing tight. There’s a scowl on his face. 

Sage glances over at me, giving me a sharp look. It’s the first time I’ve seen such an emotion upon his face in the brief time I’ve gotten to know him.

“Anon, please,” he quietly urges me, not elaborating as he turns his attention back to the liopleurodon. He leans towards Leo, murmuring his name, trying to get his attention.

Sereno had been praising the team’s recent performance in competitions throughout the little exchange. Bewildered, I glance back down at the court just in time to catch him ushering a member of the team forward.

“I’d like to let the newest captain of our wonderful swim team, Jackie Cuvier!”

The student he passed the microphone to, dressed in a loose top and some baggy sweat pants, is clearly some sort of aquatic Saurian like Leo is. Even from a distance though, the differences between them stand out. Jackie’s tail is shorter than Leo’s, but the fin that it ends in is far larger. The fins along his forearms seem a bit more pronounced too. Hard to put my finger on what the hell he is–a mosasaur?

Whatever he is, he’s grinning–no, smirking as he brings the microphone close to his muzzle. 

“I won’t take up too much of ya’ll’s time,” he says, looking around the crowd as he orates. “I just want to say that we’re committed to making this year one of our best. We’ve made a lot of changes to the way we handle business, and we’ve definitely trimmed a lot of fat off of our program.”

I feel shock burst through me when his eyes glance up and find my corner of the bleachers. I swear he’s looking right this way. 

“Matter of fact, I’d say we’re better than ever. That’s all I got–let’s go Razor Wings!” 

He pumps his fist into the air to the tune of a fresh wave of cheers invoked by the school’s mantra. The mosasaur passes the microphone back to Sereno, who dismisses the swim team before finally bringing on the football team. 

As the Principal begins to hype up the student body for what must be the finale of the rally, there’s suddenly motion to my left. I snap my eyes up towards it.

Leo pushes himself to his feet, his snout twisted with anger. With a huff he quickly moves down the stairs, pivoting hard once he’s on the gym floor.

“Oh, shoot–” Sage springs up from his seat, quickly moving to follow after his boyfriend. “Leo..!”

I catch a glimpse of Leo moving towards the nearest set of doors out of the gymnasium, the microraptor in hot pursuit, before they disappear beneath the threshold of the bleachers. Their abrupt leaving earns them more than a couple stares, and I see one of the teachers ringing the court turning to follow after them.

A part of me wonders if I should follow them. 

. . .

Nah. What could I possibly say or do? Not like it involved me in any way, I think. Even if it did, Sage is the dude’s boyfriend. He’s the person most qualified to handle whatever in the world is going on with Leo right now.

Principle Sereno’s bragging over the football team’s records in the past few years fills the air of the gymnasium as I pull out my phone. Over time, it becomes easier and easier to tune out as I scroll through my feeds.

The minutes crawl by one by one initially, but it gradually becomes easier to distance myself from the rally’s commotion. Only thing that keeps drawing me out of my trance is the odd down towards the nearest row of steps along the bleachers, or towards the side of the court. Checking to see if Leo or Sage was coming back to sit down. 

Neither show up. I stop looking entirely after a couple of times. 

Just gotta zone out for a little while longer. Then it’ll be lunch. Sweet, sweet me time. I–

–Am pulled out of my thoughts as the hard plastic of the bleachers beneath me rumbles against my asscheek. Something to my side is making an audible buzzing against the seats. 

My eyes immediately dart down in the direction of the stimuli, checking to see if one of the freakishly large insects that inhabit this part of the world has come to claim my soul.

I don’t find a beetle from hell, but the true source of the noise has a shell that’s probably just as colorful: it’s a smartphone with a glossy, reflective case. Layers of white, pink and blue dripping down into one another; the case’s design kind of looks like melting ice cream. 

The phone buzzes again. It’s only now that I’m registering the device is flopped down right where Sage was sitting. It must be his.

I take another glance down the stairs and around the gym, looking to see if the microraptor or his boyfriend has returned yet. Spotting neither of them yet again, I decide to pick up the phone. 

If I accidentally left my own brick behind, I wouldn’t want it left here for some stranger to steal. 

As I bring the phone up towards me, I flip it over out of habit–and discover that it’s actually unlocked. Come to think of it, I did see Sage looking at the device a couple seconds before the whole swim team moment went down.

The microraptor’s homescreen is a mess of apps. No form of organization to them what-so-ever. Feather, YouSnoot, the usual. A few different games, a bunch of shit I don’t recognize–

It’s the wallpaper of the homescreen that really catches my attention though.

It’s a selfie of Leo and Sage, but they almost look like entirely different people. 

Sage was clearly the one taking the picture, judging from the angle. His violet hair in the photo is ridiculously long, wavy and wild over his shoulders. He’s wearing some kind of yellow, loose shirt. It almost looks like a dress if you kinda squint at it. 

Nah. Sage is definitely fruity, but I don’t think he’s a cross-dresser. 

Looming behind him, Leo’s topless. His hair’s a bit shorter compared to how it currently looks; he must’ve just been swimming, because it’s also wet. The background behind them is bright. They might be at a beach of some kind. What’s more pressing is that holy shit, Leo is ripped in this photo. His muscles are on full display.

He’s always worn that jacket every time I’ve seen him around, so it’s not like I’ve ever gotten a look at him without his shirt on, but there’s no way he’s still this athletic. Even with the layers on, I can easily tell that the Leo I know is a schlub compared to whoever he used to be.

Changed or not, whatever was happening in this moment, they were both happy. Leo’s grinning, a little embarrassed but still vibrant. Sage is laughing as he takes the photo.

It’s a look at a moment I never got to see. A look I shouldn’t be seeing to begin with.

I should really lock the phone. 

Just as I go to do so, the device vibrates gently in my hand. A notification pops up near the top of the screen, and my eyes dart to it.

It’s a messenger notification, from a group chat labelled “DINOGANG.” 

The sender is labelled as Trish. Makes sense, she probably knows the two through Reed.

“Just keep us posted , . . . “

The message cuts off before it can be fully read. The notification slips back up the way it came after hanging around for a couple seconds.

What the hell kind of name is Dino Gang? That’s like my family naming a group chat Human Gang. 

Whatever. 

I still intend to lock the phone and store it in my backpack. I’ll just give it back to him at third period, assuming he doesn’t come find me during lunch asking if I’ve seen it.

I intend to. I should.

And yet, my gaze has come to fixate on the messenger icon in the bottom left of the phone screen. A white sphere on blue, with three red text notification pips at the corner of it.

They’ve been talking to me this whole time. Gave me their numbers. Acted like my friends.

They never mentioned this group chat to me though.

And if Trish is in there, that means Reed is there. Fang too, probably.

Not a word from any of them over it. 

Why?

Is there something in there they don’t want me to see? 

Have they been speaking about me?

Do they know?

. . .

I need to know.

I press on the messenger app, opening it. It immediately comes up to the group chat’s sprawl. 

The latest three messages are from Trish, back to back.

Trish: Hey Sage everything ok?

Trish: Saw Leo n you leave. did Jacks shit upset him???

Trish: Just keep us posted okay? Were here if you need us

There’s a few more above it. One’s from Reed. Another’s from someone I don’t recognize, someone named Rosa. 

Remember where Fang and Trish were vaguely situated earlier, I lean my head up and look across the bleachers. Neither of them are looking up at me. I doubt either of them could tell I’ve got the microraptor’s phone from this far away.

…Just to be safe, I orient myself a bit more towards my right, angling myself in the direction of the end of the bleachers. 

I start to scroll. Slowly at first, line by line, reading carefully. I absorb idle chatter that has no deeper meaning to it. Gossip about people I don’t fucking know. The odd complaint about homework or schedules not aligning. If there’s anything of interest I’m picking up, it’s that I’m not seeing a single text from Leo in here. He either doesn’t talk much, or he’s not in this chat to begin with.

I scroll faster. Reading becomes skimming. I stop actually taking the time to see what they’re talking about, I just look for the four letters of my name. It’s the marker to know when I can pause and see what they really think of me.

But it doesn’t come. 

I keep going back, day by day. Monday goes to Sunday, goes to Saturday, goes to Friday and Thursday. Nothing at all.

I’ve started creeping into the tail end of Wednesday by now. I pick up hints of discussion over the asteroid announcement. Something about a random phone number. There’s nothing past this day, I literally don’t exist to these people before this. There’s no way they haven’t said a single–

There it is. My name.

I immediately stop the roll of the text window, having to scroll down a little bit to properly orient to the messages that had caught my eye. They’re from Sage, highlighted blue instead of white.

Sage: Talked to that Anon guy after lunch

Sage: Turns out me n boo got Ws class with him

Sage: He doesn’t seem that bad! He kinda reminds me a lot of Leo really

Sage: maybe he was just nervous?

Reed’s the first to respond.

Reed: yeah

Reed: gonna try and find him tomorrow

Reed: he looked like he was gonna die in homeroom lol

A new contact, someone named Stella, chimes in.

Stella: can you blame him????

Stella: roberts is SCARY!!!!

The topic shifts below this. I don’t see myself mentioned again.

There was nothing. Nothing at all. What little there was, it was two of them giving me the benefit of the doubt over my abysmal first impression at the school.

…I feel something upsetting roiling inside of me. Ugly and black. I feel disgusted.

Disgusted at myself.

What the fuck am I doing?

I just snooped through the phone of one of the few people that’ve been friendly to me here, without his knowledge or consent, over the mere thought they might be talking shit about me behind my back.

I violated his privacy over an anxiety that turned out to be completely untrue in the most literal of ways possible.

With the way I just carried myself, I would’ve deserved whatever nasty shit they might’ve said in such a hypothetical. This was creepy. This was wrong.

I scroll back to the bottom of the chat, being smart enough to at least cover the tracks of my bullshit, before I click the phone off. The screen is dark and locked now, I unzip the front packet of my backpack and jam the smart device inside.

I don’t even turn back to my own phone. I don’t listen to the tail end of the rally happening around me.

I just stare off into the distance for what few minutes remain of the gathering, marinating in disappointment over my own actions. Tormenting myself by repeating it over and over again in my head, cringing each time with renewed embarrassment every time I cycle through the fresh memory. 

At some point, Sereno calls a dismissal of the assembly. We’ve got an extra fifteen minutes of lunch today.

Good, more time the better. I won’t just be fucking around anymore.

I need to go find Sage and give him his phone back now. It’s the best thing I can do to make up for my fuck-up. 

Really it’s more a gesture to soothe my own guilt more than anything else. Whether or not that diminishes the meaning behind it, I don’t really care.

The gym’s full of movement as the horde of students nestled within it rush over one-another to try and get a headstart towards the main building, and the cafeteria within it. Rising from my seat, I make my way down the bleacher steps and follow the flow of traffic.

I stay alert as I move, scanning the crowd for any signs of Leo or Sage. I think over possible places they might’ve gone to as I walk. Only thing I can really come up with is Williston’s classroom, and even then that’s a stretch. Sage might like cooking, but a Home Ec room doesn’t sound like a good spot to decompress. To me at least.

By the time back inside the main building and heading into the cafeteria proper, I still haven’t come up with anything better. I pick one of the support pillars to the side of the cafeteria and linger near it, eyeing the flow of students as they come through and begin to spread across the room. After a little over a minute with no sign of either of them, I turn and take a good look over the width of the cafeteria’s seating.

The tables are slowly but surely being filled with a rainbow’s worth of scaly weirdos, but none of them are the two I’m particularly searching for. Damnit.

Guess I gotta go hunting after all.

Pushing away from the pillar, I pass over into the main halls of the first floor, intent on heading to one of the stairwells. Williston’s the only guess I got, so I’m gonna give it a shot. 

I catch a brief glimpse of a flash of red and pink further down the hall, disappearing into one of the side corridors. Had to be Reed. Maybe he’s got somewhere he likes to lurk at during lunch. 

I peer down towards the way he went as I pass by the gap between the rows of lockers, but all I spy are closed classroom doors. Must’ve already headed off somewhere else. 

The brief raptor sighting isn’t the only thing that’s caught my attention during my brief detour into the halls. Free from the scent of food and bodies that filled the cafeteria, I’m beginning to notice there’s a weird aroma in the air. It’s not pleasant. It’s a sour smell, almost like curdled milk. 

By the time I make my way to the third floor, I find that the smell’s only intensified. It was even faintly detectable in the stairwell itself. Very off-put but determined to try and see this through, I quickly trace the familiar route to Room 310. 

As I round the corner towards the subhall, I find that Williston’s doorway is partially ajar. Jackpot.

I swing the classroom door wide as I enter–

And find neither Sage nor Leo present.

“Damnit,” I mumble–only to then gag.

That smell in the halls is here too, and intensified to boot. It’s nauseating, so much so that it hits me like a physical blow a moment after I stumble into the room. 

I look around to try and figure out what in the world could be making such a stench, and eventually off in the corner I see it: 

One of the cabinets closer to the cook areas has been knocked open. There’s a few bags of what look like spice and flour inside; all of them have rips in the surface, their contents spilling out. The mixture of spilt ingredients is covered in…Slime?

Thick, green mucus-like something. I lean forward to catch a whiff, and immediately recoil as I physically feel my stomach churn. 

Whatever the hell that is, it’s the cause of the stank.

“Meteors one week, might be a fuckin’ poltergeist around this week…”

I mumble under my breath as I turn to leave the classroom. Whatever the hell is the source of that, it doesn’t get me any closer to finding the microraptor.

At this point, I’m actually feeling pretty ready to just give up and wait until third period. I’m gonna see him again then regardless, and I did go looking for him. It’s the thought that counts. At least, I tell myself as much.

My mind’s already beginning to drift towards thoughts of whatever food is awaiting me in the cafeteria by the time I’m walking out into the third floor hallway.

Only to then promptly bump into someone. More appropriately, somebody runs headlong into me, causing me to stumble backwards.

“Jesus!” I shout, waving my arms to catch my balance and avoid falling flat on my ass. Anger flashes in me as I go to see just who in the hell tried to bulldoze me.

I’m met with Trish, who’s leaning against a nearby locker, clearly as dazed from the collision as I am. The short trike blinks as she recognizes me; her eyes suddenly go wide.

“Anon!” She practically yells my name, lunging over at me!

I freeze up, the kneejerk pissedoffness quickly being drowned in a flood of fear. Oh God, is this it? Am I about to suffer the wrath of an enraged triggess? Oh shit oh fuck oh shit oh fuck OH SHI–

“Anon!” She says my name again as she reaches me, grabbing fistfuls of my jacket in either hand. She practically shakes me as she speaks further. “Oh, thank God I ran into you! I really really need your help right now!”

Huh?

I’m not dying, so that’s refreshing at least. 

Trish’s…Eagerness? Panic? It’s some mixture of the two, her eyes even look like a bloodshot and wet, she must’ve been crying. Anyways, it briefly gets replaced with confusion as her eyes glances over me for a moment.

“Wait, why–why’re you up here?”

“Uhhh,” I clear my throat. “Trying to find Sage, do–”

“Nevermind it doesn’t matter!” She cuts me off, shaking her head. “Look, Anon, you need to help me look around the school real quick. Please? Please, it’ll just take a minute I swear. I gotta find her before one of the staff does!”

“W-What? Find who–”

Trish just rambles over me, backing away as she looks around the hallway for a moment.

“I’ve already got Reed searching around the floors, Fang went to go check on the gardens to make sure she didn’t get outside.” Her eyes went wide; her face gets a little paler. “...Oooh shit, if she got outside I’ll never find her…!” 

“Trish–”

Trish is talking to herself more than anything else by this point. Her arms wrap about herself in a hug, her breathing becoming heavy as she starts to hyperventilate. Tears threaten at the corner of her eyes again as she sniffles.

“I should’ve never brought her here, I should’ve never–Oh God. Oh God, I’m so stupid, why? Why did I think–She’s gonna get hurt and, and I could get in trouble! Shit, there goes any chances at a–

I can feel my blood pressure begin to rise. I’m getting sick of this shit.

“HEY!”

I clamp my hands down on Trish’s shoulders as I shout the word to get her attention, giving her a firm shake. She freezes up, diatribe ceasing mid-syllable as her head snaps over to face me, her eyes locking on mine. Shock is apparent around her face. 

“Calm down,” I say with a frown, releasing her shoulders. “Alright, now start over. Who the hell’s gotten away? What’s the big deal?”

“What? Mango! I thought I told you.”

I raise my hands in a gesture of frustration as I squint down at the trike.

“Who the fuck is Mango?”

Trish almost seems offended by the question, her brow furrowing.

“Y’know, Mango! My pet velvet worm.”

. . .

“W h a t ?”

“Mango,” she repeats, sounding confused by my very apparent confusion. Reaching into the front pocket of her sweatshirt, Trish pulls out her phone, searching a minute before she turns the screen towards me. 

“See, look.”

I lean forward, squinting as I get a good glimpse at the picture she’s showing me. It’s a close-up of a bulbous tube of orange flesh, speckled with a row of red along its back. There’s several feet on the bottom of it, and a pair of long red antenna on the top. Two thin eyes are boring holes into a pile of chopped up lettuce.

Lettuce that’s covered in the same goo that I saw in Williston’s room.

“...Oh, goddamnit.”

“What?” Trish pulls her fun away, a look of concern on her face. “What’s wrong? You don’t like her? She’s adorable!”

“I’m not going to justify that with a response,” I grumble, turning around and waving my hand for her to follow. She does, and I take her back to Williston’s room, cracking the door open once more. As we both lean through the doorway, I point a finger right at the open cabinet. The mangoified cabinet, for lack of a better term.

Trish’s eyes bulge. “Ooooh, shit,” she murmurs beneath her breath.

“Okay, so hold on a minute,” I say as I turn to face her, my back to the rest of the classroom. “How in the hell did you bring this thing to school? Why?”

“She’s not a thing, she’s an onychophora,” Trish immediately snips back, frowning up at me. “I brought her in my backpack! Me and Rosa like to do little experiments with her during lunch, and–and–I don’t know!”

Her frown intensified, eyes diverting to stare at the floor. “She–She just kind of comforts me, you know? She’s so sweet towards me and I want her to experience more of the world besides her cage.”

I can feel my eyes half-lidding.

“It’s a fucking worm.”

“ Onychophora, ” Trish immediately corrects me, scowling as she meets my gaze. “And she’s really smart! You’ll see when you meet her soon.”

She huffs, folding her arms. 

“Look, we can argue about this later, okay? Please just help me find her and get her back in my backpack. If a janitor or something finds her, they’ll just throw her outside or–Oh god, they might squish her…!”

Trish visibly tenses up at the thought of her slimy companion meeting an untimely end at the bottom of some custodian’s boot. Her expression’s pitiful enough to eat away at my resolve.

So much for enjoying that extended lunch. I’m already doing one good deed, might as well go for two. 

“--Fine. I’ll help.” 

Trish’s eyes widen again, but this time with a look of joy. She’s full on grinning for just a moment.

“Thank you! Thankyouthankyouthankyou!”

Trish turns and bolts out of the doorway with renewed vigor. I go to follow, leaving behind Williston’s classroom once more. 

Trish skids to a stop once we reach the main hall once more, turning to look at me. 

“Let’s split, I’m gonna head upstairs and see if I can find Reed or any sign of Mango. You check down on the first floor, ‘kay?”

I just flash her a thumbs-up, which she returns before turning and half-sprinting towards the far stairwell. I’m a bit far less brisk in my pace as I head towards the one closer to me, soon moving back down towards the ground floor. 

I’m barely halfway down the stairwell when I’m frozen in my tracks by a shriek somewhere down in the halls below. Some girl just screamed like no tomorrow.

Having a hunch it’s somehow related to the current worm drama, I move faster, hastily exiting the doors back into the first floor hall and B-lining towards my best guess of the noise’s area of origin.

My instincts prove correct; I’m met with the sight of some student–a teal-scaled parasaur of some kind, judging from her crest–leaning against a row of lockers. One of them is wide open, and the contents I can glimpse inside are filled with that familiar, sickeningly-sour smelling slime. It looks like a pile of loose papers got drenched in the stuff.

So did the front of her dress and some of her hair, now that I’m looking at her.

“You good?” I ask her; I don’t recognize her from any of my classes, not that I’d remember her name if I did.

“Huh?” She blinks as she looks over at me. She groans, shaking her head. “--No, I’m pretty far from good! There was this freaking slug or something in my stuff, it’s–WHATEVER the hell this is, it’s all over me! My notes are ruined!”

“Slug? What happened to it?”

She turns over her shoulder, jerking a hand down towards the opposite end of the hall. 

“I threw the damn thing out of the locker the moment I could get a hand on it! It–Eugh, it spit on me before it scurried off in that direction!” 

Bringing her hands up towards her face, her expression grimaces into a cringe as she wipes another glob of the secretion off of her.

“Oooh man, it's stained, that’s not gonna come out…”

Whatever else this chick’s mumbling to herself is lost on me as I walk past her, leaving her to fret over herself. I quickly make my way down the direction of the hall she had pointed in. Little traces of the slime form a very loose trail for me to follow. 

It brings me close to the front entrance of the school. There, nestled in a corner of the hallway next to the teacher’s lounge, I spy Fang leaning over a garbage can. A visibly shaking garbage can, the lip of which is streaked with a smear of slime. 

The pterosaur snaps their head up towards me as I approach.

“Trish wrangled you into this too, huh?”

“Uh-huh,” I reply, coming to stand beside them. “So, is it in there..?”

Fang glances down at the garbage can at my question. It shakes a little more, which causes them to brace a hand over the top of it, presumably the lid from coming off.

“Something definitely is,” they reply, their snout wrinkling as they add. “And judging from this smell…? Definitely Mango.”

“Why the hell did Trish bring this thing to school?”

“Asking the wrong person, dude,” they huff. 

“Right. Well, if you found it, why haven’t you taken it out’ve the trash yet?”

They scoff. “You think I wanna handle the worm? Besides, she’s slippery from what I’ve been hearing. There’s a chance she’d get away from me if I tried it on my own.”

I sigh. “Makes sense. So, how you wanna do this..?”

“Uhm…” They bring a hand to their chin for a moment, narrowing her eyes. “Guess one of us pulls the lid off, and the other grabs it?”

“Might as well. Who’s doing what?”

“Dibs on the lid,” they immediately reply. 

I glare at them. “How the hell is that fair?”

“‘Cause my hand’s already on it,” they say with a smirk. They rap their knuckles against the top of the can lid, causing the worm inside to shuffle about. “Squatter’s rights or something.”

“Jackass,” I grumble. I can hear them snicker softly in response. 

Fang shifts to the side of the garbage can, angling themself back while they firmly rest a claw on either side of the trash can’s lid. They give the lid a few wiggles, edging it towards the very cusp of being pulled free. 

“Ready?”

Resigning myself to my fate, I grip my teeth and come to hover over the garbage can, hands held like I’m about to try and intercept a football.

“Ready as I’m ever gonna be.”

“‘kay,” Fang says with a nod. “Gonna pull on three. One…”

“Two…”

“...Three!” 

As Fang calls out for the second time, they yank the trashcan’s lid up and away, leaning back as they do.

From the depths of a mound of scrapped paper, empty water bottles and various other items practically rockets upward. a cylinder of cream, orange and red. It spears into the air before us with a degree of speed something as plump and dopey-looking as Mango shouldn’t be able to produce.

“Oh, shit–”

The words escape me as I lunge forward, trying to intercept the freefalling velvet worm before it goes smack against the tile floor beneath us.

Unfortunately it’s not my hands that find Mango. Rather, Mango finds me–my right arm, to be specific.

The worm lands upon the limb with a soft thump.

A wet chill trembles down my spine as I feel the worm’s numerous legs wrap tight around the fabric of my jacket sleeve. I feel the faintest bit of pressure as it clings to my arm…And a spreading, warm dampness against my skin as the slime coating the invertebrate begins to soak into my clothing.

There have been more than a couple times since moving to Caldera Bay that I’ve felt like dying. Of all those moments, the sheer disgust I’m feeling at the moment outranks the lot of them.

“Get this fucking thing off of me right now.”

Fang starts cracking up. I snap my eyes towards them, my glare equal parts angry and desperate. One of the pterosaur’s hands has come to cup their mouth as they try not to lose it. The other’s holding up their smartphone towards me.

“Awww, Anon, she likes you!”

“FANG.”

Fang’s barely stifled laughter grows a bit louder as I hiss their name. I can hear the camera of their phone snapping a photo.

“Hold on, lemme just let Trish ‘n’ Reed know we got her…”

I watch them send the photo and a text to accompany it, before pocketing the phone. 

“Alright, you big baby, I’ll hold her until Trish gets here.”

I don’t move, fearful of what the worm might do if I shift my current posture. Unfortunately my fears are realized when Fang steps a bit closer, raising their hands towards the velvet worm to try and collect her. Mango lets out a noise that almost sounds like a small yip of disapproval, before it begins to wriggle further up my arm. 

I can feel my skin crawling as the worm’s legs cycle along my arm, dragging it past my bicep, then past my shoulder in kind. I clench my hands into fists to resist the temptation to freak out as Mango comes to nestle itself along the back of my neck, splayed along my shoulders like some kind of fox pelt scarf. 

Clenching my fists might help me stop myself from sperging out, but it doesn’t save me from the stench. Mango’s slime is beginning to seep through my jacket and into my shirt, and though I can feel the discomforting stickiness of the ooze, I can far more potently smell it. 

I gag a bit, coughing as I try to clear my throat.

“Jesus Christ, how could someone keep this as a pet…?!” 

“That’s Trish for you,” Fang murmurs; through my rising panic, I can almost detect a hint of disapproval in their voice. They circle around me, coming to stand behind me. 

“Alright, it looks like she’s stopped moving, let me try to grab her again.”

There’s a tugging sensation against the top of my jacket–followed by a renewed wave of slime. I can feel it beginning to trickle down my back.

“Fangpleasehurry.”

“Anon she’s not wanting to let go of you..!”

“FANG–”

“I’m not joking dude!”

I can feel them pulling against the worm more forcefully now. Mango’s legs are clinging to me like a vice, so much so that my jacket begins to lift away from my back a bit before Fang stops. There is an uncomfortable, wet slap when the jacket's soaked material settles back against my spine.

Fang comes to stand towards my  left side, glancing between me and the worm using me as a roost right now. 

“Starting to think I was right a second ago. Man, she is latched to you! At least she’s not going anywhere now.”

“How wonderful…"
I’m forced to suffer with the weight of this thing upon my back until Trish and Reed finally arrive about a minute or so later. I swear I feel the worm nuzzling against my neck with its head at one point.

The duo round the corner towards us quickly, Trish far faster than Reed. She stops in her tracks for a moment, letting out a gasp followed by an uncontrolled squeal of joy before she rushes over to me.

“OhmygodohmygodOHMYGOD! Thank you, Anon! Thank you so much! I’ll buy you whatever from any food place around here, I promise!”

I can’t manage a response to her sworn rewards for my assistance. I’m too revolted over how thoroughly drenched in worm-snot I am right now, and furthermore, kind of pissed at Trish for bringing this thing to Volcano High in the first place.

Seriously, what the fuck?

Reed lets out a snerk as he comes to stand near Fang. 

“Looks like you made another buddy, Anon.”

Fang snickers again. “You’ve got no idea. Tried pulling her off of him a couple seconds ago, wouldn’t budge.” 

Trish comes to stand beside me, reaching up towards the worm as she chimes in.

“She’s probably just scared! Anon’s jacket kinda resembles the color of the plants in her enclosure, so she probably saw him as a hide of sorts. C’mere baby!”

I can feel Trish make contact with the velvet worm, gently trying to pry her off of my shoulders. Just as with Fang, Mango lets out a little burble of discontent–and refuses to budge.

I can see Trish’s face twist with bewilderment in the periphery of my vision. 

“What in the world? Mango, c’mon! It’s mama, you can let go!”

More tugging. More wormish grumbling. A fresh slickness of slime beginning to crawl further down my back.

“Trish!” I hiss her name, glaring down at her. “Get her off already!

“I’m trying, really!” Trish is quick to respond. “I’m sorry Anon, she’s–She’s never done this before!”

Reed glances over his shoulder. “Gonna go keep an eye out while you get this sorted,” he murmurs, before turning and walking back towards the corner in the hall they had emerged from. 

“She’s not moving…” Trish murmurs, taking a step back. “--Here, this might work.”

The trike slips her backpack off, coming to reach inside of it. She pulls out a small plastic container, filled with a wet, green mixture of what I could only possibly describe as slop.

“Hold this open for a sec, Fang,” she says to the ptero. They oblige, taking her backpack into their claws and keeping the zippered lips of the central pouch parted.

Trish pops open the small container; the overwhelming stank of Mango’s slime is joined by a new note of sourness. I can feel the worm shift slightly on my back, its head rising to peer down at the open container. I swallow down the urge to gag. 

“How the hell can you stand that?”

“Stand what?” Trish asks, genuine confusion in her voice. “Her scent? You get used to it.”

“There is something wrong with you dude.”

“Jury’s still out on that,” Fang chimes in. Trish snorts softly.

“You’re both so mean! Whatever, gonna try and bait her to jump into the backpack, here goes.”

Trish softly croons the worm’s name as she shakes the container of plant-sludge close to my left shoulder. Mango actually slithers a bit towards my left, and as the worm comes closer, Trish guides the container lower and lower, closer and closer to the open bag.

Mango gradually climbs down from my back and down the length of my left arm. The worm pauses at my elbow, and I can feel it tense up–before suddenly launching off of me with a small meep!

The worm dives right into the backpack, which Fang immediately zips shut.

“Got her!”

Trish lets out a massive sigh, seeming to almost deflate. “Oh, thank god it’s over.” 

She reaches over and collects the backpack from Fang. She peers down at it, holding the bag close against her chest. 

“Dude, you’re going on like, the biggest worm diet ever. No treats for like, a month.”

From the depths of the bag, Mango burbles softly, as if in response.

The worm’s off of me, but I am thoroughly drenched in its spit. I can’t smell anything over the stink.

“I’m so happy for you,” I manage to grumble out, doing my best to swallow down the mounting tide of overwhelming fury I have for this mental midget. 

Trish blinks as she hears me, and for the first time seems to notice just how ruined my jacket is. A hint of remorse flushes her purple face. 

“Oooh, shoot. Anon I’m really sorry, she produces that slime when she’s scared! Uhm, I–”

Trish pauses, and the three of us turn as a soft whistle comes from behind Trish and Fang. I look with them to see Reed approaching us, a small hint of concern on his face. 

“Hey, hate to interrupt, but I just saw Sereno looking around the halls. We gotta bounce.”

Trish’s eyes go wide. “Oh shit! If he catches me with Mango after all this, I’m screwed!”

Trish focuses back on me for a moment, giving me an apologetic look. 

“I’m really sorry Anon, I mean. We’ll talk more about this next time I see you, okay? I gotta go…!”

I just nod in response. She gives me a tiny smile.

“Thank you again, really,” she quickly adds, before taking off in the direction of the front entrance.

“See ya dude,” Reed adds as he goes to join her.

“Hey, real quick,” I say to him, stopping him. He quickly perks a brow at me.

I shift my backpack–finding it to be equally discolored with slime, much to my mounting rage, and unzip the front pocket to pull out Sage’s phone. I offer to him, and he accepts with a confused look.

“Sage dropped that back at the pep rally. Could you hand it to ‘em sometime before school ends?”

Realization flashes across Reed’s face. He gives a quick nod.

“Yeah, sure thing,” he says as he turns to keep going. “Thanks bro!”

 Fang offers me a little wave and a smile as they follow after the pair. 

If I had to guess, they’re probably going to loop back around to the cafeteria. That, or they’re just going to hide outside until lunch ends.

…Jesus, lunch is probably over halfway over. And I’m a mess.

I don’t even know where the hell to begin. Should I see a nurse about this? I’m not hurt, but I can’t just go to class wearing this anymore. 

I start to walk opposite of the path the trio took, hoping to clear my head, or come up with a solution or something along the way. I only get a couple steps before Mr. Sereno rounds the corner and comes face-to-face with me.

The Principal balks a little, clearly startled by the near-collision.

“Mr. Mous!” He says the surprise on his face quickly fading into realization as he notices my bewormed appearance. 

“I see you also fell victim to our little wildlife incident this afternoon. You have my sincerest apologies.”

“Yeah, it was a worm or something,” I tell him, clearing my throat.

“So I’ve been hearing.” Sereno folds his arms. “From the residue and the reports of other students, it sounds like a velvet worm. Some people keep them as pets, but a few species are indigenous to the region. We currently believe it’s either a wild one or a stray that slipped inside the campus during all the movement to the pep rally this morning.” 

He pauses, seeming to look me over with a critical gaze for a moment. The suchomimus frowns softly. 

“Forgive me for asking, but it looks like your encounter with the worm was recent. Do you have any idea where it could’ve gone?”

Oh yeah. I know exactly where it could’ve gone. It’s in Trish’s fucking backpack; seriously, what kind of moron brings a fucking pet to school? 

“Mr. Mous?” Sereno’s brow furrows. “Could you repeat that?”

I could tell him right now. Let him know what that stupid fucking trigger did. Bet she’d never pull a fucking stunt like this again.

I’d just piss everyone who’s been nice to me off in the process.

. . .

Goddamnit.

“--I, uh, I threw it outside,” I say, clearing my throat. “Went to go throw away something and it was in the trash can. Guess it got pissed and jumped at me. Spat this stuff all over me. Managed to get my hands on it and threw it out the front door.”

“Huh,” Sereno murmurs, glancing over the nearby front entrance. “Guess that would explain why you’re so covered compared to the other students who’ve come forward. Well, Mr. Mous, in any case you have my thanks for ridding us of our unwanted guest.” 

“It’s no problem,” I say, jamming my hands into my coat pockets. I immediately feel the sticky sensation of Mango’s ooze within them, and promptly pull my hands back out. Disgust curdles across my face. I’m gonna kill Trish.

The Principal gives an awkward frown. “I’m, ah, sure you can smell that, yes…?”

“You have no idea.”

“Right,” Sereno clears his throat. “Well, in any case, I can’t expect you to remain here with soiled clothing. And unfortunately, due to your humanoid body, I don’t think any of the clothes in our lost and found would fit you in such a way as to adhere to our dress code. So…”

Sereno’s voice trails off as he rubs the back of his neck for a moment, looking perplexed. The suchomimus ends up shrugging.

“--I suppose you’re dismissed for the rest of the evening. Apologies, I’m sure you were looking forward to the events after class.”

“It’s all good,” I shake my head. “So I can head home?”

Sereno nods. “Yes sir. You’re welcome to come back and enjoy the rest of Homecoming once you’ve changed, if you’d like, but it’s not expected of you.”

The Principal glances over his shoulder, before letting out a sigh.

“I’ll let you get to it. I need to go advise the staff that the situation’s dealt with. There’s messes to clean up in more than a few rooms, or so I’ve heard. Do you require any transportation arrangements before I dismiss you?”

I shake my head again. “I can make it back on my own, sir.”

Sereno nods in reply. “In that case, be safe and have a good day, Anon. I’m sorry for the mess.”

The Principal turns and walks away from me. I’m quick to do the same, pivoting around and heading straight for the front entrance. 

I have no intentions on coming back for whatever happens later. 

I’ve had my fill of Volcano High for today. 

========================================================

The shared laundromat of my apartment complex is far from a comfortable facility.

Essentially just a glorified shed with a handful of dryers and washers stacked next to one another, the laundromat is located on the bottom floor, near the wooden stairway that winds up the side of the building. 

It only just occurred to me upon going here for the first time that hefting laundry baskets up and down those stairs is going to be a gigantic pain in the ass for the rest of my stay here. 

An island lingers in the center of the room, dividing the washers and dryers, presumably serving as a place for people to rest their baskets and fold clothing. There’s a couple of plastic lawn chairs nestled against either side of the island. I’ve been sitting in one of these chairs for the better part of two hours now. 

I know I’m going to have to learn to trust my “neighbors” eventually unless I want to spend my laundry days living in here, but it’d be all too easy for a trigga to swipe a lone jacket from a machine without getting caught. 

I’m currently trying to save the shirt and jacket I wore today from Mango’s wrath. Or affection, depending upon how you look at it. Vile little bastard.

I glance up from my phone as the washer of my choice stops rumbling, the silence punctuated by a trill beep from its console. Rising from my plastic throne, I quickly move over to the washer and open the hatch.

“Please be done…”

My murmured prayer is quickly proven to be forsaken. As I lift my jacket from the washer’s cylinder, I still plainly see the discoloration left by the slime in the fabric, even soaked in water as it currently is.

Not great, but it could yet be salvaged. Desperate for some kind of foothold, I lean in and take a sniff…

And I’m met with a sour rankness that’s becoming all too familiar with me.

“Fuck this.”

I admit defeat, collecting my shirt from the washer as well. I bundle up both articles of damp, ruined clothing and quickly exit the laundromat.

By the time I’m up the stairs and opening my apartment door, my frustration has soothed a bit. It’s not the end of the world. I’ve got a handful of other jackets and shirts, I’ll survive. 

I fling the ruined clothes into my kitchen’s trash can, stomping past it to open my fridge.

I’m met with a whole lot of nothing. It’s well into the evening by this point, and I still haven’t thought of anything for dinner. Guess I’m doing takeout of some kind.

That thought alone is enough to make me wince though. I’m not exactly rolling in it right now. Mom and Dad are only sending me so much per month as an allowance of sorts.

I’m probably going to have to get a job on the weekends. Just something part time enough to let me have a little bit of wiggle room. Otherwise I’m going to be surviving off of nothing but dollar store rice and beans for the next couple of months.

Fitness SnootTubers might make due with that kind of shit, but I certainly won’t.

Just as I reach for my phone to begin to look up what options I have in my area, my screen lights up with a text notification. It’s from Reed.

“You got a sec to talk?”

Wonder what he could be wanting.

“Ya sure”

He flashes me a vaguely dino-like emoji of a smile and a thumbs-up. A couple seconds later, my screen’s consumed by a call notification from him. I accept and put him on speaker.

“Hey Reed.”

“One sec Anon–”

The call goes quiet for a moment, and screen dims before suddenly coming alive with color. Seems he switched it to a video call.

Reed takes up most of the right of the screen; I catch bits of a drumset ringed about him. Trish is a bit back to the left, sitting on a stool with some kind of red guitar in her lap. Furthest back of the trio is Fang, taking up the center of the frame. They’re standing, back slightly turned to the group as they idly pick notes across the strings of their own guitar. 

“We comin’ in alright dude?” Reed says, grinning at the camera.

“Yeah, I can see you,” I say, leaning in a bit closer to the camera. “What’s up?”

“Just wanted to see how you were doing.” Reed pauses, squinting a bit. “Hey, that your apartment in the background? Nice digs bro.”

“Thanks,” I say with a shrug. “I’m alright. Got sent home early by Sereno.”

“Was wondering where you were in lit class,” I can hear Fang say in the background.

“Figured that might’ve happened,” Reed adds. 

“What’cha been up to since then?” Trish chimes in, offering a smile.

“Mostly trying to save my jacket, to no avail. It’s garbage.”

Trish’s smile dims as she winces. “Soooorry…”

“Speaking of that,” I continue. “How, uh, how’s the worm?”

This immediately perks the triceratops up. She points down towards her feet; I can vaguely see a hint of her backpack leaning against her stool’s legs, but it’s mostly off screen.

“She’s fine! Passed out in the sack right now, probably sleeping off the mother of all binges. I can’t even imagine what she got into while she was loose.”

Trish nervously chuckles, her hand raising to rub the back of her neck as she adds, “Heh, they were cleaning up after her…All day…”

I fix the image of Trish with a flat stare; it probably doesn’t carry through well over the camera.

“You really can’t let that happen again.”

“I know!”

“‘non’s right, dude,” Reed adds.

“I knoooooooow,” Trish whines, a pout on her face.

“How’d she even get loose?”

Trish huffs at my question.

“Still trying to figure that one out,” she mumbles. “Best guess I’ve got right now is that she slipped out of my bag during second period, and I just…Didn’t realize. She was able to sneak around the main building while the rally was going on.”

“How the hell couldn’t you tell?”

“She’s asleep most of the time!” Trish insists, shaking her head. “She doesn’t really weigh that much anyways, I just didn’t notice. I…”

Trish frowns, sulking a little. Fang actually glances towards her.

“I feel stupid over it,” Trish admits. “I feel bad. I’m not gonna let it happen again, I swear.”

“We all make mistakes,” Fang says softly over to her.

“Yeah man,” Reed says. “We forgive you.”

“Yeah,” I simply agree, not wishing to be the odd-one-out.

Trish gives the room an apologetic smile. Reed clears his throat, the call wobbling softly as he adjusts the phone in his hand.

“Speaking of Mango,” the raptor says, looking over at the trike. “Wasn’t there something you wanted to ask Anon, Trish?”

“Huh?” Trish focuses on him, before she blinks. “--Oh! Right!” 

Trish leans a bit closer in the direction of Reed’s phone, looking at the screen.

“So, uhm, you said your jacket’s ruined, right? You’re getting rid of it.”

I just nod in response. She returns it.

“Cool! Soooooo, in that case, could youuuu…Let me have it?”

Huh.

A woman’s asking for my jacket.

The sirens roar to full force. It takes me a moment to remember she’s asking about the totally unsaveable garbage jacket, but by that point the ‘tism is already loosed. Panic flashes across my face and a word escapes me before I can restrain myself.

“--What?!” I shout, a little too loudly at that.

“What?” Trish repeats, furrowing her brow. “Like, for science! I’ve never seen Mango that attached to a stranger before, she’s not even that physical with Rosa!”

I catch a glimpse of Fang’s eyes narrowing slightly at that. They return their attention to the guitar in their hands; Trish keeps speaking.

“I wanna use some strips from the jacket’s fabric to test and see if it was something about the clothing she liked, or if it was actually, y’know, you she liked. Does that make sense?”

“Uuuh…Kinda…”

“Cool! So, you’re fine with it, right? You said you were gonna get rid of it anyways.”

This feels weird as hell, but I suppose the reasoning she gave makes sense. Besides, she’s not wrong, it’s going to the dumpster otherwise.

“...Sure,” I finally reply, doing my best to mask my discomfort. “I’ll, uh, put it in a bag or something. Just get it off of me before the end of class tomorrow.”

“Awesome!” Trish grins, “Thank you! You’ve been a real lifesaver today, seriously. I still can’t get over how hooked onto you Mango was.”

Reed smirks. “Sounds like a worm’s got a crush on you, bro.”

Fang chuckles softly in the background.

I can’t help but let out a brief laugh as well. The situation’s too ridiculous not to.

“What are you guys doing anyways,” I ask. “Practice?”

“Yup,” Reed says, glancing away from me. “Speakin’ of, probably gotta let you go in a sec. We still got a couple sets to run through real quick.”

“I got’cha. Thanks for checking in on me, Reed. I appreciate it.”

“You know it,” he replies, looking back at the phone. He flashes me a grin.

“Oh, by the way, Anon? You’re having lunch with us tomorrow. Not a question.”

“Seconded!” Trish quickly chimes in.

“Thirded, I guess,” Fang says with a shrug.

“Majority has it, sorry not sorry man. See ya!”

Trish and Reed flash a wave as the call cuts out, preventing me from objecting. All Fang manages is a vague glimpse in my direction before the connection is severed. 

Even from a distance, those orange eyes are clearly visible.

I stare down at my phone for a moment, playing back what just happened in my head. 

Even before all the shit went down at Rockbottom, nobody really wanted anything to do with me. And I was perfectly fine with that. I don’t need other people to be happy. I know I don’t. 

I’ve known these people for less than week, and yet despite my less than enthusiastic reception of them–no, despite the walls I’ve tried to throw up in their way, they still keep reaching out to me.

I can’t remember the last time someone asked me to eat lunch with them.

I sure as Hell can’t think of anyone from my old school going out of their way to call me and see how I’m doing.

. . .

They’re weird.

Really weird.

But so am I.

Maybe a different kind of weird’s what I’ve been needing for a long time. 

Notes:

Hey hey, snoogers.
Back at you again with another MG Chapter. FUN FACT: today is Fang Friday! But not just ANY Fang Friday--it's Fang's canonical birthday as well!

"Skrag didn't this event occur later in GVH?" Yeah, but GVH plays as fast and loose with its timeline as humanly possible, and I've already modified the canon significantly as is to make this ghey premise work, so I'm fine with bumping something back to add a bonding moment for Anon and co a bit earlier in the plot.
"Skrag are you retarded?" Yeah.

SPEAKING OF WHICH-- I'm still in search of a new place to wageslave at, so I've opened commissions in the meantime to help have some fuckaround money. https://skragcomms.carrd.co/ I'll be working on these alongside future installments of MG and writing for HoM.

I fully intend to get Chapter 5 to you here soon. We're starting to get the ball rolling into the plot proper and some of the sidebeats, and I'm excited to start having these morons mesh and interact more.
Let me know what (you) thought in the comments.
We're all gonna make it snootbros; until we next meet :>

Chapter 5: On Melancholy Hill

Summary:

"Up on Melancholy Hill
"There's a plastic tree
"Are you here with me?
"Just looking out on the day
"Of another dream."

My alarm clock finds me about twenty minutes earlier than normal this Friday morning.

Even after what might’ve been the longest sleep of my life, the disruption in my daily rhythm is enough to leave me feeling absolutely miserable.

Fight through the pain, Anon. 

With rehearsed fluidity, I execute a perfect combat roll out of my bed, tucking forward and solidly cracking my forehead against the hardwood floor. 

I groan as I stagger to my feet, my nemesis defeated for yet another day. I must gather myself before I have to face it again tomorrow morning.

I also need to get ready for class, but that’s besides the point.

Closing in on two weeks into my year here at Caldera Bay, my morning is beginning to become quite routine. Brush my teeth, shower, slide into today’s (and everyday’s) clothes, and shuffle into the kitchen for breakfast. 

My most important meal of the day is suitably high-class: a bowl of off-brand cereal. 

I don’t exactly want more, but It’s not like I have a choice in the matter either. My kitchen wasn’t exactly well-stocked to begin with, but just as I’ve settled into a fairly predictable routine, so has it. A fairly predictable state of scarcity, that is.

I contemplate that fact as I alternate between taking bites of Fukuiraptor Flakes and scrolling on my phone. Bite, scroll, bite, scroll.

Part of the deal when it came to relocating myself down south was receiving a monthly allowance from my parents. Given it was my first time ever living outside of their household, and with no real prior savings to my name, it was necessary.

