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Marcus walked. He had no idea where he was going, he just needed to get away from where he'd been. The gently winding street of the Krausers' cul-de-sac eventually turned into a larger road that had him traveling along past storefronts and a large shopping center. The jackalope's stomach none-too-quietly reminded him that he should probably get something to eat. His plan to have dinner with his mother had not quite worked out.

It was getting dark, and Marcus didn't feel comfortable wandering around an unfamiliar city, so he decided to get himself a vague semblance of dinner from a coffee shop housed in the nearby plaza.

"Welcome to Caribou Coffee how may I help you," came the unbelievably monotone greeting from a camel who looked like he hadn't slept in days.

Marcus looked at the menu, his own expression not much more vibrant. Nothing looked any good. None of it really looked like anything, really. He saw the words, read the ingredients, but everything just seemed like a hollow description of items. His stomach was hungry, but he had no actual desire to eat.

"Sir if you don't know what you want please step to the side and let another customer order."

Marcus turned. He was the only one in line.

"Pretty sure it's just me here."

The camel sighed. "Then could you hurry up and pick something, it's weird if you just stand there."

Marcus didn't have the energy to argue. He picked the first item off of the "grain-based diets" menu along with a black coffee. Even before he got it, he knew the coffee would taste like dirt water. Back home, Mrs. Lewis spent a fortune on beans from Jamaica, and Marcella took pride in her preparation. That was real coffee. Whatever they dumped out of those taps at chain cafes was barely any different than drinking what came out of their gutters.

The jackalope took a seat in a corner booth with his all-grain veggie sandwich that looked like it had been sitting in a fridge for days and popped the lid off of his coffee, his nose wrinkling at the bitter scent.

"Fuckin' gross," he muttered.

Marcus took a drink of it, not bothering to even try and fix the taste with cream or sugar, and poked at his meal disinterestedly. Even with his belly groaning, he didn't feel like going through the effort of chewing. He had a lot of "worst case scenarios" in his head for how this trip could have gone. A wrong address, an angry woman who slammed the door in his face, a drug addict who didn't remember him. He'd have happily taken any of those over what he'd found.

Forcing himself to eat, Marcus pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped out a text.

[hey dude, come pick me up? got the address here]

[NP! how'd it go? you had a good time with your moms?]

Marcus swallowed hard, forcing that dry stale bread down, thinking his next steps over carefully.

[wasn't her house, guess the info was old]

[aw shit, sorry to heard bud :(]

[its ok, when can you get here?]

[about an hour if i drive the speed limit, so see you in 45 LOL]

The teen put his phone down on the table and poked at its screen, like he was expecting it to spring up and do a trick for him. He stuck his headphones in, not even with any intention of listening to music, just wanting to have an excuse not to acknowledge anyone who was trying to get his attention. No one did, but he just wanted to make sure everyone knew that he was the one making the choice to ignore them.

Time crept for Marcus. He finished his sandwich as slowly as he could, dividing the last piece of it in half until he was nibbling on crumbs. He kept sipping at his coffee cup long after it had been empty, just to make it look like he had a reason to be still sitting there and not get another smartass comment from the camel up front. He wanted BJ to hurry up and take him back to town.

Back to the Lewises.

Back to yesterday.

For the last two years he'd concocted a choose-your-own-adventure novel of what his life would be like if he met his mother. He imagined holidays, extended family reunions, sharing photographs, inviting his parents to track meets. Whenever the days got dark at Greenwood, he could always slump back to his dorm and drop down in bed, pull out that photograph and think about how different everything would be. What a life he would have.

Now, where could his mind take him when he felt alone?

Marcus's phone vibrated, with a message letting him know BJ had arrived. He made a point of leaving his trash on the tabel as he walked out. That fucking camel could take care of it. The only thing on Marcus's mind was getting out of this place and going home. Well, going "home."

"Yo, sorry about yer mom, bud," BJ said while Marcus tossed his bag into the truck.

The jackalope shrugged lamely. "Yeah, well, shit happens."

BJ glanced over at his friend as he shifting into first gear, pulling away just in time to see an angry barista glaring at them through the window as he retrieved the abandoned tray.

"So what now?" he asked, turning his music down a few notches. "Gonna do some more diggin'? See if you can find where she moved?"

Marcus's eyes were on the road ahead of him, his ears were down. He shrugged. "I was thinking, she probably has a family and a life and stuff, I should probably leave her be, y'know?"