That’s not to say I didn’t have anything in my bank account. Just not much. I can admit I haven’t been the most frugal person with my wealth, blowing it all on monthly vidya sales. Which left me with a vast backlog of games I have yet to play, and a vast wasteland where my dollars should be.

The allowance should’ve been enough to cover me, but what Mom and Dad seemingly forgot was that prices here in Caldera Bay are, surprisingly, worse than they are back home. Which means that monthly payment has to be stretched paper thin to actually cover me for a month.

My spoon begins to clink against the bottom of the bowl as I let out a sigh.

Whatever. Problem for later.

Let’s get today over with first.

Rising from my kitchen table, I toss the bowl and utensil into the sink. I slip my backpack over my shoulders, and do the usual pat-check over my pockets to make sure I’ve got everything. Phone, yup. Keys, yup. Wallet, yup.

I then do the equally usual repeat pat-check to make sure I’m not hallucinating and it’s definitely all there.

Second result same as the first. We are a-go.

I step out the front door of my apartment. The faint groaning of the stairwell’s wood beneath my feet greets me, and the Caldera Bay morning sunshine rushes to wrap me in its embrace. Both it, and the smothering heat that always accompanies it. I’m starting to get used to it, but it’s gonna take awhile before I don’t feel like I’m frying every time I leave the comfort of an AC. 

Locking the door behind me, I begin to make the treacherous descent down the zig-zagging stairs. I’m barely upon the third step of the top flight before the droning of a thousand locusts descends upon me as a huge winged hellspawn races through the sky at me with murderous inTENT RAPTOR CHRIST–

I let out a shriek, stumbling and missing the fourth step. I twist, planting my back hard against the railing to my left and clutch for dear life with both hands. I barely manage to catch myself before I take a tumble down the rest of the flight. 

Darting around in the airspace right in front of me is a beetle that’s roughly the size of my head, maybe larger. Two big, beady black eyes glare down at me, a pointed protrusion from its mouth jamming in my direction. Its pastel-violet shell is coated in a rainbow of different-colored stripes, all of them bright and scintillating. 

The admittedly dazzlingly-carapaced abomination continues to threaten me with buzzing doom for a couple more seconds, before it seemingly grows bored of me. It turns and flurries away from me, bobbing off into the sky once more and flitting off into the distance.

I continue to lean against the railing, trying my best to catch my breath and metaphorically un-shit my pants. I only step back off of it when I feel the stairway give another precarious rumble. This shit is definitely going to collapse on me at some point this year. 

I shake my head and continue my way down the rest of the steps, flight by flight. 

If the Saurians weren’t weird enough, the wildlife of this place is somehow even worse. Even their pets are fucked! I thought Trish might’ve been some kind of anomaly, but since Tuesday I’ve also encountered some people walking around ugly, weird-looking chitin-monsters that they call trilobites. 

It’s like something out of a Flood Level from Combat Devolved, but they just put a leash on it and name it Princess. 

Absolutely backwards culture. Fucking Meteor Dodgers.

–That slur’s beginning to become a bit ironic, given last week’s media craze.

 Thoughts on the topic accompany me as I make my way down the sidewalks of my local area. Before long I’m deviating from my usual path; I’ve got a new side-destination to find today. It’s the entire point I got up earlier.

Just like I had predicted, it’s been barely a week and the news has already begun to move on from CO-103. A few talking heads are still mentioning it, but headlines have begun to largely be dominated by a recent police brutality scandal up in the midwest. Social media has absolutely shifted focus. The asteroid gimmick accounts are already beginning to rebrand to the latest fads. 

Combining that with the fact there’s been zero spots of cell service fuckery or power outages since Wednesday night, I think the oddity’s passed. 

Absolute nothingburger of a meteor. Fucking figures.

I let out a huff of scornful disappointment at the fact, as though to hurt the distant space rock’s feelings, as my objective finally comes into view: a bus stop.

It’s nothing special. A small, metal shelter with a pair of red-painted benches underneath its shade, located on the curb next to a stop sign bearing intersection. 

What’s more though, it’s actually empty. I’ll be able to enjoy my hopefully brief wait without awkward company and-or a homeless trigga trying to size me up. 

The following day after the Great Mango Incident, Mr. Sereno had caught me in the halls and struck up a conversation. After initially apologizing for the situation in the first place, seemingly still unaware I had protected the identity of the culprit, he had bridged to the topic of transportation. Having noted I walked home, he asked me if I had considered any of the public transport options available to students at Volcano High.

Much to my prior suspicions, there were of course bus routes, as well as a metro station that had a stop relatively close to the school.

As thanks for “dealing” with the worm, Sereno offered to sign me up for the services with the usual fees completely waived. Given it was completely free to me now, I saw no reason to really object. 

Which brings me to sitting on this cool metal bench this morning.

Might as well get a feel for what the bus that runs nearest to my apartment is like. If it turns out to not be too crowded, I might make it a normal occurrence.

The shade of the canopy above me is a welcome change of pace. I pull out my phone and browse to pass the time as I wait for the bus to arrive.

By the time I can hear the squealing of the air brakes bringing to transport to a stop before me, I’ve already successfully baited a healthy crop of (you)s. We’re off to a good start today. 

I stand up and board the bus, passing through its open doors. I flash a thin, white card with the school’s logo and my student ID upon it to the bus driver, a middle-aged and decisively exhausted looking chasmosaurus. Even though I’m trying to prove I’m actually a student and not just some random stranger trying to hitch a ride on a school vehicle, I don’t think he’s lucid enough to give a shit. He just passes me a nod before turning his attention to his console. I pass by him without another word.

My morning only appears to be getting even better, because the length of the bus is sparsely populated. The twin rows of blue-leather seats are pocked with a small handful of students, with great lengths of seating between each individual. A group of edgy-looking raptors have taken up the back seats already, so I settle for a seat in a vacant expanse smack-dab in the middle of the bus. I slide off my bag and set it beside me as I get comfortable.

My phone’s already back in my hands as I feel the bus lurch underneath me, rolling forward once more. The grumbling of the engine becomes easy enough to block out.

I glance at the clock, and find that I’m making a surprisingly decent amount of time. As the minutes begin to flow by, our stops are relatively few, and relatively brief to boot. I pay no mind to the students that file in, most of them thankfully not sitting near me. Between the low number of stops and the surprisingly light traffic, this really isn’t too bad. 

That, or I coincidentally picked the one off-day where everything is going juuuuust right.

…Knowing my luck, that’s far more of a possibility than I care to think about. Shit. 

I push the flare of uncertainty out of my mind, doing my best to space out as the bus keeps chugging along. Stop, board, go. Stop, board, go. 

Before long, I’ve barely noticed when we stop once more. The only thing that breaks me out of my zen-like state of complete ignorance to my fellow man is the weight of a pair of bodies thumping into the seat directly ahead of me.

My eyes narrow. Great, my no-man’s-land has been decisively breached, by a couple no less. This ride’s about to feel a lot longer. I brace myself to hear the incoming babble between the two ahead of me as the bus begins to lurch forward.

“--I thought that was you! Hey Anon!”

Wait what.

I blink, eyes snapping up to find the two bodies have turned in their seats to face me. And while one figure, heavy-set and yellow-scaled, is quite unfamiliar, the other definitely isn’t. A certain raptor of the micro variety, pink-feathered and all.

“Sage?”

“Hey!” He repeats, grinning at me. “When’d you start riding this bus?”

“Uuh, today.” I pocket my phone as I give him my full attention. “I didn’t know you rode the bus.”

Least of all the one right near me. Goddamnit.

“I do sometimes!” He nodded, “Not a whole lot anymore, really. Just once in awhile; usually Leo’ll pick me up in his car, but…Well, y’know.” 

Sage finishes the statement with a shrug, glancing away with a vaguely uncomfortable expression. I do, in fact, know what he’s referring to.

While I have seen Sage in class since Tuesday, I haven’t actually seen Leo at all. I didn’t really think about it at first, but missing two days in a row–presumably three now, is a little weird. Especially after whatever the hell happened at the Pep Rally. 

Not that I give a shit. I don’t want to get involved in queer drama. Least of all with Leo’s gloomy ass. He seemed a bit moody, but otherwise fine before. But learning he’s gay, on top of that display? I can scarcely think of my opinion of a person shifting faster in recent memory. 

Frankly, I’m still on the fence on where I stand with Sage now. 

Gotta get through this conversation either way.

“Yeah,” I reply. He glances back at me as I clear my throat. I nod towards the Saurian sitting beside him. “So, uh, wanna introduce me to your friend?”

I look towards them as I say that, getting a better look at the other Dino.

Their scales are a light yellow in color, their eyes a bright blue. There’s purple around those eyes, but whether it’s makeup or natural markings, I have no real idea. Their hair’s a lime green in color, done up into a pair of buns on the back of their head. 

Their snout ends in a little beak, which is a slightly lighter green shade than their hair. I catch hints of what look like plates or spines over their shoulders that are the same hue. Between these two features, I’m assuming they’re a herbivore of some kind. A stegosaurus, I think. Whatever they are, they’re definitely on the chunkier side. 

They’re wearing a large, loose long-sleeve shirt, predominantly white with a series of colored stripes that end in pink sleeves. A violet choker about their neck is joined by two very visible top straps along their shoulders.

“Yeah, c’mon babe,” they said, nudging Sage’s shoulder with their own. “Introduce me!” 

Between that voice and the very noticeable hint of cleavage on their very noticeable chest, it’s also occurring to me they is a she. 

Jesus, I’ve been here for a week and I’m already beginning to question what gender these things are at glance. I’m either being corrupted or I’m more retarded than I initially thought.

…That is a very loose top.

Don’t stare at her breasts, Anon. She’s not even your type don’t be a sperg LOOK UP–

“Wait, have you guys never actually met before?” I dart my eyes up to focus on Sage; the stego thankfully does the same, seeming to not notice the increasingly tilted angle of my gaze. 

She shakes her head. 

“No, dork! You ‘n’ Mr. Sadjeans have practically been hiding him from me, I swear!” 

“Hey!” Sage huffs, “Have not! Reed ‘n’ the others know him!” 

She jerks her head to the side, lofting a brow. “Sounds like they’re just as guilty as you then.”

“Ugh–” The microraptor flashes his palms in a gesture of mock-frustration. “Whatever! Let’s go ahead and fix that!”

Sage promptly reorients those same hands to point towards the stegosaur.

“Anon, meet Stella, my bestest closest awesomest friend here in Caldera Bay! Stella, meet Anon, my coolest new friend."

“Heeeeeeeey,” Stella trills in reply, cupping her chin with her palms as she smiles cheerfully at me.

She seems nice enough. That tone kind of hints to me she’s probably a bit of an airhead, but she doesn’t seem too bad.

Yet.

“Nice to meet you,” I reply, glancing between the two. My eyes ultimately land on Stella.

“How long have you two been friends for?”

I don’t really care, but I’m hoping that by directing the flow of the conversation back towards them, I can avoid being the subject of discussion. I don’t want to be prodded about why I’m here all over again.

“Feels like forever!” Sage quickly chirps.

“Yeah, it’s been a hot minute,” Stella adds, nodding softly. “I moved here back during Freshman Year, ‘n’ Sage was the first friend I made. We’ve been besties ever since!”

The microraptor grins. “The best of besties!”

“You know it!” Stella giggles.

Nevermind, this is already becoming obnoxious. When Leo’s around, his moodiness kind of acts as a nice counterbalance to Sage’s enthusiasm. There is no such contrast with Stella. They both just keep feeding off of each other’s vapid sweetness.

I’m going to be sick. I just need to make it to the high school.

“That’s cool,” I reply, glancing towards the window. I’m hoping to get a hint at where we are. A flicker of panic settles in when I realize I don’t recognize the current street at all. 

Oh God, I can’t be trapped on here with these two for too long.

“--Hey,” I quickly interject, looking back at Stella. “Sage said he doesn’t ride on here a lot. What about you?”

“Me?” She hums. “Pretty often. Like, sometimes I’ll hitch a ride with one of my parents on their way to work, buuut y’know. Why ya ask?”

“How much longer you think we’ve got until we reach the high school?” Not wanting to come across as too rude, I quickly add, “First time riding and all, was curious.”

“Oh! Makes sense. Uhmm…” Stella looks to the window next to her, examining the streetside view passing by us as the bus moves ahead. 

“We’re not too far away! Maybe just a couple minutes. It’ll pass real quick while we gossip.”

Oh thank Christ.

Sage’s eyes widen a little. A giddy look crosses his face as he lets out a little gasp. 

“Yoo!” He nudges the thicker Saurian, causing Stella to look over at him. “You should totally give Anon a reading, we’ve got enough time for one!”

Stella lets out a little gasp in return. “Oh, you’re so right! That could be so much fun!”

She quickly looks over to me, adding, “C’mon babe, you wanna? It can be preeeetty cooooool!”

“Reading?” I furrow my brow. “What do you mean?”

“A tarot card reading, ‘non!” Stella nods. “Gettin’ a sneak peek into your future through the mystic arts, it’s like, pretty nifty in my opinion.”

“Stella’s basically a spooky seer goddess,” Sage says. “But you didn’t hear that from me or anything.”

“Stooooop!” Stella giggles, lightly swatting at Sage’s shoulder with a hand. The microraptor shares in her laughter.

Great, so she’s not just an airhead, she’s also one of those Rocktok hippies that believe in magic. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“Eeh, I dunno,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “Wouldn’t wanna get it started then have to stop ‘cause, uh, we get to the school, y’know?”

“Naaaah, it’ll be super quick, I swear!” Stella shakes her head. “We’ll just do one card. Like, normally we could do more, but we can shorten it up really easy. C’mon!”

“Pleeeeeeaaasse?” The both of them say as one, with an almost eerie degree of unison.

I try to think of another excuse. 

. . .

Fuck.

I huff. “Fine.”

“Yay!” Stella replies with a grin, before ducking behind the pair’s seat for a moment. 

I can hear what sounds like a small latch of some kind unclasping, followed by the telltale flicking of dozens of thin sheets of plastic shuffling against themselves.

“Does she, uh, do this often?” I ask Sage. The Microraptor nods in reply, smiling.

“All the time. It’s super cool–especially ‘cause of how right she often is! It’s a little freaky sometimes.”

“Uh huh,” I say, trying very little to mask the disbelief in my voice. 

None of this shit’s real. It’s vague guesses, sweeping definitions. You buy into it because you want to. I’m retarded but I’m not fucking stupid. I’d bet my liver that she’s going to bring up crystals or some other hokey stuff next.

Whatever, there’s no harm in humoring it. Just make it off the bus, Anon.

Stella pops back up from behind the seat; she’s holding three cards in her fingers, fanned out from one another. She presents them to me. They’re all face down, revealing uniform backs: a pattern of purple, repeating waves–or are they scales?--with a white star at the center of each card. An open eye is, in turn, hollowed out into the center of the stars.

Kind of pretty. They don’t exactly look cheap from a glance.

“So,” I ask her. “How’s this work exactly?” 

Stella nods, “Since we’re doing a quickie, I go ahead ‘n’ draw three cards for you, like so. Now you choose one!”

“Before you choose, have a specific question in mind,” Sage interjects. “Oh-oh, or like, an idea that you’d want an answer for!”

I loft a brow. “Aren’t you supposed to tell me the answer though? How’re you gonna know what I’m thinking unless I tell you?”

“Question’s not for me, babe,” Stella says with a shake of her head. “It’s for the universe. That’s what speakin’ to you; the cards ‘n’ I are just a tool to get the message across. Doesn’t gotta be somethin’ you want an answer for, either. You could just ask for a direction or a sign of where your energy’s at right now.”

“Right,” I say. “Got’cha,” I add, not at all grasping any of this takeout fortune cookie bullshit.

What would I even want an answer for right now?

How the rest of the year’s gonna go? If the shit that happened back home is going to get found out? 

Can I trust Sage, Reed and the others? Should I even keep hanging around them?

Maybe I could ask for some kind of sign of what to do by the time I graduate.

Maybe…

. . .

…Why am I actually considering any of this?

I shake my head. “Right, I think I got it.”

“Awesome!” Stella gives a firm nod. “Now pick a card.”

Without even considering it, I immediately point towards the middle most card of the spread.

With an admittedly surprising degree of control and flexibility with her fingers, Stella flips the middle card over while shuffling the other two into the crook of her right hand.

What’s revealed to me is the design of a Saurian wearing an outfit that vaguely resembles jester clothing. The jingle-bell hat certainly fits the description, both it and a scarf about the neck a bright blue in contrast to their dark dress. They’re balancing a hobo’s stick with a sack on the end of it over their shoulder. The sack, too, is a bright blue in color. A sunrise hangs behind them, and there’s a single tear in their eye.

Curiously, the card seems to have gotten shuffled in wrong. The head’s pointing right in my direction, the text at the bottom backwards as a result. I easily make out a 0 in the midriff of the drawn figure. I manage to read the words just as Stella announces them.

“Fool, reversed,” she murmurs. That smile on her face has faded into a more neutral look. “Okay, okay, we see you.”

I squint at the card. More appropriately, I squint at her.

“...Is it calling me a dumbass?”

“What?!” Stella blinks, before quickly shaking her head. “Oh, no, babe, not at all.”

Then she pauses. 

Her brow furrows, a contemplative look crossing her face. She brings a hand to her beak.

“...I mean…”

My gaze goes flat. She’s calling me a dumbass.

She shakes her head again. “Sorry, let me explain a little.”

She clears her throat, shuffling the cards back into her deck as she speaks to me. 

“The Fool’s a card all about new beginnings. Like, specifically, it means you’re beginning a new journey in your life. The Fool itself is literally the beginning of a journey, ‘cause it’s the first card in the arcana! Your first step into your mystical journey, ya feel?”

She snickers at her own analogy. I quickly begin to tune out the coming rant.

“Now, ordinarily when it’s drawn, the Fool’s all about jumping into this new journey! Going into this new stage of your life with, like, innocence and happiness! It’s embracing the new opportunities before you. Buuuut, it came up for you reversed, which means it’s the opposite in a way. You’re going on a new journey, but you’re resisting it.”

She hums again, glancing up at the ceiling of the bus as the words continue to spill out of her mouth. She must not recognize the complete lack of apathy in my expression because she just keeps talking.

“It can mean there’s a huge opportunity in front of you, babe. A big chance to reinvent yourself. But it also means that you’re not. Maybe ‘cause you’re resisting it, maybe ‘cause you’re not ready for it. If the Fool represents, like, change, then Reversed means stagnancy. But at the end of the day, no matter how hard ya resist it, that journey’s gotta happen. And it is happening.” 

…Alright, that’s getting a little too close for comfort. Did Sage tell her something? Did she fucking rig this?

She must’ve taken my sudden suspicion for discomfort, for Stella gives a small chuckle as she adds, “It also means you’re being kind of a stick in the mud! You ain’t havin’ enough fun, dude! You gotta loosen up a little. Enjoy life more! Be hopeful ‘n’ stuff. You’re never gonna get through the change if you hate every second of it, y’know?”

“So, I got a bad reading,” I say, hoping that this might lead to some kind of wrap-up.

“No!” Stella’s quick to shake her head. “There are no bad readings, just like there’s no bad cards.”

I gesture towards the deck in her hands. “That sounded pretty bad to me.”

She lets out a sigh as she tucks her hands into whatever bag she has hidden behind the seat before me, stowing the cards once more. 

“I get that, but it’s really not. Tarot cards aren’t good or bad, they’re just tools, y’know? They kinda give you a brief window to look at stuff that’s already in your life in new ways. The reading might sound bad, but what it represents isn’t bad. How you use the reading and let it affect you’s up to you.”

Holy shit she loves to hear herself talk. Just as Stella did earlier, Sage takes my silence as discomfort; when I look at the microraptor, he’s rubbing the back of his neck.

“Believe me dude, I totally get it. First time she drew the Hangman on me, my heart nearly stopped.”

Stella lets out a shrill laugh, the brief shroud of seriousness that had fallen over her vanishing as she giggles. “Oh my God, you were soooooo nervous! Your feathers got so poofy–you’d looked like a fuzzball!”

I use this break in the conversation to disengage from it entirely. I don’t interrupt them anymore, letting the pair get lost in the flow of their dialogue as I disconnect from it. Leaning back in my seat, I glance out the bus window.

I find that the shape of Volcano High is visible in the distance, and getting closer by the second. Sage wasn’t wrong, the reading definitely killed time.

None of that was real. Mysticism’s not real. It’s horseshit.

I’m not falling prey to stuff I already know about.

She drew a lucky card and said stuff vague enough that I’m able to apply it to myself. No different than what those scumbag “psychics” do where they cold read people. 

Was it wrong though?

 I shiver a little as the errant thought creeps through me.

It might be horseshit, but it was also creepily accurate.

I’m getting through this day by day, but I never wanted to come to Caldera Bay. I never wanted to meet anyone here. I never wanted to be a million miles away from Mom and Dad.

I never wanted my faggot-ass hobbies to be shown around Rockbottom and by my peers to crucify me.

But here I am.

. . .

No. It doesn’t mean anything.

It’s a parlor trick for wine-moms, cat ladies and middle schoolers.

I’m forgetting about this by the end of the day.

As I settle on my rejection of the supernatural, the screaming of the bus airbrakes fills my ears. The transport rolls to a stop beneath me. We’re before the front of Volcano High’s campus.

I rise with Sage and Stella, following the two of them out of the bus. I give a slight wave of thanks to the bus driver as I go, one which I don’t think he even notices.

I mindlessly follow a step or two behind the two Saurians, who are still chatting among themselves. Lost in my head as I am, it takes me a moment to realize they’re both heading in the direction of the gymnasium.

I blink as I realize that, so is most of the student population. There’s a large line forming at the front doors of the complex.

“Hey,” I ask the two of them, causing both Sage and Stella to pause and look back at me. “What’s going on? Was there something I missed?”

Sage blinks. “Did’ja forget dude? Today’s picture day!”

“Piiiicture Daaaay!” Stella chirps.

I’m struck by a vague memory of a certain parasaur in a cheap car, saying those very words to me in front of my apartment a week ago.

“Huh. Guess I forgot.”

“Speaking of!” Stella gestures to herself, looking over at Sage. “I’m gonna go make sure my makeup’s down perfect real quick. Wanna come with, babe?”

“Totally!” The microraptor replies, grinning as he adds. “You already look gorgeous though. Ten-outta-ten!”

Stella huffs, thwacking Sage playfully with her tail. “Knock it off, god.”

The pair begin to shift, reorienting to the main building of the campus. Sage looks over at me, giving a wave.

“We’ll catch up with you later, Anon. Thanks for talking on the bus!”

“It was nice to meet you!” Stella adds, smiling warmly at me as she gives her own wave.

I wave back, and I’m completely fine just leaving it at that. Something the pair of them seem to accept as they fully begin to turn away from me.

Wait.

Stella isn’t…

“Where are your shoes?”

The pair blink, turning around at the question. I also blink; the words escaped me before I could stop them. Realization flashes in the stegosaur’s face as she glances down at her legs.

Her feet, they’re just–out in the open. No socks, no shoes. No nothing. Saurian scales on sun-baked pavement.

Chuckling softly, Stella gives a dismissive wave.

“Don’t wear ‘em.”

“What the fuck?”

She huffs, giving me a little frown. “Hey! I know it isn’t for everyone, but I just kinda vibe with it. Lets me keep in touch with the natural rhythms of the world. I can tell you all about it later, promise.”

She’s not just weird, she’s fucking crazy.

“Sure thing,” I say, trying to disengage as quickly as I reengaged. “Sorry, just took me off-guard.”

“Oh, it’s fine babe,” Stella replies, shaking her head. The smile’s already returned to her beak. “I get it, ain’t the first time it’s caught someone by surprise.” 

“Yeah. Well, I gotta–”

“Uhm, Anon,” Sage interrupts, taking a step closer. “Actually, uh…Before I forget, could we talk about something real quick?”

I can’t escape. I just can’t get away from these two creatures. Lord save me.

I just nod in response to Sage; maybe if I keep doing that, this’ll go by quick enough.

“Thank you,” he says, clearing his throat. One claw comes to rest over the other before him; whatever he’s about to bring up, he seems nervous.

“So, I’m sure you’ve noticed Leo’s been absent for a few days now. He’s not doing too good.”

I nod again. Sage keeps talking.

“I know when you guys first met, he mentioned offering to play Rock Ring with you. Do you think you might be down to do that with him? I think it’d help if he had someone else to socialize with right now, y’know?”

I nod for the third time. “Sure,” I say off-handedly. “Sounds like fun.”

I then realize what I just said. Hold up go back–

Sage’s face has already bloomed with delight. His tail’s very visible wagging with joy. 

“Really?! Thanks, Anon! I’m sure you guys’ll have a great time. Just give him a chance, he’s a really cool person.”

Swallowing down the very powerful urge inside of me to sigh, I just nod for the fourth and hopefully final time. 

Whatever. I can choke down some multiplayer lobbies with Sage’s wrist-slicer of a boyfriend. Even if I hadn’t autopiloted my way into this situation, I probably would’ve ended up saying yes anyways. Much as it’s becoming difficult to do, I gotta keep in their good graces if I want the third period to stay easy. 

Despite my own internal misgivings, Sage looks over the moon. I take the chance to nudge my head towards the gymnasium.

“Well, uh, I gotta go get my place in line I guess. Thanks for talking to me on the bus, I’ll see you guys around.”

“Mmhm, always nice to see you Anon! I’m glad you got to meet Stella too!”

“Ah, yeah,” I say, nodding towards the Stego. “Was nice to meet you,” I add, parroting her friend’s words.

“You bet,” she replies, smiling all the wider. “It was real great meeting you too, hun.” 

She clicks her tongue, nudging her chin towards the microraptor.

“C’mon babe, let’s hit it.”

“Right!” Sage eagerly replies to her, offering me a wave as he moves to walk away with the stegosaur. “Thanks again, Anon! See ya!”

“Bye cutie~”

Stella practically purrs the words at me as she turns and begins to walk. 

I barely stop myself from cringing. Not in your wildest ayahuasca-fueled fever dreams, fridge. 

“Stella!” I hear Sage call out in shock.

“Whaaaaat?” Comes her reply, the rest growing fainter as the pair grow more distant. “Can’t blame a girl for window shopping.”

Gross.

Before one of them suddenly remembers yet another thing they want to ask me, or worse still before I open my stupid fucking mouth again, I start in the direction of the gym once more.

I find the back of the line before I find the front doors of the facility. The Saurian directly in front of me doesn’t acknowledge my presence as I take my place. The one that files in behind me a couple moments later doesn’t either.

Serene irrelevance, at long last. How I missed you.

Seeing as though I’m going to be here for a while, I slip out my phone and start to browse. Given I’m in the middle of a crowd I keep myself clear of the potentially compromising sections of the boards I still frequent. As clear as I can, at least. 

A slow but steady rhythm of shuffling and waiting, shuffling and waiting begins, stretching by minute from minute. The digital distraction in my palms makes time flow quicker, but I can tell we’re definitely going to be here for a while.

It only really occurs to me how disorganized this all is after a couple minutes in line. Back at Rockbottom, picture days were usually spread out across the length of a school day. Class by class, spaced up to make for minimal disruptions. It seems like they’re just piling in everyone right from the get-go.

Guess Saurians just do things differently. That, or whoever is in charge of the yearbook here is an absolute moron.

I’m not going to look this gift horse in the mouth either way. A chance to zone out is a chance to zone out. 

Such is exactly what I do, allowing my sense of reality and time to slip by as I fish for (you)s.

I’m only vaguely aware of my surroundings by this point, just enough to step forward to keep cadence with the flow of the line. The conversation going on around me just fades to background noise. 

I only slip from my state of bait-fueled bliss as I feel the air around me get a bit chillier. 

I glance up from my phone to find that I’ve finally reached the threshold of the gymnasium proper. 

Zoned out as I was, I’m not sure how much time has passed. Either it's been a hot minute or the line was moving far more efficiently than I thought it was. 

Compared to the pep rally, the bleachers of the gym are empty this time around. In the middle of the right side of the chamber is what looks like a typical photography set-up for days like these. Large lights, a plain canvas background, a stool to sit on and a huge camera several yards across from it, facing in.

I’ve got a cousin who loves this sort of shit. I’m sure he’d talk my ear off about the specs of the camera if given the chance. 

Near the picture area stands a frumpy looking Saurian woman, some beaked herby with purple scales and bright pink hair. I don’t recognize her, and it’s admittedly a bit hard to immediately tell if she’s too old to be a student or not.

I do recognize the two people standing a little ways away from her though, lingering near the camera and speaking to one another. 

Naomi and Fang. 

I can’t read lips well, but they both seem vaguely excited or nervous about something. Fang’s holding an object in their claws, small and square-shaped. It’s mostly dark, but I catch a flash of color splashed across its surface.

Neither of them seem to notice me until the pterosaur happens to glance in my direction, if only for just a moment. They start to look away, only for those orange eyes to snap back and make direct eye contact with me. They go a bit wide. 

Fang quickly says something to Naomi before they start to book it in my direction.

Ah, shit. Here we go again.

“Anon!” Fang calls out to me, raising a wave in my direction. I return it as they stop near me. “Hey! You got a minute?”

“Hey,” I reply, pocketing my phone. “Sure I guess. What’s up?”

“Awesome! Uhm, so. I remember Sage mentioning that Leo mentioned you were into, like, gaming and stuff, right?”

I give a quiet nod. Fang quickly continues speaking.

“Would you happen to be any good with electronics then?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, have you ever had to like, fix your consoles or anything? Worked on your computer, stuff like that?”

There’s a very palpable aura of anxiety around the pterosaur right now. They seem at least a little on edge, and the way they speak is far more rushed than it usually is. Something’s wrong.

“Yeah, I know how to do basic maintenance, and I’ve done some tinkering.” I furrow my brow. “Why do you ask?”

They all but thrust their hands towards me, presenting the item held in their claws. 

“Do you think you might be able to fix this then?”

I look down at the object, leaning in a little to get a better look at it.

It’s some time of screenless, grey tablet. There’s twelve different square shaped buttons taking up most of the surface. They’re each labelled pads one through twelve, with different sub labels next to them. Swing percentages, tap tempo, exit clock and more. Next to them are six labelled knobs off to the left, and a smaller series of buttons down in the bottom-left corner.

The uniform monocolor of the device is interrupted by a huge, messy splotch of what looks like purple paint right in the center of the main command console. It’s soaked into the grooves and crevices of the device. Whatever happened, they clearly tried to clean it themself, and only succeeded in smudging the substance across the controls. 

“What is this?”

“Nail polish,” they quickly respond. “Accidently spilt some earlier today when I was getting ready. I don’t know how to get it out.”

“No–I mean,” I shake my head. “Good to know, but I meant what is the nail polish on?”

“Oh!” Fang gives a nervous laugh. “Sorry. It’s a MIDI controller.”

“MIDI?”

“Yeah, MIDI.” They nod, nudging their beak down at the device. “It’s tech that lets electronic instruments, like, communicate with each other.”

Where the name failed to, the description they provide stirs a faint memory somewhere deep inside of me. A flicker of recognition of a phase I had come and go through some years prior.

“Ooh, one of those.” I nod. “I know what you mean.”

“Really?” They say with a blink, and I nod once more. 

“--So do you think you could fix it then?”

I give the splotch of nail polish across the MIDI’s surface another look. I shrug.

“I mean, maybe? Probably, but–

“Really?!”

Fang cuts me off, leaning towards me with a wide-eyed look of excitement blooming across their monochrome face. Even their wings flare up a little behind them.

Before I can get another word, the ptero’s turning away from me, waving for me to follow as they speak.

“C’mon dude!”

“Wait, what–Fang!”

I shout after them, trying to get their attention, but they’re practically rushing back towards Naomi. They expect me to follow no doubt.

The anxiety of ignoring them and potentially pissing off one or both of them briefly wars against my complete disinterest in getting tangled up in their bullshit.

I’m not able to resist for long.

Sighing to myself, I step out of line and trudge over towards tweedle dee and tweedle them. 

Fang had come to stand before Naomi once more, having seemingly just waved her over to speak again. They turn towards me just a few steps before I reach them. 

“There he is!” Fang says, smiling at me before looking back at the parasaur. “Naomi, Anon said he can fix my controller!”

“I did?”

“Oh?” Naomi says, looking a bit confused as she looks between the two of us. Fang cringes a little. 

“Shoot, sorry! I totally just volunteered you, didn’t I? My bad. Uh, I was gonna have Naomi do it at first, but–”

“Then why drag me over here at all?”

Fang furrows their brow. “I was gonna get to that!”

“Fang was talking to me about it around the time you showed up,” Naomi interjects, focusing on me. “Which I’m more than happy to do, of course! I just won’t be able to get around to it until this evening. Between finishing this up, getting these proofs to the office and helping out Ms. Roberts later–not to mention a bunch of other stuff, I’m just booked until then.”

“Exactly!” Fang nods, looking between us as they speak. “But if Anon does it now, the band can get one last practice in before the audition! Everything will still work out!”

Fang focuses on Naomi, a look of worried pleading filling their face.

“So, do you think you’d be alright if Anon uses your stuff? You do have the stuff to fix it here, right?”

Naomi gives me a glance, but mostly focuses on Fang in return. The parasaur seems concerned–but also, disappointed?

I’m not sure why. This sounds like it would free up some time for her later.

“I do,” Naomi replies. “Technically I’m not supposed to let anyone outside of the science club use them, but…If he knows what he’s doing, I’ll trust you two. You can use the student life office if you’d like, should be empty right now.”

Naomi quickly raises a hand up, two fingers presented. “I’ve got conditions though.”

“Name ‘em,” Fang immediately says. 

“I still need you two to bring Reed here, and I need Anon’s photo too. I’m not having any blank spaces this year, and I’m definitely not missing the chance to capture Volcano High’s first human student in who knows how many classes!”

“Uh, hey.”

“Deal!” Fang nods, grinning at Naomi. “Thank you so much, Naomi! We’ll be back here with Reed as soon as Anon’s done, I swear–”

“Guys!”

Both of the Saurians blink as they finally look my way, acknowledging me. I fix both of them with a frustrated stare.

“You still haven’t actually asked me I’ll do this in the first place, y’know.”

Fang hisses, rubbing the back of their neck.

“Right, right, sorry.”

The pterosaur takes a step closer to me, giving me that same look of concern they had given Naomi but a moment prior.

“Look, Anon, I really need this. The band really needs it. If we can’t get this fixed at all before tomorrow, we could absolutely bomb and miss our shot. And I don’t know what I’ll do if me accidentally breaking something is the whole reason we fail.

“I need your help. Please?”

It’s kind of funny.

Little more than a week ago I thought Fang despised me.

I’m still figuring out where exactly I stand with them, admittedly. 

I don’t really feel like I have a choice right now. I’m on the spot. If I don’t help, in a way, I could be as responsible for their band fucking up as they are. In their own point-of-view, at least.

Besides, it can’t be that difficult. Hopefully.

“Sure.”

Fang immediately deflates a little, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” they repeat; their tone alone tells me the thanks is earnest. “Between this and the Mango hunt, we’re going to owe you lunch for like, the rest of the semester dude.”

“I might be taking you up on that.”

Naomi gives me a little smile. “It’s really nice of you to do this for them,” she tells me.

I can still hear that hint of disappointment in their tone. Why?

Whatever I think I’m picking up on, Fang seems completely oblivious to it. That, or they’re just laser focused on getting this MIDI repaired. They look to Naomi as they speak.

“So, where can Anon find the stuff he’ll need to do this?”

“Well,” Naomi says, cupping her chin for a moment. “If it’s the kind of fix I think it’ll be, really everything you’ll need should be in the bottom left drawer of my desk in the life office. I tend to keep some supplies handy in there for working on projects after school. Quiet space to do it in and all, y’know?”

“Got’cha! Thank you so much, Naomi, seriously,” Fang says, practically vibrating with eagerness. They’re already turning around to leave the gym. “You ready to go Anon?”

I just nod, shifting to follow them. Naomi clears her throat, causing the both of us to look back to her.

“Remember! I need you to bring Reed back here as soon as you’re done, okay?”

She snaps her fingers, pointing directly at me as she adds, “And don’t think you’re gonna get away from getting your picture taken either, Anon!”

The normally upbeat herbivore is surprisingly commanding as she tells us this. I swear I see one of her eyes twitch.

“Y-Yes ma’am,” I reply, suddenly feeling a bit nervous around Naomi.

“We’ll have Reed here in no time, Naomi, I promise,” Fang tells her as they start to walk away. I quickly follow after them.

Exiting the gymnasium, we file past the length of the line of students waiting to get their photos taken, following it back towards the front entrance of the facility. Somewhere along the way we brush past Stella and Sage, having now taken their places in the queue alongside one another. They wave to us as we go; thankfully, Fang’s singular focus on getting their controller fixed provides a convenient excuse to avoid getting wrapped up in conversation with the pair once more.

Slipping back outside, we cross the length of the campus’s gardens and dip through the front entrance of the main building. I only vaguely remember where the Student Life room is, and I initially consider asking Fang if they know the location. The ptero doesn’t stop though, and I just keep following them through the hallways.

Sure enough, before long we’re standing before the same room Naser and Naomi had grilled me in last week. Fang wobbles the doorknob to see if it’s locked; the door slides open without issue.

“Been here before?” I ask them as I step inside, reaching to flick on the lights.

“Yeah, often,” they say. “Naser’s in here a lot after school. I meet him here.”

“Meet him? What for?”

“To bum a ride back to our house, usually. I don’t have a car, he does.”

“Yeah, but–you’ve got wings. Don’t you fly?”

“Physically, all the time. Legally? Can’t.”

I was walking towards the desk I remember Naomi sitting in, the one closest to the window on the far wall, when I hear them say this. I fix the pterosaur with a confused look.

“Legally can’t? Huh?”

They fold their arms, shrugging. 

“Blame the fossil that pushed for flight licenses to be a thing. Aerial breeds gotta have one to, quote-unquote, be able to fly for any prolonged period of time in an urban airspace.”

I snort. “So, what, do they sic the flight cops on you if you’re caught without one?”

“Kinda?” They shake their head. “--Doesn’t matter. Is Naomi’s stuff there?”

“Right, sorry,” I say, having come to stand behind Naomi’s desk. I wheel her office chair out and sit down in it. Remembering the drawer the parasaur mentioned, I lean down and pop up the bottom left cubby of the desk. 

Inside I find a pair of isopropyl alcohol jugs, some boxes of q-tips and cotton swabs, screwdrivers and a handful of other basic tools, and various other knick-knacks and doodads that I don’t immediately identify. Fishing out some of the tools and an open box of q-tips, I lay them out on the table. I pick up a jug of the alcohol in either hand, getting a feel for which one is fuller, before placing it on top as well and stowing the emptier one back in the drawer. I shut it once more with a soft nudge from my shoe.

“Should be everything,” I say. “‘kay, let me see the controller.”

Fang takes the chair from the desk off to the side, the one I recall Naser sitting in, and rolls it over to sit across the table from me. They pass the splotched device over to me, and I gently take it into my hands, getting a look at the damage once more.

The nail polish has definitely sunk deeper into the device. No shit, otherwise Fang wouldn’t be having problems with it in the first place.

Best course of action is to try and clean it out. If that doesn’t work, I can’t think of anything short of buying a new controller. 

“Does it look bad?”

I can hear the anxiety in Fang’s voice as they ask that. I shake my head.

“Probably not,” I say. “Let me focus real quick.”

Let’s get to work.

I begin to deconstruct the MIDI, unscrewing its casing and gently popping it open, revealing its internals. I set the bottom off to the side, manipulating the guts of the controller to bring both portions of the stained hardware face-up towards me.

Oh yeah. The nail polish got in there deep. Thankfully, the staining is fairly uniform, centered entirely within the middle of both layers. 

Removing the cap from the bottle of rubbing alcohol, the air is quickly filled with the strong scent of it. I briefly consider popping the window behind me open, but ultimately decide against it. This shouldn’t take too long, or so I hope.

I select my first q-tip of the operation, and go to work.

I’m delicate as I begin to gently use the rubbing alcohol to cleanse the nail polish from the internals. A memory of being too forceful and ruining one of my first PCs is all but burning in my mind’s eye right now, guiding my hand.

Even if it wasn’t, Fang’s constant vigilance over me would still drive me to take it slow. They’re watching me with the intensity of a mother and their child. If I fuck this up, there’s definitely a good chance they’ll freak the hell out on me.

Despite the pressure that puts on me, this is actually proving to be somewhat relaxing.

The cleaning is monotonous, really. As I focus on my movements, I can practically feel time slipping away. 

I almost forgot how fun messing with stuff like this could be.

“--So, uh, hey.”

Fang suddenly breaks the silence.

I blink at the sudden remark, eyes glancing up towards them. Dialed in as I was, the loss of my quiet causes my grasp on the q-tip to lose focus. It hops free from the painted groove it was gently brushing along, and snags on a piece of circuitry. 

“Shit–”

Fang’s eyes go wide; they immediately lean closer, searching the MIDI’s internals with a panicked gaze.

“What? What, is it broke?!”

“No! Calm down,” I quickly reply, raising a hand towards them in a placating gesture. The pterodactyl sits back down with a sigh, bracing their elbows against the desk’s surface once more.

“Sorry–”

“It’s fine,” I shake my head, looking back down at the controller. Judging the fadedness of certain portions of the spill, I find my position again and begin to clean once more. I keep my eyes on the device, doing my best to maintain my steadiness. I don’t want to give Fang a heart attack before the end of this procedure.

It takes me a moment to find my voice. It comes a little more quietly than I thought it would when I speak to them again, not looking in their direction.

“What’s up?”

“Right, uhm. I was just wondering, y’know,” Fang began to say. “Back in the gym, you said you recognized what the MIDI was after I explained it to you a little.”

As Fang talks, I keep my attention mostly upon the MIDI’s vitals, but I do look over at them every couple seconds. Just enough to show them I’m listening. I nod in response to them, prompting them to speak further.

“I was just wondering, are you, like–into music at all?”

As I glance up at them again, they dip a claw towards the MIDI. Towards the hand guiding the q-tip.

“Unless you’ve got an interest in this sort of thing, not a whole lot of people know what a MIDI does–let alone what it is, y’know?” 

“I guess.”

I focus back upon the internals of the controller once more. I try to find my answer as I repeatedly stroke a particularly stubborn segment of the staining.

“Not exactly,” I eventually tell them. “I tried to get into it awhile back. Ended up dropping it. Was just kind of a phase, y’know.”

“Really? What made you interested?”

“Just came across some software and tinkered with it for a bit,” I say, half-lying. “Couldn’t really get the hang of it after awhile, so I just gave up.”

It’s not exactly untrue.

I just don’t feel like spilling that younger me stopped because no one gave a shit about my half-assed imitations of Rock Ring tracks.

“That’s rough,” Fang says. I glance up at them, and find their brow’s furrowed. “You should’ve kept going. It’s never easy at first, but you gotta suck before you can become good, y’know? Part of the process.”

“Speaking from experience?”

They snort. “Duh. Never said I was perfect, Anon,”

“Never said you were good, either,” I reply. The urge to banter’s overcoming my want for quiet. I can feel a smirk tugging at my lips. 

They’re smirking back.

“One, you’ve never heard me play before,” they say, lifting one finger, followed quickly by another. “Two, I can practically smell the lack of taste on you. You wouldn’t know good music if it hit you on the head, dude.”

“How would you know?”

“Believe me, I can tell.” Fang leans back in their chair, folding their feathered arms. “Let’s go. C’mon, what’s your favorite genre of music? Hit me.”

Shitfuckshit. Don’t say video game OSTs.

Don’t say anime openings either–

“Boomer rock.”

Fang lets out a snort, cackling as they shake their head.

“You fucking would! I knew it! You absolute dork, you’re a walking stereotype.”

My smirk evolves into a shit-eating grin. 

“Takes one to know one.”

Those amber eyes narrow a little, but I still hear a snicker. 

"Touché."

I chuckle back, shaking my head. For some reason, I keep talking. 

It’s kind of fun.

“Same question back at you,” I say. They focus on my eyes again, blinking.

“Well, kind of. You’re all about music, right? Why?”

Fang lets out a soft huff. A tiny smile crosses their beak as they begin to speak.

“Would it be weird to say I’ve never really thought about it that much?”

“--Kinda,” I admit, glancing up towards them. “You’ve seriously never thought about why you do what you do?”

“Not really,” they say, an awkward laugh mixed into their exhale. “It’s just always felt like the right thing, y’know?”

They glance away from me, past me, back towards the window behind me for a moment. There’s something warm in their eyes as they begin to recollect. They keep speaking.

“If I had to think of when it all started, I guess it’s that…I used to make up little songs when I was a kid. Our parents were always working a lot, so we kinda had to entertain ourselves.”

They pause; a tiny chuckle shakes their shoulders, never quite leaving their throat.

“God, that’s such a boring answer, right?”

I furrow my brow. “What do you mean?”

“Like, I’m supposed to be saying stuff like, ‘music helped me find myself,’ or that it helps me understand the world! Or, something, but…”

Their voice trails off. I speak up.

“It doesn’t?”

“No!” They shake their head, “It does–really, it does. Especially right now. But, it’s not even all of that, really. I think…”

They glance back to the MIDI. Their eyes are following the movements of my hand, brush by brush.

“...I think I stuck with it because I feel different when I’m playing.”

My eyes find them again, and this time they stay there. Fang’s looking back off at the window, but there’s this sound to their voice. The tone in which they speak. It almost sounds awestruck.

“My whole body feels…Lighter.”

The words hang in the air, levitating between the two of us.

And for the first time–maybe really for the first time since I’ve been here, out of all the advice and the comfort and the support I’ve been shown by these fucking multi-colored wackjobs since I came to this place…

I think I know what they’re talking about.

The aura of the moment is dispelled by another nervous chuckle from Fang. Once again, they shake their head.

“God, I’m going to lose it over this thing. Still rambling. That sounded crazy–”

The words escape me.

“No, it’s not.”

Fang goes quiet, eyes snapping to mine again at the sudden interruption. They widen a little. 

I swallow; my throat feels dry. 

“I just…I get it.”

“You do?”

I nod, trying to find the words. I glance back down to the little stains of nail polish that remain. I slide the q-tip along the imperfections as I speak again.

“I’ve felt it before. What you mean, I mean. It was a long time ago, but…I definitely felt it.”

“What were you doing?”

I think back to the moment.

I smile.

“I, uh–I was, building a railgun in class.”

Fang’s eyes go wide. They sputter, leaning forward as they give me a bewildered look.

“I’m sorry, what?! Dude, you gotta explain!”

Warmth blossoms across my face and over the tips of my ears. I feel embarrassed; this time, the nervous laugh escapes me. 

I’m revealing too much. I know I’m revealing too much, but it’s like the words just rush out of my mouth. Like a floodgate opened.

“It was back in freshman year, science class. There’s this, uh, game that I used to play a lot that featured them. It’s really not that big of a deal, but anyways–I got partnered with this kid in a science class, and one day we were doing a unit on magnetism. I told him I knew how to make one, and he dared me to prove it. So I did.

I’m smiling. It keeps coming.

“I guess I’m bringing it up ‘cause my classmates thought it was cool. I know it’s kind of pathetic, remembering something from over three years ago like this, but–I dunno. I think, at that moment, I felt like the way you described.”

That smile dampens. I let out a sigh.

“--’Course, then the Principal got involved. Technically I made a weapon on school grounds, and that roped my parents in. Dad lost it. Everyone in the room kinda distanced themself too, guess they didn’t wanna get in trouble. Can’t blame them. Never tried it again.”

By the time I say the last four words, the warmth I felt was gone. 

I’m expecting silence to follow them.

It doesn’t.

“Anon, that’s fucking awesome!”

I blink, looking back up at Fang. It’s my turn for my eyes to go wide.

They let out a cackle as they nod at me.

“You gotta tell Naomi this, she’d flip! I bet you guys could recreate it but like, twice as big or something! That’s insane!”

They grin at me as they say.

“Looks like you’re good at something after all.”

Someone’s praising me.

For the first time in, I don’t know how long. Someone’s actually lifting me up.

Their voice is too genuine to be lying. That smile is too genuine. This isn’t a joke. 

My brain doesn’t know whether or not to play sirens or a victory orchestra.

My heart’s pounding again but it feels–different.

–I’m staring like a dumbass. 

I loudly clear my throat, glancing down at the MIDI to confirm the obvious. After assessing the state of the circuits one last time, I nod towards it. 

“Uhm–speaking of good,” I say, segwaying my way out of a mental short circuit as best I can.

 I carefully piece my little patient back together, screwing the device tight, before I gesture down at it with a flourish of my hands.

“I think we’re finished.”

Fang’s attention immediately snaps down to the MIDI controller. They lean forward in their seat, reaching for it.

“Are you sure?”

“Only one way to find out.”

“Right,” they say, picking it up and holding it before themself. They hesitate, staring down at the reassembled controller for a moment.

“...Man, I kinda don’t wanna look,” they murmur, before sucking in a breath. “Alright, moment of truth.”

They thumb one of the keys at the bottom left of the controller, and wait with bated breath. I lean forward to get a better look for myself.

For a moment nothing happens. I start to fear that I may not have been successful. I cleaned it up to the best of my ability; if it’s still broken, there’s not much else I can do.

Then, a small beep chimes forth from the device. The large pads along the bulk of its body flash green, before several of them turn off again, leaving a handful still illuminated.

Fang erupts into a cheer, hopping back a little as they hug the controller close to their chest. Their white wings flare wide with joy.

“Oh, thank God! Anon you’re a genius!”

I do my best to ignore the bloom of heat in my face. I shrug, smiling back. 

“It really wasn’t that hard. You probably could’ve done it yourself, y’know.”

“Still! I owe you, like, a million favors. Thank you so much, I mean it.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” I reply. 

I speak further as I start to stow Naomi’s borrowed supplies, slipping the lid back onto the bottle of rubbing alcohol and stashing it and the q-tips back into their drawer.

“So, what now?”

“Gotta go fetch Reed,” Fang says, tucking the MIDI into the crook of their arm. “Well, gotta find him first. He could be anywhere.”

I ponder the situation for all of a second.

“You know he’s on the roof.”

They loft a brow at me.

“How are you so sure?”

We briefly exchange a look. Fang lets out a snerk.

“On second thought, you’re totally right. C’mon, let’s get going. Sooner we get him to Naomi, the better.”

I silently nod and move to follow them to the door. Fang pauses as they reach for the doorknob though, turning to look at me.

“--Actually, hey, real quick. Before we go, could we do something?”

“Uh, sure. What exactly?”

The ptero reaches into one of their pockets, and pulls out their phone. They wave it a little for emphasis as they speak.

“Trade numbers, if you’re down for it. If this thing stops working again between now ‘n’ tomorrow, you might be the only person I could get a hold of. Naomi’s usually stacked on the weekends.”

“Oh.” I shrug, pulling out my own phone. “Sure, fine with me.”

The growing number of additions to my contact list in the two weeks I’ve been here is quickly becoming a living monument to the failure of my original goal. I think I might be shit at avoiding notice.

We exchange phone numbers. As I add Fang’s name to their new contact, I soon receive a text from them. A simple “hey” to confirm it’s the right number. I flash them a thumbs up to confirm, and they promptly return the gesture. 

“Cool,” they say, pocketing their phone again. “Thanks again, Anon.”

“It’s no problem.”

“Still,” Fang replies, before opening the door. “Alright, let’s go get the geek.”

Closing the door of the Student Life office behind us, we quickly leave it behind as we b-line to the nearest stairwell. We ascend to the third floor together, and arrive to find that it’s relatively empty. I spy a few teachers doing prep work or otherwise hanging out in their classrooms, but none acknowledge us. 

We quickly find the side hall that leads to the rooftop entrance, climbing that stairs it ends in. As Fang opens the door at the top, the vibrant expanse of Caldera Bay spills out across the horizon to greet us. The sun’s high and bright in the air, stray patches of clouds hanging in an otherwise blue sky. The waters of the ocean in the distance are glittering in the sunlight.

Damn, it’s still catching me off-guard how beautiful this place can be. 

Joining in my marveling of the landscape is a hint of satisfaction at my hunch is proven correct.

Sitting on the edge of the rooftop’s railing, legs dangling over the side, is Reed. His tail’s curled low to the floor, behind him, acting as a sort of counterbalance to keep himself from teetering over the side of the building. He’s reading what I quickly identify as a LnL player’s guide–one that has what must be at least fifty pounds of extra weight on it. The excess mass is in the form of a mess of bookmarks and post-it notes flaring out from practically every page of the worn manual.

“Looks like you were right,” Fang says to me.

“Told ya.”

Reed turns around as he hears us, blinking in confusion as he realizes we’ve shown up together.

“Woah, hey,” he says, closing his manual as he greets us. Concern briefly flashes across his face as his violet eyes glance between the two of us. He swings one leg over to our side of the roof, straddling the barrier as he faces us more directly. 

“Is something going on?”

“Not really,” I say.

“Kind of,” Fang replies, walking closer to Reed. I join them.

The raptor’s brow furrows. “Alright, so, which is it? Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine now!” Fang replies, before nudging an elbow in my direction. “Thanks to Anon.”

“Oh?” Reed looks in my direction.

I shrug, “I, uh, cleaned your band’s MIDI controller.”

“MIDI controller?” Reed blinks–before his eyes go wide again. “Oh, shit! I remember reading about that now.”

He glances towards Fang as he adds, “Sorry by the way, wasn’t ignoring you, just kinda forgot to hit enter y’know?”

“Forgot because you were too busy reading your dice book, right?”

“I plead the fifth,” he tells them, before looking back at me.

Reed smiles.

“Either way, that was pretty awesome of you to do Anon. Thanks bro.”

“It really wasn’t that hard.”

“He’s underselling,” Fang says, before giving me a smirk. “Turns out Anon’s actually pretty smart. Dude built a railgun or something at his old school.”

“Shit, really?” Reed’s eyes widen. “That’s sick, man. Wild.”

I look away as I feel embarrassment bubble up inside of me. Reed glances back towards Fang as he speaks further. 

“But, uh, still doesn’t explain why you came all the way up here. Could’ve just sent me a text, y’know.”

Fang’s expression gets a bit anxious. “Yeeeah, that’s the other part.”

Reed lofts a brow at them. I keep quiet, letting the two of them talk.

“Keep going.”

“Right. So, uh, Anon fixed it, but he was only able to do it ‘cause Naomi let him use some of her supplies.”

Reed hums. “Makes sense that Nims was involved. Still not sure where you’re going with this though.”

“She had some conditions for letting us do this.”

“Being?”

“Being, you need to go get your picture taken.”

“Nope.”

Fang huffs. “Dude, c’mon!”

Reed shakes his head, raising his hands in an apologetic gesture. “Sorry man, no can do.”

I squint at the raptor.

“Why’re you so against getting your picture taken? You look the same as you do any other day of the week.”

Reed flashes me a smirk.

“Family tradition. Orson didn’t do it. My mom didn’t do it. Her mom didn’t do it.”

He shrugged, “I’m just carrying on a long line of being blank spaces in yearbooks.” 

“Admirable,” Fang says as they fold their arms.” Totally makes sense, one-hundred-percent normal.” 

Reed just snickers. “Gotta take as many little victories against the system as you can, man.”

This shit again?

I snort. “By not having your yearbook photo taken.”

“Mmmhm.”

“Right,” Fang quickly interjects. “Look, I kinda get it, I do. But this is like, the one thing Naomi asked to make this happen. I owe her, and I really don’t wanna piss her off. So, please? For the band? For me?”

“And she doesn’t budge, I know. Gotta think of everything when I write for her character…”

Reed cups his chin as he considers something. He glances down at the heavy manual in the crook of his arm. He hums again.

“...Y’know, I was planning storylines for both of your characters.”

Your characters? Is Fang playing more than one character?

They don’t even seem the type to play LnL at all.

“Storyline?” Fang gives a confused shrug. “I thought I just showed up and rolled dice until something died. Also, you’re giving me more than one? Is it, like, an options thing?”

“Nah, you only got one cooked up for you. Whole character arc. The other’s for someone else.”

“Oh, we’ve got someone else joining?”

“Yeah. He just found out.”

–Waitaminute.

I give Reed a hard stare.

“What’re you saying?”

Reed leans towards us, grinning. There’s a sly look of glee creeping over those violet eyes.

“I’m sayin’ I’ve got conditions of my own.”

Fang lofts a brow, “Being?”

“Being, you gotta come to our next session. Both of you.”

This motherfucker–

“I’ll do it,” Fang immediately answers.

“No way,” I say, calling his bluff.

Reed shrugs with a smirk. “Then I ain’t gettin’ a picture taken.”

“Dick move,” I say with a glare. Reed just snickers.

Fang’s gives him a lidded stare. “You’re actually holding us hostage right now with this?”

“Yup,” Reed says, folding his arms in kind. “Both of your butts in seats next Saturday, ready to go. Or I ain’t budging.

“Besides,” he adds, nudging his head my way. “I ain’t the one you gotta convince, technically.”

Fang’s head swivels my way with turret-like precision. 

“No.”

“Anon–”

“I’m not doing LnL. No.”

Fang lets out a frustrated sigh.

“Look, I totally get it, but if we don’t get him down there Naomi’s going to flip her shit! And you don’t wanna see what that’s like!”

“She’s pretty crazy when she goes off,” Reed mutters.

I don’t respond. I just stare Fang down, trying to resist.

Fang stares back.

“Pleeeaaaase? Just once? Never gotta do it again.”

. . .

“...Will there at least be some food present?”

“I can guarantee at least one pizza and whatever goodies Sage happens to bring,” Reed immediately replies. “He’s always got something.

Damn, that does sound kind of appetizing.

Goddamnit.

I sigh, hanging my head as I admit defeat.

“Fine.”

“Got’em,” Reeds chuckles.

There’s a core of hatred, hot and roiling in my gut right now. This actual scheming motherfucker just dogged me into playing a TTRPG with him. 

Fang chuckles nervously, rubbing the back of their neck.

“I owe you, like. I don’t know how much by this point. For real.”

“Whatever,” I grumble, turning around and walking back to the entrance of the roof. “Let’s just get this shit over with.”

As we start making our way off the roof, behind me, I hear Reed let out a sigh.

“Ugh, should’ve worn a different tanktop.” 

 

========================================================================

 

By the time we make it back to the gym, Reed’s smug-ass body language has completely evaporated.

He looks like he’s about to jump out of his own skin, a nervous frown on his face. He’s clutching his Legends and Lore manual against his chest with the same fervor of a Priest holding a Bible in a den of heathens.

Fang’s come to stand behind him, hands gently braced against his back as they guide the raptor onward, ensuring he can’t escape.

The line’s thinned out considerably by this point. Not many students are still waiting, though I do catch sight of Trish hanging by Naomi, the pair conversing as Naomi’s assistant takes some random herbivore’s photo.

The pair look towards us as we approach. Naomi’s eyes go wide with surprise. So do Trish’s, before a grin crosses the trigga’s face.

“Dude, no way,” she says, barely suppressing a laugh. “This is a first.”

“I’m saving the band with my sacrifice,” Reed mutters beneath his breath like a mantra. “I am a hero.”

I can’t help but scoff. “Dude, it’s just getting your picture taken.”

“He’s being very brave and cool,” Fang says by contrast. “And we’re all totally here for him.”

“Totally,” Trish echoes.

“Uhuh,” I say, nonplussed if somewhat amused by the sheer spectacle of seeing Reed, usually so stoic and calm, completely about to lose his shit.

By contrast, Naomi looks over the moon, eagerly getting her camera ready as Reed, ushered on by Fang, hesitantly stumbles over towards the photo area. 

He’s all but shaking in his sneakers. I can even hear his breathing, upset and off-tempo. 

“Does my hair look stupid?” He mutters, glancing from person to person. “I feel weird–is, is it hot in here? It’s totally hot in here.”

“Stop moving!” Naomi hisses, trying to get the camera focused despite Reed’s squirming.

You would think he’s getting executed by firing squad. His reaction to the camera snapping photo after photo really sells the illusion. You would think it was a rifle going off.

Every snap gets joined by a subtle flinch from Reed, who is, by this point, visibly sweating. He manages an uncomfortable fear-grin upon the second photo. He barely lasts on stage long enough for the fourth to be taken. All it captures is a blur of him ducking to the right and hauling ass back in our direction.

Trish and Fang come to comfort him somewhere behind me. I can hear them telling Reed he did a good job. The conversation’s mostly lost on me as I focus in on Naomi.

“Finally! We’re actually going to get one-hundred-percent completion this year!” She even does a little fist pump to celebrate her victory, before looking my way with a grin. “Alright, Anon, you’re up!”

“Sure,” I say. Unlike Reed, I have no problem getting my photo taken. Weirdo.

I shrug off my backpack and rest it against the nearby bleachers, before walking over to the capture area. I stand in front of the stool, and flash the signature Mous smile at the camera.

I’m blinded by the series of rapid flashes that follow.

Trying my best to blink away the frying of my retinas, I start to walk away from the booth–only to notice that Naomi and her assistant are peering down at the camera with a puzzled expression.

I loft a brow. “Everything good? Do you need a retake?”

“Uhm…” Her assistant starts to speak, only to give Naomi a look.

“N-No?” Naomi squints. “--Maybe? I, uh…”

Curious as to what’s bothering them, I walk over and stand next to them.

“I think it might just be the lighting?” Naomi says, glancing at me. “Your expression just, uhm…”

I glance down at the screen of the camera, which still has their most recent photo displayed.

. . .

“What’s wrong with it? Looks fine to me.”

“I guess…?” Naomi’s tone was skeptical, and her face matched as much. “We’ll, uh, just check it out again in post. Maybe it’s the camera acting weird.”

“Sure,” I said, beginning to walk away, angling myself in the direction of the band geeks.

To my surprise, Naomi followed, coming to walk beside me. She gave me a smile as she spoke.

“So, how’d it go? You manage to get her MIDI working again?”

“Yeah,” I nod. “It really wasn’t that difficult, y’know. Just had to use some rubbing alcohol, it pretty much sorted itself out.”

She let out a tiny chuckle. “I figured it’d be something like that. Still though! It was very nice of you to do that for them.”

She glanced towards the trio, whom we were only a couple seconds from meeting by this point. They appeared to be discussing something among themselves.

“You know, I’ve noticed you guys are hanging around each other more.”

“I guess,” I shrug. “It’s mostly just through circumstance. They’re alright.”

“I’m just glad to see you’re starting to find your place, is all,” Naomi says, her voice beaming with approval. “I knew you’d start to find your stride here.”

Making a lot of assumptions there, Naomi.

They’re acquaintances. Just like you are. 

Before I can respond, we’ve come close enough to the band that they’ve taken notice of us. Reed gives us a wave.

Trish is wearing her backpack across her chest, for some reason. She seems oddly smug.

It’s Fang that addresses us. They grin at the parasaur.

“Naomi! Thank you so much again, you’re the best! We couldn’t have done this without you.”

I catch a hint of color across the parasaur’s cheeks, for just a moment. 

She shakes her head, smiling still. “It’s no biggie, really. I’m just glad it all worked out. Plus, thanks to you two, we finally got Reed in the book! No empty spaces this year!”

The dedication she has to getting this yearbook finished is both weird and oddly commendable. Can’t remember the line time I was as passionate about an assignment as she is. 

With a pause, Naomi glances towards Trish as she adds, “--At least, after we get your photo done, of course.”

Trish’s smirk deepens. “You guys ready for me?”

Naomi glances over in the direction of the photo booth behind us, before giving Trish a nod.

“Should be! I’ll be back over in a second, you can go ahead and get set.”

“Show time.” Trish replies before sauntering over in the direction of the capture area and settling upon the stool.

Seriously, who the hell is this smug about getting their picture taken? Between her and Reed, I’m starting to think there’s something in the water at this place.

My focus on Trish fades as I hear Fang mention my name.

“Naomi, you gotta get Anon in your science club, he’d be a perfect fit.”

“Oh?” Naomi gives me an enthusiastic look. “We’re always happy to have new members, y’know!”

I quickly shake my head. “Clubs really aren’t my thing. Besides, I don’t think I’m, uh. Smart enough to fit in.”

“Gotta call bull on that dude,” Reed chimes in. “You crush problems in Math like it’s nothing.”

“Plus,” Fang says as they cross their arms. “You gotta tell her about the gun you made.”

Naomi’s eyes go wide. “You made a gun?!”

“No!--Technically yes? It was a railgun,” I correct, before giving Fang a glare. “You really gotta drop that.”

“Nope, you’re smart, stop hiding it.”

“How?!” Naomi leans towards me, before glancing at the roof for a moment. “God, the magnetic force required to . . .”

The scientific rant the parasaur begins to unfold on, as interesting as it admittedly is, is unfortunately tuned out as I notice something else.

A smell in the air.

A very familiar smell. One that I spent an entire evening earlier this week trying to clear out of my apartment.

A familiar stench. 

Trish’s smugness about getting this photo taken suddenly clicks with me.

She didn’t.

I glance at the seated trigga out of the corner of my eye. Just in time to see that bag on her chest ever-so-faintly shift. As if something inside was moving.

She fucking did.  

Get the hell out of dodge. I’m not staying around for when this goes south again.

“--Hey,” I interrupt Naomi mid-ramble, causing her to blink. “I’m sorry, this sounds super cool, but I gotta dip.”

Her surprise turns to disappointment. “How come? I was looking forward to hearing how you produced enough magnetic force to launch something.”

“Need to turn in an assignment,” I fire from the hip, trying to think of any plausible excuse.

“We didn’t have homework in our class,” Fang says.

“Nor ours,” Naomi adds.

“Preeeetty sure we did in ours,” Reed murmurs. “But, that’s like, not until later.”

FuckIforgotI’minroomswithalloftheseassholes.

“It’s for third period,” I quickly reply, and take a step away for good measure. “Can’t keep the teacher waiting on it.”

Reed squints. “...Isn’t your third period Home E–”

“Sorry gotta go bye!”

I turn and walk as quickly as I can towards the gym doors.

I hear Naomi, Fang and Reed say farewells to me as I go. I flash them a wave, staying focused on exfiltrating from the impending shitstorm with all due haste.

Just as the doors to the entrance begin to swing shut behind me, I hear the squeaky cry of a familiar orange invertebrate ring out through the air–followed soon after by Naomi screaming in horror.

I can only assume said screaming was because Mango just ruined some very expensive photography equipment.

I don’t go back to verify.

I am not losing another jacket.

 

========================================================================

 

“So, how’d your second week go hun?”

Mom ended up calling me later into the evening, just as I had settled down to immerse myself in some Friday Night Vidya. 

My phone’s on speaker and propped up against the base of the monitor before me. Despite knowing well this isn’t Facetime and they can’t see me, I do spare the odd glance down at the call menu as I talk to them. The bulk of my focus remains on the Counter Spike match unfolding on the screen above it.

“It’s been alright,” I tell her. “Not a whole lot’s happened.”

A partial lie, but I’m pretty sure she and Dad would have a fit if they learned one of my jackets got ruined beyond repair.

Speaking of, I vaguely hear Dad grumble something to her in the background of the call audio. They’re both sitting down in the living room, if I had to guess.

“You’re doing okay though, right? Not having any trouble?”

“Actually getting to your school and class on time,” Dad chimes in. “Right?”

“Yeah,” I tell them both. “I’m fine.”

“That’s good,” Mom murmurs. Silence lingers on the call for a moment. I decide to fill it.

“How are you two doing? Anything happening?”

“Same old, same old,” Mom says. “I’ve got work and Dad does too.”

“Cool,” I say.

“We’re still trying to get used to you being gone, I think,” Mom replies. “It’s quiet up here in the house, without you being here, y’know.”

“That’s a good thing, isn't it?”

“You’d think so,” she murmurs. 

I can hear something in her voice. Something a little somber. I’m not sure what I’m more surprised by–the fact I’m hearing it at all, or the fact I feel somewhat guilty because of it.

I don’t know how to respond. That silence returns.

Mom’s the one to break it this time, clearing her throat.

“So, uh–you still hanging out with those friends you told us about? What was it, Basil and Leo?”

“Sage,” I correct her. “And, uh, yeah. Kinda. There’s some others, too.”

“Good, that’s good,” she says. “--So, you met any girls up there, maybe?”

Huh.

Before I can respond, Dad lets out a snort.

“How could he? He never left his damn room here, bet he hides away in that apartment all day outside of school.”

“Psu.” Mom sharply says my Dad’s name. He just scoffs.

“What? Am I wrong? Go on, tell me I’m wrong.”

“...Still,” Mom says, not bothering to come to my defense. “Don’t be like that.”

Why would she come to my defense? Dad’s right. He’s right on both accounts.

Like I’d want to date a Meteor Dodger in the first place.

Even if he’s right, his attitude’s killed any interest I have in continuing this conversation.

“I think I gotta go,” I tell them. “Need to go use the bathroom.”

“Sure,” I hear Dad say, knowing well that he knows well I’m bullshitting.

“Alright,” Mom says with a sigh. “Try to get out and explore a bit this weekend, okay? Try to send me a text sometime.”

“I will. Love you Mom.”

“Love you Nonny,” she says. Dad doesn’t echo her. “Goodbye.”

“Bye guys.”

I pop out of cover the moment the call ends. I’m immediately domed by some sweat halfway across the map.

My mood thoroughly tarnished, I give in to a bit of petty anger and force-disconnect from the match, closing the application as I go.

Ragequit successful, I stare at the blank background of my home screen for a moment, trying to figure out what I want to play right now. Still haven’t got around to actually selecting a replacement wallpaper yet, either.

I go from skimming the icons across the screen to opening up my library. My back-catalogue of shame lays out before me in all its bloated grandeur. 

So many games to play.

And none of them sound appealing right now.

I don’t even know what I want to do at the moment. There’s nothing to do besides fuck around on my computer or my console, and the latter doesn’t sound any more appealing than the former.

I sigh, leaning back in my chair. I stare up at the ceiling and watch the ceiling fan cycle for a moment.

. . .

My mounting fight against boredom is suddenly interrupted by my phone buzzing.

A text notification.

I glance down at the screen, seeing the pip of a red one against my messenger app’s icon. 

Really hoping it’s not Mom or Dad trying to push for further conversation. It wouldn’t be beyond them.

Could just be spam.--No, that would’ve been autoflagged and wouldn’t leave a notification.

It’s definitely someone I know. Only one way to find out.

I sigh and reach for the phone, opening up the app.

To my surprise, it’s from Fang.

Would you wanna talk?

Would I?

Not exactly, but part of me is kind of curious as to why in the hell they’re choosing me of all people to speak to right now. 

It’s enough for me to end up taking the bait.

sure i guess. what’s up?

Cool.

So do you feel like telling me who you are yet?

What?

Pretty sure they know who the hell I am, considering everything that’s happened since I met them.

Unless this is some kind of metaphorical “who you really are” shit.

wym?

WYM WYM? You still won’t tell me who you are. I know you’re AT the school at least 

??? fang its anon

w

oh

The three dots of a message being typed cycle in and out of being for a while, before fading away. They don’t message again for a time, leaving me far more confused than I was a couple moments ago.

My desire to figure out what the hell they’re on about is really the only motivator I’ve got to keep this going, but before I can finish typing up a response, they finally message back.

I feel like a dumbass right now lol.

I forgot to label you earlier and fatfingered your number by accident.

My bad. Sorry.

Wrong number. Wasn’t meant to be the recipient in the first place.

Makes sense I guess. Turns out they didn’t want to talk to me after all.

Why would they?

its alright

I close out of the messenger app with that, and fully expect to hear nothing back from them.

But before I can go back to staring fruitlessly at my hoard of games that I have no interest in actually trying out, a new notification from Fang pops up on the top of my screen.

I open it.

Actually

Would you want to still talk?

i think id rather talk to you than who I was gonna text originally 

Weird. But, judging from what they were asking me, it sounds like they don’t really know whoever they were trying to reach all too well. Might be someone they met online or something.

Then again, they don’t know me very well either.

. . .

I’ve got nothing better to do.

sure

what do you want to talk about?

Anything really.

Just need a distraction right now.

ok

howd your last practice go? midi stil l working?

We didn’t end up having one.

thought the whole point of me fixin it was so that u could practice

 

It was! But Trish ended up saying she was busy anyways, and the moment she started flaking Reed dipped too. Said he could use it for time for his LNL stuff.

Sorry about that by the way

Getting you involved with it, that is.

I get the vibe you’re not really looking forward to it.

its not my thing

it is what it is though

It’s not really my thing either.

He’s been wanting me to try it out forever, but I kind of lost interest in that sort of stuff after Middle School.

He’s really into it though.

Naomi and Trish tell me he's really good at storytelling

he seems passionate about it

I just wish he was that passionate about the band.

is he not?

He is, kind of. So was Trish.

But they’ve just felt distracted recently I guess.

Maybe I’m just stressed over this stuff and it’s making me think stuff.

maybe

It’s not that I don’t think they should have other interests, I just wish they’d realize how serious this moment is you know?

We’ve been dreaming about this chance since we were 13.

And now it’s here and both of them are just screwing around.

It’s ggot me so stressed that I’m starting to get writer’s block.

what do you write?

Songs mostly. I’m the one that makes the lyrics for all our stuff.

I also do poetry but that’s besides the point.

I’ve been working on new material for us to start using all summer.

and ur having trouble making new ones

Yeah. Nothing sounds good.

I’m stuck.

You’re smart. Any ideas?

could try to channel ur feelings on all this into a song

use it to vent

Maybe. Sounds like it’d be a bummer song though.

maybe

i dont think thats bad though

it could end up being pretty personal or something

Maybe.

Think you’d ever want to try getting back into music?

I could show you a thing or too

two.

idk

not really much of a point

I don’t think there’s meant to be a point yknow.

It’s fun.

It helps you live.

 

Helps you live, huh.

ill think about it

Good.

I’ll let you get back to whatever you were up to before.

Sorry for the feelings-dump.

its okay

sounds like you needed it

I did.

Thank you again.

Really.

ur welcome

good luck tomorrow

hope u win

Gonna try my best. 

All you can do yknow?

At some point in the middle of our exchange, I ended up shifting over from my computer chair to my bed, slumping on it. Might as well get comfy if I’m gonna be texting for a while.

I let the conversation die with Fang’s last words. Seems like a fitting place to leave off anyways

I reread through our chat for a moment, digesting the information with the second pass.

That one line sticks with me more than anything else though.

It helps you live. 

With a sigh I close the phone, resting it on my chest. My eyes end up at the ceiling again, staring at the fan blades as they cycle on and on.

I don’t know if I need help living right now.

Probably because I don’t know what I’m living for in the first place.

Notes:

Hey hey, Snoogers. Back at you again with another chapter of Meteor Game.

Things are beginning to look like they're on the upswing for me. Hoping it stays that way.

Will get back to you with Chapter Six sooner than later. In the mean time, let me know what (you) thought in the comments.
We're all gonna make it bros; until next we meet.

Chapter 6: Don't Call

Summary:

"Call before I'm gone 'cause you want to
"Won't need another home 'cause I won't go back
"I won't go back
"Call before I'm gone 'cause I want you to
"Oh drive me all the way never take me back
"Won't fly me all the way 'cause I won't go back
"No I want to
"Don't call on me."

The Covenant had found one of the last strongholds of Humanity.

Breach was burning. The war was already over.

Though the planet was lost, its valiant defenders fought on. Even now, the alien warmachine was pitched in a relentless siege upon a starship boneyard. The inhuman foe hurled its lances down upon the shipbreaking facilities nestled amidst corpses of decommissioned frigates. They were trying to steal a power core. To what end, none could say.

Far in the backlines, away from the pitched fighting centered around the entrances to the generator complex, a Sangheili warrior loomed over the corpse of a fallen Spartan. Clad in the crested panoply of an Ultra, the alien wielded an energy sword. Two blades of killing light that pulsed a silent, deathly hum in the air. 

The “demon” at his feet was slain by his own hand, but moments prior. Felled by a single, swift lunge that sent the twinblades across the length of MJOLNIR’s chestplate, shearing straight through it. An instant, and clean kill.

He seemed to be savoring his victory.

Suddenly, the Elite’s shields flared to life as DMR rounds cracked against him. Amber-gold light shimmered about the alien’s hulking form as he twisted in the direction of his foe.

A Spartan, green-armored, marksman rifle in hand and a sniper maglocked to his back, was charging him down. The weapon cracked again and again as the super soldier rushed across the breaking lot, armored feet trampling scrubland under heel.

The Ultra loosed a violent roar as he began to charge in kind, heaving himself into full tilt towards his enemy–no, his prey. The alien sprinted with reckless vigor, barreling down upon the Spartan that dared to challenge him so brazenly.

The demon’s rifle continued to fire–and ran dry with an audible click right as its last round shattered the Sangheili’s energy shields, leaving his body exposed.

The imminent death of the human seemed all but certain now.

Having come within range, the Elite lunged at him with the sword, bounding across the space between them with intent to bring the plasma blades scything across the Spartan’s torso.

To his shock, he missed.

The Spartan bounded hard to his right, barely evading the Elite’s sweeping strike; he didn't stop moving, his stride bringing him past the Elite as the alien lunged at him.

The super soldier twisted on heel, pivoting hard, and reached for the combat knife sheathed upon his breastplate. He tore it free from its scabbard and brought his left boot crashing down upon one of the Sangheili’s legs. With a pained grunt, the alien is forcefully knelt, armored torso tilting backwards awkwardly as the Spartan seized his collar and angled him so.

A second later, the combat knife rammed through the Elite’s neck. Bodysuit, leathery hide, inhumanly-thick muscle and neck veins were all lanced and mangled in equal measure, ripped apart by the augmented strength of the Spartan’s arm.

The Sangheili let out a strangled cry as he died. The Spartan tore his knife, slick with violet alien viscera, free from the Ultra’s neck. His body listed forward, gracefully at first–before flopping erratically onto the earth, and growing still.

His energy sword, as well as plasma repeater and a pair of plasma grenades, are dislodged from his armor and fall loosely about his cadaver.

Grasping his DMR once more, the Spartan, victorious, crouched over the Elite’s body–

And stood back up.

He crouched down once more.

And stood up again.

Crouch down.

Stand up.

Crouch down.

Stand up.

As the green-armored Spartan continuously rose and fell and rose and fell over the alien’s corpse, again and again in rapid succession, one of his comrades would approach. Arriving from the same direction the first super soldier had charged from, this Spartan’s armor was a bright blue in hue by comparison. 

The blue Spartan’s visor stared down at the erratic behavior of his brother.

“Teabagging,” Leo said, his voice faintly crackling over the party chat link due to his aged microphone. “Seriously?”

“Hell yeah I’m teabagging!” 

Anon’s response was immediate as he cracked the butt of his marksman rifle against the Elite’s dead body, causing the corpse to jiggle about slightly from the melee.

“This dumb motherfucker had an energy sword and I still nailed him with an assassination. How! How?! He fuckin’ deserves this.”

“I think he’s already respawned by this point, bro.”

“Yeah, probably,” Anon admitted, finally sparing the dead body from further torment. As though grateful, the corpse despawned only a couple seconds later, leaving behind its equipment on the ground.

“Could’ve just sniped him and be done with it,” Leo noted, moving forward and swapping his secondary weapon, a plasma pistol, in exchange for the energy sword. 

“Naaah. Dude thought he was hot shit spawncamping the AFK dude,” Anon replied, turning about and moving back in the direction of the decommissioned frigate that divided the map in half. “He needed to be taught a lesson.”

“How can you tell?”

“Trust me, you can tell.”

“You’re reading too much into it, ‘non.”

“Whatever,” Anon huffed, pausing for a moment. “The fuck are we even doing back here? It’s second phase, all the shit’s happening over at the generator zones.”

Both of the players could see Anon was right, as through the immense hull of the dead warship they could see the distant combat markers of their teammates, flashing orange and red as they fought and died. Only to promptly reappear as bright blue when they respawned a couple seconds later. The distant, overlapping cacophony of bullets flying, plasma rounds shrieking and grenades detonating was like a chorus. 

“This is where the Elite vehicles spawn on this map, remember?” 

Leo replied as he came to stand next to Anon, orienting his avatar just enough to somewhat glance his way. 

“If we wait a little bit longer, we can just destroy them and reset the clock on their spawn timers. Or, y’know, steal them for ourselves.”

“Sure,” Anon said, moving once more–back in the direction of the fighting. “But all the fun’s over that way.”

“But if we stay here, we’ll more likely win.”

“Staying here isn’t increasing my K/D.”

“Kills don’t matter in Invasion,” Leo said with a huff.

Anon let out a snerk. “To you, maybe. I like being on the top of the leaderboard.”

“Whatever dude,” Leo grumbled, begrudgingly following after his teammate.

Weaving up the rusty stairwells and metallic scaffolding that led into the dissected frigate, the pair cautiously ventured through the corridors of the dead vessel. Dull, muted markers surged across their motion trackers, indicating enemies below their current floor. 

“Think they’re gonna come up?” Leo asked.

“Nah,” Anon replied, leading them in the direction of an outcropping that overlooked the current hotspot on the map. “They’re just rushing for the gens.”

His assessment was proven correct as they emerged onto an open-air scaffolding platform on the opposite side of the frigate, high above the industrial valley below them. Compared to the relative quiet of the far end of the ship, this place was seething with contact.

Spartans clung to cover amidst a damaged foundry complex, defending two glowing capture points–both on half health–with desperate ferocity. Pipes, fuel tanks and large segments of sheared-away starship hull were dotted about the map between them and the complex, providing a chaotic maze of cover for their enemies to dart to and from.

The Elites were continuously rushing the two zones, flinging their bodies and grenades at it as they tried to get within. The smoldering wreckages of a Ghost and a Wraith, wreathed in unnatural plasmafire, were dotted about the dirt roads surrounding the complex. 

Withdrawing his SRS, Anon crouched close against a piece of metallic paneling, all but partially clipping into the cover as he got comfortable. There was an audible murmur as he zoomed in with his scope, setting his sights upon the head of one of the enemy team.

He swiftly went to work. Four times did his sniper’s crack fill the air, and four times did a hingehead’s hinged head get popped. 

“Good shit,” Leo said, focusing down one target from afar as Anon reloaded, his DMR firing with increasing rapidity. A frustrated noise left him as the alien he had been peppering with lead managed to evade him. The enemy player ducking behind a rusted length of hull-iron upon the grounds below before he could be headshotted.

“Goddamnit–this thing sucks compared to the needle rifle.”

“You’re just firing too fast,” came Anon’s reply as he zoomed in on his scope once more. “Bloom and all.”

“If you say so,” he grumbled back. “Still, needle’s better. Can’t beat supercombine.”

“You’re high, DMR blows it out of the water. You’re just ass.”

Anon punctuated the retort with a sniper round, and yet another dead Elite. Leo muttered something unintelligible in reply.

“Why’re we even playing Invasion anyways?” Anon asked, shifting a little behind his piece of cover as an enemy marksman began to suppress him across the way. “BTB’s way funner.”

“Invasion’s one of the best modes they ever made,” Leo replied, DMR firing as he noticed the distant Elite trying to kill his friend, providing counter-suppression. “Huge fumble from 434 that they never brought it back.”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause you can play as the aliens.”

“I mean, duh. The Arbiter’s cool. Plus, they didn’t add Saurian Spartans until 4.”

“Complete libshit lorebreak,” Anon griped, poking out of cover once more. “Spartans being human-only made them unique. What’s the point anymore?”

“Seems like a logical expansion of the lore to–Shit!”

Leo’s reply was cut short as the scathing beam of a Focus Rifle crashed into his Spartan, shields flaring wildly as he desperately got back into cover. Anon, mirroring his motions, dipped behind his own barricade.

“Almost got me, Jesus.”

“Where’s he at?”

“What, want me to bait him?”

Anon gave no reply. Leo sighed.

“Fine,” the Saurian whined, poking out of cover again. 

The lance of focused plasma crashed into him once more almost immediately. His shields, still damaged, flared violently before shattering, the lights along his avatar’s armor pulsing. A pained grunt left his Spartan, a splatter of blood manifesting on the floor-panels beneath them.

Anon poked out of cover in reply; Leo spoke. 

“Top of the roof, over to the–”

“I see him,” Anon interrupted.

His sniper cracked once more. A distant cry of pain is accompanied by a new kill confirmation flashing over the live feed.

“Got ‘em.”

“Nice,” Leo said, before adding. “They seem to know where we’re at, might wanna move.”

“Probably,” Anon replied.

Leo turned about, beginning to move back into the interior of the frigate–

Only for a ball of blue light to sail through the open bulkhead behind the both of them, and smack firmly onto his avatar’s helmet.

The plasma grenade let out a violent whine, glowing violently.

“Shit, stickied!”

“Wha–Move!”

Anon scrambled to the side, trying to get clear of the imminent blast. Leo, screen blinded by the glaring visuals of the grenade stuck right upon his character’s faceplate, unknowingly walked right in the same direction.

A flash of blue light bloomed upon the outer decks of the decommissioned frigate. Two armored corpses are left in its wake.

. . .

“Dude, what the fuck?!”

Anon yelled over their private chat, the pair respawning beside one another within their team’s side of the map once more, but a couple seconds away from the ongoing violence. 

“What? He must’ve crouched up to us, it was probably the needle rifle guy from earlier.”

“So?! You fuckin’ ran right into me, dumbass!”

“I couldn’t see!”

“Oh, so you can run out of a gym just fine, but struggle to move in a straight line when it actually matters? What a shock.”

“Fuck you.”

Those two spat words carry a tone to them that, in all ways, apart from their prior banter. 

Silence lingered between the two on the call. Where words don’t return, the void is filled by a sweeping crescendo of music as, elsewhere on the map, the Elites managed to finally capture one of the two defense zones. A new marker appeared on their HUDs as the objective switches to stopping the core from being taken.

Wordlessly, they both moved from their spawn point to aid in the defense of the facility. Leo mute because he had no desire to speak. Anon quiet because he realized that, perhaps, he had gone a tad too far.

The round had six minutes to go at the start of the phase transition. Four of those minutes were spent with the duo focusing solely upon their objective, fighting, dying, respawning and fighting anew as they did their best to hold the line.

It was around the two minute mark when a low, droning thrum echoed in the distance. 

Rushing forth from a fresh respawn, Anon’s avatar twisted about in the midst of the complex, looking towards the direction of the enemy spawn point. 

He had turned just in time to witness two players on his team, hauling ass in Warthog, drift around a corner–and promptly be vaporized by glowing glob of plasma that came raining down from on high. Their corpses, as well as the flaming wreckage of their vehicle, went spinning some yards away from the blast sight.

Tracking the direction the plasma mortar had come from, he promptly spied something that made his heart sink: the slowly-gliding hulk of a Wraith. The alien tank drifted forward from an underpass bridging the two sides of the map, filling the air with the soft, ethereal whine of its anti-grav systems. 

Unfortunately, just as Anon had spotted the tank, the enemy player driving said tank also saw him. Something he realized as, with surprising speed, the Wraith twisted about in his direction, its plasma mortar angling low before firing, sending a fresh mass of plasma screaming through the air towards him.

“Shit!”

Anon evaded hard to his right and into cover, ducking into one of the hallways of the generator complex. The plasma mortar burst directly upon the spot he had been standing in but moments prior; splash damage from simply being in the vicinity of the shot had degraded his energy shields by half. 

The Wraith’s bulging icon upon his motion tracker disappeared for some seconds, indicating it was lingering in its current position, before it eventually turned and began to move away. Poking out of cover once more, Anon watched as the tank glided in the direction of the area most of his team was currently clumped in.

“Oh, goddamnit. Leo, we’ve got a problem.”

Silence.

“Leo! Dude, did you pop AFK?!”

“What do you want,” the Saurian snapped back over the call. 

His voice was far icier than it had been prior. 

“There you are,” Anon huffed. “Dude, problem. Their Wraith’s up.”

“I know, I’ve been hearing it. So what?”

“So what?! It’s a fuckin’ tank!”

“A tank that wouldn’t be around if you had listened to me earlier.”

Anon let out a frustrated sigh.

“Look, I admit, you were right. Happy? But if we don’t do something now, that Wraith’s gonna completely demolish our sped teammates, and we’re gonna lose.”

“Just use your sniper. You can pop the hatch and driver with like, three shots.”

“Don’t have it,” Anon replied. “That Rexican we had to mute at the start of the match has been camping its spawn point ever since I got killed and lost it.”

“Well, shit dude, I don’t have any power weapons either. Maybe we’re just screwed.”

Anon’s reply was a frustrated noise, half of outrage, half of defeat. 

It seemed all but lost to him at that moment. The Wraith was going to bottleneck, and eventually spawn-kill his retard teammates over and over again. Allowing the enemy team to escort the core safely to the objective marker at the end of the map.

They were doomed to suffer a tied match. 

It was truly, figuratively, metaphorically and literally so over.

But it was also in that moment, as Anon began to try and find a corner to hide in as to preserve his kill-death-ratio, that Leo spoke once more.

“...Actually, wait, I think I’ve got it. This map’s Bonelot, right?”

“Yeah, sure is.”

“We’ve got a chance then. Anon, I need you to guide that Wraith back towards you.”

“What, you gonna get on his back and grenade his hatch?”

“Nah, just bait him your way. Trust me.”

“Seriously?! That’s your best idea?”

“I knew what I was talking about earlier,” Leo reminded him.

Anon let a groan.

“God–Fine!”

Rushing onto the main path outside of the complex, Anon began to fire his DMR as fast as possible into the rear of the Wraith’s hull. Peppering the tank with shot after shot, he made no move to pace himself as he usually would. The goal wasn’t accuracy, but rather to piss the other player.

Something that, soon enough, was fulfilled. Goaded by the constant fire, the Wraith rotated around, facing in Anon’s direction. Its plasma mortar leaned back before firing, sending a fresh hail of searing death arcing through the sky towards his position.

“Did we really have to match with the one dude that knows how to use these things?!”

Anon complained over the microphone as his avatar backpedaled, retreating as he kept firing upon the alien tank. The mortar round came crashing down upon the spot he had been standing in prior to his movement. The accuracy of the Wraith player’s shots was, frankly, absurd.

Said player’s vehicle was also barreling down upon Anon’s position with increasing speed, boosting to more quickly clear the distance as its cannon recharged.

“He’s almost on me man!”

“Start moving to your left,” Leo told him. “Like you’re gonna hide behind those fuel tanks near you. You need to get him to bump his tank’s front end against the light pole near it.”

“What? Leo, w–”

“Just do it!”

Dreading the possibility of dying once more and going negative right at the end of the match, Anon none-the-less placed his faith in the Saurian’s plan.

Activating his sprint ability, Anon’s avatar turned and booked it towards his left with all possible speed. 

Had the Wraith player been wise, it would’ve simply fired the mortar again and trusted in the splash damage to finish off the green Spartan. But he had gotten greedy.

Thrusting ahead once more, the Wraith angled hard to its right, trying to send its metallic mass careening into Anon, hoping to splatter him before he could reach cover.

Instead, he ended up angling the vehicle in such a way that the right most fin of the tank’s front bow knocked against a static light pole object. Merely an ambient piece of the environment, too small and narrow to be useful for cover.

The physics engine should’ve simply caused the Wraith to stop moving when it collided with the pole.

Instead, the tank dipped down, partially sinking into the map right at its base; overlapping collision effects sounded off as the game engine shuddered–

Before the Wraith was violently ejected from the map’s floor and sent rocketing into the sky at mach speeds, spinning violently as it went. It soared high above the playable area of the boneyard before colliding with the invisible borders of the skybox, and violently exploded. The debris components of its corpse lagged in mid-air, before simply disappearing.

Anon cackled in disbelief, avatar angling up to watch the arc of the flying tank.

“Holy shit! How’d you know about that?!”

“Old glitch that never got patched,” Leo replied. “Surprised you didn’t know about it.”

“Same,” Anon said, returning his attention to the battlefield. He began to sprint in the direction of the fighting as he continued. “Right, we’ve got a chance, let’s–”

“Uuuh, I don’t wanna rain on your parade, but, uh…”

“But what?”

Anon’s avatar came to a pause, the player halting its movement. Not because of Leo’s answer, but rather what answered for him.

The orchestral musical flare of the final objective being scored.

In the distance, the model of a Phantom dropship slowly listed into the sky and began to fly away.

“They managed to get the core through while you were dealing with the Wraith,” Leo finished.

“ELITES WIN,” the announcer roared. “GAME OVER.”

. . .

Anon sighed.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Leo agreed.

As Breach and the battlefield they had traversed upon it faded to black, the Saurian’s voice crackled through his microphone once more.