The canine's ears perked. He was nearly deaf, but far from dumb. There was something Marcus wasn't telling him, but it was clear that whatever it was, the kid did not want to talk about it. So Brian Thomas Jr. nodded, keeping up the act.

"Yeah, I guess that's a good point. Probably shouldn't come up with ideas when we're stoned, right?" BJ offered with as cheery of a laugh as he could muster. "All right, so... back to my place?"

Marcus shook his head. "Nah. I think I should just go home. Mom's probably worried about me."

Now BJ really knew something was wrong. He never talked like that. It took every bit of willpower in his body, but the pit bull forced himself not to shove his blocky muzzle in where it didn't belong. He took a slow breath through his nose, and nodded.

"Sure thing, bud. You wanna stop on the way? Get somethin' to eat?"

The jackalope's eyes briefly turned his way. "Got food there."

BJ winced at himself. "Uh... oh yeah."

The trip back took forever and happened all at once. Each second dragged its feet, but Marcus could never tell how many had passed. Every time the truck slowed down, he had to check and see if it was just a stoplight or if they were already back in Weston. Half of him just wanted to get back, half of him was hoping that time would freeze and he could just ride in BJ's truck for the rest of eternity.

Unfortunately, time was not in the mood to help Marcus Lewis that night, and it finally deposited him at the massive driveway in front of the Lewis's home. He sat with his head rested against the passenger side window, staving off going inside and facing his mother for a few more seconds.

BJ sighed. "Hey, Marcus. Not to push, but it's gettin' late and..."

Marcus nodded. "I know."

He grabbed his bag from the back seat and popped the door open. "Um, BJ?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for, you know, helping me out with all that."

"Er, yeah. Any time, bud."

Brian Thomas Jr. did not, by any stretch, feel like he'd helped. He also did not feel like staying any longer than necessary. Mrs. Lewis never seemed to like it when he was in their driveway, like he was spoiling their image. So, he drove off, waving to his friend as he went.

Marcus stood, staring at the front door. The light was still on.

This was far from the first time Marcus had come home late at night after spending a day at BJ's, hoping his parents were asleep. Normally he'd try to creep in through the back door, but there was no point. She was awake, and he might as well just bite the bullet and go in the front.

The instant Marcus stepped through the door, Barbara Lewis descended upon him. It was a strange thing. He could see her screaming at him in her typical machine-gun way. Her beak was clacking and snapping at him, she was gesturing wildly with her hands, but he couldn't hear any of it. Every word out of her mouth turned into a puff of smoke that dissipated against his face.

He wondered if that was why BJ always seemed so laid back. Easy to not be concerned with what people say if you can tune them out.

Marcus knew the dance well. Barbara's patients spent an hour a week with her at best, a lot of them only seeing her through a webcam. He'd spent his whole life in her house, having her use all those techniques from the books in her study whenever they had any kind of a serious talk. For a client who hadn't heard them so many times over the years, the questions felt probing, the answers enlightening. For a teenager who had, he knew what to say that would appease and make the conversation end as rapidly as possible.

Amidst the tempest, tears were shed while Barbara Lewis explained how worried she was, not just for him that night but for his future, and Marcus made sure to tell his adoptive mother that he was very upset and needed his space so he could talk to her in a mature and calm fashion. That he was scared, ashamed, and had to collect himself. She thanked him for his honesty and praised him for his willingness to admit fault.

"I suppose I'll go to bed, then. And I believe you should do the same. School in the morning."

Marcus nodded, and went upstairs. He dropped on top of his mattress, on top of the blanket without getting under them, still fully clothed, and drifted off to sleep.

For his "classes," Marcus indeed sat at the large dining room table with a laptop, staring at its screen while his teachers gave their lectures via a camera. Apparently Greenwood had set up remote classes for students who were unable to come in due to illness or inclement weather. He had a feeling he was the first case of it being used for disciplinary reasons. At least he couldn't hear anyone making comments. And hey, he got a homemade lunch. Maybe he should keep getting in trouble, he thought.

On Friday night, Charles and Barbara Lewis returned from their trips just in time for something of a late dinner. Family meals weren't the most common affair, between Marcus generally being at school and his parents frequently on the road, so when all three were together, his mother insisted that they eat at the table together.

"Good to see you home, son," Charles called from his seat at their dining room table. Though it fit the aesthetics of the house, the massive oval seemed sized for a much larger family, not a simple trio. With the men of the family at either end of it and Barbara at the midpoint on one side, they weren't dining together so much as dining vaguely near each other.

Marcus nodded. "Yeah. Uh... just wanted a home cooked meal, you know? Sleep in my own bed."