“Can’t get off on a loss.”

“Can’t get off on a loss,” Anon tiredly agreed.

 

========================================================================

As Leo had agreed with me when we first met, Breach was easily the best game in the entire Rock Ring series.

Unfortunately, the Master Crug Collection has some of the most inconsistently slow matchmaking I have ever experienced in my entire life.

Which meant that there was usually a good couple minutes of downtime between each match, with nothing to do but stare at the matchmaking menu as it cycled uselessly.

Such was what I was doing now. Sitting on the edge of my bed as I peered over at my TV, the hum of the menu’s music quietly playing through my headset speakers. 

All things considered, this really has been an alright Saturday so far.

Got to sleep in. Laid around the apartment, shitposted, did nothing important or annoying. Just relaxed. 

Didn’t even have my parents calling me to heckle me about some bullshit halfway through.

It’s close to the end of the evening by this point. It was near the end of Seven last time I checked the clock, and that was an entire match ago.

Speaking of which, goddamn, my back hurts from trying to carry those retards. To no avail!

Despite my overall uncertainty of whether or not I’m willing to keep hanging around Leo after this week, I did end up shooting him a text to take up the offer from when we first met.

Mostly just to satisfy Sage.

All things considered, if I’m gonna be honest? He’s really not that bad of a Vidyabro.

Kind of quiet at first, but he started to warm up over time. 

But right now, he’s gone back to being mute again as we wait.

And I know why. And the why is making me feel like shit.

I was frustrated at the moment, but I really shouldn’t have dug at him like that. He’s been more than willing to keep up the banter since we started playing around an hour and a half ago.

But that wasn’t exactly banter. 

I need to say something.

“Uh, hey,” I say, clearing my throat. “Leo? You there?”

There’s a delay of a few seconds. “Yeah,” his voice eventually crackles through my headset.

“You good?”

“Fine,” he says.

I sigh.

“Look, uhm…” I pause, feeling something akin to embarrassment. The awkwardness isn’t making this easy.

“I went a little too far back there. The whole, uh, stair thing.”

No reply. I wince, speaking more.

“So, uhm. Sorry. Wasn’t trying to be a dick.”

I hear him sigh.

“It’s fine,” he mutters. “It’s whatever.”

“I mean it, dude.”

“I know.”

I don’t know how to respond, and so the conversation dies down again.

Frankly I just feel more anxious than before. He’s clearly not in a good mood.

A groan from Leo crackles over the microphone. There’s a dull thomp of something batting against his microphone–probably his hand, if I had to guess. It vaguely sounds like he’s rubbing his face.

“Has anyone told you about what happened to me yet? Sage or anybody?”

“Nah,” I reply. I lean forward a little along the edge of the bed, peering over at my television. As though he could actually see me. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean, the whole…The rally, back on Tuesday. You saw me go. Ended up skipping school the rest of the week. I know it looks weird, so–I dunno. Figure I could explain if you want, I guess.”

I was kind of curious, if only just to understand his reaction on Tuesday. That and, after what I said, I almost feel like I owe it to him to understand what was digging at him so badly.

“I mean, if you want to,” I tell him. I offer both he and I an out as I add, “If you aren’t feeling like it, it’s okay.”

“Nah, nah,” he says, and I can almost imagine him shaking his head as he does so. “No point in keepin’ it secret.”

I hear him clap his hands together, fidgeting as he deliberates how to proceed.

“...So, uhm. You’ve probably seen how there’s like, subtypes of Saurians, right? Different kinds of our people?”

“You mean like the split between Herbies and Carnos?”

“Kinda,” he agrees. “But more than that, too. Like, how pterosaurs got wings, ankylos got clubbed tails. Stuff like that.”

“Sure.”

“Right. Well, ah. People like me? There’s a term for it, uhm…I forget the exact ones, but there’s a few slang terms for it. Aquas, swimmers, so on. Ancestors used to be marine reptiles.”

“Yeah, you guys have fins and webbing on your claws, right?”

“Yup!” He huffs. “Kind of a bitch to find stuff like gloves or socks because of it, too.”

…Come to think of it, that does sound like an inconvenience.

“Not to mention lugging around that long-ass tail of yours.”

“Dude,” he chuckles quietly. “Don’t let me whine about it, I’ll never stop.” I chuckle with him.

“Anyways,” he continues. “We got more than that, though. In a lot of us, down near the core of our abdomens, there’s this organ only our subspecies have. Ever heard of the swim bladders fish have? It’s like that, but–not. It’s hard to explain.”

“Really?” 

I knew Saurians had stuff like extra limbs or wildly different body types compared to humans, but I never really thought about how our internal anatomies would vary. Then again, there is the whole fact that these guys lay fucking eggs, so I really shouldn’t be surprised.

“Mhm,” he says. “It gives us way more control over ourselves in the water. Gives us a bit of control over our buoyancy, stuff like that.”

“Damn, cool.”

I’m starting to put some dots together. He clearly had a negative reaction on Tuesday, to the Swim Club. And he’s telling me about this weird-ass fish organ people like him have…

This doesn’t bode well.

“Well, uhm…” Leo begins, before trailing off. “Shit, how do I even put this? Uuuh…”

I hear him snap his fingers for a moment.

“...You know how humans have that one organ? It doesn’t do anything, it just kinda sits there. Uhm–Appendix?”

“Yeah. Has a tendency to get infected and…”

Oh.

“--Dude, did something like that happen to you?”

He lets out something between a sigh and laugh.

“There’s a thing goin’ on with people like me, where each generation is spending most of its life outside of the water? It’s basically making that organ, uhm. Redundant, or whatever. There’s this condition that started popping up about a century back called Flounder’s Syndrome. It’s, uhm…It’s like a deformity that happens at birth. It’s not completely sealed off like an organ should be. So, at any point in your life, some bacteria gets lucky and finds its way inside…Appendix situation.”

“Jesus,” I hiss. “When did this happen to you?”

“Year before you showed up,” he says. “Used to be a Captain on the Swim Team here. Even had some colleges scouting me for their stuff as a Junior. I was good, Anon. Really good. And then I caught that back last October, and it just…Ruined me.”

Jesus Christ, if I had known that a couple minutes ago I would’ve never opened my mouth.

I feel like an asshole.

Leo notices my silence. He keeps talking.

“I was able to start practicing again by December, but it’s just…It’s like having to learn to walk all over again. Yeah, I can still swim, but it’s not the same. It’s not how I knew how to. I’m just worse. And I just…I stopped.

“And now I’m here. Been trying to figure out what to do next.”

“I’m sorry, Leo,” I tell him. And I mean it. “But, at least it didn’t kill you, right? Like–”

“I guess,” he replies. “Some days I wish it did, though.”

. . .

What the fuck do I say?

He says something for me.

“...Hey, uh. Actually, I think I’m gonna take a break for a bit. That okay with you?”

“Yeah,” I immediately reply.

I boot us out of the matchmaking loop, bringing us back to the multiplayer menu. His gamertag vanishes from our in-game party a couple seconds after. He has yet to leave our call though.

“Thanks for playing with me,” he says. “Sorry if I wasn’t good enough.”

“Don’t say shit like that, dude. I had a good time.”

“Mmh.”

“Hey, Leo?”

“Yeah?”

“We could play again more, if you’d want. Another day or whatever.”

“Sure man. Thanks.”

“See you then,” I tell him.

“Bye.”

There’s a chime as he disconnects.

I remove my headset, letting it flop on the bed beside me. I rest my controller there as well, taking a moment to stretch my arms.

Talk about a mood-killer. I don’t even really feel like playing more vidya right now.

It’s no wonder he’s depressed. God, what happened to me at Rockbottom almost feels easy compared to that.

Guess the one good thing about having no real passion in life is that it can’t get ripped away from me like that.

At least, no passion that matters.

I glance in the direction of my closet.

That box is still back there.

It’s been over a week, and it’s still back there.

I need to throw it away sooner or later.

…Not tonight. I’m hungry. I’ll deal with it sooner or later.

Let me go see what I can scrounge up for dinner.

Rising from my mattress, I walk over to my bedroom door and open it, slipping into my living room and after another step, into my kitchen. I take my phone with me, setting it down on the counter as I begin to rummage through my cabinets.

I am immediately met with a whole lot of nothing.

A handful of snacks, but that’s hardly dinner. 

A few things of instant ramen I got for cheap. While that could certainly suffice, I don’t really feel like ingesting enough sodium to give me a heart attack. Not tonight, at least.

Someday soon, my friend.

A package of Burger Buddy that I don’t have any hamburger to actually cook it with. Oooh, here's something really delectable, minute-and-a-half rice. Can't beat that.

Desperate, I finally look to the fridge. Inside of it, I find a handful of drinks, no leftovers and a half-empty bag of frozen chicken nuggets I had already partially used earlier this week.

They were dino nuggets. Go figure.

This is beginning to look grim.

I take a step back, rubbing the back of my neck as I look over the kitchen again and consider my options.

I really need to go to the store, but the prices around here make me sweat whenever I do so. I haven’t decided whether it’s worse to feel like a penny-pinching rhinorex, or to potentially overspend and be broke for the rest of the month.

I have to get this finance shit situated sooner than later. It’s only the beginning of the year and it’s already beginning to bug the shit out of me.

Maybe things will get better once I actually get the first allowance next month. 

. . .

As though summoned by the quandary of trying to figure out something to eat tonight, my phone begins buzzing on the counter.

Someone’s calling me.

I walk towards it, leaning forward to get a glimpse at the name of the caller.

I’m expecting Mom or Dad at best. At worst, it’s just a telemarketer.

What, or rather who I’m met with, is Naser.

The hell could he possibly want?

I swipe the phone off the counter, intrigued and confused. I briefly run through the possibilities of why exactly he chose to call me at dusk on a Saturday. The most logical answer I can think of off the top of my head is that he just butt-dialed me by accident.

Oh well, only one way to find out.

I hit accept and bring the phone up to my ear.

“Hey, Anon! You there?”

“Hey Naser,” I reply, leaning against the counter as we begin to speak. “What’s up?”

“Not a whole lot! How you doing man? Up to anything tonight?”

“I’m alright, kind of a usual Saturday. And, uh, not really,” I furrow my brow. “Hate to sound direct, but what’re you calling for?”

“It’s cool! I get’cha.” There’s a pause for a moment, it sounds like he’s moving. “So, I was calling ‘cause I was wanting to see if you might be available for something. And it sounds like you’re free! So, I’m gonna go ahead and shoot that offer your way.”

“And that offer is…?”

“Would you wanna go watch the audition at Lava Java? Y’know, the one Fang’s band is about to play in. Starts in less than an hour.”

“What, like, watch it with you–?”

“Not exactly,” he clicks his tongue. “I’ve got some work I gotta do tonight, otherwise I’d be there. But, I do have enough free time to potentially run you down there, if you’d be down to go. It’s not that far from your apartment, funnily enough.”

I fold my arms, as though the gesture means anything when I’m talking to a guy over the phone. I lean it between my cheek and shoulder to keep it stable.

“Uh, that’s cool of you, I guess. But why are you offering me this exactly?”

“‘Cause, Fang seems pretty bent out of shape about the whole thing, nerves and all. Gotta imagine the other two are also probably anxious as hell. Aaaand I think it could be great for them to see another one of their friends supporting them, and great for you to get out and see a little of Caldera Bay’s nightlife.”

Isn’t he seventeen? The hell would he possibly know about the nightlife of this city?

Besides, concerts aren’t exactly my thing.

It’s already so late, too…

I rub the back of my neck as I speak.

“I dunno, Naser. Are you sure we’d even get there on time?”

“Oh, definitely. If I leave the house now, I can be at your apartment in like, twenty minutes. I’d have you there not long after.”

“‘kay, but if they’re gonna be playing, wouldn’t I just be sitting on my own..?”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure some of the others are gonna be there as well. Could be a good excuse for you to meet ‘em, too.”

I’m beginning to struggle to think of excuses to navigate my way out of this easily. 

As though sensing my weakening resolve from my brief silence, Naser speaks again, and I can practically hear a hint of temptation in his voice.

“Pluuus, I can speak from experience that Lava Java serves some killer made-from-scratch stuff. Sandwiches, soups, plus a ton of coffee ‘n’ other drinks.”

That half-winged asshole just struck a critical blow against me.

Made-from-scratch sandwiches.

My stomach audibly grumbles at the very thought. And as I feel it twist inside of me, the sight of the rice packs in my pantry suddenly becomes all-the-less appetizing to me.

I’d kill for something that wasn’t frozen or insta-nuked.

And it sounds like it’s gonna have live entertainment…

S i g h. 

“--Alright, you convinced me. I’m in.”

“Knew the food would win you over.” I can hear a smirk in his voice. “Starting up the car now. I’ll be outside your apartment in twenty, you gonna be ready by then?”

“Yeah, I’ll be waiting on you.”

“Awesome. See you in a sec Anon!”

“See you,” I say before ending the call. 

In the span of maybe three minutes, I’ve gone from having absolutely nothing to do for the rest of the night, to having the impending doom of being thrust into a social environment within the next half hour.

I glance down at myself.

Tanktop, underwear. Unshowered, and thanks to carrying the hell out of that Breach match, a little sweaty. Literally AND metaphorically. 

Twenty minutes before Naser gets here means about eighteen to get ready and out the door. 

Time to get moving.

Flinging off my comfort clothes, I quickly make my way to the bathroom and hop into the shower. Turning the water on, I hop in and immediately suffer as I don’t give my body time to acclimate to the temperature. The chill eats at me until I finally get used to it.

I quickly scrub myself down, moving as efficiently as possible. At least I hope I am.

Not too long after I dip out of the shower and dry myself off, applying deodorant as I go. I slap on a clean set of clothes–the usual set, of course–and snag my required valuables on the way out the door. Phone, keys, wallet.

Pat check, complete. Mandatory double pat check, also complete.

I rush out the apartment’s front door and lock it behind me. As I start my way down the stairwell, I am thankfully not harassed by any insectoid messenger of Satan. A pretty welcome change compared to yesterday morning’s close encounters of the chitinous kind. 

As I make way down the stairs, I take the time to actually admire the scenery from the vantage point they provide. 

It’s the period of dusk where the sun is still vaguely visible on the horizon. The sky is dark, yes, but also alive with warm, orange hues that stretch across the clouds in the direction of the sunset. Those final gasps of daytime are reflected across the waters of the distant ocean, visible even from here.

I can only imagine what this would look like from the roof of the high school, close as it is to the sea.

This place continues to stun me in new ways.

By the time I’m standing on the sidewalk outside of my apartment complex, I’m only given about a minute to linger before the NasCar pulls up, the passenger side presented to me.

I lean down as the car is put into park, and the window of the car door before me rolls down to reveal Naser. 

“Yo!” He says with a wave. “You ready to go?”

“Yup,” I say as I reach for the door and open it.

“Hop on in!”

I climb into the car and get myself situated, shifting around a bit as I try to get comfortable in the passenger seat. I’m quick to shut the door before reaching to fiddle with my seat belt.

Naser waits just long enough to hear the belt click into place before he puts his foot on the gas. The car peels off from the side of the road and back onto the street proper, heading deeper into the city.

The road’s surprisingly clear for a Saturday night. There’s little traffic to be found, but I spy several groups of locals walking around the sidewalks as we veer past them. 

“So!” Naser says, glancing my way as he gets my attention. “Ever been downtown before?”

“Nah, not really,” I say, looking his way. “My parents and I kinda drove around a little when we paid this place a visit prior to committing to it all. Mostly checking out apartment complexes.”

“I’d say you’re in for a treat then,” he replies. He keeps his eyes on the road, but spares me the odd side-eye every dozen words or so. “Caldera Bay’s not exactly the wildest town around–definitely not if you compare it to some of the other places around Southern Pangea. But I’d say we’ve got a fair bit going on. Kind of a vibe you just can’t beat, y’know?”

“Sure,” I tell him. “It’s pretty at least. Way prettier than my hometown.”

Naser whistles, glancing towards the driver-side window.

“Man, tell me about it! Especially right now. Always love this time of day. Best part is that it’s basically like this all year. Sure, it gets chillier during the Winter. Too cold to swim, ‘n’ the days get shorter. But it’s usually pretty sunny either way.”

“Wish it was like that back home,” I say. “It’s more night than day in the winter there, and the snow’s practically constant.”

“That’s the north for ya, or so I’m told. Hey, speaking of–”

Naser glances my way, lofting a brow.

“What’s your hometown called, anyways? I don’t think you told me when we first met.”

“Stonetop,” I immediately lie.

“Stonetop? Don’t think I’ve heard of it before.”

“It’s a pretty bumfuck-nowhere town, you wouldn’t’ve,” I say. “Besides, I never heard of Caldera Bay before we started looking around.”

Naser raises his hands from the steering wheel in mock-surrender for all of a second, chuckling.

“Alright, alright, fair,” he says as he immediately grips the wheel once more. “I was kind of wondering though, what made you wanna come here of all places anyways?”

Because it was the school the furthest away from the ruination of my life. The one furthest away that’d accept my transfer request at least.

“Anon?” Naser’s glancing my way again. “Sorry, that car we just passed was kinda loud, don’t think I heard you.”

“Oh, uh. Came here because of all the recommendations you guys got. Whole lot of praise for Volcano High on the net.”

“Like, the internet?”

“Yeah.”

“What website?”

Goddamnit dude would you drop it.

I let out a hum, pretending to wrack my memory.

“Ah, hell, can’t recall it off the top of my head. Was a pretty prominent one in the, uh. Education circles.” 

I clear my throat.

“--So hey, what exactly is this Lava Java place?”

“Huh? Oh–” Naser glances my way once more as he successfully takes the bait, a smile still across his beak.

“Lava Java’s basically one of the hottest townie hangout spots in the Bay. From the way Fang talks about it? It’s thee spot for anything music related. It’s kind of a coffee-bar-joint that hosts live entertainment on the weekends. A lot of local bands get their start there, or so my sib says.”

“That sounds like a lot of places, admittedly,” I say with a shrug. “Even had one or two that did similar stuff back at Ro–Stonetop.”

“Yeah, but they weren’t run by LJ.”

“Who’s LJ?”

“The living incarnation of the Raptor Christ, if you treat her with the same reverence Fang does. She’s basically a God to them.”

I loft a brow. Naser chuckles at my expression, continuing.

“Again, not my thing, not my circle, so I’m kinda running on second hand info here. But, LJ’s someone who’s been around in Caldera Bay for awhile. If it’s music-related and it’s in this city, she’s got some kind of finger on it’s pulse. She owns Lava Java–probably why its initials and hers are the same. More importantly, she’s also the big brain behind the one and only CalderaFest! ”

Naser flashes his claws up from the steering wheel and wiggles jazz hands, adding to the overall sense of somewhat-sarcastic importance to the name.

“Aaaand CalderaFest is–?”

“A huge concert that goes on every year at the end of May and into June. It’s one of the few big tourist hits the town’s got. Any band from this place that becomes anyone is always a part of it. Ever heard of Swamp Babies?”

“I think so?” I furrow my brow. “Sounds kinda familiar.”

“There’s no way you haven’t, they’re pretty big here. Aaanyways, they’re like, LJ’s wonderchilds. Which, of course, means that Fang and their bandmates hate their guts.”

The ptero shrugs his shoulders. “Personally? I think they’re kind of alright, but nothing special. Now, Tina and the Tyrannosaurs? Waaaay better! Also another one of LJ’s success stories, coincidentally.”

“Right,” I say, not knowing or caring about who either of these bands are. “So, help me understand something real quick. Fang’s band–Worm Drama or whatever. They’re competing in this audition thing tonight, to go play at CalderaFest?”

“Yes. Also no.”

I squint. “What do you mean?”

Naser huffs. “Again, really not the person to be asking any of this, everything I’ve told you is about the extent of my knowledge on this stuff. But, from what Fang has vented to me about like, fifty times now, this audition is to see if they qualify for the Battle of the Bands. Battle of the Bands is another audition where bands then compete against one another to earn a spot at CalderaFest.”

“...So they’re auditioning for the chance to do another audition?”

“Pretty much,” Naser nods. “Kinda like a job interview or something. Just, way more screaming and mood music.”

“Sounds kind of convoluted.”

“Right there with you on that,” Naser shrugs. “Think that’s part of the point though. Weeds out the ones who can’t put up with the pressure, or something.”

“Mhm, sure. Guess that’s a way of looking at it.”

I drum my fingers against my knees for a moment, not sure of what else to say. The conversation dies for a moment when Naser doesn’t pick it back up. Silence lingers between us.

Relative silence, at least. There’s some kind of faint music playing over his radio, sounds like some kind of pop. The rumblings of the car in motion and the soft rushing of the wind beyond the cab fill the void our voices leave.

Until Naser ends up speaking again.

“Naomi told me about what you did for Fang yesterday. That was pretty awesome of you, man. Seriously.”

I huff at that, looking back in his direction. I shrug my shoulders in frustration.

“People keep saying that, but it really wasn’t hard or anything. I just cleaned their controller with some rubbing alcohol–you can literally look up a tutorial on that and learn it in like, five minutes! Four even!”

Naser lets out something between a chuckle and scoff, looking my way for a moment. He’s smiling again as he replies.

Come to think of it, I don't think he ever stopped smiling in the first place. His mood almost seems perpetually upbeat, at least from the few times I’ve interacted with him.

“It’s not exactly the actual stuff you did, more-so the meaning behind it. To me, at least.”

I furrow my brow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you could’ve just told them no and left them to figure it out on their own. You had absolutely zero obligation to assist my sib in any way, shape or form by this point.”

Pausing for a second, Naser leans a little closer and lifts a hand near his beak, as though trying to hide his next words from someone. His voice even gets a little softer. I assume it’s all for dramatic or comedic effect. 

“Plus, from what a little birdie told me, they technically kinda owed you after a certain slimy situation earlier this week.”

I blink. “You knew about the stuff with Mango?”

He rolls his eyes. “Kinda hard not to put the dots together after Trish brings her back to the school and completely gunks a chunk of our photography equipment.”

Naser’s eyes half-lid. “Real funny, that. Totally. Especially after I got stuck helping clean it up. Never thought something that small could produce a smell that horrible.”

“I know, believe me,” I wince. “Had to trash one of my jackets because of it.”

“Heard about that too!” Naser clicks his tongue. “Oh, by the by, Trish totally got nailed with like, a month of detention for that stunt. Seriously, I love that girl, known her all my life, but she’s got a screw loose sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?”

Naser smirks. “Gotta be charitable, they’re my sib’s best friend after all.”

We both chuckle softly. Naser lets out a huff, dispelling the laughter as he speaks.

“--ANYWAYS! Back to my main point. I’m just glad to see you’re getting along with them so well now. Them and all of their buds. Y’know, you’ve really done quite the turnaround since you arrived here.”

I loft a brow. “How do you figure?”

“Just compare yourself now to how you were when you arrived last Wednesday, man. You went from trying to hide away from virtually everyone to meshing with a whole group of people. I’d say that’s a pretty big glow-up for just two weeks.”

…Is he right?

It doesn’t really feel like anything’s changed. I don’t feel any different.

It’s not like I’m going out of my way to find and interact with these guys either. Outside of having to deal with my classes with them, I’ve just stumbled into a handful of situations every couple of days. 

Sure, I helped Fang out the other day, but that was just to keep the peace between me and the others.

I didn’t want to help them.

Just like I don’t really want to be going to this concert. Audition, whatever.

…And yet, here I am. Riding my way there right now.

It’s just for the food.

They aren’t my friends.

“I’ll take your word for it,” I end up saying to Naser. “They’ve been alright to be around at least.”

Naser lofts a brow, raising a hand to gesture to himself. “Does that alright-rating also apply to your’s truly?”

I snort. “Yeah, yeah. You’re cool Naser, don’t sweat it.”

“Oh, I know,” he smirks. “Just like to be reminded of it sometimes.”

He chuckles at his own joke, and I laugh along with him once more. 

He definitely found his calling in speaking. Every time I meet him, I get reminded of how infectious his personality is. If he can make an autistic loser like me feel at ease, this guy probably has a decent shot at a Presidential election.

“Speaking of awesome!” Naser nudges his beak towards the windshield, indicating an upcoming building. “Here we are. Behold the one and only, Lava Java!”

I glance in the direction his snout was pointing, and I’m immediately struck by the fact that it’s gotten darker out since we left my apartment. It might just be the angle of the caldera formation that gives the town its name, but the sun’s set by this point. The shadows are lengthening, the street lights are fully aglow and the moon’s visible.

We pull along the curb on our side of the road; just ahead of us, past a very shady looking alleyway, is the building he seemed to have pointed out. 

At least, I think it is.

It’s a two-story building of aged red brick. There’s a pair of shuttered windows on the top floor. The bottom is a pair of white-framed glass panes, leading into a lobby that, even from here, I can tell is absolutely littered with posters. There’s a red-and-white cloth awning draped over the entrance, lights hanging from it. A pair of round, glass tables outside have chairs stacked on them.

What ultimately confirms this place to be the one is a cloth banner draped on the side of the building, illuminated by long chords of decorative lights wrapped around the lengths of a pair of palm trees. “LIVE MUSIC, MON + SAT,” it reads. 

“...Really doesn’t look like much.”

Naser chuckles at my less than gratifying assessment. 

“It’s a lot bigger on the inside, trust me. Pretty sure all the live stuff goes on in the back, just head in and move past the front of the house. You’ll definitely hear the way if you don’t see it somehow.”

“Gotcha,” I say, before I shift in my seat to face the pterosaur once more.

“Thanks for the ride, Naser. And, uh, the whole idea to come in the first place too, I guess.” 

“Hey, my pleasure man. Just do two things for me, yeah?”

He lifts one finger: 

“Tell Fang, Reed ‘n’ Trish that I said to go kick some ass,” he says, and then lifts a second. “and that I’m rooting for ‘em.”

“Can do,” I say. I reach for the door and begin to climb out of it, only to pause halfway through.

Naser lofts a brow as I look back his way. “Forget something?”

“No, it’s just, uh…How do I get home? Don’t know if I’m down to navigate this place at night yet.”

“Oh! Don’t worry,” Naser shakes his head. “They took Reed’s van here, they should be able to give you a ride home once they’re done.”

Great, now on top of Naomi and Naser, the trio are going to know where I live. This definitely can’t go wrong in any way, shape or form.

“Sounds better than walking, at least,” I reply as I step out of the car fully. 

“Drive safe, Naser. See you around.”

“See ya Anon!”

I shut the door upon hearing his words, and I linger long enough to watch him go. I flash him a wave as the NasCar peels back onto the road and begins to disappear down it, vanishing into the nighttime cityscape.

Now freshly abandoned, I take a moment to inspect my immediate surroundings.

To my right is the foreboding alleyway, which I, for some reason, begin to feel an odd sense of deja vu about the longer I look at it.

To my left is what appears to be a building owned by a law firm, if the sign hanging above it is anything to go by. I can make out one of the names on the sign thanks to the glow of a nearby street lamp, Cooper.

Dead ahead rests Lava Java. Through the windows, I can see that the front of the cafe is definitely down for the night. Past it, I spy a large doorway illuminated with warm, orange light. I can see some vague movement within it.

As I linger, I can hear, and even feel ever-so-slightly, the sound of live music jamming out within the building. Almost like a subtle, yet erratic pulse to the night.

. . .

Why the fuck am I still just standing out here?

Shaking my head, I take a breath and brace myself for what’s likely to be at least an hour’s worth of social interaction before I start to head for the front door. I initially fear it might be locked, and I’m meant to go in through some side entrance that Naser failed to mention. 

This is immediately disproven when, at my pull, it swings open with the soft chiming of some bells. I promptly step inside, glancing around the dark lobby.

I definitely understand what Naser was saying now. If I somehow didn’t notice the obvious portal to the entertainment area in the back, I can absolutely hear it. A duo of guitars–one of them probably a bass–are strumming as some guy sings his head off. At least, it sounds like a guy. I’m not particularly paying attention to the lyrics, but it sounds vaguely alt in nature.

The lobby itself has a number of seating arrangements scattered around it; some booths, some tables with chairs folded on top of them now that service is closed for the night. A counter takes up the right side of the room, alongside which rests a large glass display. The plastic rows inside of it are empty, but I imagine during regular hours it’s full of food.

Countless posters line the wall, some framed and some not. Logos and album covers for countless bands are sprawled across them. Some of them are signed. It’s hard to make all of them out, dim as it is, but I catch a few names. The Spines, Fossils Fools, Cracking the Pavement–even that one band Naser mentioned, Tina and the Tyrannosaurs.

And, of course, more than a handful dedicated solely to the other one he spoke about: Swamp Babies. 

I’ll have to ask Fang and the others about some of these names. I doubt any of their shit’s up my alley, but it couldn’t hurt to expand my range a little. Maybe, possibly.

Curiosity sated, I stop wasting time and begin to make my way towards the illuminated doorway. Whoever’s playing right now seems to be reaching the end of their song, the vocals and guitars are building up to an obvious break. 

So obvious, in fact, that the singer belts out his last few lyrics right as I walk through the doorway.

There’s a moment of silence before a scattered series of claps from the audience rises in reply. Were I more oblivious to what’s going on, I’d almost feel like they were welcoming me into the building.

I take a moment to glance around the back room.

It’s still dim in here, but far more lit up compared to the lobby. There’s a slightly elevated wood stage at the far end of the room, lit up by a handful of hanging spotlights and backdropped by a red curtain. Said stage is where a trio of sweaty-looking theropods are currently smiling at the crowd. 

Stretching out before the stage is a scattered collection of round, cloth-colored tables, each paired with anywhere from three to five chairs and-or stools. Some of the tables are empty, but most are claimed by groups of varying size. Most or all of the Saurians in here are probably bands participating tonight, if I had to guess.

The orange, warm light of the room is thanks to a long vine of hanging bulbs, bound up along the ceiling and snaking across the brick walls of the room. Said walls are similarly sporting a collection of musical memorabilia and posters. There’s a noticeable scent of cheap alcohol in the air, undercut by the stank of too many slightly-hot bodies coexisting in the same room.

I’m easily able to pick out the trio among the crowd. I spy Fang, Reed and Trish sitting together at a table not too far away from me. Their eyes are all locked on the stage.

“Thanks for listening!” A voice cries out–the singer on the stage, that is. 

I look back in his direction. The brown-scaled raptor holding the mic looks more than a little nervous. 

“Uuh, again, we’re Final Chance! You can follow us at–!”

“Gonna stop you there real quick.”

A second voice–a woman, sounds a bit older–cuts him off.

The whole room gets a bit quieter. I swear I see the vocalist flinch. 

My eyes dart in the direction of the speaker, and hone in on a Saurian in a leather jacket sitting at a table by herself, dead ahead of me.

Catching her back as I am, I’m not able to make out too much about her. Her scales seem a dark green in color, and her hair looks like some kind of dusky blue. There’s a pair of short crests–or are those horns?--poking out from her brow.

I start walking in the direction of the trio’s table, but my eyes remain on the woman as she speaks.

“So, correct if I’m wrong,” she says, voice firm and making no attempt to hide an undertone of agitation. “But the last time I saw you guys was, what? Four months ago?”

The raptor mic replies, “Y-Yeah–”

She immediately cuts him off.

“Mhm. So it’s been four months, and all I’m noticing is that you sound exactly the same as you did back in May. Including all of the bad stuff that I spent a whole lot of my time, trying to work you out of. Which tells me that you clearly weren’t listening then, or you just spent a third of a year dicking around.

“So which was it?”

The frontman’s eyes have gone wide. Panicking, he shakes his head.

“N-No, we totally did listen! It’s just–”

“Actually,” she cuts him off for the third time now. “It doesn’t matter which it was, the result’s the same. Maybe you need four more months to figure it out. Next!”

If the phrase “soul-crushing” needed an image beside it in the dictionary, the expressions on the three raptors that just got chewed out would be perfect for it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen people have the wind so thoroughly knocked out of their sails.

The frontman tries to stutter out something, only to ultimately just nod dejectedly and fix the microphone back on its stand. He and his bandmates collect their gear before shuffling off the stage.

Jesus, that was brutal.

You could hear a fucking pen drop in this room right now.

I look back at the woman in leather sitting close to the front. She’s crossed her arms, and is absolutely meanmugging the band that’s starting to make their way onto the stage.

That has to be LJ, no doubt about it.

There’s a brief lull as one of the bands finally decides to stand, making their way backstage. I take the chance to turn away and keep going. I walk deeper into the room, focusing on reaching the trio’s table.

One of them finally notices me when I come within a couple yards of them. It’s Fang that does so, errantly glancing in my direction by coincidence. Their eyes immediately widen.

“--Anon?!”

Fang sits up a little straighter as they turn more firmly in my direction. Disbelief and confusion are palpable in their voice. Trish, sitting opposite of Fang, twists their head in my direction to gawk at me. Sitting between them is Reed, who leans back to get a look at me past Fang’s wings.

The other two share in Fang’s surprise, only for Trish’s violet face to immediately bloom into excited joy.

“Yo, Anon! What’re you doing here?”

“What she said,” Fang agrees. The shock’s faded from the pterosaur’s face, but they aren’t quite smiling yet.

Saying that your younger brother coaxed me into coming with the promise of food sounds more than a little pathetic, but I also can’t really think of a better excuse. An excuse they’d buy, at least.

A little sprinkle of the truth mixed in with a lie seems the best option.

“Wanted to see what all the commotion yesterday was over,” I say, before shrugging as I add. “Besides, Naser suggested it to me earlier and I had nothing else going on tonight, y’know?”

“Cool!” Trish replies, before glancing away for a moment. They nudge their snout in the direction of a table next to them. “There’s a free stool there, drag it over and sit dude.”

I do just that, snaking by the empty table and collecting the worn out stool Trish had pointed out before moving back towards their spot. I set it down next to Fang, simply because they’re the closest of the bunch to my position at the time.

Reed gives me a smirk. “Y’know, keep it up and you’ll basically be our first groupie.”

“Naaah,” Trish quickly shakes her head. “Sage already claimed that spot. Plus Stella ‘n’, more recently, Rosa.”

“Don’t call me that,” I protest. Reed snickers.

“It’s either that or mascot, bro. Your choice.”

“Y’knoooow,” Trish hums, tilting her head as she considers me for a moment. “Bald like you are? With a bit of clever makeup ‘n’ a costume, you could pass for a worm pretty well…”

“Not being your mascot either,” I grumble. Trish and Reed grin.

“Totally being our mascot,” Trish replies.

“Gotta answer the age-old question,” Reed drawls. “‘Would you still love Anon if he was a worm?’”

“Mascot potential acknowledged, buuut,” Fang chimes in, thankfully saving me from whatever this bit is. “Naser put you up to this, huh?”

“Don’t think I’d say it like that,” I reply. They’re totally right, but still. “He just kind of reminded me about it earlier. Not like he bribed me to be here or anything.”

Except with the promise of food, of course. Food I am, much to my mounting dismay, seeing precious little of on the tables around us. 

Have I been deceived? 

“Speaking of Naser,” I say, focusing on Fang in particular. “He told me to tell you that he’s rooting for you, and to go kick ass tonight.”

That puts a smile on Fang’s face. They shake their head, scoffing quietly.

“Typical little bro.”

“Blessing of the Brother acquired,” Reed quips. “Plus three to performance.”

“Nah,” Trish shakes her head, smirking. “Totally an automatic nat-twenty.”

“Totally,” Reed agrees.

These people are bigger fucking geeks than I am, where the Hell am I?

Before I can focus on trying to fight back my urge to cringe, a soft grumble rips it way through my stomach. I let out a sigh on reflex.

“So, uh, hey,” I say, glancing between the three. “I admittedly haven’t eaten dinner yet today, and I’m kind of starving. You know where I could get something to eat here?”

Trish winces, letting out a tiny hiss.

“Ooooooooh, bad luck,” she mutters, rubbing the back of her neck. “I think the kitchen’s closed down right now. They’re still serving beer, buuuut…”

“Buuuut we’re all too young to get any,” Reed finishes–before quickly adding. “Legally, at least.”

My eyes half-lid on reflex.

“Fantastic.”

God Damn You, Naser.

Clearly picking up on an aura of starved defeat, Fang speaks up.

“Rosa might be able to hook you up with something once she comes back.”

“Rosa,” I repeat the name, focusing on the ptero. “Who’s Rosa?”

That name does sound kind of familiar…

“You don’t know Rosa?” Trish blinks–and then her face lights up. “Yoooo! Anon finally gets to meet Rosa, let’s go!”

“--Hey,” Fang briefly interrupts. “Looks like the next group’s about to start.”

I glance towards the front at their words to get a look at LJ’s newest victims. 

Three guitarists from the looks of it; some sort of green-scaled theropod rocking a beanie, a curly-haired pterosaur that doesn’t seem to have wings, and a some kind of herby with the rattiest fauxhawk I’ve ever seen before.

“H-Hey!” The theropod, seemingly their face and vocalist if I had to guess, begins to stutter into the mic. “W-We’re, uhm, so we’re Paper Tigers! We’re, uh, we’re from . . .”

I just tune him out. Poor dude has an accent that sounds like he came from up north, and I can practically taste the anxiety coming off of him.

He’s about to get ripped to shreds. Poor dude.

The new band starts to strum the opening chords to their audition song as I look back to Worm Drama. The three are engrossed  by the playing, so much so that I have to loudly clear my throat to get their attention

“Still haven’t told me who Rosa is,” I remind them.

“Friend of Trish’s,” Fang replies.

I swear I can hear a hint of irritation in their voice. If it’s real, it doesn’t reach their face; their amber eyes are fixed on the band still playing in the background.

“Yeah!” Trish nods, smiling. “Met her back at bug camp this summer, she’s super cool! You’ll love her, guarantee it.”

“Started working here recently too,” Reed adds. “So if there’s anyone who could get you the good-good here? Definitely her.”

“Cool,” I say. “Any idea where she is right now?”

“Had to get up a couple minutes before you showed up,” Trish says. “LJ needed her to deal with something in the back, or…Something like that. Wasn’t really paying attention, gotta be honest? Was kind of fixed on the dudes who’re playing at the time.”

“Gotcha,” I reply, glancing in the direction of the current band as I do.

The three don’t really have much of a stage presence, not a soul moving as they strum through their ballad. The stutterer is, in fact, their singer. Whatever impediment he has, it doesn’t rear its face while he’s going through the lyrics of their song.

They don’t sound horrible, at least to me. But they don’t exactly sound great, either.

“Know anything about these guys?” I say, glancing back among the three. “Paper Tigers or whatever?”

Fang shakes their head. Trish does the same.

“Think I’ve seen ‘em promote their stuff on Feather before,” The trigga says as she does so. “And, uuuh, I think the hybrid girl on the bass was a Senior at our school back in Sophomore year. Besides that? Not a clue.”

“She was,” Reed says. “Her name’s Holly or something. Orson ‘n’ her had a fling at one point.”

“How can you tell she’s a hybrid,” I ask, glancing between the woman on stage and Trish. It’s Fang who answers. 

“Pterosaur build, no wings,” they say. “Dead giveaway. Most ptero hy-babies don’t have the wing gene or whatever carry over.”

“Huh. Man, that’s...Really weird, now that I think about it.”

Reed blinks. “What ya mean?”

I shrug, “Like, Saurian species are pretty wildly different from each-other at times, right? Fang’s got wings, Stella’s got a beak. Fucking sauropods in general. But you guys can still have kids with others outside of your, uh. Your type, I guess. Don’t you find that odd?”

Reed and Trish look at each-other for a moment, before they both shrug as they look back to me. Fang seems to be completely tuning out the conversation, locked in solely on the band as they play.

“I guess?” Trish replies.

“Sure,” adds Reed. “Never really thought of it before. Just kind of the way stuff works, y’know?”

“Can’t humans ‘n’ neanderthals have kids too?” Trish asks, “You ‘n’ Mr. Cimms are pretty different from each-other too, after all. Same difference if you think about it.”

I internally cringe at the fact Trish used me and my literature teacher as the figure of comparison in question.

“Not really,” I shake my head. “Sure, neas’re bigger and stronger than regular humans, but we’re still just apes at the end of the day. There’s a world of difference between you and Reed.”

“Duh,” Reed snorts. “I don’t spend all day staring at a worm in a cage.”

“It’s not a cage!” Trish quickly replies, playfully folding her arms. “It’s a very well-maintained terrarium! I’ve got several for her! Besides, even if you don’t, you do spend all that freetime with your nose crammed in those books–”

“Guys,” Fang sharply interjects, giving the three of us a sidelong glance. “Focus. We’re gonna be up there within the next half hour, what’s gotten into you two?”

Reed just nods in response. 

“Right, right,” Trish huffs as the two of them turn their attention back to the stage. “Sorry.”

“Back on topic,” I clear my throat, before saying. “What do you guys think about them? Good, bad? Think they’ll get a spot at the Battle?”

“They sound nice to me!” Trish says, “Real fan of that hook they’ve been using. ‘heEEEYYY!’ ”

She snorts after badly mimicking the vocals of the Tigers’s frontman. 

“No percussion’s definitely a choice,” Reed murmurs, cupping his chin for a moment. “They don’t sound bad, though. I kinda dig it.”

Despite Trish’s playfulness and Reed’s usual nonchalance, Fang looks as tense as a drawn bowstring. The anxiety’s palpable in their voice when they speak.

“Doesn’t matter what we think,” they murmur. “LJ’s got the final decision. This whole room could love you, but if she hates it, you’re dead in the water.”

“Oh yeah,” Trish says, eyes narrowing. “Whole reason we had to make a brand new song from scratch in less than a week.”

Fang’s gaze snaps away from the band for a moment to meet that of her bandmate.

“It’s gonna work out,” they say firmly.

“If you say so, dude.”

I lean away a bit as I can feel the tension preparing to boil over. Reed, visibly nervous, leans in and prepares to intervene–only for his eyes to snap over and look past me.

“Yo, Rosa’s back, and–...!”

He blinks, cutting himself off mid sentence. His eyes go wide with shock at the sight of whatever’s behind me. Intrigued, I shift in my seat and pivot around to face the other way.

Approaching our table is a pair of formally-dressed Saurians, one appearing to be a guy and the other a girl, judging from their silhouettes. 

I think. It’s admittedly hard to tell with these people sometimes, not even factoring in shit like Fang’s xem-xer shtick. 

The one I’m assuming is a girl, and likely Rosa as a result, is some sort of orange-scaled herbivore. Markings of a darker shade are about her reddish-pink eyes, and her brown hair is incredibly long, overflowing really. Colored spikes pierce through that brown mane of hers, with a larger pair of white ones emerging near the back of her head. A singular spike crests her snout. She’s wearing what appears to be a dress shirt with a long, black apron over it, a red flower pin on the front. 

The guy walking beside her appears to be a raptor at a glance, with bright blue scales and a sharp, thin snout. For a guy his hair is a bit long, a dark black in color; his tail is thickly covered in feathers of a similar hue. At a glance he’s wearing a dress shirt with a light grey, comfortable-looking vest over it, along with a slightly darker-colored pair of slacks. There’s a pink tie about his neck.

“Hey guys!” Rosa calls out, “Look who I found near the front!”

The duo wave to us as they approach; the stranger’s smile is small, almost a bit timid looking. Rosa is far more cheerful by comparison, grinning as her eyes meet mine.

“Woah! They didn’t tell me you were gonna be here tonight! Anon, right?”

There’s a bit of an accent to her voice. Different part of southern Pangea if I had to guess.

“Mhm,” I nod. “I’m guessing you’re Rosa?”

She nods back. “Yep! Trish has told me all about your little bond with Mango, y’know. It’s great to meet you!”

“Fun fact,” Trish chimes in, leaning towards me from across the table. “Tested out the jacket scrap you gave me. She didn’t even go for it!”

“Worm’s got a crush on you!” Rosa croons jokingly. 

Both her and Trish giggle over it as she pulls over a chair, nestling herself on the edge of the table beside Trish. The pair scoot over as the blue raptor brings over a seat as well, sitting himself beside Reed.

“Hey everyone,” he greets, giving a fleeting wave as he looks around the table.

“Hey,” Reed’s the first to greet him back, shifting in his seat to more directly face the other raptor. “I–What’re you doin’ here?”

“Wanted to come see you play,” the blue guy replies. “Thought you might like the support.”

“Yeah! Totally, b-but…” Reed swallows, rubbing the back of his neck. “Isn’t this, like, not your kinda vibe…?”

Jesus, what’s gotten into him? The only thing I’ve seen him get this antsy over was getting his picture taken yesterday.

Which is still monumentally stupid, but it doesn’t explain–

“Maybe,” the blue raptor admits, his smile growing a bit warmer. “But it’s fine if it means I get to see you out there.”

…Is Reed blushing?

Oh don’t fucking tell me.

“So,” I say as I clear my throat. “You gonna introduce us?”

“Oh, right!” Reed nods, seeming to try and muster some composure. He raises a claw in my direction as he looks back at the other raptor.

“Uhm, Al, this is Anon, he’s the new guy I told you about last week. Anon, this is Alvin, he’s–”

“He’s Reed’s boyfriend,” Trish interrupts, smirking playfully.

Reed is immediately aghast once more, fixing the triceratops with an alarmed stare.

“TRISH!”

“She’s not wrong,” Rosa chuckles, sharing in her friend’s smugness. “You guys’ve been going on dates for like, half a year now, yeah?”

Reed crumbles in record time. His head pitches forward into his own palms; he lets out a groan as he holds his head, clearly embarrassed.

Alvin appears in far better spirits about it, having been softly laughing along to the teasing of his partner. He even went so far as to place a hand upon Reed’s shoulder, squeezing it gently.

Fang has yet to speak, and keeps quiet as their attention remains focused upon the band. Their song sounds like it’s nearing the end. 

“We haven’t really put a label on ourselves,” Alvin says; either he talks really softly, or his voice is just naturally light. “But we’ve been close for awhile now”

Alvin smiles towards me as he adds, “He has told me about you, though. It’s nice to meet you, Anon!”

“You too,” I reply, keeping my voice neutral.

Neutrality is about the best I can muster, really.

So, Reed’s a fag too.

I should’ve seen it coming, all things considered. The signs were there. No straight man is going to dress in shit that revealing all day, every day. The interest in nerdy shit was also a red flag.

Friendly firing myself with that last bit, but still. 

It’s unfortunate. I was starting to like Reed, kind of. But between this and being strong-armed into LnL yesterday, that’s beginning to diminish significantly. 

…It should be, at least. 

Right?

He’s been nothing but good to me. So has Sage, Leo too. But…

–Nah. I don’t need to be friends with a queer. I can be cordial, but that’s that.

Starting to feel like I’m the only straight person in this entire city.

Wonder how long until I cross paths with some trans freak.

. . .

It only just occurs to me now that I’ve gone silent. Hoping to at least maintain an air of social normalcy, I glance towards Rosa and open my mouth–

Only for the final chords of Paper Tigers’ song to echo out; the moment of silence that follows is promptly filled by a small wave of clapping and cheering from the crowd.

The rest of the group turn their eyes towards the stage, clearly eager to see what becomes of the trio up there. I follow suit, glancing between the three players and the nearby form of LJ.

I can see a bit more of her expression from our table’s angle.

She doesn’t look impressed. 

The frontman of the Tigers audibly clears his throat as he nervously adjusts the grip of his claws along the neck of his guitar. 

“A-Ah, thank you again for the opportunity! We’re totally stoked to get to be here again!”

I catch an anxious smile on the green carno’s lips. LJ doesn’t share in it when she replies.

“So, that’s not the same song you played last month?”

The singer’s smile immediately vanishes. So do the ones upon the faces of his bandmates. Dark scales in the back is outright frowning, and the hybrid chick looks like she’s a stiff breeze away from breaking down in tears. 

“Oh, no! Uuh, so…” The singer raises a claw as he tries his best to fumble out an explanation, or an excuse. 

“We changed the hook, um, so, before it was like– ‘heeyyy,’ a-and now it’s like, ‘heEYY.’”

Even from a distance, I can see LJ’s expression curdling, arms folded. 

“D-Do…Do you see how it went up there, it went up at…The end…?”

Oh, brother.

The annoyed look on the allosaurus’ face turns into a full on glare as she leans forward.

“I wasn’t really asking. If I can’t tell, that’s all you need to know. Next.”

The three flinch at the firmness of her rebuke. In the corner of my eye, I catch Fang, Naser and Trish doing the same.

Frankly I think every musician in the damn room flinched. I’m not even a part of this and I feel a bit intimidated.

Having been ripped to shreds in a way that was oddly fitting for their name, Paper Tigers were left to dejectedly usher themselves off the stage. 

My attention turns to focus upon my friends.

They look like they’ve seen ghosts.

“Oh. My God,” Trish mutters; I think she’s visibly sweating.

“...Am I in hell?” Reed murmurs back. Alvin reaches a hand to one of his and gives it a squeeze. Reed immediately squeezes it back.

“Maybe,” the Triceratops replies, swallowing hard.

Fang says nothing.

They don’t have to. The look on their face says it all. 

Their eyes are still staring at the stage, shocked and intimidated. Their body language is huddled, rigid and reeks of intimidation. 

It’s the kind of look someone gets when they think their world is about to fall apart.

I feel bad for them. I kind of want to say something. 

Before I can, Fang’s head tilts. They’re looking at me.

…No, not at me. Past me. Their eyes widen as they look over my shoulder.

I angle my head just enough to get a peep of whatever it is in the corner of my eye.

It’s LJ. She’s looking right back at Fang from across the way, with something of a wry smile on her muzzle. 

I turn my head back to look at Fang, and just for a split second, their eyes meet mine in kind.

I watch in real time, in the span of a heartbeat, as the look of overwhelming fear in the pterosaur’s eyes hardens. Transforms into a glare of raw, hot determination.

Fang’s claws thump against the table as they rocket to their feet, standing up.

“Come on!” They firmly say, eyes locked on the stage once more. “Let’s go!”

Without even waiting for confirmation, Fang marches away from the table, heading in the direction of the room’s front. Glances from several of the other tables follow them as they move, clearly sizing up the newest piece of meat on LJ’s chopping block.

“Good luck.”

I say the words without really realizing it. 

Indeed, the only thing that brings it to my attention is the fact that Fang briefly glances back in our direction. In my direction. 

They nod once, and keep going. 

The rest of us, I included, watch them go with surprise. I haven’t exactly known Fang for long, but the aura they just conjured was kind of impressive. 

Reed’s the first to move to follow. He lets out a long sigh, before pushing himself to his feet.

“Here goes nothin’,” he murmurs.

“You’ll do great,” Alvin reassures him, smiling up at the other raptor. Reed nervously smiles back, before he begins to walk after Fang.

“We’re totally gonna die up there,” Trish says, but rises as well despite the pessimism. 

Rosa shakes her head.

“Don’t think like that,” she says. “We’re rooting for you. Go break a leg.”

“Knowing our luck?” Trish huffs, “Probably literally.” 

As Trish trudges off in the direction of her bandmates, a silence settles over the three of us that remain. We watch as, one by one, the bandmates disappear behind the red curtain at the back of the stage. Presumably to get their instruments ready.

It’s Alvin who breaks the silence.

“Think they’re gonna make it?” He asks, giving voice to a thought all three of us are likely thinking.

Rosa looks at him, smiling once more.

“Absolutely,” she answers, her voice confident. “I’ve gotten to sit in on some of their practices. I think they’re gonna nail this.”

The raptor sighs, “I hope so. He tries not to let on, but Reed’s been really twisted up over this. Having to do so much prep so soon, on top of all his other stuff…”

Rosa’s smile dims a little; less bright, more sympathetic.

“I know,” she says. “Trish vents about it to me. It sounds like a lot, but…I think they’re gonna put their all into tonight, at least.”

She glances over my way as she adds, “What do you think, Anon? Been a little quiet”

“Honestly?”

A beat passes as I consider my answer.

“I haven’t gotten to hear them play at all before. I don’t really know what kind of music their band’s even about. But, I know Fang’s pretty much completely dedicated to this. Life or death for them. I think they’re gonna get the others where they need to be.”

I shrug as I finish, “So, yeah. I think they’re gonna do good. Or try their best to be good, at least.”

Alvin smiles at me.

“That’s a good way of thinking,” he says.

“I guess,” I reply, looking between him and Rosa as I continue. “So, uh. We haven’t met before obviously. Uhm…How do you two know the band?”

Great question, retard. You already know one of them is Reed’s boyfriend.

“I moved here back as a freshman,” Alvin says. “I had history with Reed. We helped each other out with homework, and became friends. And then, became…Y’know.”

His smile becomes bashful. Sighing softly, he shakes his head.

“He likes to keep things separate, you could say. I think he’s afraid having me around will step on people's toes or something. I don’t mind–it’s kind of healthy to maintain our own friend groups, in a way. Lord knows I’ve seen too much drama from breakups.”

“We’d still love to have you around more, y’know,” Rosa chimes in.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Alvin tells her, before asking, “How about you? How’d you meet these three?”

“I actually go way back with them, kinda!” She chuckles, leaning forward and resting her chin on her hands. 

“Went to elementary school with ‘em. I remember meeting Fang and Trish in second grade. We had the same teacher, uuhm…What was his name…?” 

She glances up at the ceiling, humming, before snapping her fingers. “Mr. Perea! That’s the one.”

“Don’t think I’ve heard of him,” Alvin says. I just shake my head; of course I wouldn’t know him, either.

Rosa laughs nervously. 

“Y-Yeah, it’s kind of a long story, aah…But, anyways! We were just kinda, uh, colleagues I guess. Best word I can think to describe it. Friends but not super close friends, y’know?”

“I get what you mean,” I say. Alvin nods in agreement.

“Exactly,” she continues. “Buuuut, me and Trish ended up really connecting over the summer! We went to this program, TSNI–Ah, Tendrils Summer Nature Intensive. It’s a biology summer camp, essentially. We’ve been hanging out ever since.”

“So that’s where she was,” Alvin murmurs. “Reed just called it ‘Bug Camp.’”

Rosa snorts.

“He’s not wrong!” She giggles, “I mean, there was a ton of other stuff going on, we had multiple modules throughout the duration. But the entomology section was really awesome. Trish’s totally hooked on it. Personally? I loved the botany module near the end of June the most.”

“That what you’re thinking of going into,” I ask. “Botany? That’s like, plants, right?”

“Mhm,” Rosa nods, “Right. And absolutely! I’m currently working on a project of sorts to spruce up my applications for Uni later in the year.”

Rosa rolls her eyes as she continues, “I’ve rambled plenty about myself, though. C’mon Anon, your turn. How’d you get to know Trish ‘n’ the others? I’ve heard a little about it, but I’d like to get your side too.”

“Same,” Alvin says, “I’ve been curious to meet you since Reed first mentioned you.”

I end up shrugging again.

“They just kind of dragged me in, I guess. I’ve got classes with Fang, Reed and a few of the others. Hard not to be around them when I see them most days of the week, y’know?”

“True,” Rosa says. “And yet, you’re here right now.”

“What do you mean?”

A smirk crosses the aquillops’ face.

“I mean, it sounds like you’re playing down stuff, Anon. You make it sound like you’re not that close, but you went completely out of your way to support them today. That’s not just being around them ‘cause you gotta be.”

Alvin chuckles, “She’s got a point.”

I fold my arms. 

“I also came because I was told there’d be food,” I deflect. “Speaking of, I was told you work here or something? Any chance I could get something to eat?”

Rosa blinks. “Who told you there’d be food?”

“Fang’s brother.”

“Ooof,” Rosa lets out a hiss, wincing. “Sorry, dude, kitchen closed down around the time this started. I could get you something to drink, if you’d like…?”

I guess I’m starving tonight. God Damn You, Naser.

“Nah,” I say, making no attempt to mask the disappointment in my tone nor hide it from my face. “It’s fine.”

Rosa gives me an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, really,” she murmurs. 

She opens her mouth to speak, only to pause when Alvin loudly clears his throat. As she and I glance at him, he points a finger in the direction of the stage.

“I think they’re about the start,” he says.

Following his direction, I shift in my chair to face the front of the room.

There upon the stage now stands a familiar trio of figures. Reed, rather, was sitting amidst a red-painted drum set, idling twirling one of his sticks between his fingers. Trish is in the act of plugging her guitar; Fang, by comparison, is adjusting the violet strap of their own guitar.

As though following our example, the conversation that had gradually picked up around the room simmers down to a mutter as Fang approaches the microphone.

“Uh, hi,” Fang says, their voice carrying across the room thanks to the mic. “We are Worm Drama, and…”

Their voice drifts off for a moment; they glance at the floor for a second.

And then they raise their claws into a shrug.

“This is us,” they say with awkward finality.

I can’t help but let out a tiny chuckle under my breath. A singer they might be, a public speaker they decidedly are not.

 

I’m not laughing anymore when they start to play.

 

I don’t know what I was expecting my first exposure of Worm Drama to sound like, but I’m not sure I expected what came.

The beginning of the song isn’t explosive. 

It’s something soft. The tonal hum of a rhythmic, simple bass echoing out over the relative silence of the room. 

The bass drives the song on by itself for several seconds–before suddenly, the guitar kicks into life. The fact I see their claws begin to move tells me it’s Fang who plays second. Rather than robbing attention from the bassline, the lead guitar’s chords are airy and light. They’re not competing for space in the established melody, only adding to it.

Reed’s role blooms into being around this time too, but in no way bombastic or loud. Rather, much like Fang’s soft strumming, the percussion that joins the bass is little more than some form of quiet, repetitive clacker or shaker. Some combination of the two perhaps.

Initially, the melody almost feels barebones. Like it’s missing something–

“Call before I’m gone ‘cause you want to.”

It’s the first time I’ve ever heard Fang sing before.

They’ve got something, no doubt about it now. My initial assumptions from last week have been thoroughly debunked. 

“Won’t need another home ‘cause I won’t go back. I won’t go back.”

Fang’s vocals are like a puzzle piece that, having snapped into place, makes the melody work. The focus of the song is entirely upon the lyrics and the sound of their voice. The lead guitar itself is playing secondary to the soft-tempoed words.

So focused in the moment, their eyes have closed. I catch Trish grinning as she sees them fall into it– the flow they had spoken to me about but a day ago. Their voice was slow at first, but begins to build in pace; lines follow one another faster and faster while the sound of the instruments keeps pace. 

“Call before I’m gone ‘cause I want you to,

“Oh, drive me all the way, never take me back.

“Won’t you fly me all the way ‘cause I won’t go back–no, I want to.

 

“Don’t call on me.”

 

Jesus.

Fang’s voice rises into an almost ethereal pitch as they hold the verse, repeating it thrice. The instrumental never deviates from the already-established harmony, providing all the more focus to the shift in their tone.

I was able to admit I was proven wrong at first. But now I’m outright impressed.

As the third repetition of those four words rings out, a new verse is sung.

“Away, and call on me,

“Can’t I won’t go back.”

The steady clacking of the drums ceases as the final words of that last verse ring out. All that remains is the steady duet of the two guitars, light and fleeting harmonizing with low and steady, ringing out in the silence left behind by the absence of the vocals.

Fang’s voice begins to return, first a whisper, gradually building in volume.

“...’Cause I won’t,

“Don’t call on me…”

Their voice echoes. The sound they achieve is almost siren-like. The relative quiet of the instrumental, a backdrop to their sound, creates a soundscape that I could only describe as dreamy.

“Don’t call on me…”

Their voice rings out. There’s a soft inhalation of breath, a bracing. 

At some point the rest of the room faded away. All I see is them and the rest of the band. Such is it that I notice then Reed, with closed eyes, raises both of his sticks into the air. 

“Don’t call on me!”

Those four words, sung with renewed volume, are joined by the roar of Reed’s drums finally coming to life for the first time throughout the song.

The percussion completely changes the mood of the finale. Once a mixture of melancholic, peaceful and serene, the sound of the song is now wild, full of energy. Something added to by the intensity of Fang’s voice. The sheer difference a single instrument to the melody makes is kind of crazy.

“Don’t call on me!”

Fang cries out the verse for the fourth, and final time–

Before, all at once, the drums and guitars go silent.

“‘Cause I won’t go back.”

The five last words are led home by a series of coordinated beats from the MIDI controller, before fading into silence.

A silence that doesn’t last long. It’s replaced with clapping.

Alvin and Rosa are quick to join in. And I’m just as eager to do the same.

Worm Drama’s eyes are wide, looks of anxious glee written across every face of the trio. They look to one-another as they collect themselves, sweaty and spent.

I look away for just a moment–only to catch Rosa in the corner of my eye, looking at me.

There’s a little, smug smile on her face. The kind of tiny smile fueled by some sort of amusing secret.

“What?”

She breathes out a small laugh, shaking her head.

“Oh, nothing,” she says, looking back up at the stage.

I furrow my brow as she refuses to elaborate–only for something to immediately bring my attention back to the stage.

The small burst of applause dies down as LJ begins to speak. I find myself glancing rapidly between her and the band.

. . . When did I become so invested in this?

“Not bad.”

Those are the initial words of the allosaurus. Her arms are crossed once more; there’s an inquisitive look on her face. I can’t tell where this is going, but the fact that that was something resembling praise for the first time since I’ve been here has to be good. 

“Nerves got to you a bit, huh?”

“Wait, that sounds bad,” Fang replies, voice echoing in the mic. Uncertainty is painted across their face and apparent in their voice. “Did we…Suck?”

“Nah, not even close,” LJ says dismissively. 

“You did good. A couple of rough patches here ‘n’ there, but you probably already knew that. You’re only as good as your weakest link.”

Fang’s eyes have gone wide. Their face is so flush that I can even make it out from all the way down here. They seem to not know what to say for a moment, stumbling over themself.

“...Y-Yeah, I–I know,” they eventually say. “We’re still getting used to our new sound. We’ll get there.”

“Yeah,” LJ simply agrees. “You will.”

“But you thought it was okay…?”

“Stop worrying so much about whether other people like it or not,” LJ rolls her eyes. “All that does is rattle your nerves and make you play like crap.”

Huh. That’s actually pretty practical. Maybe Fang’s faith in this person wasn’t misplaced.

“You have something special,” she continues. “Run with it.”

And then she smirks.

“See you at the show, kids.”

. . .

Fang almost peaks the mic as they scramble to speak.

“--We–We’re in?!”

“We’re in!” Trish cries out behind them!

There’s a hint of a chuckle in LJ’s voice as she shakes her head.

“Yeah, okay, get off my stage now,” she says. Dismissive as she sounds, there’s no mistaking the smile gracing her gruff features. “Next!”

Rosa lets out a squee of joy. Alvin pumps his fists.

“Knew they could do it,” he says.

I can’t help but grin. The excitement of the moment is infectious. 

We wait with bated breath for the members of Worm Drama to finish taking their instruments off the stage. Eventually the trio are walking our way once more, another band from among the crowd rising to take their place.

Rosa and Alvin wave at them as they come towards us. I join them in doing so.

They all but collapse into their empty seats around us. Reed grins as Fang and Trish, so overjoyed that they can’t speak, cheer quietly as they shimmy their fists rapidly. 

“I can’t believe we did it!” Fang cries out, pumping their fists down as they stumble over themselves. “I-I-I feel like I’m dreaming! Am I dreaming?!”

“I feel like I had an out of body experience!” Trish says.

Sounds like they found the flow.

Guess Fang knew what they were talking about yesterday.

“I bailed hard a couple times,” the trigga continues. “Do you think LJ noticed?”

“God, she sees everything,” Fang chuckles. “But–But don’t worry about it. We keep practicing, and we’ll get there!”

“Yeah,” Trish agrees; between the laughing and her excitement, she almost sounds out of breath. “We will.”

“You think so?” Rosa says, glancing between Trish and Fang. “Honestly, I had no idea you missed anything. You sounded wonderful!”

“Really?” Trish asks, looking back at her.

“Absolutely,” Alvin says in her stead. His hand has found Reed’s once more, and he goes as far as leaning his head against the drummer’s shoulder. Reed looks away, face flush with embarrassment. There’s no mistaking the slow wave of his feathery tail behind him though.

“I’m glad you think so,” Fang says. “But we can always improve. Always better, right guys?”

“Right,” Reed and Trish answer as one.

And then Fang looks my way.

They’re smiling still–I don’t think they could possibly stop smiling right now, and I can’t blame them for it. But their smile becomes a bit smaller as they consider me. They almost seem nervous again.

Why?

“So,” they say to me. “First show you’ve ever seen of us. What’cha think?”

They want to know what I think.

Ordinarily I’d think that question over.

I don’t want to say something stupid after all. Don’t want to potentially risk saying something honest that’s inconvenient, too.

Keeping a lid over my real thoughts is something that’s become routine for me since Rockbottom.

Routine, yet it’s gotten tested more times than I can count since I arrived at this place.

Since I met these people.

Right now though?

I don’t really need to think about it at all.

“You guys rocked.”

Fang blinks at me.

They glance away with a tiny, awkward laugh. 

“Thanks,” they say.

Trish laughs with them, grinning.

“Dude, we gotta keep this. Selfie?”

The others voice their agreement with Trish, leaning in closer to one another as Trish pulls out her phone.

It’s at that moment that I feel my own phone buzz in my pocket.

Everyone else that has my number is here, so it’s either Leo or my parents. And I doubt the former of the options wants to speak right now.

I pull out my phone and glance down at it beneath the edge of the table.

It’s Mom.

doing anything tonight?

Figures they’d check on me at some point today.

I go to flip open my device and type out a response–

“Dude,” Reed’s voice calls out, causing me to look back up. “Get in here man, we’re waitin’ on you.”

I blink as I find that the lot of them are glancing my way.

“Oh, ah–It’s alright,” I shake my head. “It’s your guys' moment, don’t wanna ruin it, y’know?”

“We’re not part of the band either, ‘non,” Rosa says, smirking towards me once more. 

“Yeah,” Fang says, smiling at me again. “Friends too. C’mon.”

Naser’s words in his car earlier ring in my head as I hear that.

Maybe it has been a bit of a turn around since last week.

I let out a tiny chuckle, nodding as I accept my defeat.

“Guess that settles it then,” I say, leaning in beside Fang.

Trish squints, clicking her tongue as she tries to adjust the angle of her camera lens. Being the shortest among us by a country mile really isn’t helping her right now. 

Fang flashes a wave towards her, signaling for her to pass the phone. Trish tosses it towards them, and they catch it in their right hand.

They lean forward a tad, raising their arm as they capture all of us on the screen this time.

As the camera flashes, I realize that this is the first time I’ve been included in a selfie in…Well, forever really.

Fang passes the phone back to Trish, whose eyes brighten as they see the picture.

“Oh, that’s perfect,” she chirps. “Gonna send that to the group chat in a sec.”

Then she glances up at the stage–and cringes.

“Eugh, they’re about to play, really?”

We look back up at the stage at her remark.

There’s another trio of figures setting up their equipment on the stage at this moment. A chunky-looking purple-scaled chasmosaurus with long, ragged-looking hair. Some kind of pink-scaled raptor with a wild plumage of feathers on his tail and an even wilder looking set of tattoos along his sleeves. And a blue-scaled baryonyx guy–girl? Fuck, still can’t tell–in a loose white longsleeve. His hair is dyed in a manner that reminds me of a swirl of toothpaste.

“Who the hell are they?” I ask, glancing back at Trish.

“Swamp Babies,” Fang says. Trish gags as they do so.

“That’s Swamp Babies?” I say, furrowing my brow. “Aren’t they pretty big around here? Surprised they’re having to audition at all.”

“Probably just doing it to show off, losers,” Trish grumbles. Damn, she really doesn’t like them.

“Wanna bail?” Reed asks, glancing between the lot of us.

“You know it,” Trish answers.

“Yeah, c’mon,” Fang says, rising out their seat. “Dunno about you guys, but I’m starving. Wanna get something to eat?”

“Where at?” Rosa asks.

“Rocco’s is definitely still open,” Reed says, standing as well, Alvin doing the same. 

“Ooooh!” Trish coos excitedly, jumping to her feet alongside Rosa. "Their pizza’s to die for, let’s do it!”

“Rocco’s it is then,” Fang says. “We can swing back and pick up our stuff later.”

Fang glances down at me, nudging their beak towards the exit.

“You in?"

I grin.

“You know it.”

As I stand, they give me a smirk, before turning and leading a way. The rest follow after them, and so do I.

As the pack of us file out into the dark lobby of the cafe, my phone hums in my pocket again. I drag it up to find my Mom’s sent a second message.

checking to see if ur alive

I type out a response.

And just as we all emerge out into the nightscape of Caldera Bay, I send it.

 

I’m alright. Out with my friends for the night.

Notes:

Hey hey, Snoogers. Back at you again with another chapter of Meteor Game.

I've found employment again and have been rebuilding myself while writing this for the last couple weeks. Alongside working on Hold Onto Mi, of course. Speaking of which, I'll take a moment to say Roach and I are still hard at work on the project, and hope to have something to share with you sooner than later.

Intending to get the next chapter to you soon. Chapter Seven will be the conclusion of the first "arc" of Meteor Game, so to speak. I have a special surprise in the works for that chapter that I'm really looking forward to sharing with you all once it's done. :>

In the mean time, let me know what (you) thought in the comments.
We're all gonna make it bros; until next we meet.

Chapter 7: Sorry I'm Late, I Didn't Want To Come

Chapter by SkragAnon

Notes:

"Sorry I'm late, I didn't want to come
"It's not that I hate you, I just hate everyone
"Don't want to socialize unless I'm getting numb
"Sorry I'm late, I didn't want to come."

For the last time this Friday, the school bell chimes aloud, signaling an end to both Literature, and my third week at Volcano High.

The class devolves into a flurry of scaled bodies cramming books back into backpacks and rising from desks. Conversation between classmates quickly flares to life–only to dim down as Mr. Cimms loudly clears his throat.

“I hate to sound cliche,” the Cro-Magnon rumbles. “But remember, I dismiss you, not the bell. Listen up real quick.”

He lifts a finger towards the whiteboard behind him, and the various annotations that had been written across it throughout our session of class today.

“Like I said earlier, you’ve been assigned Chapters ten through twelve for this weekend. Come in on Monday prepared to talk, you do not want to embarrass yourself when I call upon you.

“And, of course, most importantly…”

He raises one of those thick eyebrows high as he points his finger high. He glances from student to student, holding the suspense for a moment longer.

And then his face splits into a good-natured smile.

“Remember to have a good weekend. See you later, class.”

The conversation roars back to life as people finally begin to depart with the teacher’s blessing. Some people wish the caveman a good weekend in kind as they pass by him.

Fang jolts to their feet beside me, rising from our shared table.

“Finally,” they groan, lifting their feathered arms up for a moment to stretch. “Been ready for this day to be over with.”

“Long day?” I ask as I stand in kind, slinging my backpack over my shoulder.

“Kinda,” they say, shaking their head. “Ups ‘n’ downs. C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

Fang begins to move towards the doorway, and I follow after them. 

“See you later, sir,” I say to Cimms as I walk near his desk.

“See ya,” Fang adds with me.

“Be safe you two,” the caveman tells us, giving us a wave as we leave his class.

Now out in the halls, Fang turns in a different direction than the way towards the stairs. I know where they’re going by this point: the music room.

With nothing better to do, I decide to follow them. Not like I’m catching a bus home anyways.

“You guys practicing again this evening?” I ask as I walk beside them.

“Mhm,” they nod. “Not here though. I’m just stopping by to get my guitar.”

I blink. “Where’re you gonna be practicing at? Reed’s place or something?”

“Close,” they say. “Trish’s. She’s gotta babysit her sister every other day or so. Just easier for us to jam in her parents’ garage so we can keep an eye on her at the same time.”

“Trish has a sister?”

“Yup! Her name’s Talea, she’s a sweetheart. She’s, like…A decade younger than Trish, I think?”

“Huh.” I pause as I realize something horrifying. “...Oh, God. Two Trishs in the same room sounds–”

“Overwhelming?” Fang finishes for me, cackling softly. “You’ve got no idea.”

I sarcastically shiver in fear, causing them to laugh again.

“They’re not thaaaat bad,” Fang says.

Then, after a pause, they smirk and face me a little more directly.

“You should find out firsthand. C’mon, hang out with us for the evening.”

“What?” I blink, shaking my head. “Nah, I can’t.”

“How come?”

“Chores.”

“Chores,” they repeat, lofting a brow. “Like what?”

“Like…Chores,” I say, before quickly shifting gears. “Besides, it’s you guys practicing, I’d just get in the way.”

“Except for the part where there’s a tiny clone of my best friend who’s there all the time, and really doesn’t get in the way at all,” they retort, before adding. “Plus, Rosa’s gonna be there, so you wouldn’t be the only other spectator.”

“She is? How come?”

“‘Cause she and Trish like to spend a lot of time together now, or…”

Their voice trails off as we reach the door to the music room. They end up shrugging as they open it.

“Or, something,” they finish, rolling their eyes as they walk inside.

It’s not my first time having been in the music room before. The space is fairly wide open, with an assortment of spare tables and wooden chairs lining the walls. There’s some black metal music stands scattered here and there, as well as a speaker or two in one corner. Another houses a pair of guitar cases leaning against it, one of which I recognize to be Fang’s. 

There’s a large whiteboard at the back of the room, blank at the moment, a secondary board with a graphic of various musical scales upon it. Stray, worn plastic posters depicting reprints of portraits of ancient Saurian composers are here and there upon the walls; as with many rooms in Volcano High, a pair of huge windows sits across from the doorway, bathing the room in sunlight.

“Does this place even get used that often?” I ask, glancing around as Fang moves to retrieve their guitar case.

“Not exactly,” they admit, sighing as they pick the case up.

“Much as I hate to admit it, Vee-H’s arts programs are, like. Basically nonexistent. Music included. The marching band uses this room sometimes, but in-season they all prefer one of the downstairs ones closer to the field. We got permission to use it from Sereno back in Sophomore Year, ‘long as we keep it clean.”

“Cool,” I reply as they start walking back towards me.

I take a chance to glance down at their guitar case. Solid black painted carbon fiber, rimmed with metal of a similar hue. It’s pretty high end, which isn’t surprising to me given how obsessed Fang is with their music.

The dusky shell is dotted with a number of sticks. Some sound like band names–I see more than a few with the name “Bad Blood.” Others are a bit more unclear; I catch what looks like a wavy kris of some kind, a fanged skull. A purple lighting bolt, a ball of blue fire, red-rimmed eyes.

Aaaand I also see some of their gender bullshit on display, too.

“Queer Killjoy” rests near the back of the case, the font looking as though it were melting. Closer to the middle of the case is a triangle, fashioned of a yellow, white, purple and black stripe. It’s surrounded in flames, and boldly proclaims “THEY THEM” in the center.

I still don’t understand why they give this much of a fuck about this.

As little as I know about nonbinary genderflop nonsense, I’m pretty sure the whole idea is to not present as a boy or a girl, right?

Then what the flying fuck is Fang doing?

They’re clearly a woman. I nailed it from the moment I first met them. Nothing about their outfit screams guy to me, let alone the fact they wear fucking makeup all the time.

“Anon?”

Shit, they’re flat as a board but I can still clearly see they have breasts. Are they even wearing a binder in the first place?

Why paint so much of your identity across your sleeve and thrust it in the face of the entire world when it doesn’t even fucking amount to anything?

“Dude.”

They don’t even make for a passable faggot–

“Anon!”

“Huhwhugh.”

I startle as I’m suddenly ripped back to reality, blinking rapidly. My eyes bolt up from Fang’s guitar case to Fang’s face.

There’s a bewildered look upon it, their brow furrowed as they look me over. They let out a nervous chuckle.

“Dude, you good? You kinda zoned out on me there.”

“O-Oh, uhm–” I clear my throat, rubbing the back of my neck.

“Sorry, I, uh. I kinda got distracted looking at your guitar case, was trying to…See if I recognized any of the symbols. My bad.”

Shaking their head, Fang rolls their eyes once more.

“God, you are such a goddamn dork,” they huff, laughing beneath their breath.

“A’ight, if you’re done being a freakazoid, I’m gonna start heading to the parking lot. Rosa’s gonna be giving me ‘n’ Trish a ride.”

They start walking towards the door to leave, glancing over their shoulder as they speak once more.

“Last chance to come with. Could always use more input on how we sound, y’know.”

“I appreciate the offer, really,” I shake my head. “But like I said, I got stuff to do. Maybe some other time, yeah?”

“If you say so,” Fang shrugs. “See you tomorrow, ‘non.”

That makes me blink. Huh?

“Wait, what?”

They pause as I speak, turning towards me in the doorway. A brow’s raised in my direction.

“What,” they ask.

“What do you mean, see me tomorrow?”

“What do you mean?” They repeat back at me. “LnL's tomorrow night dude, remember?”

Ah, Hell.

I let out a groan, smacking my forehead with a palm.

“Right, I…”

“You totally forgot, didn’t you?”

I just groan again, nodding slowly. Fang snickers.

“Look, like I said last week. Just do it once to make him happy, and then I’m totally supportive of you dipping out afterwards. Think you can survive it?”

“Sure,” I grumble. “Not like I’ve got much of a choice.”

“Not true!” They smirk. “You could break Reed’s heart, just gotta live with the consequences.”

I roll my eyes, shaking my head as I start moving towards the doorway.

“I’m going,” I begrudgingly tell them.

“Attaboy,” Fang says, shifting past the doorway and back into the hall once more.

They move right, while I turn left. We turn about to face one another briefly as we go.

“Taking a shortcut,” Fang flashes me a wave. “See ya then dude!”

“See you,” I say, waving back, before I turn forward and start to head towards the stairwell.

Not sure what shortcut they could be talking about, giving these stairs are the only way down. Maybe they just intend to glide off the roof with their wings or something. 

As I walk down the stairs towards the ground floor, I take the time to actually wonder what exactly I’m going to do with my evening.

I hadn’t exactly been entirely lying to Fang when I said I had chores to do. Between my clothes used throughout the week and my towels, there was a fair bit of laundry. I had some dishes piling up.

And a particular box of unmentionables that was still collecting dust in my closet, that was due a swift drop and a sudden stop at the nearest dumpster.

But it’s not like that’d take the entire day and night to accomplish.

Vidya is obviously on the table. My backlog’s massive, I’ve got more than enough unplayed titles in my collection to kill time for a hundred Friday nights. And, of course, I can’t forget the most important chore of all: maintaining my daily quota of (you)s.

Which is why it’s perplexing me so much that I don’t feel as excited to burn away my evening doing that as I should be.

This is how things were before I left Rockbottom, and getting back to that was what I’ve been wanting to do this whole time. I’ve literally reached my goal.

So why do I feel something like…Fuck, I don’t know.

Regret? Second guessing myself?

Something started nagging in my core the moment I turned Fang’s offer down. It’s still gnawing at me as I walk onto the ground floor and start heading towards the front entrance. 

I just can’t help but wonder whether or not I just made a mistake.

So far, over the last three weeks, every time I’ve been dragged out of my comfort zone, I usually end up having at least an alright time.

Usually being the key word. The Mango hunt was ass and remains ass. I’ll be bitter over my lost jacket until the day that putrid mollusk or whatever the hell it is dies. 

It’s not even just for the hypothetical of having fun, either. Usually the group ends up getting some good stuff to eat whenever they get together after school lets out. Whatever they end up digging into tonight will undoubtedly be better than whatever bullshit I scratch together.

And it’s not like I couldn’t just relax after we went our separate ways.

I’m starting to understand just how much time there is in a day. Something that feels so paradoxical, because each day is starting to feel like it’s going faster than the last.

I’m starting to feel, too, like I should’ve taken Fang up on their offer.

Maybe I could find them and the other two in the parking lot before they head off, if I divert now.

Maybe…

. . .

Fuck it.

I glance at the hall I’m currently passing through. If memory tells me, the path that’s about to open up on my left should lead me towards a side door that’s close to the library’s parking lot.

If I short cut through there as opposed to looping all the way around from the front, I might actually catch up to them.

I could always just call them too, I suppose.

–Nah, it’ll be fine. There’s no way they’ve left yet.

Shifting my bodyweight mid stride, I angle myself in the direction of the subhall to my immediate left, the open doorway ringed on either side of it by a row of lockers.

I pass quickly turn and pass through–

And ram straight into some bastard who’s walking in the exact opposite way, right towards me.

“Shit!”

I cry out from surprise, and to a lesser extent pain as I collide with the Saurian. I stagger backwards, and my left foot slips out from underneath me on the slick tiles.

I fall flat on my ass. Agony flares up in my tailbone, hot and throbbing, and pulses through me. I hiss as I start to lean up, checking to make sure I haven’t busted or bruised anything.

Everything looks fine, but it definitely doesn’t feel fine. Goddamn I’m going to be sore in the morning.

My assailant lets out a similarly pained hiss above me, staggering back. I get a good look at his white leggings.

“Jeez, that was rough,” a familiar voice groans out. “--Wait, Anon?!”

“Naser?”

I angle my head up to find the rest of the Class President’s form looming above me. The glare of the overhead lights above him causes me to squint.

“Yeah, hey,” he quickly replies, leaning down and extending a claw towards me. “C’mon, let’s get you up. God, I’m so sorry man.”

“It’s fine,” I lie, doing my best to ignore the throbbing of what’s probably as welt on my ass.

“You sure? I can take you to the nurse–”

“No! No, seriously, it’s alright. Just an accident. Chill.”

“Right, okay,” the pterosaur says, before he lets out a long sigh. His claws reach up and massage his eyes.

“Just my luck, day keeps gettin’ better and better…” He mumbles into his palms.

“You good?”

He just shakes his head at first. It’s around that time that I notice that, around Naser’s feet, there’s a number of papers scattered along the hallway floor. At least a dozen or two.

Those flipped on their proper side reveal a black and white graphic of some sort that consumes most of the page. It almost looks like a poster of some kind.

“You, uh, you drop something Nas?”

I lean down and fetch the copy nearest to me; from what I can tell, they all appear identical at a glance. 

The bulk of the poster is a surprisingly realistic-looking graphic of an earthworm, the various portions of its body even annotated with notes. The paper’s edges are outlined in harsh, messy black ink.

“BATTLE OF THE BANDS @ LAVA JAVA,” reads the next beneath the worm. Along with a date: The 9th of April, presumably next year.

And above the graphic is the stylized icon of a familiar name: Worm Drama.

…The fucking worm on the center of the page probably should’ve been a dead giveaway, but still. 

“Huh,” I say to myself, glancing between the copy in my hands and Naser. “You passing these out for Fang or something?”

“Oh no,” he replies–and I think it’s the first time I’ve ever seen him scowl before. “Totally exact opposite. I’m taking them down.”

“What?” I loft a brow, lowering my copy to give him my full attention. “Why?”

Naser lets out another sigh, one heavy with irritation.

“Because my darling sib doesn’t think stuff through, and I have to get stuck cleaning up the mess.” 

He shakes his head, stooping down to collect the copies that had fallen out of his hands when we bumped into each other. Seeing just how many there are, and the fact that this mess is kind of my fault too, I lean down and help him. 

I pick up the copies closest to me, stacking them neatly together in my hands. Once Naser’s gotten the rest, I hand him my half of the paper.

“Thanks,” he tells me. “Twenty or so to down. God only knows how many to go.”

He huffs, rolling his eyes.

“I’d stay and talk, but I need to go now if I want to have this done with enough time to get home at a reasonable rate. See you, Anon. Sorry for tripping you again.”

The pterosaur walks past and away from me, beginning to move back in the direction I had come from. I turn to watch him go.

It’s rare to not see Naser in a good mood. Like I’ve already thought, I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen him be something that wasn’t upbeat before. 

Maybe it’s just the guilt of having accidentally made his day just a little bit more difficult. Or maybe it’s the lingering sense of wanting to do more besides rot later, deep inside my core.

Whatever the reason, I end up calling out to him.

“Hey, Naser?”

He pauses midstep, turning a bit to look back at me.

“Yeah?”

“Would you like some help?”

He blinks; I continue.

“I don’t really have much going on, nothing urgent at least. So, I wouldn’t mind lending a hand is all.”

He studies me for a moment, as though confused or caught off-guard by what I’ve said. But after a moment, a small smile crosses his beak.

“Yeah,” he replies. “I’d like that a lot.”

He turns towards me more firmly, taking a step back in my direction as he speaks further.

“I’ve mostly gotten around the bottom floor by this point, it’s probably clear. You down to get the second floor while I hit the third? Should cut the time in half.”

“Sure,” I say. “And I’m just pulling them down? Nothing else.”

“Yup. Just make sure you’ve got ‘em all.”

“Could I ask why you’re doing this?”

That earns a sigh from him. He rolls his eyes.

“I’ll tell you about it once we’re done, alright? Believe me, I’ve got more than an earful to complain about. Let’s just get it wrapped up first.”

He pauses then, squinting at me.

“--Hey, you’ve got the same last class as Fang, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Any idea where they’re at right now?”

“By this point? Probably halfway to Trish’s place. Said they were heading there to practice with Trish and Rosa.”

He lets out a frustrated huff. “Of course, figures. Well, at least they’re not gonna run into one of us while we’re doing this.”

That confuses me–only to then immediately realize that I’m quite literally tearing down a bunch of Fang’s posters. Presumably ones they and the band spent the better half of the day putting up.

“Uh, are they gonna be pissed at me over this?”

Naser shakes his head, “Like I said, talk about it later. I’m gonna start heading towards the third floor, meet me back here once you’re done, alright?”

“‘kay,” I reply. “See you soon.”

Moving back out into the main hall, I follow Naser back towards the stairwell, retracing the path I had taken but a couple minutes ago. We ascend the steps together; I get off on the second floor, while he keeps climbing up the next flight.

I venture out into the halls of the school’s second floor, left with my simple instructions. Hunt down the posters and tear them down.

It doesn’t take me long to come across the first of them. A perfect copy of the ones Naser had spilled downstairs, taped onto a support pillar between a row of lockers along the side of the hall. Conveniently, there was another copy taped to the pillar on the wall opposite of the first. 

I yank the first one a little too hard, causing it to rip messily near the top, leaving behind the tape and a torn piece of scrap paper that partially contains the upper half of Worm Drama’s logo. With a grumble, I peel the remains free from the post.

I’m more careful with the second, opting to just peel it off and sacrifice the extra seconds my carefulness requires.

I would call it an easter egg hunt, trying to track down these little shits, but that implies a degree of scarcity to them. A scarcity that makes finding one all the more rewarding.

No such scarcity exists with these fucking posters. They’re everywhere.

Along lockers, on hallway bulletin boards, even taped to the fronts of classroom doors. Hell, there’s even one posted along the front of Cimm’s classroom door. 

How did I not notice this? Notice any of these? I’ve been on each floor of the school at least once today, and this is the first time I’ve been aware of them.

I can only imagine I must’ve just tuned it out like most of the other stuff here. It’s not like I give a shit about the stuff the faculty posts along the halls. Can’t exactly blame myself for immediately assuming them to be more bullshit.

Jesus, I need to be more observant of my surroundings. I’m getting too comfortable. Remember what your Uncle always said, Anon.

Around Dodgers, never relax. 

The initial shock of the absurdity of the poster’s numbers rapidly gives way to annoyance as the minutes tick by. No wonder Naser’s in such a grouchy mood, this is fucking stupid.

Who prints off this many posters? Let alone for an event that’s over half a year away. 

Of the three, whose idea even was this? I can’t help but wonder.

Reed doesn’t seem like the type to care about PR.

Trish definitely fits the bill in terms at a glance, but…

Nah, the most likely culprit is Fang.

Wonder what Naser’s gonna say once we’re wrapped up here soon. Speaking of–

Hall by hall, door by door, I sweep across the mostly-empty second floor, making my rounds with as much precision as I can muster. I admittedly get backtracked a few times, second guessing where I’ve already been more than once. Eventually, I just settle into landmowering this stuff, working my way along the outside of the floor and slowly progressing my path inwards, rotation by rotation.

At long last, I’m beginning to come up dry. I spy no more posters, save for the surprisingly thick bundle of them I am now cradling in one of my arms.

That has to be at least a quarter of a tree, mulched and pulped and wasted.

I’m sure if I told Rosa she’d be absolutely apocalyptic in her anger.

I do one last little check to verify the job’s done, and after coming up short, I conclude I’ve fulfilled my obligation. The halls of the second floor are now once again freshly free of dramatic worm anatomy. 

Bundle of loot in tow, I descend back down to the first floor and navigate my way to the cafeteria. I sit down along the bench of a dining table close to the edge of the chamber, and wait for the pterosaur to show his face.

After some minutes, Naser appears from the far door in the cafeteria, and begins to pass through. I rise to my feet and join him, following his lead. 

“If we’re supposed to dump these,” I ask him, nudging my head in the direction of one of the cafeteria’s trash bins. “Why not just toss them in there?”

“‘Cause this is a metric buttload of paper, Anon,” he replies, shaking his head. “Most responsible thing to do would be to put it all in with the rest of the recyclables, which is exactly what we’re gonna do.”

I shrug, “If you insist.”

Can’t exactly unwaste the paper, but I get his logic. 

Naser ends up taking the both of us towards the front offices of the school. There, not too far from the receptionist’s front door, sits a pair of colored garbage bins. One dark blue, one bright green and marked with a recycling symbol. Both nearly as tall as we are.

Much like the papers and the rest of today, I’ve passed by these same cans countless times now, and I’ve only just now realized their existence.

Naser pops the lid and chucks his stack inside, before stepping slightly to the side to make room for me. I throw my own stack in as well, faintly catching a glimpse at the pile of recyclable trash within.

Naser releases the lid and it drops with a solid thunk. He shifts past me; rather than go to the nearby front doors and leave, he appears to be heading back into the school’s interior once more.

“Where’re you going?”

“To get something to drink,” he replies without elaboration.

I follow after him once more. I’m a little thirsty too, after all. 

We trail through one of the side halls, eventually arriving at a large wooden door. The plaque on the wall beside it reads, in large lettering, “TEACHER’S LOUNGE.” 

Without so much as a second thought, Naser twists the knob and lets himself in. I hesitate for a moment before following him inside.

The lounge is a fairly simple space, all things considered. There’s a pair of couches with coffee tables next to them towards the far end of the room, as well as a few spare computer chairs that were rolled in. Near the entry is a very large, white fridge, littered with magnets, post-its and other doodads. More than a handful of said magnets are clamping down takeouts menus, school notices or more. There’s a sink past the fridge, with some shelving overhead.

Naser wordlessly pops the fridge door open. It's filled to the brim with containers of food, condiments and a number of drinks. There’s a six pack of cola on one of the upper rows. He grabs one bottle, then grabs a second and offers it towards me. 

“Want some?” He asks.

I raise a brow at him. “Can’t you get in trouble for this?”

“Class Pres-slash-SLA privilege,” he replies with a smirk, before adding. “Besides, if I’m getting forced to stay over on a Friday to handle something as dumb as this? I’m gonna nab a drink if I feel like it.”

“Guess that makes sense,” I say, folding immediately and gladly accepting the cold drink.

Not like I was really going to deny it anyways. I’m just more-so surprised to see someone as seemingly straight lace as Naser doing something that borders on breaking the rules.

After passing me the drink, Naser shuts the fridge and walks back out of the lounge. I close the door behind us as I follow after him once more. Without much of a further goal in mind, I just default to mirroring his movements. I suppose we’ll part ways in a second anyways, and judging by the way we’re headed he’s about to head home.

Sure enough, he ends up passing out the front entrance of the school, and I too not but a second or so afterwards. The afternoon heat is, as ever, oppressive in its scorching brilliance. But it’s almost beginning to feel a little more tolerable than how it was when I first got here.

A drink from the cold soda in my hand definitely helps in that regard.

Maybe I’m starting to acclimate to Caldera Bay. That, or maybe it’s just getting colder. It is almost October after all.

Jesus, what a weird thing to consider. September’s nearly come and gone. 

Before long I’ll have been at Volcano High for a whole month.

It doesn’t feel like it’s been that long, really. Things keep moving faster and faster here.

As if directly contradicting that thought, Naser’s stride begins to slow down as we walk past the various planters near the outskirts of the entrance to the school. He ends up coming to a full stop at once with a particularly huge bush, full of vibrant, light red flowers. The huge piece of flora casts a convenient wall of shade over the small wall ringing the planter.

He sits down on the top of the barrier, and I decide to sit next to him.

Guess we’re just chilling out now. Oh well, there’s definitely worse people to keep company with than this guy. 

Naser takes a drink from his borrowed cola, before he lets out a long sigh. He closes his eyes as he does so, and I can almost see his shoulders droop as he relaxes for a moment.

“Thanks again, man,” he says as he opens his eyes once more, glancing my way. “That probably would’ve taken me, like. Who knows how much longer, if I hadn’t bumped into you.”

“Quite literally.”

He snorts. 