Charles flagged Marcella over to refill his glass of water, casually picking through a plate of fruit and what was an attempt at making insect protein into a facsimile of steak. "Mmhm. Not because the boys at school were giving you problems, of course."

The teen's food halted halfway down his throat. He swallowed it down, glancing over at his mother. Barbara gave him a look to tell him she hadn't said a word.

Marcus shrugged. "I mean, no different than usual," he said simply.

That earned a look from Charles. His void-black feather coat always made it hard to know exactly what he was thinking, as his face all blended into one vague shape. He seemed satisfied with the answer, though. "Well, we're always happy to see you."

A few moments passed with the only sounds being silverware tapping against porcelain. Given the option, Marcus would have preferred to finish his meal as quickly as possible and go back to his bedroom, and while his mother's preference that they all stay together until everyone was finished usually didn't concern him in the slightest, that night he felt it best to comply.

Barbara broke the silence, as she often did. "So! Charles, how did today's meeting go?"

The older bird nodded. "Well enough, I suppose. No ink to paper yet but I believe we're one step closer."

Mrs. Lewis stirred the contents of her plate around a bit. "Well, I had a lovely time myself. Another hour spent with my favorite filmmaker letting me know that everyone around him is still incompetent."

"Mm, still having a hard time getting him to see, eh?"

Barbara shot her husband a glance. "Charles."

He snickered, the corners of his mouth by his beak curling up. "I make that joke every time, don't I?"

Despite herself, Barbara also ended up with a grin on her face.

Marcus did not. He didn't get the joke, and didn't really care to.

There were more vague attempts at small talk made throughout the remainder of the meal. Marcus heard the static begin to build once more, only breaking up whenever his name was mentioned so he could give whatever response would let him exit the conversation once more. He slowly etched his way through his dinner, watching his father at the opposite end of the table as he did the same, occupying his mind by trying to complete his meal in exact sync.

As soon as he felt the opportunity arise, Marcus quickly made his exit. Though he did romanticize more humble living like BJ's, there was a massive advantage to living with the Lewises: The house was big enough that it was possible to completely get away from his parents whenever he needed to. Upstairs might as well have been a different house entirely.

So, Marcus Lewis retired to his bedroom, specifically heading up into the small loft where he could vanish in front of his computer. He didn't have anything he particularly wanted to do there, but that small alcove was more tucked away than the main area. It was cozier. Hidden.

"Marcus?"

Okay, not really hidden.

The jackalope leaned out to look at where the noise had come from, seeing Charles just inside his room, looking up.

"...yeah?"

The bird had one hand on his hip, the other rubbing the back of his head uneasily. He'd changed out of the day's clothing into what passed as "around the house" wear. For Charles Lewis, that meant slacks and a sweater that still looked like he was expecting company at any moment. Marcus always wondered if he had business suits just for sleeping.

"Mind if we talk?" he asked.

Marcus sighed. This was going to be painful. He pushed the hanging sheet aside and climbed down the ladder, joining his adoptive father now on the edge of his perfectly-made bed.

"You wanna tell me what's going on?"

Marcus closed his eyes briefly. He wanted to scream. No, he'd say to Charles, I don't want to tell you what's going on. You don't want me to tell you what's going on. You want to sit down and give me the moment in the sitcom where dad and son have a heart to heart while the music goes all schmaltzy and they hug it out in the end. But you don't actually want to hear any of it.

"Nothin's going on, why?" he replied, shrugging.

Talking with Charles Lewis was an odd experience. With his coat of feathers making it nearly impossible to read his face, the only thing to go by were his words, and everything he said sounded like he'd pulled it from a box of pre-made phrases. Like he was working from a flowchart.

"Marcus, I was born at night, but I wasn't born last night," he began, showing off his sterling originality. "You're walking around like a zombie. Come on, talk to me."

A cloud of answers wafted through Marcus's mind. He reached in and selected one, hoping it would make the conversation end quickly.

"Oh... just guys on the track team giving me a hard time."

Charles sighed, shaking his head sadly. "I had a feeling it was that..." he said, voice sympathetic. "Those boys, I swear."

Marcus rolled his eyes, but continued. "Yeah, dad. Like, the other day at practice this one guy Brian was saying about how I only got on the team because the school thinks I'll look good in their ads."

Believing his son, Charles Lewis slumped and put an arm around Marcus's shoulders. "Let me tell you something. We can't control what life gives us. Who knows why that school put you on the team? It doesn't matter. What matters is that you took that opportunity and ran with it!"