“And again too,” he says with a tiny laugh. “My bad for that. I was kind of zoning out back there.”

“You’re welcome and it’s all good, in that order.”

I take another sip of my soda, briefly considering something as I swallow it down.

“So, hey,” I say to him. “Why exactly were you taking those down? You said you’d tell me once we had finished up, remember?”

Naser sighs once more, his eyes lidding slightly.

“Right, right,” he says unenthusiastically. “Guess I can give you the short and simple.”

He nudges the top of his bottle in the direction of the school. 

“As you definitely saw, those posters belonged to Fang’s band. I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that they were the ones who put ‘em up. I imagine Trish and Reed helped out too.”

“Yeah, makes sense.”

“Right,” he agrees, before continuing. “And those posters were advertising an event at Lava Java.”

I squint. “What exactly’s bad about that?”

“Lava Java might be a cafe during the day, but it serves alcohol after a certain time. Pretty sure it’s five. Not at all coincidentally around the same time they have their live entertainment–like the Battle of the Bands. Can’t advertise a function with booze to High Schoolers, huge board violation and all.”

I wouldn’t have thought as much, but after having it explained to me like that, it does make plenty of sense.

“Guessing someone flipped about it?”

“Sereno about had a stroke,” he grumbles. “Being student rep and class president means the sword comes down on me whenever someone’s acting dumb. Which is…A lot.”

His break twists into a frown.

“Definitely doesn’t help that I tried to text Fang about it, like, fifteen different times. And, of course, the one day I need them to respond, they aren’t checking their phone.”

He jams his free hand into one of his pockets and pulls out his phone. Flipping it on and jamming a finger onto the messenger app, he tilts the screen my way.

“I’m not joking, at least fifteen times.”

Sure enough the chat message history between him and Fang currently consists of a wall of texts sent from him. Most of which, towards the last six or so, developed into “hello,” “plz respond,” and other such pleas for attention. All of which were left on delivered.

“Maybe their phone was dead,” I tell him, glancing up from the screen and back to his eyes. “Pretty sure I never saw them pull it out during Lit.”

“I know they’ve got a charger on them,” Naser says, shaking his head. “But that's just like them. Even if they don’t mean to, Fang’s like a lighting rod for trouble. Half the time they’re the one causing it.”

I furrow my brow. “You make it sound like they’re making problems on purpose.”

Naser lifts his free hand to pinch his brow for a moment. He lets out a muffled groan.

“...I don’t mean to,” he says softly. “They’re my sibling and I love them to death, but they can just be…”

Naser lets his voice drift off, before letting out a frustrated noise. That free hand tightens into a fist before it relaxes. 

“Difficult.” That’s what he decides to say. 

“How,” I ask him.

“How?” He repeats, glancing my way. “Well, like most stuff with them? Always comes back to the band.” 

His eyes leave me as he begins to speak, staring off into the distance. Towards the distant form of the ocean beyond the school campus.

“Fang’s been committed to that band, to the dream of it and where it’s going for years now. Since Middle School, really. And it…Doesn’t make Mom or Dad happy. At all. At first, they just kind of figured it was gonna be a phase or something, I guess. But then it didn’t go away, and they started bucking against it. And that made Fang buck against them even harder.”

He lets out a sigh; his eyes go from the horizon to the pavestones by our feet. 

“Some point along that way I get the sense they kind of, gave up. Not really accepted it, they just stopped trying to force it away. Fang coming out as nonbinary didn’t help in that regard. Ever since Freshman Year it’s like the world’s on my shoulders. I don’t have room to relax, or to think about what I want to do, or…Anything. I guess they thought they didn’t push hard enough with them, and…And now they don’t know how to let off.”

His frown deepens.

“I haven’t seen Mom or Dad in nearly a month, and instead of missing them, I just feel kind of relieved. Like I can breathe in my own household for once.”

He glances my way.

“You’re going through the same thing, kinda,” he says. “First time being away from your parents. Doesn’t that sound crappy of me?”

I look away for a moment, down at my bottle for a moment as I consider his question.

“Nah,” I simply tell him.

“No?” He blinks. “Don’t you miss your parents?”

“I’m probably not the person to be comparing myself in regards to that, Nas,” I say to him, looking back over at him. “I’ve always kind of done well on my own. Or at least, I like it. Sure, it’s been an adjustment, but I can’t say I’ve had a night so far where I wish they were around.”

He lofts a brow my way. “Were your parents like mine? Always on you?”

“Ehh,” I settle on saying, keeping matters close to my chest. “Not exactly. If anything, they’re kind of in a similar boat to how yours feel towards Fang, from what you just told me.”

Not wanting to elaborate, I speak again, trying to divert the conversation back away from me.

“Sounds like you don’t really enjoy them being in a band, either.”

“Couldn’t be more wrong,” Naser replies. “I think what they're doing is cool. Just not the way they’re doing it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think Fang’s dedication is pretty admirable. They really pour themselves into it. It’s not just a passing fling for them–they want to make this work, and they’ve put in more than enough legroom to see it through.”

He lets out a dry chuckle. “I mean, LJ said she didn’t like the way their old songs sounded, right? So they spend all of summer trying to reinvent the band. From morning to dark, week by week, it’s all they did. Whatever you heard last week was way different to how the band used to be around this time last year.”

“Damn,” I say, furrowing my brow. “But if you think the work they’ve put in is cool, why are you saying you ‘don’t like the way they’re doing it?’”

“Because that’s the problem. It’s all Fang focuses on, all the time, every time. Having Worm Drama make it big is all they think about it, and anything that pops up between them and that end goal just kind of gets ignored or forced out of the way. They just assume the world’s going to bend to make whatever idea they’ve got at the time work.”

He tilts his half-empty bottle of cola towards the main building of the school.

“Take the posters for example. Fang made those and put them up, just assuming everyone would be okay with it. They could have asked the Principal, or a teacher, or the brother they live with that knows the exact same thing as those two. Asked if, y’know–It was alright to do in the first place, or what options they could do.”

He groans, flopping his hands up as he adds, “Which sucks! Because I’m sure Sereno would’ve loved to help promote the Battle in some way! A band from our High School competing in something that big in the local music industry is huge bragging rights for people like him, right? 

“But now that’s all shot, because Fang just barged in thinking they could do whatever.”

He lets out a long sigh, giving me a tired look.

“Best way to sum it all up? Fang can’t communicate to save their life, and they just assume the world’s going to cater to them. They kill off so many opportunities for themself because they’ve got such strict tunnel vision on making the band succeed.”

He pulls out his phone, wiggling it once more as he adds, “All those texts I sent earlier? I was trying to get a hold of them so that we could figure out a way to modify the posters before someone saw. Coulda just blurred out the place or something, and it probably would’ve been okay! But they were distracted, and didn’t give me the time of day. And now I’m the one that got stuck cleaning up after them, and I’m the one whose head they’re gonna rip off when they get home later.”

A tiny, defeated chuckle escapes the pterosaur.

“I just can’t win, man.”

Jesus, the poor guy looks and sounds like he’s about to drop.

For all this stress he’s carrying, he doesn’t let it show. At least not whenever he’s around me.

“For what it’s worth,” I begin to say, giving him a sympathetic look. “I know what you’re talking about when it comes to Fang’s tunnel vision.”

He blinks, “You do?”

“Yeah,” I nod. “Back when I fixed that MIDI controller for them? In hindsight, I kinda notice they just dragged me into it assuming I’d help out. They didn’t even think to actually ask me if I’d be alright with it until I reminded them of as much.”

He lets out a chuckle, “Yeah, sounds like them.”

“Have you considered just talking to them about this?”

He huffs, “Yeah. Unfortunately, I get the feeling we’re gonna have that exact kind of conversation later today. They’re gonna lose it when I tell them what happened.”

He closes his eyes once more, letting out a deep breath. He rests his bottle on the surface of the planter’s barrier beside him, bringing up both his hands to massage his face.

“God, this is all giving me a headache…”

I let him tend to himself in silence for a moment, considering everything I’ve heard.

Fang’s always been a little one-track when it comes to the band, over the weeks I’ve known them so far. Having the additional context from Naser definitely helps paint it in somewhat of a new light, though.

I’m not exactly surprised to hear it’s causing some sort of problems at home. A punk rocker clashing with mommy and daddy is almost painfully cliche, but then again, cliches do exist for a reason.

I’m afraid Naser’s going to die by way of spontaneously-manifesting head-exploding migraine if we keep talking about this. I’m just not sure what to talk about instead.

At first I’m not, at least. An idea springs to mind as I peer over at the partially hunched-over pterosaur, and notice something about him once more.

“Hey, uh, Naser?”

“Mmhh?” He mumbles into his hands.

“Kind of a dumb question,” I begin, prompting him.

“Nah, I’m sure whatever it is is fine,” he says, sitting up a bit straighter as he looks my way once more. “What’s up?”

“Not to be, uh. Direct, I guess. But I’ve been kind of wondering for a bit now. If you wouldn’t mind, ah…What exactly’s going on with that wing of yours?”

He blinks at the question, before lofting a brow over at me. A tiny, tired smile crosses his beak.

“Very subtle change of topics, Anon.”

I chuckle dryly. “That obvious?”

“Very,” he repeats, chuckling back. “It’s fine though. Figured this would come up sooner or later, it always does.”

He leans back, resting the back of a hand against his brow as he says, in a sarcastically dramatic voice, “I suppose I could share with you the tragic, gruesome backstory behind my…Horrific disfigurement!”

I loft a brow, “This seems like it’s going to be interesting.”

“Oh, you’re in for such a grizzly, horrible tale!”

As Naser speaks next, he maintains that playfully theatrical tone to his voice. He sweeps his hands in dramatical gestures as he goes on, hamming it up.

“You see, when I was but a young boy, my family and I–we visited the bluffs overlooking the bay. And me, being so small and innocent, asked my dear sibling if they thought I was ready to fly. They told me yes, and trusting in them absolutely, I hurled myself over the cliffs! But alas! I could not fly at all, young as I was, and fell, fell, fell! I landed upon the rocks below, shattering my body and forever maiming one of my wings!”

Clenching his fists, he shakes his head as he lowly states, “And now, so many years later, Fang can still never forgive themself for the horrible fate I have suffered because of their words…”

. . .

My eyes widen a little. “Jesus, dude. Seriously?”

Naser snorts. “Pfft, no. God, that’d be such a corny backstory though, wouldn’t it?”

I roll my eyes, “Alright, smartass.”

He chuckles, and I chuckle with him.

“Nah, nah, joking. The real answer’s kind of boring, honestly. I was just born this way. Birth defect.”

“Really?”

“Mhm,” he nodded, raising the claw nearest to his tiny wing, gesturing vaguely in its direction. “Technically speaking, it’s the result of subspecies crossbreeding. Mom and Dad are different kinds of pterosaur. I could bore you with the scientific names that you’d forget, but the long and short? Dad’s people descended from plains hunters and have feathered wings. Mom’s came from coastal hunters and have leathery wings, just like mine.”

“Huh,” I say. “I always did wonder why you and Fang looked so, well. Different.”

“And now you know,” he nods. “For whatever reason, wings’re just kind of sensitive when it comes to hybrid situations. Fang got lucky with their dice roll and inherited Dad’s wings. My own seemed fine at first, until I was like…Five or so.”

He sort of wiggles his deformed wing, flapping it a little. “And then, Ol’ Stubby back there started to grow irregularly. They took me to try and have it treated, but ultimately the damage was already done. God grounded me.”

I glance over at the wing in question as he stops shifting it.

“That’s all? Just a birth defect?” I squint. “It kind of looks scarred up, though. Both of your wings do.”

Naser lets out an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Yeeeaaah, that’s…God, I was a stupid kid. Back when I was younger I had a huge chip on my shoulder over this stuff. I was determined to try and fly despite it, back when they were still sort of in the same ballpark of being the same size. Jumped from this tall deck my uncle’s got in his backyard during a family cookout. Ended up landing wrong and tore ‘em up pretty good. Nothing life threatening, just hurt. Left those marks.”

“I see,” I say, nodding. “Well, it’s a good thing you’re so, ah. At peace with it all now. Still, it sucks that you can’t fly.”

“You tell me.”

I blink, “What do you mean?”

He smirks, gesturing at me with a claw.

“I mean, you can’t fly either, dude. Does it suck?”

I furrow my brow, “That’s not the same. I never had the chance to fly in the first place, you were born with the parts for it. You lost stuff, I didn’t. Not really a fair comparison.”

“Sure it is,” he counters. “I wasn’t meant to fly either. Sure, I’ve got wings, but realistically by the time I had the upper body strength just to glide for longer than a couple seconds, they were already too outta whack to work. It wasn’t in the cards for me. Yeah, I could be bitter about the opportunity, but what’s the point?”

He nudges his head in the direction of the nearby parking lot.

“Most people in the world can’t fly either. Naomi, Trish, Reed, Stella–all of ‘em. Flyers and gliders are a pretty small subgroup of Saurians as-is. World’s built around people like us, man. If I really wanna fly? I’ll just get a pilot’s license.”

Wow. I don’t know what I expected, but I thought he’d be more hung up over it. If I was in his shoes, I’d probably be pretty agitated over not being able to fly.

At least, I think I would. From what he’s told me, it’s been that way for him since he was pretty young. I suppose after that long, there’s just no real sense in clinging to the issue. His life is completely normal anyways.

I can’t help but be reminded of Leo’s situation.

How would things have been different for Naser if he lost his flight so late into his life? Would he be spiraling just like Leo is?

Wonder if he might be able to help Leo out. I’ll have to nudge Sage about it sometime.

“You’ve definitely got a good way of looking at it, I guess,” I tell him. “Thanks for sharing with me.”

“No problem, dude,” he says, before he smirks. “Besides, personally? Flying’s way overrated. Groundies hype it up way too much.”

I hike a brow. “You think so?”

He snickers. “Most pteros can’t legally fly anymore by the time they’re fourty, man. Fifty if they’re lucky. It’s like training to be a marathon runner. Yeah, if you keep up your health and exercise frequently, you can stay with it for a long time. But most people don’t. The weaker and sloppier you get, the more of a danger you become to yourself ‘n’ others.”

“Never thought of that,” I mutter–before squinting at him. “...Did you just say groundy a second ago?”

That smirk of his deepens. “Yuh-huh. Got a problem with it, groundy?”

“You’re also a groundy, dummy.”

“Well, duh,” Naser says, completely straight-faced. “It’s our word after all.”

I manage to last all of two seconds before I break at the sheer stupidity of this bit. It’s enough to break him, too.

We laugh together at the joke. I can’t help but grin as the chuckles begin to die down, shaking my head as I do so.

“Hey,” he suddenly says. “Thanks for, like. Not putting on kiddy gloves once I started telling you about it.”

I give him a confused look. He continues.

“In the past whenever this stuff comes up, people always, like. Get weirded out over it. They clench up or act real awkward. I think they think they’re gonna, y’know. Upset me if they aren’t careful with it. But, honestly, that just kind of makes me feel worse than anything they could say. People just see the wing and assume I gotta be handled differently after I tell ‘em. But you just kept talking. It’s refreshing.”

I just shrug.

“Nah, man. You’re still you. Like you said, happened over a decade ago. It’s not keeping you down. Why act like it is?”

“Exactly!” He nods vigorously. 

And then that smirk returns.

“Just like you and being bald, right?”

. . .

“Nevermind,” I correct myself. “Eat shit, Naser.”

Naser eventually offers me a ride home.

After he finishes cackling for at least a minute straight, of course. 

 

========================================================================

 

you still coming?

My Saturday’s reached a crossroads. Reed sent me that text around 7:45 in the evening. It’s been about a little over twenty-ish minutes since then, now well into Eight, and I still haven’t responded. 

Of course, he’s wanting to know if I’m planning on upholding the promise I made to him last week and submitting myself to at least two hours of cringy nerdslop, if not more.

Unfortunately, even if I haven’t typed him a response, I’ve already somewhat settled on an answer.

At some point between making the promise on the roof and now, I recall Reed telling me that this session of his always begins around 8 in the evening. Meaning, by now, I’m late. 

I’ve already got one foot in the doorway in regards to bailing. I may as well commit to it.

He’s already got a full party, now plus Fang. It’s not as though he’s hurting for participation.

If I do go, it’s gonna consume the rest of my night. I know it will. I’m gonna be too socially exhausted by the time I get back home to want to do anything.

And it’s not like I can’t just lie if he asks about it. Maybe I’m feeling sick tonight or something. Maybe something came up and I lost track of time.

It’s bullshit that he cornered me into this in the first place. 

If the potential win or loss of Fang’s band–no, their band at that concert didn’t hinge on me agreeing to it, I would’ve told him to eat shit.

But Fang asked me to do it. Just this once. So I did.

…And, admittedly, despite everything I’ve learned about him since, Reed has always kind of been in my ballpark from the beginning.

A beginning that was three weeks ago, but still.

Really, it’s kind of his fault I’m so tangled up with this group at all. 

If he hadn’t been so willing, so wanting to go out of his way and stick his nose in my business, I’d probably be completely alone nowadays.

Which is what I wanted.

It’s what I still want.

But I can’t deny that I had fun last Saturday.

Him and the others really aren’t bad company around lunch on the weekdays, either.

They’re just kind of obnoxious.

. . .

Maybe if his house is too far away from me, I can justify not going anymore to myself. 

I flip away from the messenger app and open up the phone’s GPS. It takes me a minute to remember it, but I end up thumbing in the address Reed gave me earlier in the week.

It takes a second to load, but once the route generates itself, I find that Reed’s neighborhood actually isn’t that far away from me at all. 

Only around a ten-ish minute drive. Just shy of half an hour if I walk it.

Plus, it looks like it’s square in the middle of a residential area. Proper suburbia. So the chances of me getting mugged are, in all likelihood, fairly low.

If I leave now I’ll only be around half an hour late, give or take ten minutes.

If I leave at all, of course.

Just gotta find that excuse not to.

I pat my pockets as I glance around my apartment, trying to conjure some last-last-LAST minute excuse to give myself the out I totally need right now.

Chores? Did those yesterday and earlier today.

Could watch TV?...Why, who the fuck watches stuff on a television anymore?

Could go log some hours on Rock Ring, or…Or any of the other hundreds of games in my backlog. All of which sound kind of unappealing right now. I’d have to click like, four buttons to get it started, and then there’s the whole waiting period for the program to boot up…

Anything else?

. . .

I sigh and snag my keys from the counter as I make my ways towards the front door. 

It’s not too hot out once the sun sets, anyways. Surely the walk will be nice. 

Climbing down the creaky steps of doom along the side of the apartment complex, I’m on the sidewalk before long. The route’s still pulled up on my phone, and I use it to guide me forward. 

I follow along the road, retracing the same path I took for the first week and a half or so to get to Volcano High each morning. Unlike then, the streets are dark and fairly calm. The only lights are those of the street lamps overhead, the fluorescent signs of stores and restaurants I pass along the way, and the odd car that buzzes past me on the road every other minute or so.

That, and of course, the stars.

There’s a stretch of asphalt ahead of me that’s notably devoid of street lamps for some time. It provides me a chance to peer up at the night sky without interference, and I take it.

To say it’s beautiful out tonight is kind of an understatement. The stars are like glittering diamonds across a canvas of midnight blue.

Something about that thought seems weirdly familiar to me. Oh well, anyways.

It’s never really occurred to me just how lacking this place is in terms of light pollution. Even back last Saturday, when I was hanging out with Fang and the others after the audition, downtown didn’t provide me as good of a view as this. 

I never saw a night sky this clear, this unclouded and undimmed, in the entire period of my life that I spent back in Rockbottom.

It’s funny. I’ve been here nearly a month now, and Caldera Bay still finds ways to impress me.

Sure, the people here are weird. But it’s not too bad, really.

There are definitely worse places to live at, I’m sure.

I think back to that bit as I walk. It helps the minutes go by.

Geez. It’s already been three weeks. This time next week, I will have actually been here for an entire month.

Time keeps going by faster.

Maybe that’s a sign that I’m settling in. Getting used to things.

Maybe it’s just because I’m getting older.

Dad’s always loved to gripe something along those lines to me, whenever I mention a day that’s felt like it just dragged on and on.

“It only gets faster from here, Anon,” that’s the type of shit he’d tell me. “You’ll blink and a year goes by. Savor what you got.”

I thought he was just trying to downplay whatever I was experiencing at the time, like he usually did. But maybe he’s on to something.

Before long, at this rate, it’ll be the holidays.

Then the next semester.

Then graduation.

And then…

Then what?

Where do I go from here? Where am I going to be in exactly a year from now?

There’s at least a fifty-fifty shot, if not greater, that it’s going to be in some army fort in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, getting yelled at by some trigga in a drill sergeant’s uniform. 

That thought alone makes me cringe.

It was a clear part of the deal that brought me down here that if I can’t, or if I won’t turn stuff around academically, that I have to enlist in the Military. 

Logically speaking, it’s either that or try to carve out a living with nothing but a high school diploma at best. At worst, with no credentials to speak of at all.

Sure, it’s the best course of action if I end up shitting the bed with this chance I’ve been given. But that doesn’t mean I’m looking forward to it by any measure. I’ll serve crack before I serve this country.

If the immaculate psyop that was that one ODST commercial couldn’t convince me to willingly sign up for armed service, nothing in this world can.

Of course, I’m assuming the worst. Military’s the last resort, the fail state so to speak. If I can get into college, I can avoid it entirely. Am I going to get into college at this rate? It’s way too soon to make any kind of judgement call. I don’t think I’m doing poorly in any of my classes yet, by far. But that could easily change in the next month or two.

Even then, assuming I land a scholarship of some kind, what do I even want to do?

It’s not as though I’m constantly thinking about it, but I’d be lying if I said that my first meeting with Ms. Roberts doesn’t linger in the back of my mind.

No goal at all. Nothing. Couldn’t think of a single thing when I was put on the spot.

Hell, Reed admitted he was essentially as much of a loser as I am, and he still has some idea of what he’s going to do after graduation. Even with all their bullshit, Fang’s at least completely dead set on trying to make that band work out. 

Matter of fact, the only person I can think of who doesn’t have a clear goal in mind besides myself…Is Leo.

Which in no way, shape or form comforts me. Quite the opposite really.

Almost provides me enough motivation to kick my ass into gear and get something sorted. I may not have a goal in mind, but that dude practically wallows in his aimlessness.

Although to be fair, it’s not like he doesn’t have a reason for it. Still, you’ve got to move on at some point, right?

Maybe I should follow my own advice in that regard.

. . .

I do my best not to dwell on the matter as I continue the rest of the way to Reed’s place. The nightscape of Caldera Bay is interrupted by periodic glances down at the GPS map on my phone. The odd peek to ensure I’m still on the right path and not heading off to some unknown area of the town.

I eventually diverge from the route that would normally take me to school, following a left turn. The road takes me further inland, the sounds of the nearby bay growing quieter, replaced now with the melodies of insects hidden amidst the shady patches of greenery about the road.

After some minutes, I arrive at the mouth of a fairly large neighborhood. There’s a huge stone near the entrance to the community, nestled amidst a small decorative garden. I assume its surface holds the name of the subdivision, but the streetlight that should be illuminating it is off. I can’t make it out in the dark and simply pass by it.

The area the sidewalk brings me to is a nice little place to live, all things considered. The houses are all fairly small, most of them being single floor, though I spy a handful of two-story homes towards the far end of the neighborhood. Some houses are completely dark, others holding a mixture of lit and dim windows. All of the homes have white walls and red-tiled roofs. Maybe the same contractors built this place, or maybe the HOA here is just ridiculously strict. 

The brightest home by far is a little single-story situated in a row of houses right in the middle of the neighborhood. The garage door’s open, and light is pouring out of it. I can also hear muted conversation coming from the direction of the house. The living room also seems occupied; a large, lit bay window to a living room resting next to the front door. The backyard seems a little wild, hints of wooden fencing surrounding an overgrowth of thick trees. 

I glance down at my phone, and my suspicions are confirmed.

That’s Reed’s house. 

I glance at the time at the top of the screen. I’m a little over forty minutes late. Not stellar, and they’re definitely well into the session by this point.

Maybe I shouldn’t have come after all. This seems kind of fucking retarded.

I glance over my shoulder, back in the direction of the darkness leading back in the direction of my apartment. I could just turn around and start walking, doubt they’d ever know I was here.

…But then I will have just walked an hour through the night for no reason.

And, somehow, that’s even more stupid than coming here in the first place.

I groan softly and shake my head, walking now towards Reed’s house.

I cross the street towards his house’s portion of the neighborhood. As I grow closer, the soft murmur of the conversation that was unfolding in the garage begins to become audible.

Someone’s narrating something, speaking at length. I’m going to assume Reed. As I cross the length of the yard of the house next to his, this assumption is confirmed.

“...delve deeper into the cavern’s depths,” I hear him say slowly, putting emphasis on every other word. “The mouth of the tunnel yawns open, revealing a great chamber. The walls of stone give way to a glistening shell of brilliant amethyst. Nestled among the shiny, purple material are clusters of different colored crystals–”

“How shatterable does it look?”

Someone interrupts him. It takes me a second to realize it’s Trish.

“Does what look?” He replies.

“The walls! You said they’re like, made of gems, right?” She continues. “How breakable are they?”

“Please don’t cause a cave-in,” another voice chimes in. I think that’s Naomi.

“They, uuuuuh, look pretty sturdy,” Reed tells her. He clears his throat. “Anyways…”

Just before he begins to speak, I cross the threshold of his garage door, revealing the interior of the gathering to me.

Centered in the middle of the garage is a round, wooden table, in the middle of which rests some kind of decorative lamp. Incredibly bright, it almost looks like it’s made of crystals; between that and the description I overheard, I’m sensing a theme with his tastes. There’s also several character sheets, LnL player rulebooks and plates of snacks around the surface of the table. My eyes hone in on a large tray of cream-filled pastries. I can only assume Sage brought them, given he is, indeed, here–not to mention the fact they look fucking delicious.  

Speaking of, around the table are around seven folding metal chairs. Seated in six of them are six familiar faces. Reed sits at the helm of the table, at the far end of the garage, a LM screen separating his side of the table from view. Fang sits to his right, an empty seat–presumably meant to be mine–sitting between the two of them. To Reed’s left, sitting across the table from Fang is Sage, followed shortly after by Trish. Rosa and Naomi sit towards the back near where I now stand, closer to Trish and Fang respectively. The lot of them are facing the raptor, none having noticed my arrival yet.

A large, orange-and-black tapestry hangs on the wall behind Reed’s seat. It depicts a fiery, robed Saurian with outstretched hands, lightning flaring on a scorched sky behind them. “DIVINE WIZARDRY” rests at the top of the large tapestry in bold, white letters. Countless other posters messily line the walls of the garage. Some of them appear to be for video games, others for bands. I catch a few at a glance; the body of a leathery winged pterosaur made of vibrant orange patterns, with the words “FREE FALL.” “DÜÜM” resting over a white, human skull against a leafy-green background. Too many to count. 

Besides the blindingly bright lamp in the middle of the table, the garage is also lit up by a length of dim string lights pinned around the room’s ceiling. I catch hints of some storage, a door into the household and what looks like a minifridge of some sort past Reed.

“Where was I? Oh, yeah,” Reed says. “So, on the far end of the chamber rests a massive, glimmering slab of chiseled amethyst…”

It’s around this time that, mid sentence, he glances up and notices me. His eyes go wide.

“The surface of the door is twice as tall as the tallest of–Oh, shit you made it!”

Reed sits up a little straighter, the shock on his face mixing with excitement. The others look back my way with varied degrees of surprise. But, just like Reed, they’re all likewise smiling within seconds.

“Finally!” Sage cheerfully cries.

“I’m glad you made it,” Naomi says, but her smile dampens a little. “Is everything alright, though?”

“Hey,” Fang chimes in, and I catch a hint of concern on their face as well. “Yeah, uhm, we were starting to wonder about you. You good?”

“Mhm,” Reed agrees, focusing on me. “Got a little confused when ya never replied to my text. Something happen?”

I only just now realize that I never really planned on what to tell them once I got here. It’s not as though I can just wave away being nearly an hour late to this scheduled event.

“Oh, uh, yeah…”

I definitely can’t tell the truth. I’ll look like a massive jackass if I admit I was thinking of bailing, and I don’t want to spend however long I’m trapped here feeling awkward as hell because of it.

I also can’t just say I forgot, though, because as Reed pointed out, I clearly saw his reminder.

What can I tell them right now?

. . .

A somewhat viable thought pops up. I snag it without thinking. 

“I entered the wrong address on my phone. Ended up going to a completely different neighborhood.”

I suppose it’s better to look like a dumbass instead of a jackass.

Reed arcs a brow at me, so does Fang as they cross their arms. Rosa does her best to cover her snout with a hand to stifle her laughter. Trish and Sage make no such reservations; they both start cackling.

Naomi shoots them a glare, frowning.

“Be nice! He’s still new around here.”

“Very smooth,” Fang comments, snorting softly. 

Reed shakes his head, barely swallowing down a laugh that still bubbles up a little in his cadence as he talks. 

“You’re definitely not being the team’s navigator now, that’s for certain,” he snickers, before adding. “Dude, you know you coulda just called me, right? I would’ve came and picked you up in a heartbeat.”

I feel embarrassment heat up the tips of my ears. Even if it’s a lie to save my skin, looking foolish is still looking foolish. 

The sounds of people laughing at me cause some far more uncomfortable memories to churn in the recesses of my mind. I do my best to ignore them. This isn’t cruel laughter, after all. It’s people laughing with me, not at me.

Or so I hope. I put myself in this situation regardless.

“I didn’t think of it at the time, but I’ll keep it in mind for the future,” I tell him, rubbing the back of my neck. “I only realized something was wrong around halfway there. Getting turned back around and actually making it here took forever.”

“What neighborhood you end up in, anyways,” Rosa asks, peering up at me.

Oh fuck. I know absolutely nothing about the names of places around Caldera Bay. There might be a hole here after all.

“Uuuh…” I chew on the inside of my cheek, feigning trying to remember as I, in reality, stall. “Forget the exact name of the place, but it was, like, up towards the direction of Lava Java. Some of the same roads at least.”

Rosa blinks, “What, like, towards downtown? Sheesh.”

“Must’ve been Horner Drive or something,” Naomi mutters, rubbing her chin.

“How in the world did you get a house in Horner Drive?” Trish asks, confusion apparent in her voice. “Did Reed fatfinger the address he shot you?”

“Don’t think I did,” the raptor at the head of the table replies.

“To be fair, the app could’ve just autocorrected the address to something else on accident,” Naomi chimes in. “It’s definitely happened to me before.”

“It is what it is,” Fang says, looking between me and the rest. “He’s here now though, yeah? Let’s get back to, uh…Legending and loreing.”

I quietly nod in response, hoping to seal the deal on my lie by doing so. Reed nods too as I walk over and take the seat between him and Fang.

“Too true,” Reed says, reaching beneath the table. I hear the soft hiss of a zipper, followed by paper shuffling. When the LM sits back up, he leans forward and over his screen to hand a small packet of stylized, stapled paper.

It’s an LnL character sheet, already largely filled in. Even has a name and class listed at the top.

Aeon. Artificer.

Groundbreaking stuff, Reed. Truly.

“Cool,” I say offhandedly as I continue to review the details of the sheet. “So, how far along did you guys get? What have I missed?”

“Missed a bit,” Fang says, leaning a bit close to unsubtly glance at my sheet. 

“Well,” Reed says, lifting fingers as he lists off events, “We introduced Fey–that’s Fang’s character, by the by. Introduced the rest of the party to Fey, got some of their backstory settled. The group debated on where to head, ended up picking the crystal caverns–”

“Still think we shoulda headed to the library,” Sage huffs, crossing his arms. “We would’ve gotten vored by the huge flying shell thingy!”

I squint over at the microraptor.

“...What?”

Reed shoots him a look. “If you mention vore one more time, I’m gonna hurl a D20 at your head bro.”

Sage’s eyes narrow playfully. He leans in with a shit-eating grin.

“What’s wrong,” he asks Reed. “Is the topic… Hard to swallow?”

Rosa rolls her eyes. Fang, Trish and Naomi let out assorted groans. I just cringe.

Reed makes good on his threat as he beams a tie-dyed dice right at Sage’s forehead. It lets out an audible clack as it pops against his noggin.

“Owie!” The raptor whines, rubbing his scalp with a claw.

“Warned ya,” Reed huffs, before glancing back at me. “Anyways, where I’d leave off?”

“Crystal cave,” I remind him.

“Right. Well, the airship–”

“Airship?” I interrupt.

“Yeah,” Reed nods. “The party travels around on an airship, ‘s called the Vagrant.”

“It’s got a metal dragon skull on the top of it,” Trish grins. “It’s awesome.”

Reed squints, “Pretty sure I definitely included info about that in the lore packet I sent you ‘n’ Fang.”

He glances between us, his brow furrowing.

“...Did either of you read it?”

I sigh. “I’m gonna keep it real, Reed–”

Fang winces, “Kiiinnda….?”

“I did not,” I finish.

“I–” Fang huffs, before nodding. “I, didn’t either.”

The raptor fixes us with a deadpan look of restrained frustration.

“You’ve both got homework before next session,” he tells us. “If you don’t read it before next time, I’m gonna flick a die at your head too.”

“Solid copy,” I say. Fang just nods.

I know for a fact that’s not an idle threat, and judging from the noise that D20 made when it hit Sage? It would probably sting my chromedome something fierce. 

“ANYWAYS,” Reed raises his voice, before it drops back to its usual pitch. “The airship took the guys to the outskirts of the cave, it landed and they disembarked. They were winding down the tunnels and encountered the entry chamber, aaaand that’s when you showed up.”

“Got’cha. So, uuuuh…What’s my character doing?”

Reed opens his mouth to speak.

And then he pauses. His brow furrows, and he closes it.

“...That’s a good question,” he mutters, a hand coming to rub the back of his neck.

“Couldn’t he just, like, have been with us this whole time?” Fang asks, tilting their head. “My character was already on the ship at the start, and this was–is, my first session too.”

“Yeeeaah,” Reed nods. “But it’s not exactly the same. Your character was an NPC at first, who got brought on the ship during our last session. Fey got set up to be there, Anon’s dude hasn’t.”

“Ooooh,” Fang murmurs. Then they blink, giving Reed a look. “--Wait, last session? You guys planned this out?”

“We rescued them from Keph and his forces,” Naomi says. “If I recall correctly, Celeste sensed Fey’s black magic in conflict with Keph’s and directed the crew to intervene. We reached Fey just as they lost their memory, which is why we ended up bringing them on the ship in the first place.”

“My first encounter with my destined love~” Rosa swoons, leaning back in her chair as she braces an arm against her forehead.

“Rosa’s flirting with the enemy again,” Sage gripes.

“You’re not safe from getting diced too, Maia,” Reed says towards Rosa, before nodding at Fang. “Nims gave a pretty summary though.”

Fang crosses their arms, lofting a brow.

“So, let me get this straight. You made an NPC that was meant to be played, by me, before I ever showed up in the first place? At least like, what? Two weeks in advance?”

“I maaaaay have been planning to strongarm you into coming to this session one way or another,” Reed chuckles. “The MIDI stuff was just kind of convenient when it fell into my lap. Worked like a charm.”

Fang shakes their head, “You’re not just nerds, you’re scheming nerds. All of you.”

“Scheming nerds would go hard as a song title,” Trish mutters. 

Fang blinks. “...It, it kinda would!”

“Staying on topic,” Reed interrupts. “Point being, Anon’s guy hasn’t been introduced into the plot yet like Fey was. I had something hashed out, but then Anon ended up late–”

“Sorry,” I say.

“It’s cool,” Reed replies. 

“Well,” Naomi begins, glancing around the table. “It’s already close to an hour in, and not to speak for the DM or anything, but we could always just restart…?--Assuming people would be down for that, of course!”

I shake my head, “Nah, I’d feel pretty bad if you guys had to reset all your progress on my behalf.”

Feel worse, at least.

Naomi furrows her brow, quietly nodding. She glances away, likely trying to think of some other solution. Reed’s befuddled expression tells me he’s thinking much the same.

“I had a thing cooked up, but when you didn’t show and we assumed you weren’t gonna make it, I went with a different plan…”

Reed peers down at the table, presumably at his notes.

And then he suddenly stands up, collecting a large, post-it-note filled notebook as he does so.

“Alright, here’s the sitch. I need, like, eight or ten minutes to rally. I think I’ve got a way to weave your intro back into what’s already happening, I just need to feel it out real quick. Use the time to go bio or do whatever. Sound good?”

The table voices their approval in various ways. I nod along with them.

“Awesome,” Reed replies, flashing a thumbs-up. “Break’s on then, be back in a sec.”

The raptor turns and moves further towards the back of the garage. He opens the door that leads into the main household and steps inside, shutting it behind him. I can only assume he’s heading to his actual room.

Left to our own devices, the table more-or-less splits in half. Across from me, Sage and Rosa lean in towards Trish at the trigga’s beckoning. From what I overhear, she has some new pictures of Mango she wants to show both of them. They’re both cooing over whatever’s on Trish’s phone within moments.

“So, Anon,” Naomi says, turning their attention to me with a smile. “Is this your first time playing Legends and Lore before? Don’t know if you’re a fan of TTRPGs or not.”

“First campaign I’ve ever been a part of,” I say. “I..Kinda had an interest in it, when I was younger? The idea behind it seemed interesting. Just never really found a group to play it with.”

Technically not true. I did give a few groups from the Find a Campaign threads over on /tg/ a shot over the years. None of them ever made it past the first session though, if they ever met in the first place. As it turns out, trying to run LnL with random schizoids, racists, grogards and-or porn addicts from a Central Pangean bobsledding forum isn’t a smooth or stable process.

No point in counting them in the first place.

“How about you?” I ask back. “First campaign?”

“Nope!” She shakes her head. “Well, Reed’s the only person who’s ever DMed for me, so sort of? I’ve been in a few of his prior campaigns over the years. He was the one who introduced me to the hobby, and it’s been really fun since I first got exposed! It’s kind of, like–acting, and improv!”

She glances towards Fang as she adds, “This is your first campaign too, right Fang?”

The ptero nods. “Yup. First nerd night activity in forever, really.”

“Kind of surprised, honestly,” Naomi replies. “Reed’s talked about wanting to get you hooked in for like, forever! We were all pretty happy when you finally agreed.”

She blinks, leaning a little to smile at me past Fang as she adds, “We were also happy you were coming too, Anon!”

“I got’cha,” I say. Fang shrugs as they respond.

“I dunno. I mean, sure, when I was younger I used to play video games and stuff, but now? Only hobbies I really want to invest time in are the ones that’ll benefit the band.”

Naomi’s smile dampens a little.

“Sure,” she says. “But, that’s also your career, right? Can they really be hobbies by that point? It sounds like it’d just be more work for you.”

“Nah,” Fang shakes their head. “It might not be goofing off, but it’s still fun. It’s fulfilling! Uh, uhm… Self actualizing, like a dude on a podcast I listened to awhile back said.”

“Well, as long as you’re having a good time with it,” Naomi replies.

The parasaur glances past the pterosaur and back to me as she speaks further.

“Looked like Reed set you up with a sheet too, Anon. What class will you be playing.”

“Yeah,” I initially reply, glancing down at my paper. “Looks like I’ll be playing a, uhm. An artificer.”

I squint at the term, looking away from the character sheet and back to Naomi and Fang.

“Isn’t that, like, tech and guns and stuff?”

Fang shrugs, muttering something about how they have no idea. Naomi eagerly nods.

“Mhm, kinda! Gunslinger is one of the subclasses introduced in a later source book, but artificers have variants focused around a lot of traditional inventor archetypes in fantasy! Potion brewing, enchanted armor, mechanical familiars–et cetera. Depending on the variant you choose, you can really slot into a number of different roles. Ranged support-slash-healer, damage dealing, even a kind of magic-oriented tank. It’s a pretty versatile class!”

Christ, I forgot how much there was to Legends and Lore. Those little online test-runs had all the resources digitally available. Hell, the site I mostly used for them auto-populated your sheet for you. Having to memorize all of this stuff is definitely going to take time.

Assuming I ever come back after tonight’s session, of course. Which I’m definitely not doing.

“Sounds like you’re familiar with the class,” I say.

“Oh, yeah!” Naomi grins. “One of my first characters for another one of Reed’s campaigns was an artificer. She eventually made a pneumatic cannon that could be used to fire potions across entire rooms at people! It was so broken, but so fun. ” 

Fang squints. “Pneumatic, cannon? Like, the lung disease…?”

Naomi snickers, “No no, that’s pneumonia. Understandable that you might’ve confused the two, though!”

“Pneumatic means like, something that operates using air pressure,” I add.

“Or gas!” Naomi nods. 

“Of course you’d know what it is,” Fang shoots me a glance, brow arcing high. “What, you build a pneumonia gun back at your old school too?”

I narrow my eyes at them. “Stop it.”

Naomi crosses her arms, “You still owe me a walk-through of how you made that happen.”

“It’s not that interesting!”

“It so is!” The parasaur retorts.

“Totally is,” Fang agrees.

The pterosaur’s beak twists into a tiny smirk as they say as much. They’re doing this to get a rise out of me. Asshole. 

“ Moving on, ” I say, focusing on Naomi. “Uhm, if you’re not playing an artificer this campaign, then what is your character this time around?”

Naomi opens her mouth to answer, only to pause a half-second.

“--Actually, it might be a good idea to use what’s left of our little break to introduce the rest of the party to you.”

“Sounds good to me,” I nod. Naomi nods back.

“Hey, guys!” Naomi raises her voice, getting the attention of the three across the table from us. Rosa, Sage and Trish look up from Trish’s phone at the call.

“Wanna tell Anon about your characters real quick? That way we can jump right into it once Reed gets back?”

“Ooooh!” Sage nods, grinning, “Smart, lets!”

“I’m down,” Rosa agrees, nodding as she situates herself back in her seat.

Trish nods too, before she raises a hand towards Naomi, “Well, since it’s your idea, wanna start us off?”

“Sure!” Naomi replies.

She then closes her eyes, resting a hand above her chest as she clears her throat. 

Her eyes flutter back open as she speaks, her voice adopting a more theatrical, dramatic cant.

“I am Linnea of the Angelics,” she announces. “Honor and sacrifice! It is good to meet thee, siiiiiiir…” 

Her performance and voice trail off as she pauses; when she speaks again, she’s returned to her normal way of talking.

“--I, actually don’t know what your character’s name is! But you get the jist. If you were wanting to break it down classwise, I–she–is a cleric!”

Fang snickers, “Never gonna get used to doing this thee and thou shit. Uh, I’m Fey. I’m, like, a Dark Mage. I got cool magic and a scythe.”

“Edgy,” I reply. 

“Reed made your character too, y’know,” they say in turn. “There’s a pretty good chance you’re gonna be just as cringy as me.”

“Shit,” I sigh. That just makes Fang snicker again.

“Well!” Sage announces, flourishing a hand towards himself as he stands up a bit. “IIIIIIIIIII am Jeff! Jeff the Chef! I serve up flavor and fury!”

“Speaking of flavor,” I mutter, leaning up and reaching across the table. I pluck my hand into that container of sweets I spotted when I first got here, and fish out one of the pastries within. It’s a kind of round puff pastry, the top sprinkled with a dusting of white sugar.

Sage watches me with a wide-eyed, expectant gaze as I take a bite.

Raptor Christ that’s good. 

That’s too good.

“Holy shit,” I mutter. Sage grins.

“Like ‘em?”

“Dude, you’re a god at this,” I say, nodding vigorously. “Seriously, between those cookies and this, what’s your secret?”

“Good chef never tells,” he giggles with a wink. I roll my eyes.

He might be a faggot, but God be damned, Sage can cook.

“Alright, doofy, keep it moving,” Trish snickers. “You don’t need a bigger ego.”

“How dare!” Sage playfully gasps, before grinning over at Trish. “In that case, you go.”

“Oh? Sure,” Trish jams a thumb at herself. “I’m Olly, the Troublemaker. I like, y’know. Makin’ trouble.”

I raise a brow at her. “The hell kind of class is troublemaker?”

“Mechanics-wise, she’s a barbarian,” Naomi interjects. “Troublemaker’s just flavor. Much like Sage is playing a bard, using food instead of music for his mechanics.”

Trish huffs. “You’re doin’ it again.”

Naomi blinks, “Doing what?”

Sage replies by bracing a finger against his glasses and making a loud ERRRM .

Trish and Fang begin to chuckle; I can’t help but snicker too as Naomi’s face goes flush. She bunches up her shoulders as she shouts back.

“Wh–You can’t mock me, I’m right!”

“Don’t tease Naomi to death guys,” Rosa says, though I can hear a faint laugh in her voice. “Anyways, to finish us off, I’m Maia the Vine Mage. I’m all about plants and nature.”

“So, druid,” I say. I hum softly as a realization comes to mind.

“...We’re a very range-heavy party.”

“THANK YOU!” Naomi all but cries out, flailing their arms up for a moment. “Someone finally calls it out too! Olly’s our only front-liner; Maia and I can do melee–so can Fey, kind of, but it’s really not what we’re spec’d for.”

“Barbarian can kinda tank,” I reply. 

“Sure,” Naomi nods. “But if she goes down, whatever scary abomination put her on death saves is going to rip through us immediately afterwards, y’know? No way Reed isn’t going to use that to his advantage.”

“Not to mention we’ll be cooked any time we go without resting,” I mutter. “Spell slots and all.”

Fang squints at me.

“Y’know, for someone who says they’ve never played this before, you’re sounding way too much like Naomi and Reed right now.”

Oh shit I’m being exposed.

“...U-Uh…”

Fang lofts a brow at me as I trail off, trying to think of an excuse to conceal my power level once more. 

I’m thankfully saved by the bell–or more appropriately, the door. 

Said door is the one leading into the house that swings open with a loud creak, Reed stumbling out of it and quickly walking down the short steps leading back into the basement. He knocks the door shut once more with a swish of his tail as he goes.

“A’ight,” he announces, all of us turning to look at him as he settles back into his seat. “So, I think I’ve managed to finagle a way into making this work out, yeah? Just gotta bear with me for the rest of the night. This is about to turn into, like, fifty percent original plan, twenty-five rearranged content, and the rest a whole bunch of improv. Gonna try my best, but it might be rocky, just saying.”

“You’re gonna do fine,” Naomi tells him with a reassuring smile.

“Yeah!” Trish grins, “This is gonna rule, let’s get back into it!”

“Long as I still get to have Keph in my arms by the end of the night, I’m happy,” Rosa smirks.

“She’s flirting with the BBEG again! ” Sage grumbles. I loft a brow.

“Who’s Keph,” I ask Reed.

“One of the campaign’s antagonists,” he says, looking towards Sage as he adds. “Also technically not the BBEG, that’s–Well, spoilers. Anyways! Let’s get started.”

Reed claps his hands together, before sweeping his arms out in a dramatic gesture to the whole of the table.

“So! Let me paint the scene for you again,” he begins, his voice smoothly adopting the theatrical lilt it had held when I first arrived. “As the party finds themselves in the wide, crystal chamber…”

=================================================================

Author’s Blurb: See the note at the end of the chapter in regards to why you’re not seeing this segment (yet)!

=================================================================

 

“And that , is where we’ll end our session for tonight.”

Reed gives a playful mock-bow as he brings an end to the game.

“Woooh!” Sage cheers, grinning as he claps. Trish and Naomi join in the small bit of applause.

The tiny celebration of a successful session quickly comes to an end, the locked-in stillness that had held the table for the last hour or so fading with it.

Trish rises, flinging her arms over her head and grimacing as she stretches her body. Leaning past her, Sage converses with Rosa over the events of the night.

I catch a glimpse of Naomi scribbling down information onto a small notepad she’s had beside her character sheet throughout the session. Reed, meanwhile, is folding up his LM screen and stashing away the materials he had kept hidden behind it.

“So, that was LnL,” he says, glancing over at me and Fang. “What’d you think, you two?”

I hesitate a second as I think of how I want to respond.

All things considered? I had a good time. If anything, it probably would’ve been better if I had actually shown up when I was supposed to.

I still feel like a giant dumbass over that.

Sure, the others were more than a little weird, between the constant seduction rolls, Rosa’s pining over the villain and Sage’s recurring need to bring up vore–

Really don’t like the implications of that, now that I think about it.

And yet, despite it all, I still feel pretty satisfied.

Thanks in no small part to Reed. I can’t say I’m surprised that he’s a good DM–he practically lives this hobby, after all. But getting to experience it, and his passion for it firsthand, is something else entirely.

Does he not see the gift he’s got? Dude could probably hit it big as a fantasy author if he just wrote this stuff down. 

Between his knack for storytelling and Fang’s–no, the band’s talent for music as a whole, I’m feeling more than a little underwhelming. So much talent in one spot. Not even to mention the strengths I’ve glimpsed of the others. Naomi’s bright, Sage’s baked goods are horrifyingly tasty, and from what I’ve heard Rosa has some potential for botany.

What do they have that I don’t?

–Lost in my own head as I’ve gotten, I don’t answer before Fang eagerly does in my stead.

“Um, I loved it?!” They grin.

“Isn’t he the best?” Trish shouts in agreement. “Like, dude, I cannot handle that Celeste voice!”

“It’s my favorite,” Rosa chimes in.

“Like, can that be my ringtone?” Sage asks–before shifting his voice to try and imitate the wonderful impression of an old woman Reed had done prior. “ Pick up the phone, Jeff! ”

Reed’s smiling bashfully as he focuses on me.

“How about you, man? Any review or remarks from you?”

“Honest?” I ask him.

“Honest,” he nods.

“You’re really good at what you do,” I tell him. “This was a nice experience. I wouldn’t mind coming over again, if the slot’s still open in the future.”

Reed hikes a brow. “If the slot’s still open?”

“Anon, it’s your spot now,” Naomi says, smiling over at me. “You’re a member of the party going forward.”

“You heard her,” Reed smirks. “Not wiggling outta this one, bro. You’re here next session.”

He leans in as he adds, “And I will drag you here myself if I gotta.”

“I’ll help,” Fang says. 

“Same!” Sage adds, “We can all pick a limb.”

“Won’t be necessary,” I mutter, shaking my head. “I can make it on my own, I swear. No more GPS mishaps.”

Glancing around the table, I focus on Reed once more as I ask, “So, what now?”

“Now?” He shrugs, “Uuuuh, dunno. Don’t exactly got anything planned past this point, sooooo…”

“Soooo we should probably split,” Trish finishes for him. “I should, at least. Time to feed the wormy ‘n’ all.”

“I can give you a ride,” Rosa tells her, rising from her chair. “Tonight was epic! See you guys on Monday, yeah?”

The others, myself included, pitch the two a handful of farewells as they start to turn and leave the open garage. Just before they can round the corner and disappear from sight though, Sage lets out a loud gasp.

“OOOOOH! Wait! Waitwaitwait, hold on a sec!”

Rosa and Trish spin back around, looks of surprise on their faces. Those of us still around the table give our attention to the microraptor, who’s positively fidgeting with excitement. 

“Everything good?” Trish asks him.

“None of you guys have plans, right?” Sage asks us all, looking around the rest of the group. “Dude! We should totally go hit the pit!”

Rosa blinks. “Hit the pit…?”

“Is that a restaurant or something?” I ask, lofting a brow. 

“He means a firepit our group’s been using for like, years now,” Fang replies to me. They fold their arms as they focus on Sage once more. “And, honestly? I’m game.”

“Could be pretty fun,” Reed mutters, rubbing his chin. “Could make it even funner by snagging some drinks from Orson’s stuff. He owes me, so.”

“I do have some homework, buuuuut I was gonna do most of it tomorrow anyways…” Naomi murmurs in kind, looking among the rest of us as she gauges the growing group consensus.

“I mean, I got nothing,” Rosa shrugs. “Just gotta take Trish home real quick.”

She pauses, looking over at the trigga. “Unless you’re staying now?”

Trish frowns, rubbing the back of her neck, “I dunno…Mango hasn’t gotten any food in a couple hours…”

“C’moooooon!” Sage whines. “It’s the first firepit of the year! First firepit of our last year in High School!”

“Fang told me you’ve got a sister the other day,” I say, looking between them and Trish. “Couldn’t you just ask her to feed Mango for you?”

Trish opens her mouth to reply–and then pauses.

“--Huh, that’s. That’s not a bad idea,” she says. She reaches into her hoodie pocket and pulls out her phone. 

“Lemme ask,” she continues, punctuated by the soft blip of a text sent confirmation.

“So, how we getting there?” I ask the others.

“Can pile into my van,” Reed offers. “Some of us can ride with Rosa, too. Should definitely have enough space between the two of us.”

“Sounds like you’re coming,” Fang says to me.

“Don’t have anything else going on,” I shrug. “Might as well see what this oh-so important firepit’s like.”

“Yooooo!” Sage cheers, grinning. “We get to pop Rosa ‘n’ Anon’s pit cherries, let’s go!”

The rest of us cringe. Trish pockets her phone with a noise of disgust.

“Dude, don’t say it like that,” she huffs, before adding. “Tay-Tay said she could handle it, so I guess I’m free too. We headin’ out?”

“Guess we are,” Reed replies, nudging his head in the direction of the door nestled in the garage’s rear. “Gonna go snag my keys and some beer. Meet you guys out front in a sec.”

 

=================================================================

 

The ride in the back of Reed’s van, the interior of which ever-so-slightly carried a familiar, musky skunk scent to it, was fairly brief. As I’ve come to learn, nowhere in Caldera Bay is that far from the ocean’s shore.

Naomi and Fang rose with us. Sage and Trish had piled into Rosa’s car, and she followed Reed down the road.

Before long, we had stopped within a basically-deserted parking lot near a large pier. Emerging from our respective vehicles, we allow Reed to take the lead once more. We follow behind him, cooler carried in one of his claws, onto the sand as we leave the dim, flickering lights of the lot’s streetlamps behind.

Despite the fact it's the middle of the night, it’s surprisingly bright out. Between the moon and the stars, it’s pretty easy to see ahead.

The beach stretches on for some distance, curving ever-so-slightly in a vague bow. Like the lot, the beach is fairly abandoned. There’s some distant campfires some ways away from us, but beyond that, we basically have the shore to ourselves. The sand is punctuated by stray tufts of beachgrass.

 The tide isn’t close, but the soft lapping of the water coming in occurs every little while off to my right as we walk. The shimmering night sky is reflected off the ocean’s waters, lengths of moonlight cascading along its flowing surface. 

“Yo, looks like the waves haven’t messed it up,” Reed says. “Here we are.”

I’m face to face with the legendary firepit that Sage was so eager for Rosa and I to see.

It’s literally just a small ring of bricks in the sand, a good distance away from the shoreline. The sand inside the ring is noticeably black and filled with stray bits of trash and odd bits of burnt kindling.

“Pretty snazzy,” I tell him. 

“I know, right?” Trish says, snickering softly. “Best spot in the whole bay.”

None of us brought any foldable chairs or other forms of seat, so I suppose I’m just rawdogging it on the sand. Great. Never getting this shit out of my jeans.

I flop down near the pit with the others. Fang and Sage had had enough foresight to go into Reed’s backyard and gather a good handful of wood–mostly in the form of two grocery store bags’ worth of stray sticks. Said fuel was promptly dumped into the fire, which after a brief spritz of some brand of liquid starter and some less than safe work with a BIC lighter on Reed’s part, ignited into a swiftly growing bonfire.

The crackle of the fire joined a growing melody, taking its place alongside the murmur of the tide and the soft rustling of the beachgrass shifting in the wind. 

“Surprised you didn’t wanna help him out,” Sage says to me, nudging his head in the direction of the fire.

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, y’know,” Sage mutters. “Uh…”

He just ends up awkwardly chuckling. “Nevermind!”

What the fuck is he on about?

Wait a minute. Fire. Human.

…Did Sage just racially stereotype me? No way.

I let out a snort as the realization hits me, shoulders shaking as I begin to crack up. The microraptor lets out an embarrassed whine.

“I didn’t mean it like that!”

“Sure,” I just shake my head.

“What’s goin’ on?” Reed asks, glancing over at us as he leans over the cooler. 

“Nothing,” I tell him, deciding to spare Sage from further embarrassment, lest he explode. 

Grunting softly in response, Reed begins to pass out cans of beer. He hands one to Rosa and Sage, who sit closest to where he and the cooler rest, before tossing one to the rest of us.

I reach up and deftly catch mine before it lands in my lap. The can’s cool to the touch, and is already beginning to sweat softly. The aluminum is tinted a deep bronze in color, a long ring of dull yellow wrapped around the middle of it. “CYCAS SPIRITS” reads the logo on the front, cycas stylized to look like palm trees emerging from the Y and S, with a star crowning the I in spirits.

I squint as I read the little text beneath the logo.

“Only four percent alcohol volume?”

“Didn’t think you guys wanted to get fucked up-fucked up,” Reed replies with a shrug, cracking open his own can as he slumps in the sand. He leans against the cooler, using it as a back rest. “I mean, I coulda grabbed Or’s liquor, but–y’know.”

“Nah, this is good,” Fang replies as they take a sip. “Don’t think any of us are in the headspace to babysit if one of us got super drunk.”

“Technically we shouldn’t be drinking this at all, y’know…” Naomi murmurs, peering down at the can she’s nursing in her hands.

Reed lofts a brow. “What, ya gonna narc on us, Nims?”

The parasaur lets out a flustered huff. “No! Don’t be like that, you know what I’m saying.”

He smirks, “Then chill. Not like a cop’s gonna find us out here anyways.”

“Cops patrol the beach all the time,” she retorts.

“Oh.” Reed shrugs. “Every man for himself in that case.”

Naomi lets out a noise of frustration as Reed begins to chuckle. The rest of the circle begins to crack up in kind.

I finally crack open my own beer and take a sip, to drown down the snicker in my chest.

Yup. That’s definitely every beer I’ve ever had before. Mouthful of yeast, delicious.

Oh well, beggars can’t be choosers.

I continue to take periodic drinks as I allow myself to mellow out. The conversation that begins to unfold around me is gradually lost as I let the alcohol loosen me up a little.

…Loosen me up a little?

The thought occurs to me after some minutes. I take a glance down at the alcohol content warning.

Sure enough, four percent. But there’s no way a four-percent beer is getting me buzzed this fast.

Am I really this much of a lightweight?

–Nah. Nope, I am not a bitch. Saurian beer is just stronger than what I’m used to. Yup. 

Better play it safe though.

I vaguely tune back in a little, glancing around the campfire. 

Rosa, having been egged on by Trish, was ranting about some project she wants to work on for her college portfolio. Something about grafting. Naomi and Trish are enthralled, Sage and Reed seem interested, or at the least or attentive to the conversation.

As I look at Fang, who’s sitting next to me, I find that they’re not though. They’re peering off into the horizon. They don’t look upset, they just look neutral. Apathetic, disassociating just like I am.

Then they glance my way.

Our eyes meet for a moment.

Those amber pools, with the light of the fire reflecting off of them, almost look like they’re glowing a little.

…Something about this whole situation. About the scene in front of me. The location, the fire, their eyes. It’s giving me the weirdest sense of Déjà vu.

Fang lofts a brow at me.

“...You good?”

“Huh,” I shake my head. Fang lets out a small huff.

“Nothing. You’ve just been quiet for a while now. You having a good time?”

“Oh,” I nod. “Yeah, sorry. Just kind of chilling, you know?”

“I feel it,” Fang replies. They look back up at the stars.

“Pretty night out,” they say.

“Oh yeah,” I agree, looking up at the sky with them. 

Then I glance back at them.

“Are you having a good time?” I ask, repeating their own question.

They look back to me once more, and they hesitate. They nod before they answer.

“Yeah,” they say. “Just thinking.”

“Guess we’re both in the same boat, huh?”

Fang snickers, “Totally.”

“What’re you guys talking about?” Naomi speaks to us–well. She’s talking to both of us, but it feels like the words were mainly meant for Fang. Mostly because that’s who she’s staring at.

“Huh?” Fang shrugs. “Not a whole lot. Just kind of stargazing. Vibing.”

“Yeah,” I simply agree.

“Y’know,” Fang begins, glancing between us. “If I woulda known we were gonna do this, I definitely would’ve brought my guitar.”

“Could always have it next time,” I say. They nod in response.

“You really should,” Naomi says, her smile growing deeper. “I’d love to hear you play again sometime.”

There’s something about the way she’s speaking to the pterosaur. The way she’s looking at her.

It’s…Different. Not exactly supportive or happy, though it’s definitely both. But it’s something more, too.

Something warmer.

Maybe the beer’s making her a bit more sociable than usual. Or maybe it’s making me overthink things.

Naomi asks Fang about the songs they’ve been working on recently, and as the pterosaur responds, I begin to zone out once more.

I stare into the fire, and as I do so, I think over the whole of this night. Of all the shit I’ve done. 

It’s the second weekend in a row I’ve spent a Saturday evening doing nothing but spending time with these guys in some way.

It’s weird for me. Really weird.

The kind of weird that I would call you a liar over, if you'd told me this is where I’d be about a month ago from now.

A month ago I would’ve told you I’m going to be, and would want to be, up in my apartment playing vidya, or browsing the boards.

But no. Twice now I’ve spent my weekend out socializing. And I can’t say I haven’t liked it.

If anything, right now? I feel kind of at peace. There’s a certain, loose easiness that’s crept of me the longer I’ve been at the fire. It’s probably just the buzz making me feel less anxious, but this…

…This has been fun.

They’ve been fun.

. . .

I have a question I kind of want to ask them.

Ordinarily, I’d just keep it to myself. It’d be stupid.

But right now, I’m feeling loose enough to let it slide.

“Hey,” I speak, catching the attention of Naomi and Fang.

“Hm?” The pterosaur asks as they look over at me.

“Remember that selfie you took last week? The one after the audition?”

Fang nods. I continue.

“What did you do with that, out’ve curiosity?”

“Oh,” Fang blinks, before nudging their beak in the direction of Trish. “I took it with her phone, ‘member?”

“Huh?” Trish asks, noticing she was being talked about. She squints for a second as she pieces together the conversation. “--Oh, ah, I sent it in the group chat!”

“Group chat?” I ask.

“Yeah, y’know, the group chat,” Trish nods. “Y’know, the one you’ve been…Quiet in…”

Trish’s eyes go wide. “Oh, shit! Did we never add you to the group chat?!”

I shake my head. The trigga snaps her head in Reed’s direction.

“Dude!” She shouts, pointing her can in my direction. “You were supposed to add him to the chat, dummy!”

“Wait, what?” Reed blinks, before his eyes widen a little with realization. He reaches up and slaps a palm against his forehead. “...Shiiiiiit, right. I totally forgot. My bad, bro.”

“It’s all good,” I say, shrugging at them both. Trish has already worked her phone out of her pocket. She rapidly types something on the screen. A moment later, I feel my own phone buzz.

I pull it out to find a notification.

ANONS HERE!!!!!!

The text is, unsurprisingly, from Trish. And over her name is the name of the chat itself: DINOGANG.

“Dino gang…?” I say aloud, doing my best to ignore the slight churn in my stomach as the memory of my invasion of Sage’s privacy rears its head.

“What, don’t like it?” Sage asks.

“There actually is kind of a problem with it now,” Fang says.

As the others look at the pterosaur, they just point a finger in my direction.

“DINOGANG. He’s, y’know. Not a dino.”

I blink. Huh, they’re not wrong.

Trish lets out a hum, crossing her arms.

“Well, what should we rename it to?”

“Uh, friend gang?” Rosa suggests.

“Nah, generic,” Trish shakes her head.

“Peoplegang,” Fang says with an arched brow.

“Doesn’t really have the same ring to it as the original,” Naomi mutters.

Reed lets out a hum, before snapping his fingers. 

“I’ve got a solution, dudes.”

He stands, leaning towards the firepit and collecting a long stick he had, up until this point, been using a poker to stir the embers.

He saunters up to me and points the blackened tip of the stick at my face. 

“Aight, bro. Kneel before me!”

“Not doing that,” I grumble. “And if you burn me I will kick your ass.”

Reed lets out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head. 

“No sense of ceremony,” he chides me.

Carrying on despite this, he proceeds to take the poker and lightly taps me on the right shoulder, before arcing it over my head and tapping me upon the left. Both marks of contact leave a slight sensation of lingering heat–and a tiny soot stain upon my jacket.

“Anon Mous! By the power invested in me by being, uh–me, I guess? Anyways, I christen you an honorary Saurian!”

He gives a flourish of the stick before looking to the rest of the group, gesturing to me with the hand.

“There, he’s one of us now.”

“Yooo, Anon’s transhuman now?” Trish smirks. “Killer.”

“Not–No, stop that,” I grumble.

“Wait!” Sage perks up. “What kind of Saurian is he though?”

“Good question,” Reed nods, before giving me a curious stare.

“...Mmmmmh, kinda gettin’ rex vibes?”

“What? Nah,” Fang shakes their head. “His head’s not big enough to be a Rex.”

“I mean,” Reed snorts, “It kinda is.”

Fang leans away as they side-eye me for a second.

“...Hm, no, nevermind, I think I see it.”

“My head’s not that big,” I glare at the pair.

“Technically, human skulls are probably a lot less dense compared to the average Saurian,” Naomi notes. She shrugs as she adds, “Personally, I vote for compy.”

“Really?” Sage blinks, tilting his head my way. “He’s not that short. Honestly, for our group, he’s kinda on the taller side.”

“I dunno!” Naomi chuckles. “He just kind of reminds me of one for some reason.”

“Eh,” Rosa shrugs. “I don’t think so. Never met a compy taller than four feet, y’know.”

“You’re not that far from four feet either,” I note in response. 

“ Wow, ” Rosa rolls her eyes. “And here I am, trying to defend you! Tsk tsk.”

Trish snaps her fingers.

“I got it,” she says, causing heads around the fire to turn her way. 

She raises her hands and forms a square with her pointers and thumbs, like she’s capturing me in a photo.

She smirks.

“Dorkadon.”

I half-lid my eyes.

“Hilarious.”

“Ooh, ooh,” Fang grins. “Incelloraptor!”

Now I just roll them.

“Al-looser-saurus,” Rosa giggles.

Reed clears his throat. He closes his eyes, and raises his hands.

“Bald,” he triumphantly declares.

. . .

“Shut up,” Fang snorts, kicking some sand in his direction. This only makes Reed snicker.

“Triceraflops,” Sage proposes.

“Woah!” Trish cries out. “Friendly fire, man!”

The conversation devolves into chaos from there. What had been the pursuit of finding an increasingly disparaging name for me became a free-for-all of old, crude nicknames.

Definitely pocketing some of these for the future.

By the end of it all, we never did determine what kind of Saurian I had been made an honorary member of.

It feels fitting.

 

=================================================================

 

I flop onto my bed. My bedroom’s dark, the only illumination coming from my computer monitor, bathing half the room in a dim screen of artificial light.

I’ll probably get annoyed enough by it to get up and turn it off in a bit. For now, I’m too tired to want to get up.

I glance over at my alarm clock.

It’s almost three in the morning. Reed dropped me off at my apartment a little after two.

It’s far from the first time I’ve been up this late before. I’ve stayed up crunching MCC matches for far longer on some weekends.

But tonight, I feel positively bone tired. Exhausted physically and mentally.

Even after taking a brief shower, the scent of the bonfire’s smoke still clings to me, perceptible in the recycled air.

. . .

It’s been awhile, but tonight? After getting home, I finally felt willing–felt ready, to change the homescreen of my computer.

The one that had been blank ever since that shit happened back home.

It’s rapidly becoming a struggle to stay awake, even with the light of the monitor washing over upon me.

Before my eyes finally peter shut, I take a last look at my new wallpaper.

 

I think I like this one more than the old one.

 

 

Notes:

Hey hey, Snoogers. Back at you again with another chapter of Meteor Game.

This is a big one, and fittingly this is going to be a big note.

So! Let's get started with that little tidbit that occurs around the 14k mark.
"Warsmith, where is the actual LnL bit of this LnL chapter?"
From what I've gathered from feedback/suggestions from numerous different people, the LnL segments of GVH were, by far, some of the most boring and useless portions of the story for a lot of folks. They're not wrong to think this. While I'm a long-time DM and massive TTRPG nerd, and likewise like the designs of the LnL characters a lot, the sessions really don't do that much for the narrative outside of the second to last and the direct last, where they serve as a coping device for Reed.
The Halo: Reach segment from the last chapter was sort of a testbed for an idea of how I wanted to represent these sessions, being primarily told in past tense depicting the events happening to the LnL characters during each session, with small cutaways to the players in the present sprinkled throughout.

However, this chapter was already 14k words long by the time it reached the point for this segment, and it was only going to get worse the longer it went. Likewise, as fun as these segments are for ME to write (I am a Fantasy/SciFi writer first and foremost, so it's like returning to form for me,) they don't really provide anything meaningful for the advancement of the plot. It's just fluff.

The solution I've reached is to have the actual LnL sessions themselves be contained into their own optional subchapters, which will be published alongside or after any chapters that feature the game going forward. This is to say, this will only happen two or three more times at most. The first subchapter already has about 4.5k written for it, and I'll publish it at some point in the immediate future after the next chapter or two. I'd rather not have the fic marinate on a session of fictional DnD for too long.

Could this be spaced out better? More than likely yes, but it's the best solution I've reached to not make me want to blow my brains out, and to not make you want to blow your brains out, lovely reader.

 

Now let's get into the positives!
This chapter is one that will mark more than few milestones. First of all, the fic will now be over 100k words upon this being published. This is the first manuscript I've ever written that has reached over a 100k, at least all in one published space. Fun fact, the average fiction novel is usually around or a little over/below this length. I have, in effect, written a small novel's worth of funny dinosaur people slop. God what am I doing with my life.
Similarly, it's very likely that the fic is going to shortly crack 10k views soon, which is equally amazing.

As you've no doubt seen having reached this point, we got a piece of artwork! The capstone of this chapter was drawn by the incredibly talented Bestday, who I'm very happy and proud to call a close friend of mine. If you've been active in the threads or have been following Hold Onto Mi and other projects, you've no doubt seen his art before. He's got over 5 0 0 pieces of art upon the Booru, and is an absolute pillar of this community. It's nothing short of an honor to have had him contribute to my silly little fic. If/when you read this, I love you buddy.

This is getting a bit lengthy, so I'm going to try and tie it together.
I want to take a final moment to thank you, the wonderful person reading this, for having stuck with me so far. Meteor Game as a project has been an incredibly fun hobby for me to explore between my other passions and commitments. It's made me incredibly happy to see the amount of people that enjoy this story and push for me to keep it going. And rest assured, we have a lot to come.

You are all my pookies.
Having said all of that--

In the mean time, let me know what (you) thought in the comments.
We're all gonna make it bros; until next we meet.

Chapter 8: Campus

Chapter by SkragAnon

Summary:

"Then I see you
"You're walking 'cross the campus
"Cruel Professor, studying romances
"How am I supposed to pretend
"I never want to see you again?
"How I supposed to pretend
"I never want to see you again?"

How long have I been in Caldera Bay for?

The question drifts through the back of my head as I walk into second period. The ponderance is entirely sporadic; nothing has occurred that could've possibly intentionally triggered it. Not right now, at least.

No, it’s just an idle thought, such is what I conclude as I turn towards my desk. 

I’m immediately greeted by a familiar peach-scaled face. One bearing a smile.

“Good morning, Anon!” Naomi says.

She waves a hand towards me as she does so, and I flash my palm back at her in reply as I walk past. The parasaur turns in her seat to face me as I settle into my own.

“Morning, Naomi,” I say back as I unzip my backpack and dig through it.

“How’s your day been so far?” She asks.

“Good so far.”

She gives a tilt of her head. “Only so far?”

“Could always get worse,” I shrug as I pull out our class’s textbook.

She lets out a fatigued sigh, shaking her head.

“I feel you there, believe me,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Student Council can turn my day upside-down on a dime sometimes.”

“Sounds like you aren’t having fun with it.”

“Hm? Oh, no,” she shakes her head once more. “I absolutely am! It’s a wonderful experience. I would recommend it, if, y’know…”

Her voice trails off into an awkward chuckle.

“...you weren't graduating next semester,” she continues. “--If, we! If we weren’t graduating, that is.”

“I get’cha,” I nod; my earlier thought comes to mind.

I glance away and start to reach for my phone–only to find my pocket empty.

Panic roars to life inside my chest before immediately quelling back down. I remember now, I had to put it away in my backpack during last class. The teacher was insistent we keep our phones off our persons during today’s test.

Reaching for my pack, I begin to root through it once more, trying to find whatever distant, forgotten crevice of this bizarrely deep backpack my phone could’ve possibly vanished into.

As it continues to elude me, bastard that it is, a more immediate solution pops into my head.

“Hey, Naomi?”

“Hm?”

“You know what day it is?”

She squints. “It’s Tuesday, Anon.”

“No, that’s–Wait,” I look back up, returning her squint. “Really? It feels like a Thursday.”

“Nope! Tuesday.”

“Damn,” I groan–and quickly speak further, drowning out the imminent reminder to watch my language.

“Not exactly what I meant though. What’s the date?”

“Oh! Should’ve specified, silly,” she scoffs.

Naomi scoffs, slipping her phone out from her pocket. I catch a good look at its case as she holds it.

It’s a clear, pearlescent white in color, spotless and surprisingly scuff-free. In the center of the case is a large, pink emblem of some kind. I almost think it's a butterfly for a moment, but on second glance it's actually some kind of oversized pink ribbon bow.

At the heart of the bow is the glowing silhouette of a Saurian. Judging by the proportions, it's a woman. It almost looks like she’s diving, or rather rising upwards. 

. . . Have I seen this before?

It looks familiar, but what the hell could it be?

Naomi’s definitely a geek, but I’ve never heard about her playing video games, so that’s off the chart.

Some kind of show or movie? That seems more likely.

There’s something about the design that screams older to me. I don’t know why, but it’s not triggering my modern slop alarm.

Wait, I have seen this before! 

It’s that magical–

“Anon?”

“Huh?” I blink; my gaze flickers up from the phonecase to the person holding it.

Naomi lofts a brow at me.

“You zoned out there for a sec,” she says. “Hear what I said?”

“Sorry, got distracted,” I shake my head. “Repeat it real quick?”

She snickers.

“You have a habit of doing that, y’know,” she tells me. “Anyways! Today’s the thirteenth.” 

It’s already October 13th?!

Naomi’s eyes go wide, as if she heard my inner scream of surprise.

“Woah, everything good?” She asks, leaning a bit closer. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost–”

“Y-Yeah, yeah,” I quickly nod, waving her off. “I’m fine, just, uh–Lost track of time, I guess. Thanks, Naomi.”

She peers at me for a moment; I clearly betrayed too much shock with my expression. 

“...Mmhm,” she hums, nodding back once as she turns around to finish preparing her own supplies for today’s class.

By the time I finally find my long-lost phone and pull it out of my backpack, I’m left to stew in the realization I’ve been left with.

October is almost halfway over.

Raptor Jesus, time’s slipping by faster. 

This should be a good thing. It definitely is–I want this whole fiasco to be done quicker than naught.

And yet, having said as much, another thought strikes me, and it’s the realization that I’m having to wonder about this at all.

I’ve grown so comfortable–too comfortable, that I’ve allowed myself to slip into routine.

The first couple of weeks I was practically counting down every day until this ordeal would be at an end. Such clearly hasn’t been the case for some length of time now.

At this rate, it’ll be May before I know it.

“Soooo, hey,” I hear Naomi say. I look up to find her glancing over her shoulder.

“Uh, yeah?”

“I was wanting to know if you were planning on coming to Reed’s thing this weekend.”

“What, LnL?” I squint. “We just had a session a few days ago, it’s a little soon for another one isn’t it?”

“No no, not that,” Naomi shakes her head.

The Parasaur turns in her seat to face me once more. 

“His family hosts something for the holiday each year, I figured he already invited you since you guys seem kinda close.”

“Holiday?” I have to look as confused as I feel. “You mean, Halloween? Is that still a few weeks away?”

“No!” Naomi says, shaking her head again, more quickly now.

Then she pauses.

“--Although,” she adds, a finger raised. “Our friend group typically does something or other for that too. But, no, I meant for Cuvier Day! It falls on Saturday this year.”

. . .

“...The fuck is Cuvier Day?”

“Anon!” Naomi scowls; my desk shakes a little as she thumps her tail against the nearest leg for emphasis. “God, I swear Reed and the others have corrupted you! Language like that is unbecoming of a student here.”

“Uhuh,” I roll my eyes. “Still don’t know what in He–world Cuvier Day is, though.”

“Really?” Naomi squints at me.

Then her eyes go wide; she lets out a small gasp.

“--Oh! Oh, shoot! I totally forgot you aren’t from around here! I should’ve realized that you probably didn’t celebrate it back up north. I’m sorry!”

“Dunno how you could forget. I’m literally the only person without scales within a hundred miles of this town.”

“Mr. Cimms is also a human,” she replies. “Technically a neanderthal, but it still counts!”

“You know what I mean,” I huff. “So, what exactly is this thing? What’s it about?”

Naomi glances towards the front of the class, her eyes on the clock above the whiteboard.

“Class is about to start, maybe we should do this later?”

“Give me the cliffnotes.”

“If you insist,” she shrugs, looking back at me. “So, Cuvier Day–”

The intercom at the center of the room’s ceiling chimes out, drowning out Naomi’s voice. 

“Anon Mous, please report to the Principal's Office!” The bored voice of the school receptionist crackles overheard. “Anon Mous, please report to the Principal’s Office–thank you.”

I blink up at the ceiling as I realize they just called for me. Looking back down, I see a few of my classmates side-eyeing me.

Naomi gives me a questioning look, clearly wanting to know what’s going on. I just shrug at her.

At the front of the class, Mr. Osborn stirs from behind his desk. He leans over in his chair enough to peer at me from across the way.

“Uuuh, go ahead and get going, Mr. Mous. I’ll catch you up on anything you miss at the end of class.”

“Right,” I nod, coming to stand. I leave my backpack where it is; doubt I need to bring it. “Be back soon, sir.”

As I start to walk towards the door, Naomi mutters to me as I move past her.

“Is everything alright?”

I shrug at her again; I have no idea what’s happening right now.

I sincerely hope everything’s okay.

Exiting the classroom, I make my way through the halls. They’re mostly empty on account of class starting–

Just now, per the short bell that rings out around me, slamming me with a momentary hint of tinnitus.

Bereft of traffic getting in my way, I navigate in the direction of the Principal’s office, remembering the route I had followed him down during my first day here. Before long, I’m standing before the thick, aged wooden door; the gilded “Principal” plaque mounted upon it staring back at me.

I rap my knuckles against it a couple times, earning a solid knock with each tap.

“Come in!” I hear Sereno call from inside. 

The hinges creak as I swing the door open to the Principal’s personal sanctuary. The distinct must of old records and coffee grounds is still thick in the air. The room’s lights are reflected off the many plaques and trophies that line the shelves along his walls.

“Good morning, Anon,” the Suchomimus says to me as I close the door behind me. “Please, have a seat.”

“Good morning, sir,” I reply, settling into one of the big leather chairs on my side of his desk. 

“Is everything alright?”

“Eeh,” Sereno winces, rubbing the back of his neck for a moment. “Ah…Well, we’ll get into that.”

A bit of tension fills my body, joined by unease as I hear that.

So, something is going on.

Am I in trouble? What for? I haven’t done shit!

Did something happen to my parents? Did some sort of technicality in the system pop up with my transfer here?

I swear to God, if this past month and a half was a giant waste of time I’m going to fucking–

“Soooo…” Sereno begins, drawing my attention. He steeples his fingers over his desk as he gives me a stare that is equal parts firm, uncomfortable and awkward. 

It seems like he doesn’t really want to be having this conversation either. 

I’m not sure if that puts me at ease or only intensifies my nerves.

“Uhm–How do I put this?”

He taps his fingertips together for a moment as he ponders over his words.

“--Okay, so, our administration does have an IT department. Kinda has to, with how increasingly reliant on technology teaching is these days, y’know?”

I nod; he continues.

“Right, and part of their job is monitoring how our internet is used. This is for a number of reasons, and it also includes keeping track of WiFi usage.”

Oh, fuck.

I sink a little in my chair. 

“...A-Ah.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Judging from your expression, I’m going to assume you can infer what they may have noticed last week.”

I just nod again.

He’s definitely referring to the fact that I torrented more than a few seasons of some anime I’ve been wanting to check out using the school’s internet back on Friday.

I was a man with an apartment router that was down due to maintenance that day, and with an increasing need to see Japanese cartoons over the weekend.

I was desperate–justifiably so, of course.

And that desperation clearly backfired on me.

Maybe I shouldn’t have downloaded several gigs worth of the stuff at once; lessons for later, if later ever comes.

Right now, I’m positively ready to implode. I can feel myself sweating nervously, and I feel almost nauseously clammy as I realize I’m getting disciplined for this horseshit.

Noticing how clearly anxious I’ve become, Sereno races a claw in a calming gesture.

“Look, Anon, it’s alright. You’re not about to have your high school experience tanked or something, promise.”

He lets out a frustrated sigh, rubbing that same claw through his hair for a moment.

“...I’ll be completely honest with you, I really have no knowledge of how this stuff works. I’m a bit of a fossil, admittedly. It’s not as though you broke any rules or did anything with malicious intent, either. I was going to just let you off with a warning.”

“Was?” I ask, furrowing my brow at the implication.’

“Was,” he repeats with a huff. “Unfortunately, our Head of IT wants a scalp. I can only assume he’s hoping that you’ll be an example that will dissuade students from pulling similar stuff in the future.”

The Principal shakes his head, rolling his eyes as he does so when he says that. I get that sense he sees this all as more than a little stupid.

“So, look, here’s the deal. I’m going to be giving you a very light slap on the wrist, okay? Just a few hours of after-school detention. They don’t have a say on what the actual punishment is, and I’m not going to make this into some sort of fiasco for their sake.”

He raises a claw my way, leaning towards me.

“Do you have anything planned this evening?”

“Uhm…” I shake my head. “No, not really.”

Except going home and ragebaiting on my favorite oceanic steak-searing forum, of course. But I don’t think that’d be a very persuasive argument.

Sereno nods at this.

“Good. In that case, do you think you’d be willing to go ahead and do it today? Just to get it out of the way so we can both have this said and done?”

It’s probably for the best. I don't really want this to interfere with my weekend or something, anyways.

“Sure,” I nod back. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“Good man,” he smiles at me. “We’re still sorting out who will be holding today’s after-hours session this evening, so I’ll pass along the details to your final teacher of the day once it’s settled. Thanks for being a sport about it, Anon.”

That smile falters a little; he leans closer to me, giving me a firm look once more.

“Just, please don’t download whatever it was you were after using campus wireless again, okay? I don’t care, but there are others here that do, and they make it a giant headache for me.”

“Of course,” I reply quickly. “Sorry, sir. I won’t do it again.”

“I know you won’t,” he says, smiling once more.

“Now, with that all settled, I wanted to ask you before I let you go. How are you doing?”

I blink. “Like, how am I doing right now?”

“Well, yes, but more-so how have you been doing in general? How has your experience been with the school thus far? Here soon you’ll have been with us for two months now, after all.”

“Oh,” I mutter; I glance away for a moment, rolling a shoulder as I think.’

“It’s, uh, it’s been alright,” I tell him. “That’s to say, it’s been good. I can’t complain or nothing.”

“That’s good,” he replies. “No issues with your teachers?”

I shake my head. “They’re all good, I don’t have any problems with them.”

“Good,” he repeats. “What about your classmates?”

That’s a bit more of a complex situation. Kind of.

Now that I think about it, most people here just don’t really care that I exist anymore. Exactly how I wanted it to be in the first place.

I guess whatever novelty being the human boy held got real old, real fast. 

Of course, this isn’t entirely true. I get more than a few glares here and there in the halls, and I know for a fact I’ve heard a few mumbled instances of “Skinnie” behind my back. 

Not that I’m going to trig out and confront them on it. I’d just get my ass kicked. Besides, the feeling’s mutual.

On the flip side, there’s Fang and the others. My “friendgroup” so far.

They’ve really welcomed me into their world since I showed up. I’ve been spending more and more time with them as the days go by, now that I actually think about it.

“Don’t have any issues with them either,” I end up saying to the Principal.

“That’s a relief,” he mumbles, before clearing his throat.

“Having heard all of that, have you given any more thought on college come the end of next semester? I remember discussing some of the benefits we can offer, but I don’t believe you ever took me up on any of them yet.”

Damn, and I was able to give such vague, yet honest answers up until now.

I frown a little, rubbing the back of my neck. 

“Ehh, not really. Still undecided I think.”

“So I see,” Sereno says, steepling his fingers once more. “Any reason you think you’re struggling to find a goal that interests you?”

I shrug, “I guess nothing really draws me in, or something.”

Sereno hums, glancing at his computer monitor for a moment.
“Hmmm…Well, from what I can see of your grades thus far, you appear to be doing fine at least. You appear to be excelling in Math in particular. You know, our district has its Math Field Day in early February of next year. It’s a great chance to catch eyes and earn scholarships, think you’d be interested?”

That term sounds vaguely familiar; I think I remember hearing it over the intercom back at my old school. I never really looked into it though.

Not like I’ve got to make a decision yet, as far away as it is.

“I’ll think on it.”

“Of course,” the Suchomimus replies. 

He focuses back on me, gesturing to the screen I can’t see as he continues.

“Well, judging from the way you’re going, you’re due to have a very nice midterm report by the end of the month. Keep up this rate, and you’ll seriously have some options come your way.” 

He smiles at me once more as he speaks further.

“I want to emphasize, Anon, that I’m very interested in providing you whatever help you need to find your path forward. I know your past experiences have no doubt shaken your faith in the school system somewhat, but I hope you’ve found that Volcano High is going to do its best to aid you in succeeding. Even if it’s something as simple as suggestions or a bit of advice, you can always knock on my door.”

I want to believe him, but I can’t help but wonder how many other students he’s said the exact same spiel to.

You can never really tell whether or not authority figures like this give a shit. 

At least, not when it comes to politicians. You know for a fact those fuckers are lying.

“I appreciate it,” I curtly reply. “And I’ll definitely keep that in mind. But, ah, did you need anything else from me right now?”

Sereno lets out a soft hum at my response. He shakes his head as he leans back in his seat. 

“No, if you don’t want to speak on anything else at the moment, you’re free to go. Just remember, your teacher for Fourth Period–I believe it’s Cimms? He’ll tell you who to report to for your after-school. Just get it over with and be mindful in the future, alright?”

“Right,” I nod, standing back up. “Thanks for going easy on me like this, Mr. Sereno. I won't do something stupid like this in the future.”

He huffs, shaking his head.

“You’re fine, Anon, really,” he says, waving a claw dismissively. “My hands were just tied. If I didn’t satisfy them, they’d hound me over it until I did. You’re dismissed.”

I turn to leave, reaching for the doorknob–

“Oh, and Anon?”

I glance over my shoulder, lofting a brow at me.

Sereno is squinting at his monitor.

“Ah, Dave from IT wanted me to tell you, uhm…Quote, ‘come see me if you ever want some good taste that isn’t–’...”

He squints harder. 

“...The hell is this word,” he mumbles, before speaking up once more.

“‘...Ma-who–Ma-hoe? Ma-hoe Show-Joe garbage.’ Whatever in the world that means.”

. . .

I exit the room as quickly as I possibly can.

I do not provide him with further elaboration.

I will not. 

======================================================

 

“Sooo, remind me why exactly you’ve got after school?”

Fang throws the question my way as our Fourth Period comes to an end. They quirk their head in my direction as they shove their books into their backpack.

“It’s something dumb,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t wanna get into it.”

Not exactly untrue.

They huff, rolling their eyes my way.

“If you say so.”

“How about you? Still having practice with Reed and Trish?”

“That’s the plan,” they reply, turning to head towards the door. They wave as they add, “Well, see ya Anon. Have fun with the misfits.”

“Shouldn’t you be here too then?”

They flip me the bird on their way out. I’m all too eager to return the gesture. I catch a smirk on their beak as they slip past the doorway.

I also catch Cimms giving me a death stare in the periphery of my vision.

“You know I don’t like that kind of behavior in my classroom, Mr. Mous.”

Cringing, I nod several times as I sling my backpack over my shoulders.

“Ah, uh, yeah. My bad, sir, won’t happen again.”

I begin to follow Fang’s direction and leave the literature classroom behind for the day. However, the teacher’s voice stops me before I get close to the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Goddamnit, I really hope I didn’t just earn myself a lecture.

I turn in the caveman’s direction, and I’m met with a lofted, bushy brow, his heavy hands folded upon his desk.

“Uuuh, I was on my way out? I’ve got detention to catch, and–”

I cut myself off as I remember something Sereno told me earlier. I snap my fingers as the realization hits me.

“Oh, right! You’re supposed to tell me what room to go to, yeah? Sorry, I forgot sir.”

Cimms shakes his head.

“There’s no need for that, you’re already where you need to be.”

I blink. “Oh? So, you’re…?”

“Mmmhm,” he nods. “The responsibility was passed to me today around lunchtime. The faculty tries to trade who will be hosting it every day or so, and I ended up drawing the short straw, so to speak.”

“Well that certainly makes things, uh, easier.” I glance around, back at the now empty desks behind me. I nudge my head in their direction.

“So, do I just sit back down…?”

“More or less,” Cimms shrugs. “The punishment is having your free time taken. So long as what you’re doing is productive, I don’t really care how you spend the period.”

“Guess I’ll knock some homework, then,” I say. I turn and move back towards the table I usually sit at for Fourth Period, reclaiming my seat once more.

As I begin to fish my math textbook out of my backpack, I hear Cimms clear his throat.

“If you don’t mind my asking, Anon, what exactly did you do to end up here? I admit, I was surprised to see you on my attendance sheet.”

I look towards him once more as I reply.

“I, uuhh…” I begin, voice trailing off as my brow furrows. There’s no real reason to lie to him, he’ll just find out the truth more likely than not.

I sigh, “I used up too much of the school’s internet downloading stuff I wasn’t supposed to, and it made the IT staff pissed, or something.”

Cimms’ brow furrows deeply, and his face hardens. It takes me a moment to realize the potential implication of my words.

I’m all too quick to shake my head.

“--Nothing bad or–-y’know! Hell no, I’m not that stupid,” I stumble out, raising my hands. “Just, like…Shows and stuff.”

Animated shows, from Japan, but still technically shows. And stuff.

The caveman lets out a deep hum. 

“So I see,” he rumbles. “Well, I suppose it is a poor habit to allow students to download entertainment media using the school’s resources. You won’t do it again, right?”

I nod. He nods back, “Good then. I hope this is something of a lesson for you.”

“Sure,” I say, before something strikes me.

“...You didn’t know what I did? Don’t they tell you why kids are here?”

“Only if it pertains to behavior that requires special attention or consideration,” Cimms says. “Otherwise, there’s no real need to inform me. I only wanted to know the why of your punishment because, well. I just didn’t expect to see you here.”

 I blink at this.

“You didn’t…?”

“Of course I didn’t,” he replies, giving me a puzzled look. “Why would I?

“You’re a good kid, Anon.”

. . .

I don’t know why that caught me so off guard.

I open my mouth to speak, but as I do, Cimms’s head shifts towards the doorway, and his attention goes with it. I follow his gaze.

Coming in from the halls shambles a small, scattered group of Saurians, most of whom very much look like they belong in detention. Ratty, baggy clothes; aloof and uncaring body language. A couple of them give me dirty looks out of the corner of their eyes as they move to take seats around me.

The crowd of sleazy students would almost be stereotypical, if it weren’t for the last of them breaking up the monotony of their overall appearance. A blue Saurian that stood a good head taller than the others; finned arms, webbed hands, a tail that was too long. 

His purple eyes meet mine; a very familiar blue Saurian, I realize.

I wave towards Leo. He returns the gesture as the group he came in with settles around the classroom. All of the free tables have been taken up, leaving little option to sit alone. With such a limited choice, he lumbers over and flops into the seat right next to me.

“Sup,” he mutters towards me, leaning back in his chair.

“Not a whole lot,” I say. “What’re you here for?”

“Same reason as you, I guess,” he replies, dodging the question.

Cimms clears his throat loudly, signaling for the room’s attention and bringing our short exchange to an end. Leo and I look towards the caveman together.

Glancing to a piece of paper in his hand as he does so, Cimms elaborates on the rules for the session of after-school detention in store for all of us. It’s your fairly ordinary affair: no phones, no sleeping, no leaving the room, complete silence. Much like he told me prior, we’re free to do homework or other projects if we wish. Otherwise, we have to sit and wait until the clock hits 6 p.m.