Marcus forced a chuckle. He wasn't a member of the drama club, but he could pull off a halfway decent performance when he had to. "Yeah, I guess."

The bird nodded firmly, pleased that this was going well. "Exactly. They're just too immature to admit that they're upset a hybrid is beating them. They'll have to grow up eventually. All you can do is your best."

"Thanks dad," Marcus replied. There it was. The big moment of togetherness between father and son. Cue the big hug, a pat on the back, and roll credits. Now Marcus could go back up to his mini-cave and just wait until Monday came around.

To his surprise, Marcus's mother hadn't taken his keys when he'd come back, but he also had no interest in taking advantage of the opportunity. He'd had enough adventure. There wasn't anywhere he wanted to go, after all.

Keeping himself holed away for a weekend wasn't terribly difficult. Whether they were home or not, Marcus's interaction with his parents tended to occur over the phone more often than in person. Aside from coming down for food, Marcus was able to avoid leaving his bedroom for the remainder of the weekend, and even that was only because Marcella refused to bring it up to him. All he had to put up with was two more family dinners and then he could escape back to school.

With the sun long set and sleep still feeling hours away, Marcus sat at his desk listening to music and poking at a few games when a chat window popped up.

[yo hornbro!!]

[hey corey]

[DUDE!! you coming to campus on Monday or what??]

Marcus snorted. Every message Corey sent sounded like he was yelling while he wrote it.

[yeah did everyone miss me? :P]

[OMG man no one knew WTF was going on!! everyone kept asking me if you were in jail!!]

[lol no I'm fine]

[haha I knew it!! Eli's been talking shit, you wanna kick his ass again when you come back??]

Marcus let out a breath, his head sagging while he tapped out his reply. That was the beauty of talking to someone over text. No matter how you feel, you can make yourself sound how you want to be heard and no one's the wiser.

[nah I'll give him a break this time lmao. see you monday!]

[take it easy!!]:D ]

He rolled his eyes and rubbed his face. Corey always signed off with that little emote. Horns and everything.

It shouldn't have come as a huge surprise that rumors were flying around back at Greenwood. No one had a problem making up stories when he was actually on campus with them, obviously they'd be free to let their imaginations run wild if he wasn't around to correct anyone. To be honest, he was surprised Corey hadn't told him anything crazier.

Though, really, everyone thinking he was in jail was pretty good. There was a missed opportunity. He should have said to tell them he was, and that he had all sorts of badass prison tattoos and was in a gang. He totally shanked someone in the bathroom for looking at him wrong. Marcus Lewis, hardened ex-convict. Not like it would make a big change on his reputation. It'd probably keep Eli from running his mouth at least.

Sunday came and went in a blur. A day of hiding in his bedroom, another awkward dinner with even fewer words said than the others aside from complementing Marcella on her cooking. That night, Charles let everyone know he would be up very early to leave town again, while Barbara would be there to see Marcus off to school.

The next morning, Marcus tried to slip out extra early in the hopes of getting passed his mother.

"Marcus."

The call stopped him just as he was about to sneak into the garage from the kitchen.

He turned back. "Yeah, mom?"

Barbara Lewis looked serious. Not angry, but deadly serious.

"Marcus, please promise me you're going to behave."

The jackalope sighed. "Mom..."

"Promise me!"

He held up a hand. "I promise I'll behave."

Unlike her husband, Barbara was able to see through most of Marcus's attempts at putting on an act. Also unlike her husband, she was acutely aware of when it wasn't worth prodding into and when it was best just to be happy that he said what she asked him to. So, she nodded, brushing his uniform off and straightening his tie out, making sure the knot was actually where it was supposed to be.

"Okay then. I'll be here if you need to call for any reason. I love you."

"...love you, too."

With that, he was on the road.

Usually, Marcus blasted his favorite music on his way to school after a weekend at home. Loud, rebellious rock made by the kind of hard-knuckle rebels that he always pretended to be. Fist-pumping anthems about not taking shit from anyone, about defying authority, not respecting the rules. Perfect music for a silver-spoon teenager in a custom-ordered birthday present car to be listening to on his way to an elite private boarding school.

That day, Marcus listened to nothing. The radio stayed off. The only sound that he heard was the hum of the road beneath him, and the static slowly building up once again.

A knot began to tie in Marcus's belly. What exactly was he expecting once he arrived at Greenwood? Water under the bridge? Back to normal? Did he even want to go back to normal?