Christ, two hours in here. This is going to suck.

“You may begin,” Cimms tells us as he settles behind the front desk, turning his attention to a stack of assignments arranged before him.

The quiet of the room picks up softly, replaced by the clatter of backpacks being pilfired through and books being set out. A glance around the room reveals that more than a handful of the group are already sneaking glances at their phones, most of them far less stealthily than they think they’re being.

If I can notice them, Cimms absolutely can. Perhaps the big man just knows it’s pointless to press the matter until it reaches a certain point.

Of course, Leo’s among their number. Phone resting in his lap beneath the rim of the table, his bare-minimum attempt to hide the activity makes it look like he’s staring down at his own crotch.

I’m admittedly half-tempted to steal a glance at my own phone, but I do have homework. Doing it here means more free time tonight once I’m done with this bullshit. 

Textbook spread and scrap paper labelled and to the side, I begin to while away the minutes by way of crunching math equations. 

Problem by problem, the minutes stretch into ten, which stretches into half an hour. Ironically, before long I end up using my phone for its calculator app, something which warrants a glance from Cimms in my periphery, but nothing more. Guess there are some acceptable exceptions to his rule.

I’m whittling my way through the last couple dozen of the problems assigned to us tonight when I glance at the clock on the corner of the screen. Eleven minutes to five, almost halfway over.

Jogged back into reality, I can’t help but take a few glances around the room once more. Mostly the same circumstance as the start of the class, save two dudes to the far left of the room that are clearly napping. I’m surprised Cimms isn’t tearing them a new one over it.

As if in answer to the question, a noise from the front of the room draws my attention. I look towards the teacher and find him standing, staring down at his own phone.

There’s an irritated look on his face. He lets out a heavy sigh.

“I need to step outside and make a call,” he tells us, looking between us. “Please remain seated while I’m gone, I’m putting my trust in you.”

He pauses near the doorway. “Behave yourselves,” he warns us, before he steps outside and closes the door behind him once more.

He’s barely absent for a moment before the silence that previously held the room is completely dispelled. The hooligans I’ve been sharing detention with are quick to scoot seats closer together or to simply stand and walk closer to one-another. Seems a good deal of people in here right now are friends with each other. Chatter fills the air. Those who don’t take part in it, Leo among them, simply browse their phones with a greater degree of boldness.

I lean over and nudge Leo with an elbow. He glances over at me, grunting.

“Need something dude?”

“I mean, not really,” I say, shifting my position in my chair as I face him a little more firmly. “Just bored and figured I’d talk, y’know?”

“Sure,” he says, shrugging. He cocks a brow at me. “So how’d you end up in detention?”

“Downloaded some stuff with school wi-fi,” I say, rolling my eyes.

Leo’s brow cocks higher.

“What, like, porn?”

I glare at him. “God, no–”

“I mean, you wouldn’t be the first,” he interrupts me, shrugging. “Pretty sure a dude got busted for it, like, two weeks ago.”

“Gross,” I say, shaking my head as I add, “I also didn’t say that though.”

“Uh-huh,” Leo says, giving me a look. “Sure ya didn’t.”

I punch his nearest arm. He snickers raspily, raising his hands up.

“A’ight, fuck, chill,” he chuckles. “I’ll say I believe you. So, IT busted you, huh? How long you got this?”

“Just today, thankfully.”

“Lucky,” he groans. “I’ll be here for the next two weeks.”

I furrow my brow. “What? Why?”

Leo shrugged, “Cut class.”

Huh? That doesn’t make any sense.

“What? There’s no way they’d give you half a month of after school for skipping out on class a few times,” I tell him. “Shit, Reed’d be in here twenty-four-seven if that was the case.”

“I mean, I did it a lot…”

I peer at him. “How much is a lot?”

“Like, every other class,” he huffs, rubbing the back of his neck as he adds, “For the past couple weeks…?”

“Dude, how? I definitely would’ve noticed you being gone from our class for a week straight.”

“I mean, duh, why would I miss Home-Ec?” He snorts. “Sage does all the work for me, not really a reason not to attend it. ‘Sides, if I didn’t, he’d kinda figure out what was up.”

He pauses, before sighing as he adds, “He’s probably gonna learn now either way, so…Kind of a pain in the ass…”

He takes a moment to rub his face at the potential drama his actions will seemingly cause between him and his boyfriend. I’m quick to fill the break in our conversation.

“Why’re you missing your classes?” I ask him. “It’s not that late into the year, so…”

He cocks his head at me. “Didn’t know there was a timeline for when it’s cool to play hookie, ‘non.”

“Don’t be a smartass,” I grumble. “You know what I’m saying.”

“Whatever.” He snickers again, shaking his head. “I mean, why the fuck not?”

“Why not what?”

“Why not skip out on them?”

“So that you don’t end up here?” I squint at him. “It’s the bare minimum.”

“So? Bare minimum for what? It doesn’t matter.”

He jabs a finger my way.

“I mean, that’s what I’ve heard you say before, right? It’s just bullshit–and you’re right. Even if I bombed my classes, they’ll still let me walk in the summer. They don’t want it to affect their records. So why bother trying?”

“So, what, you’re just here floating around?”

“Still here, aren’t I?”

“Barely,” I scoff; Leo lets out a dry chuckle at it. I speak further. “Why not just drop out then?”

“Might as well ride the wave. Not like I’ve got anything better to do.”

I squint at him again. “Yeah, until you graduate. Aren’t you concerned about the future?”

“What future?”

Something uncomfortable stirs inside of me. A memory of an unpleasant conversation over an Xrox party. It stops me from replying. It doesn’t stop Leo.

“I just don’t see a point in planning ahead anymore. I know better; it won’t last. Something’ll come along and screw it up, screw you up, no matter how much effort you put in. It’s easier to just focus on getting back to sleep. Everything between waking up and it’s just kind of filler.”

I can’t help the nervous laugh that escapes me.

Jesus, I’ve never heard him sound this morbid before.

“That sounds kind of final.”

“Eh,” he shrugs. “Not really an end when it’s already over, y’know?”

He shakes his head, looking back down at his phone.

“I don’t expect you to understand, man. Just trust me. Going through the motions is easier than getting fucked up.

“The easiest days I’ve had recently are the ones where no one knows I’m there.”

. . .

“...I’ll take your word for it,” I tell him. And then I let it go.

Leo lets out a soft hum at that, before returning his attention to his phone. In kind, I withdraw to the equations of my textbook. I can’t tell if he’s grateful for the fact I’m no longer pushing the subject.

But a couple minutes pass for Cimms walks back through the door. A stern reminder for silence and a hard stare from the caveman brings the rest of the class back to order.

Silent once more, whenever I pause in the pace of my problem-solving, that conversation creeps up in the back of my mind.

I don’t understand him.

Why even bother coming to school if you’re going to do the bare minimum to skim by. Do less than it, even.

Knowing what I know about him, I’m more than a touch sympathetic. He got fucked over–hard. By things completely outside of his control no less.

But to give up so completely on the future? It just doesn’t make sense to me.

Surely stuff can still get better.

. . . And yet, thinking as much causes my mind to wander back to my earlier conversation with Sereno.

I’m hardly making moves for my future either.

The realization, the acknowledgement of my own hypocrisy, causes something in my gut to curdle. 

My homework provides an escape from it.

. . .

I’m drawn back to reality by the sound of a digital symphony of chimes playing from the front of the room. I glance up from my spread of paper; at some point along the way, I finished off my math workload and began to crank out an assignment given to me by Naomi and I’s history teacher.

Cimms raises his phone in his thick hand, silencing the alarm. A glance at the wall clock hanging over him confirms my suspicions. It’s six o’clock.

“Today’s period has come to an end,” Cimms announces. Reaching to the side of his desk, he collects a clipboard and places it at the front of the table, facing us all.

“Please sign this on your way out. Failure to mark your attendance could result in further penalties–and more headache for me.”

Bodies begin to move around the room, collecting things and slinging on backpacks. As I’m busy cramming my textbooks back into my pack, Leo quickly rises from his seat. He flashes me a wave as he goes. I return the gesture, but I don’t think he sees it.

He’s one of the first people to make it to the front. He stoops and signs the attendance sheet laid out there, before he turns and loafs out the door. As I catch him leaving in the corner of my vision, I see he’s not wearing a backpack.

I look in the seat beside me, at the floor around it and the table’s legs, trying to find the accidentally forgotten luggage I fully expect to be there. But I don’t find anything out of place.

It occurs to me then that he never brought anything in the first place.

Maybe he hasn’t been bringing anything for a long time now.

It’s a sour footnote to the overall subject of Leo’s resignation. I do my best to leave the matter behind as I stand up.

The brief delay of trying to find Leo’s supposed stuff causes me to be the last person in the classroom to end up signing out. I briefly take my place in line behind a couple Saurians, shuffling forward every time one of them finishes checking out. 

I lean in once it’s my turn; the piece of paper before me is a list of printed off names, with spaces for signatures beside them. Only a few spots are left unsigned, making finding my own box pretty quick. 

As I sign the paper, I hear Cimms rumble next to me.

“I trust I won’t be seeing you here again, right Mr. Mous?”

“You know me, sir,” I nod. “I stay out of trouble–with, uh, the odd exception.”

“I hope it remains so,” he says, nodding back. “Be safe on your way home, alright? Have a good evening.”

“Sure thing, you too. See you in class tomorrow sir.”

I give Cimms on my way out, and do him the courtesy of shutting the door as I go. At least, I assume it’s one.

The gesture’s what counts, right?

Left to my own devices, I start to wander down the hall. It’s odd being in the school this late after classes. The building’s mostly abandoned by this point, and you can feel the lack of other people. There’s a kind of weight to the silence, and an audible echo to every little movement or noise I make.

. . .  All of that, and something else. Faint in the distance, but distinct.

Is someone playing music on their phone? Whatever it is, it doesn’t have lyrics. None that I can discern at least. The faraway melody is slow and calming.

It’s also growing less faraway by the second, I realize, because whatever’s making that sound is in the same direction that I’m currently walking.

Peering along the walls, I recognize the noise is coming from that band room Fang showed me a couple weeks back.

–Oh, shit, right. WURM DRAMA’s practicing, I forgot Fang said as much back in class. That strumming is definitely Fang’s guitar.

Might as well pop in and see how the band’s doing. I’ve got time to kill.

I slow down as I near the door. I don’t hear drums or Trish’s strings, so I’m guessing this is a solo or something. I’d hate to interrupt them while they’re in the flow and piss them off. 

I quietly round the corner and find…

No Trish, no Reed. Just Fang, by themself.

They’re sitting on one of the room’s wooden chairs towards the far back corner, near the whiteboard and piano. There’s a black, beaten up drumset laid out in the space between us, as well as a pair of empty chairs facing towards them.

“BATTLE OF THE BANDS” is written on the whiteboard in now-dried red marker, surrounded in a wavy outline. Beneath it, a “SET LIST” explodes onto the board, followed by a series of vertical blank lines. Fresher doodles surround the title–musical notes, some lightning bolts, a hand making devil horns with a small “rad” next to it.

Fang nurses a wooden, acoustic guitar in their lap. Their eyes are closed, muzzle dipped low as their claws dance along the strings lazily. Their head gently sways back and forth as they play.

The silent plucking is soothing. It feels light, starry even. But it’s definitely missing something. Words, certainly, but I can feel the absence of other elements. Other players. Whatever this is, it’s just not the same without Trish and Reed to make it whole.

Still, it sounds pretty by itself.

I lean against the doorway as I listen; they’re definitely in the zone and I don’t want to disturb them, not until they finish whatever it is they’ve started.

As they play, there’s a kind of serenity on their pale features. A look of zen.

I remember seeing glimpses of that same emotion back on that night at Lava Java. It’s that immersion they reach when they play.

I can’t help but feel a tiny bit jealous. I wish I had something I connected with so much that could push me to be so fulfilled, so detached from the rest of the world when I did it.

. . . They did offer to teach me how to play guitar sometime. Maybe it could be fun.

Speaking of, Fang’s fingers are beginning to slow. The last couple notes hum out, resonating in the air before falling into silence.

Their peaceful expression seems to fade with it. It tenses; their head tilts to the side as they grimace faintly. A look of frustration, I think; the hand that’s supporting the neck of the guitar tightens around it faintly.

I guess I better announce my presence. I rap my knuckles against the frame of the doorway twice. 

Fang’s eyes shoot open. Their gaze immediately darts towards and focuses on me. It doesn’t surprise me that they look surprised. But a second later, their expression twists with suspicion.

“The hell? How long’ve you been standing there?”

“About a minute,” I shrug. “Maybe two?”

“And what, you decided to stare at me like a creep? Why didn’t you say something?”

“You were in the middle of playing!”

“Uh-huh, sure,” they reply, eyes half-lidding. “So, you stalking me or something Anon?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I snort. “I heard you playing and decided to stop by.”

“Doesn’t explain why you’re still around,” they say, head cocking to the side. “You never stay over.”

“I had detention, dumbass, remember?”

“Ooooooh…” They draw the word out, before punctuating it with a click of the tongue. “Right. How’d that go?”

“Eh,” I shrug once more, shifting off of the doorway. “It didn’t drag on. I’m just glad it’s over. How was practice?”

“You’re looking at the extent of it,” they huff.

They look away from me, turning their head in the direction of the empty chairs between us. 

“Pretty sure you need the rest of the band to practice your stuff.”

“Sage wisdom of the century,” Fang rolls their eyes. “I was just thinking of heading home. Probably would’ve been out the door if you hadn’t shown up.”

“Oh,” I say, clearing my throat. I begin to take a step back. “Well, I’ll get out of your hair–”

“No, uh–” they cut me off. Perhaps a little too eagerly, for they take a moment before they add, “If you wanna, like, hang for a minute, I’ve got time.”

I pause; I give them a look.

“...You sure? I really don’t mind.”

Fang angles the headstock of their guitar towards one of the empty chairs. They jab the instrument in its direction.

“Sit your ass down,” they demand.

There goes any choice I have in the matter.

“Aaalrighty,” I say, walking over and slumping in the chair closest to the drumset. I shrug my backpack off and lean it against the set. The fall of one of my straps produces a dull thump from the bass drum.

Despite being primed to hang out, neither of us leap to fill the silence. Fang’s preoccupying themself by gently messing with the tuning of their guitar.

“I, uh, I didn’t know you played acoustic,” I say.

Fang gives me a look. “Duh, ‘course I do. You think I just hopped right in on electric?”

“Maybe?” I shrug. “I’ve heard some people do that.”

“Nah, I started off with acoustic,” they shake their head. “--Really, I started with piano. Way back when I was young. Then one of my uncles got me my first guitar back towards the end of elementary school, and…That’s all she wrote.”

“I’m assuming your parents no longer speak to that uncle anymore?”

“Oh, they still give him shit for it all the time,” they snicker. I chuckle with them.

“So, which do you prefer playing?” I ask.

They pause for a moment, peering down at the guitar in their claws as they consider the question.

“...Honestly? That’s, kinda harder to answer than I thought it’d be,” they say, tilting their head as they continue.

“Like, depending on the song I can do electric or bass for the band. They both fit our sound, it’s what makes us us, y’know? And I love playing both of them, really! But, like…”

They adjust the wooden guitar’s position in their arms.

“This is, like…My comfort zone, I think. I don’t know if that’s the answer you were really wanting, but…Any time I need to, vent, or need to think or just need an outlet for something, I always come back to acoustic. I think it’s something about the way it feels when I play. Or, maybe it’s just familiarity.”

They close their eyes–and groan.

“Daaamn-it, that’s gonna keep me up all night thinking about now.”

“I think it kinda answers my question,” I nod, before glancing at the third seat near us, still empty. 

“So, uh,” I begin to ask, finally deciding to acknowledge the elephant in the room. Or lack thereof. “Where’s Trish and Reed?”

The look of wistful introspection that had come across their features as they pondered my guitar dilemma vanishes. No, it curdles, souring into a frown. They look away from both the guitar and me, towards the window on the far wall. 

“They never showed up.”

“Huh? Why?” The question pulls a sigh from Fang.

“Dunno,” they shrug. “They both knew we had it today. We talked about it in the morning and between classes. But both of them just bailed, or…Something…”

“Did you try texting them or something?”

“No,” they bluntly reply. I can hear an edge in the word.

“Why–”

“‘Cause I shouldn’t have to!” They raise their voice as they cut me off, glaring at me. “They know better! If we’ve talked about these plans I shouldn’t have to like, remind you! You should care enough to remember!”

I lean back a bit in my seat at the burst of emotion. Fang’s wings have flared slightly, and their eyes are wide with anger. 

Or rather, were. They almost seem to visibly deflate, looking away and back to the window as their wings fold close against their frame. It makes them look smaller.

“...Sorry,” they quietly say. “Didn’t mean to snap at you, like….Yeah.”

“It’s alright,” I tell them, matching their volume. 

I can tell that, whatever this thing between them and the other two is, it’s been eating at them for a bit. Especially to provoke that kind of reaction. I just don’t want to piss them off again.

Maybe deciding to check in was a bad idea tonight.

“Let’s just…Talk about something else,” they say.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know!” They huff. “Just–anything, something. I don’t care.”

Even when they’re trying to keep neutral, to change topics, the agitation’s bleeding through their words.

“What do you want to talk about?” I ask them.

They don’t respond initially. Their eyes fall back down to the guitar in their clutches, seeming to ponder my words.

I don’t press the subject. I just give them time to think. 

. . .

Their eyes meet mine.

“Would you wanna hear me play something?”

I blink at the offer.

“What, like, a new song of your’s?”

“Not exactly new,” they reply, shaking their head. “New-ish, I guess. It’s only a couple months old now, but…”

They look uncertain as they continue to speak.

“I guess I just, want a second opinion on it from someone outside of the band, if that makes sense. Does it?”

“Sure, but…Why me? Couldn’t you ask, like–your brother, or Sage or someone?”

“Why not you?”

Because I have the musical expertise of a piece of wood?

Because I was too much of a chickenshit and dropped out of sound design as soon as I began it?

Because I’m more than a little retarded?

Because . . . 

“...Alright, let’s do it.” 

I adjust my position in my seat, facing them more directly now.

Fang’s eyes almost seem to shimmer a little at my acceptance of their offer. That, or the sunlight reflected off the window is catching off of their Saurian gaze at just the right angle. 

“Alright,” they repeat back to me softly, rising from their chair. 

They sling the strap of their guitar over their shoulder as they settle into their stance. Pale fingers expertly shift and adjust the pegs of the headstock. They pluck a few experimental notes, before they breath out a long sigh, seemingly satisfied. 

“Alright,” they repeat again, nodding to themself. “Here goes.”

They glance my way with the last two words, before they roll their shoulders and take a slow, deep breath. They close their eyes as they fill their lungs.

Though seemingly prepared, they seem to only stand still for some moments. Still, yes, save for a gentle, downwards nod of their head every couple moments. This and a soft swaying that begins at their waist, but gradually begins to move the whole of their body, gently so–barely so.

They’re silent still, words yet to leave their mouth–only for noise to finally fill the room.

Their fingers are the first part of themself to animate, giving live to simple, acoustic chords that come at a gentle pace. Wordless as the song currently is, I give voice to a quiet hum in my throat, following the flow of the noise. Matching it perfectly leaves me with the anticipation of something peaceful.

I don’t need to anticipate it for much longer, for finally Fang begins to sing.

“We never climbed, we never fell…”

It’s the second time I’ve heard them sing since I’ve known them, and their voice is no less impressive than it was the first. It grabs my attention and holds me.

“We scaled our way, out of this water well…”

If I had to put it into words, their voice is chromatic. Colorful, vibrant. Like honey to the ears.

“Oooooh-oooooh, I begin again.”

“Ooooooooh, do you remember when.”

“A summer day was a waiting game.”

Remembering what I do of their performance at the audition, I’m beginning to pick out the commonalities in Fang’s playing. The pillars of their style so to speak, or at least what I’ve been exposed to.

Just as it was then, Fang’s guitar is playing second fiddle to their vocals. If anything, the basic nature of the chords complements them. It draws focus to their voice, highlights the emotion that bleeds through in the lyrics. 

It’s like I’m being given hints of a story with every tinged verse. A story of hidden feelings told solely through their inflection alone.

Any hints of anxiety, of the lingering disgruntlement over Trish and Reed’s absence–it’s gone from their face now. They look serene, almost blissful as their fingers dance along the strings, flexing and adjusting minutely to the flow of the song.

“Whatever happens to me now…”

“It doesn’t matter anyhow, no.”

There’s a gentle shift in the angle of their stance, if only for a moment, and with it comes a glimpse of the culprit behind that gentle sway in their posture.

Their tail. It’s waving slowly–and exactly in tune with the pace of the song. It’s almost like they’re using it as a metronome in absence of Reed’s percussion.

“I lose myself but I remain…”

“Headed for all the saaaame…”

Fang’s voice echoes out and gradually fades–no more lyrics follow after them. They continue to strum the guitar for some time after the last verse leaves them, the melody keeping the same flow as it did before. 

If the acoustic brought focus to their voice before through its simplicity, it yet does so now through its lonesomeness. The melody’s lack of a vocal component forces me to almost anticipate the return of words that are never coming. To yearn for that beautiful voice to come back.

It leaves me feeling melancholic. Not sad, but somber–about as good a word as could be to describe the song. It was far shorter and far less energetic than Don’t Call, certainly, but its impact was still felt.

The lyrics spoke of inevitability to me. Change, certainly, but the kind that still brings you back to the same place you were already heading towards before. 

It makes me think of Leo and our earlier discussion.

Of the way his words made me feel about myself.

. . .

Fang’s fingers finally go still along the guitar. They exhale, and the sound draws my attention back to them.

Those amber eyes are open again. They shift their stance to peer over at me as they continue to cradle the instrument in their hands.

“...Well?”

The single-worded question carries a tone of slight exertion, of recovering stamina after successfully running through another performance–but also an undeniable sense of nerves to it. Like they’re afraid of what I might say.

What am I about to say?

I’ve had nothing but thoughts since they began playing, but trying to summarize it all in a way that will make sense feels…Difficult.

I can’t help but drum some fingers against my lap as I try to think–try to force something out of my mouth.

I’m on the spot. If I delay for too long I’m gonna wig that out, or worse, look fucking stupid.

–Just let out the first thing that comes to mind. The rest’ll surely come after.

. . .

“Wow.”

Maybe that wasn’t the best advice after all.

Fang immediately snerks. They tilt their head at me, fixing me with an incredulous, if amused look.

“Wow?” They repeat back at me, a giggle in their throat.

I can’t help but snicker, shaking my head defensively.

“What? It–It’s good, that’s what I’m trying to say. Like–wow, y’know?”

They cock their head more firmly at me, but there’s no hiding the bashful smile curling across their beak.

“C’mon, you can do better than that! Seriously, tell the truth! I can handle it.”

…Do they think I’m lying?

I furrow my brow at them. The hint of a grin that was starting to build on my face halts in its tracks.

“I'm telling the truth.”

Those words, or perhaps the shift in my body language that accompany them, makes Fang hesitate for a moment. The brief flash of playfulness fades as uncertainty roars to life once more, bleeding through their posture and expression. They look meek, timid. Like they’re five seconds away from spreading their wings and launching themself through the window beside us.

“You…You actually thought it was good?”

Their voice has returned to that same hushed volume it had a little bit ago, when they were apologizing to me. 

I nod at them.

“Of course I did,” I tell them. “It was good. It was great! You–”

I pause. I consider my words. I lean forward, towards them.

“...Fang, you know you’re good. You don’t need me to tell you that, but even still? You know I’ve no reason to lie to you right now.”

Fang’s gaze holds mine. That shimmer, that same shimmer when I told them I’d listen to them play, is filling their eyes once again.

They’re also the one to break eye contact. They turn away with a tiny, hushed laugh, looking back towards the windows.

It may just be a trick of the light, but their face looks flush in the sunshine.

“Yeah,” they finally reply to me. “I guess you really don’t, do you?”

Silence hangs between us.

I can’t help but fidget in my seat.

Did I say something wrong? The air feels different in here. I didn’t lie–I told them the truth. Fang’s good at music, of course they’re fucking good! That was amazing! So why does it feel like I fucked up? That I crossed a line or something?

Are they embarrassed? Mad at me? Should I have offered them in-depth critique or something?

I–

“Hey.”

Fang’s word draws my gaze from my lap and over to them; they’re looking at me once more.

They don’t sound nervous anymore. They don’t really look it, either. They just seem normal again. Like they got whatever they were experiencing out of their system.

They nudge their chin in the direction of the door.

“I kinda wanna get some air,” they say. “You down?”

“Sure,” I say, standing up. “Where’d you wanna go?”

We share a look for a moment.

Almost simultaneously, the answer comes to us both:

“Roof.”

=================================================

Middle of October as it is, as I take in the ever-glorious sight of the Caldera Bay countryside from the rooftop yet again, if I’m honest?

I’d be hard pressed to tell you it wasn’t still June or July here.

This place is about as polar opposite as you can get compared to Hometown. The transition from September to October back home almost always comes with at least twenty degrees lost and a layer of clothing gained.

Down here, it still feels balmy, humid and hot. Granted, less insufferably hot than it was all-the-time when I first got here, but it’s still pretty warm out no matter what time of day I go outside. 

I have noticed that the days are beginning to get shorter though. That’s the one aspect of the seasons Caldera Bay couldn’t quite seem to glacially lock in place.

It’s closing in on around six-thirty in the evening, and already the sun’s starting to get fairly low. The sky’s becoming more orange the blue, or at least beginning to. 

Leaning against the safety railing of the rooftop, I spy down at the rest of the campus below. There’s still a fair amount of activity going on. Over on the Football field, I can see a great mass of jerseyed bodies kneeling in a circle around what must be their head coach. The air is filled with the distant blaring of horns and booming percussion. Following the noise gives glimpses of marching band-geeks and flag-twirlers.

Fang takes the space to my right. Rather than simply lean against the railing like I do, they decide to take a page from Reed’s book and sit upon it, back facing the drop-off. They take a moment to wedge themself a bit against the nearby frame of the greenhouse, propping one of their legs against the side of the wall.

Their guitar is still clutched in their hands. I didn’t question it when they decided to bring it; I guess they still wanted to play. 

“Aren’t you afraid to fall?” I ask them.

They snort at me.

“Ooooh noooo,” they drone at me. “What ever would I do?”

They punctuated the question by shivering the feathers of their wings. I roll my eyes at them.

“Nevermind, I hope you fucking plummet.”

“You’d miss me if I did.”

Now it’s my turn to snort at them. “Wanna bet?”

They cock a brow at that, giving me a deadpan look.

And then they begin to leeeeeeeaaaaann back slowly. . .

I hold my ground until one of their legs begins to get worryingly high off the ground. I lurch towards them.

“Alright, knock it off!”

Fang cackles, shaking their head as they double over hard to right their balance once more.

“Wow!” They tease me. “You know I can fly and you still freak out over that? God, you’re worse than Trish.”

“I’ll be sure to keep quiet next time something bad happens to you,” I grumble, looking away from them.

Fang just chuckles more, looking far more pleased with themself over their joke than they should. 

“You know,” I say, rapping my knuckles along the railing for emphasis. “Always was kinda surprised the school’s able to get by with this.”

“With what?”

“Leaving the roof open like it is.”

“How come,” Fang asks, tilting their head.

“Based off my old school, I guess,” I shrug. “Back there the roof was surrounded by this huge fence. Twice tall as you or I. I never actually went up there, but I always saw it. It was kind of an eyesore.”

“Wonder why they did that,” Fang mutters.

Probably to stop losers from killing themselves.

“Safety, probably,” I say. Fang nods in reply.

A moment of quiet passes between us as the breeze washes over the roof, lightly ruffling Fang’s wings. The lack of words causes them to begin to mess with their guitar again.

Before long, chords begin to strum out. It’s the same slow melody I found them playing alone after I left detention. Once again it’s a lonely tune, one without words.

I listen to it for a moment, before my curiosity gets the better of me.

“So, what’s this one called?”

“What, what I’m playing?”

I nod in response. Fang glances down at their guitar, still plucking away; they let out a hum.

“Untitled,” they eventually reply.

“Interesting name.”

“No, dummy,” they scoff. “I mean it literally doesn’t have a title yet. It’s just kinda been floating around in my head for a bit.”

“Just can’t think of a title that fits, or…?”

“Can’t think of a title, or lyrics,” they sigh. “It sucks, too, ‘cause I like the way it progresses. It’s just been stuck in the mud for a while now.”

They pause. Their eyes narrow.

“Or, maybe I have been. Still am.”

I cock my head to get a better look at their expression. Some of that frustration from earlier is starting to surface again.

Kinda wish I had a cigarette right now. I have a feeling this is going to end up spilling over into something deeper. Last time I had to deal with introspection up here, Reed’s cigs were the only thing that made it bearable.

“I think I remember you telling me you were dealing with writer’s block, at some point awhile back,” I say. “You’re still going through it?”

They nod quietly.

“What’s keeping you down?”

They take a deep breath at that question. The notes stop as they press the strings against the fretboard, killing the melody.

“Same reason I wanted your opinion on that other song earlier,” they say. “It’s Trish–Reed, both of them. They’ve been…”

They pause; their eyes glance down at the school grounds beneath them, like the bushes below will help provide an answer. Or at least, help them piece together a better one.

“You don’t have to worry about whatever you’re going to say,” I tell them.

They blink, looking up and over to me.

I just nod at them as I continue.

“Whatever’s up here stays up here. If you got to let it out, it’s fine. Trust me.”

I don’t know why I felt compelled to say that. 

If I had to guess, it’s because I feel for them right now. I’ve been in this exact spot before. With something, or too much to say–that I needed to get out, but I couldn’t. 

I know how awful it can be to need to vent without a way to do it. How ugly it can make you feel. The way your thoughts can spiral.

I wouldn’t want that for another person.

It seems like it’s what Fang needed to hear, too. Their beak briefly curls into a shaky smile. 

“Thanks, Anon,” they murmur.

The smile fades as they look at the guitar in their hands. Perhaps sensing the ground we’re beginning to tread is fragile, they carefully lower the acoustic from their lap. They lean it against the wall of the greenhouse behind them.

Claws now empty, they rest in their lap. They stare down at their own palms, watching their fingers flex. Coil into fists, and then relax, again and again.

They look up and away, over to where the ocean meets the sky on the horizon.

They’re looking there, but their eyes are somewhere else. Searching something beyond the physical.

“I feel like I’m about to explode,” they say, as plainly as one could possibly say such a thing.

And I?

I say nothing.

I just wait for what follows those seven words. I don’t need to wait long. And when they come, I listen.

“This should be the best time of my life,” Fang says, staring out at the waves. “Of our lives–Trish, Reed, all three of us. We’ve been preparing for this moment for years now. We would spend practice after practice in Trish’s garage, talking about what we’d do the moment this day finally came. And it did!”

They let out a chuckle–a nervous chuckle, a light and shaky chuckle. 

“I-I mean, c’mon! We’re gonna be in the Battle of the Bands! There is a very real, very possible future in less than a year where we’re playing at CalderaFest!”

Their voice is picking up in volume, gently so, as the floodgates open. The excitement on their tongue is tangible, fists clenched and arms pumping briefly.

“And after that, I mean–shit! Who knows where we’ll be going! LJ could, would and will send us on a tour across the continent! We’d be real musicians. We’ll have made it. We’re about to make it! So…!”

They close their eyes as their voice trails off. A shaky breath leaves them. Those fists clench tighter.

“...So, why does it feel like I’m the only one who cares about it? That’s trying to actually get us there?”

I say nothing.

Fang does.

“Every day, I have to practically beg them to make time for us to practice. Half the time they can’t, because school, and I get that! We can’t just not do our classes, right? But then the other half, it’s just…!”

They let out a harsh groan, shaking their head.

“It’s because he wants to focus on writing for the campaign! Or she just has to do some other stupid thing related to her worms–did, did you know she didn’t give a damn about any of that stuff until this summer? She leaves for a couple months and when she comes back, when she’s finally back, she’s like a completely different person!”

They grit their teeth. Those fists are shaking. I catch what looks like a speckle of blood. 

“So, I’m the one stuck trying to make this work. I spent all summer planning, and playing and remaking our sound from the ground up because it…It just didn’t work! But then, when I show them our new style, they don’t care that it sounds great!” 

Their head swivels towards me, eyes locking with mine. 

“The song I played for you earlier? The one you said sounded great?”

I nod. I barely manage to do so once before they’re speaking again.

“They didn’t even give a shit! They just griped ‘cause it wasn’t like all of our earlier, stupid sets!”

They let out a hiss at that. They breathe in hard through their noise, trying to steady themself, and I hear what sounds like a sniffle.

I still listen.

“All they want to do is play our old stuff,” they say, looking away again. “The stuff I wrote when I was a dopey kid in Middle School! Stuff about vomit and robots and–it’s just, dumb! Cringey, childish stuff that doesn’t–it’s not me anymore! But all they care about is that it’s what they know, and that means it’s easy.

“Well it’s not supposed to be easy! Nothing about this is easy! I feel–I…I-I…”

They hunch forward, burying their face against their clenched palms for a moment.

Their shoulders are shaking. An inhale shivers through them.

“...I just, want to grab them and just…Just ask–”

The dam’s about to break.

And when it does, Fang’s fists slam into their lap as they lurch forward and scream at the horizon, wings flaring wildly behind them.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU TWO?!”

The cry echoes out across the school yard. I can’t help but shrink back a little; I’ve never heard Fang like this before. I’ve never heard them drop an F-bomb either. 

More importantly, my fly on the wall instinct is screaming inside of me, because the others still on campus absolutely heard that. I melt away a bit from the railing, hoping to avoid being seen. Were it not for the fact the trembling pterosaur a couple feet away is clearly in dire need of support, I’d probably just bail on this general area right now.

No, as much as I want to, the sight of Fang makes me stay.

They look miserable. Their wings had draped tight around their person like a downy cloak, trying to conceal themself from their world. Moisture threatens around the eyes, earning distortions of their eyeliner.

“...Is it me?”

They croak the question out, so softly I barely hear it.

They sound as bad as they look. The frailty of their voice actually makes something inside of me ache a little.

“Am I doing something wrong…?” They ask aloud, looking at the ocean again. “It just–it doesn’t make sense. I’m doing everything I can to make this work. It’s all of me. Every–every part of me is in this, and…It just feels like it’s falling apart. Half a year to go, and I’m afraid we won’t be ready in time.”

They look over to me, with a kind of pleading. A need for reassurance.

“...What am I doing wrong?”

I can’t just listen anymore.

Besides–I don’t want to.

I hesitate for a moment. The alarms are screaming at the notion of what I’m about to do, but frankly, the sight before me pushes me past them.

I shuffle closer from my position against the railing, coming to stand next to Fang. Leaning over, I place a hand on their shoulder. Both to steady them and to keep their attention.

They blink at the gesture, looking at my hand for a moment. 

The scales of their shoulders are surprisingly smooth, all things considered. The feathers of their left wing brush against my forearm ever-so-slightly. They kind of tickle a little.

“I don’t think you’re necessarily doing anything wrong,” I begin, speaking slowly. Both to make sure they understand me clearly, and also because I’m winging the fuck out of this. I need to think about what the Hell is coming out of my mouth.

“You’re beyond passionate for your music, and it shows. It bleeds through every part of you. You’re more than talented, Fang. You shouldn’t have any doubt about that. I meant every word I said earlier about your song. You’re gonna crush it at the Battle, I can tell.”

Fang sniffles softly, their eyes finding mine again. They’re a very tiny hint of a smile on their features.

“...But…?” They begin, prompting me.

I sigh, nodding.

“But,” I repeat, picking up from it. “I think, maybe, you should try and express a bit of what you showed me today, to Reed and Trish.”

I pause, before I quickly ask a question:

“Have you actually tried to speak with either of them about how you’re feeling? About any of this?”

Fang tenses. A sour expression curdles over their face. They glance away, brow furrowed.

“...Not exactly.”

“Fang.”

“It’s hard, okay?” They sigh, running a hand through their silver hair. “I don’t–Stuff like this has never been easy for me. And, I just…”

The discomfort on their face builds. I squeeze their shoulder to remind them I’m here. They let out a low breath at it.

“I just kind of wish they’d, notice, you know?” They murmur. “That I wouldn’t have to bring it up at all. I guess it’d just…It would make me feel like they care, care about the band–about me and our friendship, if they’re the ones to say something. If they’d ask me how I’m doing.”

They look back at me.

“Is that selfish?”

“I don’t think so,” I tell them. “But…Just because something’s obvious to you, doesn’t mean it is to everyone else. Especially if you swallow it down and don’t defend yourself. Reed and Trish probably don’t realize how much this affects you because you aren’t making it clear to them. They probably think you’re okay with them diverting time to their other projects because, well…”

I’m forced to shrug.

“You aren’t saying anything.”

“I guess,” they huff, clearly finding some difficulty with my advice. “But, I mean–come on! This is more important than the other stuff. You know that! They should too…!

“You’re right, it is,” I agree, before I very carefully add, “...To you.”

Fang’s eyes narrow a little at that. The look is enough of a question.

“Look, like I said, I don’t think you’re doing anything wrong,” I tell them. “But, you should  remember that the world doesn’t revolve around you. If you think the others have been putting off the band in favor of other stuff, then maybe you three need to figure out a better way to balance these things.

“But,” I emphasize with a squeeze of their shoulder. “You gotta figure it out together. And the first step to doing that, or making this better at all, is just talking to them about it. Otherwise it’s gonna keep happening.”

Fang lets out a sigh, folding their arms. They glance away for a moment as they seem to digest everything I told them.

Then, they close their eyes and nod slowly. When they open once more, they give me a little small.

“...Alright,” they say. “I’m–I’ll try talking to them. Probably Reed first, he’s…He’s chill. He’ll take that kind of stuff better than Trish will, I think.”

“Probably a good idea,” I agree. I release my hand from their shoulder, arm falling back to my side.

That was definitely the longest I’ve ever touched a girl before.

…Huh, weird. No alarms, no internal screaming, no nothing over that fact. My palm doesn’t even feel sweaty. Mom’s spaghetti is yet within my pockets.

As I internally ponder over the ramifications of such a non-reaction to my glancing of the foid, I maintain enough awareness to notice that Fang’s smile has grown a touch warmer towards me.

“Hey,” they say to me. “Thanks for listening to me vent. That, and the advice.”

I just shake my head.

“It’s nothing, really. You needed it.”

“No, I mean it,” Fang replies. “I needed to hear all of that. And, uh…I’m just, glad it came from you, I guess.”

I arch a brow at those words.

“What do you mean?”

“I dunno,” Fang shrugs, looking away; they chuckle nervously. “Uhm–God, how do I put this?”

They pause for a moment, their expression hesitant as they consider what to say. I can’t help but share in their nerves a little–mostly because I’m uncertain as to what’s about to come out of their mouth.

This whole conversation, in quick reflection, feels…Odd.

“...You’re just honest,” they finally say, meeting my gaze again. “Like, a little too honest at times, really. It can be a little annoying, but it also means that, well. Whatever you say, I can take it for what it is, y’know? It makes your words mean something.”

. . .

On one hand, the complement leaves me feeling a wave of embarrassment. A familiar heat gnawing at the tips of my ears.

Yes, I feel it–but also an uglier feeling in my core.

Shame, if I had to put a word on it.

Shame upon hearing this, spoken to earnestly from my friend, because they don’t know how much of a giant liar I am.

How many times I’ve lied to them, or the others. Sometimes directly, but mostly by omission.

It makes me think about what my parents used to tell me when I was younger, when they caught me over something I had lied about.

Eventually, in some way, the truth gets out.

How long until they know who I really am? What kind of person I am?

…What happens then?

–Why’s Fang laughing?

“Dude,” they’re snickering. “Did’ja short-circuit? Helllooo, earth to Anon!”

Fuck. I shake my head.

“Yeah, I’m good,” I quickly deflect. “Y-You too.”

Aaah, there’s the familiar feeling of pasta in my pockets, threatening to spill free.

Fang’s chuckling dies into a groan. They crack their arms over their head for a moment and stretch, flaring their wings out alongside the movement.

“A’ight, enough of this sappy stuff already,” they say as they swing their arms back down. “If we keep this up I’m gonna be miserable for the rest of the night.”

“You and me both,” I murmur.

“Change of topic then,” they propose. “You heading to Reed’s party this weekend?”

“Party?” I squint, before the realization hits me. “Ooooh, that. Naomi mentioned that a little to me this morning. What’s it for again?”

“Last warm day of the year. Stuff’s gonna start getting cooler soon; think it’s, like, a holdover from those pagan solstice rituals or whatever.”

Wait, what? That’s not what I remember Naomi saying it was for.

“Really? Naomi gave it a name of some sort, it started with a…A C, I think? Maybe an S?”

Fang lets out a snort.

“Let me guess, she said Cuvvy Day, didn’t she?”

“Yeah, something like that. Think it was pronounced similar to caviar. Cuvier?”

“Yep, that’s the one. Cuvier Day’s kind of, like, a Caldera Bay thing. Cuvier was the last name of the dude that founded the town back in who-gives-a-shit, it’s like an anniversary for us or whatever. There’s usually a folk parade downtown, whole ordeal.”

“So there’s two holidays on the same day?”

“Kinda?” They shake their head. Last warm day’s not exactly a set in stone date, so most places celebrate it differently. Don’t you guys have stuff for it too?”

“Uuh, no? My home’s up north Fang, it’s cold most of the year.”

“Oh! Shit, right,” they huff. “Anyways, Cuvier Day falls around the same time we kept hosting ours or something, so we just started combining them into one thing at some point. Been that way the whole time I’ve been alive, at least.”

“Seems like you prefer one over the other,” I note.

“Well, duh. Cuvier sucks, I ain’t acknowledging that asshole.”

“Because…?”

“‘Cause,” Fang says matter-of-factly, folding their arms once more. “Cuvier was a Saurian-supremacist piece of shit that deserves to be forgotten. You wouldn’t believe the things this dude wrote about humans. It’s crazy that he still has a statue near one of the piers!”

…I’m gonna have to look this guy up when I get home, this sounds like a wild ride.

Caldera Bay was founded by someone who hated humans.

Maybe you’re not so hopelessly libcucked after all, CB.

“Huh,” I reply. “Learn something new every day.”

“Dude, it’s so embarrassing to have to tell my human friend the speciesist past of my hometown,” Fang groans, rolling their eyes. “Anyways! All that stuff aside, Reed’s family gets everyone together and grills out. There’ll probably be some drinks this time around too. It’s a fun time. So, you coming?”

Burgers and dino BBQ sounds like a better afternoon than any form of rotting I originally had going on. Plus, I can probably swipe some leftovers to tide me over for the next couple of days too.

Oh, and I guess Fang and the others’ll be hanging out there, too. 

“Yeah,” I shrug. “‘Course I am. Surprised you didn’t tell me about it sooner.”

“We did!” They say, leaning towards me. “We’ve been talking about it. You just never look in the groupchat, dummy!”

“I am sworn to a knightly vigil of silence,” I reply.

The real reason I keep forgetting is a different kind of silence. Namely, I put the chat on do not disturb because, between Trish’s Mango pics and Stella’s slew of RikRok reel garbage, I was getting at least five hundred alerts an hour. At least, it felt that way.

“Oooooh,” Fang says, eyes half-lidding. They nod. “I see, I see. So, is that whole chivalry thing the reason you’re a virgin too?”

“Sure,” I reply. “What’s your excuse?”

I punctuate the question with a grin. Fang replies by swatting at me with their closest wing. I stagger back from the assault of feathers, an arm reaching out to clutch the railing.

“You could’ve knocked me over the edge, dickhead!” I snap, completely failing to mask the laughter in the voice.

“That’s the plan,” Fang smirks–before they begin to chuckle with me, lips splitting into a mirthful grin.

The pair of us snicker with each-other like dumbasses. As I come to lean against the railing once more, folding my arms atop it, Fang slides down from their seat upon it. They join me in the leaning, both of us now facing the ocean.

“I’m glad you had detention today,” they say after a moment, the distant ocean breeze casting a wave along their snowy hair.

“Oh?” I loft a brow once more. “Taking joy in misfortune now?”

“Well, duh,” they reply, before adding. “But, really, it’s ‘cause…Well. If you didn’t, we probably wouldn’t have had this talk, y’know? I would’ve just gone home and sulked in my room for the rest of the night. You being here kind of turned this around into something alright.”

“Just alright, huh?”

“Just alright,” they repeat. They feign giving me a hard look, but amusement glimmers in their fiery eyes. “Don’t push your luck, Mous.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” I say, smirking back at them.

A little titter shakes Fang’s shoulders as they look away. They let out a tiny sigh.

“Should probably head back down and pack up my stuff. If I don’t get home before long Nas’ll have ate dinner without me.”

“Yeah,” I agree, pushing off the railing. “Probably as good a time as any.”

Fang mirrors me, pausing to grab their acoustic guitar. I’m about to head to the door before I consider something.

“Hey,” I ask them. “Wanna walk home together?”

They blink at the question.

“If I remember what Naser told me, we kind of follow the same route to school up till a certain point. Might as well just go it until we have to split off, y’know?”

“Huh, guess you’re right,” they say, nodding. “Yeah! That’d be cool. C’mon, you can help me carry some of this stuff.”

“I volunteered to walk with you, not hold your shit!”

Fang just sticks their tongue out at me in response, walking past and heading towards the door. I shake my head at the mocking display, following after them.

It’ll no doubt slow me down from getting back to my apartment, but I just don’t want to see them have to walk all the way back to their place alone. At least this way, they’ve got some company for a good bit of the journey.

I glance over my shoulder as I near the doorway. I took one last look at the rooftop balcony and the horizon beyond it before I head downstairs.

As I glimpse the setting sun again, I realize that I agree with Fang.

I’m glad I had detention today.

Notes:

Hey hey, Snoogers. Back at you again with another chapter of Meteor Game.

It's been a little bit since I last updated. The long and short of this is more or less just due to turbulence with my job. Life is a beach, so on and so forth.

I'm going to try and ride the wave of momentum this chapter release will no doubt help give me, while I continue to work on my other projects/comms on the side.
I probably could write more in this note, but it's close to 5 a.m. at the time of writing, and the majority of my brain power was used getting this chapter completed and reviewed.

In the mean time, let me know what (you) thought in the comments.
We're all gonna make it bros; until next we meet.