Marcus replayed his trip to Amherst in his head. Everything his mother, his real mother, had told him. All that bullshit about being one in a million. Some orphanage paying all that money for exotics. He did see the receipts. He knew how much he cost. How much they said he was worth. It was true that he'd never met anyone else like him. But why the secrecy? Why was his mom so panicky?

Forcing his mind clear, the young hybrid clicked his stereo on, telling his phone to pull up his driving playlist. Marcus was hardly in the mood to sing along, but he had to get those invasive thoughts out. When the static grew loud enough to drown out the lyrics, all those questions began to take their place.

By the time Marcus pulled into the school's parking lot, he'd nearly clawed holes into his steering wheel. Even with his stereo turned up to max volume, the static was nearly overwhelming. His stomach was full of black tar. He wanted to scream, to cry, to shatter his fists against the concrete. He wanted to get the hurt out of his heart, even if it meant making his body take it instead.

Then, he looked over at his dormitory. He'd blown through a traffic light and gone well over the speed limit to get here. Back to this fucking place.

He checked his phone. Quarter past eight. If he hurried, he could drop his things off in his room and make it to his calculus class. Monday was all the math and sciences. Amazingly, he'd done all of his assignments over the weekend. Track practice was this afternoon. Like Barbara said, he just had to behave. Then everything would be fine. Everything would be like it was before.

Back to normal...

Marcus stared at the campus in front of him. The students milling about, beginning their days. He took a deep breath, got out of his car, and jogged into the Laurel dormitory. Today was going to be a long day.

*******************************************

Corey's Monday schedule had him over at the far side of campus, meaning he didn't get a chance to cross paths with Marcus like Tuesdays and Thursdays. Staying focused during lectures was never his strong suit, especially for subjects like history where after a while all the names started to blend together. With his focus on his returning roommate, Corey kept drifting away entirely.

"What say you, Mr Benton, do you think they made the right decision?" his history professor, an old owl with a massive bow tie asked him sharply.

"Huh? Oh! Uh... yeah, they totally did."

The owl, Dr. Fisher, clacked his small beak. "Mm-HM, I'm glad you're so supportive of the 1858 forced exodus of your ancestors to the United States so they could be livestock for meat."

Corey shrank down in his seat while his classmates snickered. God damn he just wanted to get out of her and head back to the Laurel dorms.

It was funny, the journey he'd gone with Marcus in their time at the dorms. From being unsure about him entirely to a careful friendship to thinking of him almost like a little brother. That was weird, too, since he was pretty sure Marcus was a few months older than him. Still, the point was he'd been trying to help the jackalope not be such a recluse. Not treat himself like this alien.

The fight didn't help, but they could work on that. Maybe it'd get some of the girls to think he was tough?

Regardless, he made his way back after his last class to his building, checking in at the front desk and asking if Marcus had come in that day.

"Mr Lewis?" the guard up front asked, checking the logs on his computer. "Ah, yep. There he is. Came in this morning for a few minutes. Looked like he was in a hurry."

"Is he in there now?"

The chubby snow leopard squinted through his glasses, looking at his screen. "Nnnnope, hasn't been back."

Corey glanced at his watch. Right, it was only three-thirty, Marcus would be at track practice until about five. If he'd planned it out better, he would have made it like a surprise party. Just a little "congratulations for not being in jail" party. Normal roommate stuff. He still had time, though, there had to be something he could do just to put the kid in a better mood when he came in. You know, let him know someone was happy to see him.

The shaggy bull popped his keycard into the slot of their shared room and tried to think of some ideas.

"I could probably print some stuff out, stick on the walls, maybe get..."

He looked inside the room.

"...oh shit."

Marcus's desk was cleared. His bedsheets were gone. There was no clothing on the floor. The few pictured he'd stuck on his wall weren't there. Corey knew he shouldn't have, but he started opening Marcus's drawers, dresser and desk. He checked the closet. Everything was empty. Marcus Lewis was gone.

"Hornbro?" he called out, gingerly stepping towards the bathroom. Nothing.

The heavy bovine froze. He didn't know what to do. Should he call someone? Should he call Marcus? Would he even answer? He pulled his phone out and kept half typing and then deleting messages, dialing part of a number before canceling the call.

That's when he noticed a small note stuck to the big screen television.

[Corey,

You were the only one who treated me like I was normal. I'll never forget that. Everything I left behind is yours. I'm not gonna need it. Thank you for being a good friend.

Hornbros,

Marcus]

Corey stared at the note. He swallowed hard, his breath stuck in his chest.

"Aw fuck Marcus... what did you do?"