FSE

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I just need to survive.

Ben slunk through the door of fifth period biology almost a minute before the tardy bell, hoping to avoid the crowd that always milled in front of the door. He had his hood pulled up and his gaze flattened down. He avoided looking at anyone. He felt embarrassed to be seen at all.

I shouldn't have stuck my head out. I shouldn't have let myself think I was cooler than I am. I should've realized that my dreams will always stay dreams.

Things are just . . . not meant to work out for me.

That's how it is.

He felt something deep and heavy in his chest, weighing on his breath in the same way that his textbooks weighed on his backpack.

If I can just keep my head down the rest of the year, I should be able to avoid the worst of Hannah's attention. She'll forget about me. Everyone will move on. And I'll just. . . .

“Yooooo!" Lynn yelled.

Oh, Jesus Christ.

The punk rat's voice broke through the din of the classroom. It was obvious, by the way she spoke, that she didn't care what conversations she interrupted, or how much attention she gathered. Ben threaded his way through the black chemistry desks, feeling like everyone was now staring at him, even though they weren't.

“There he is!" Lynn declared.

Ben tried to hide his face beneath the hood.

At the moment, Lynn was wearing a black tank-top and ripped gray jeans. Her flat sneakers were hiked up on the desk, kicking with a lazy energy. She was tilting so far back in her chair that Ben couldn't scoot past her to his own seat.

She's looking happy today. Usually, she couldn't give two shits about class.

Maybe it's just to annoy me.

“Gimme some skin," Lynn said.

She offered a pink hand. The edges were callused and dirty. Ben stood at the periphery of their desk, feeling tired and forlorn.

“Can I just go to my seat?" he asked.

“Pay the toll, bitch." She raised the hand. “Hit me."

Ben did not react.

“Clap my shit, homeslice," Lynn said.

Ben rolled his eyes and took the long way around their desk, squeezing through the narrow space between a seated panda and a lanky human girl. Lynn flipped him off.

“Boooooo!"

He sat down on his side of the table, already pulling his textbook and notepad. He could feel Lynn staring at him. He tried to ignore it. Eventually, she scooted her chair across the gap.

Oh, my God.

What do you want?

“Hey, now," the rat said, the piercing in her ear glinting with the afternoon sun. “Why the flat face, humie?"

Ben clicked his mechanical pencil. “Why the long nose, rodent?"

“Rodent?" she replied, amused.

“Humie?" he answered, annoyed.

Lynn scooted even closer. Her knee poked into his thigh. He could see that she had actually decorated her tank top with a special logo, the edges of which were flecked with a careless sweep of spraypaint. It was all written in red, prominent lines.

KILL UR IDOLS

Classy.

“'Sup, dude?" the rat asked. “Why're you wearin' a hood?"

Ben tried not to sigh. “Long day."

“Oh, yeah. Tell me about it." She pretended to slouch in her chair, gray-furred arms folded across her breasts. “School's like a dick in the ass, huh?"

Ben avoided looking at her tits. “I don't think I relate."

“What, you like bein' in school? Do we got some kinda mathlete over here?"

“I mean, I don't think I relate to having a dick in my ass."

Lynn fought down a smirk. “And you think I do?"

“You mentioned it."

“So?"

“So how does a dick in the ass feel, exactly?"

“Like a dick, but it's in your ass."

“How would you know what a dick feels like?"

“Are you questioning my purity, little bird?"

Ben tried not to blush. “I mean, how would you know what it feels like to own a dick?"

“Well, you see," Lynn replied. “I act like a dick. Therefore, I have one. Cognito ergo something. Seize the day."

“If there's gonna be formal logic," Ben said, “then, you know, is the dick going into the ass, or is the ass sitting on the dick? We have to consider the ethics."

Lynn pretended to ponder this. “Shit, man. You're right. I didn't establish the origin of violent dickening. Let's say, hypothetically, for the sake of argument, that it's someone else's dick going into your ass, and their dick has been lubed, but only a little, and they've got those big veins along the shaft. Also, they're circumcised."

Ben looked at her. Lynn stared back, stroking her chin. Around them, the room was full of unzipping backpacks and thrown open books.

“What are we talking about?" Ben asked.

Lynn started to snicker.

Ben turned away, trying to bury his attention in the class textbook.

“Oh, come on," Lynn said, socking him in the shoulder. “What's twistin' your tits, man? Talk to me."

He looked up at the whiteboard, trying to gather strength. He craned his head all the way back to stare at the ceiling lights. Finally, he tilted his gaze toward the other side of his chemistry table, where a rat in a painted tank top was leaning across the non-reactive surface, watching him with eager friendliness.

“'Sup?" Lynn asked, casually.

Ben opened his mouth.

“Okay!" Mr. Peterson announced, waddling out to the front of class. “We're getting right back into it, folks! Neurotransmitters! Cranial anatomy! Can I get an amen? Or should I say . . . a brain stem?"

A few people gave a pity laugh.

“Amen!" the badger said, clapping his hands. “Alright! Dim the lights! Let's start the show!"

Someone turned off the lights, and the projector flickered on, showing the structural composition of a neuron. Mr. Peterson began talking about myelinated sheaths. Lynn glanced at Ben, shrugged, ripped the hood off his head, and quickly scooted back to her side of the desk.

Ben didn't pull the hood back up. It was dark in the room, so no one would see the bite on his ear. Also, putting it back up might seem childish, or something.

I don't know.

I really don't know anymore, man.

A minute of lecture passed.

Despite his effort to concentrate, he ending up sneaking a look at Lynn, hoping that she was still looking at him. Instead, he discovered that the punk rat was already trying to sleep. She never took any notes during lecture, and she only did the worksheets by copying whatever he did. Ben was starting to think she didn't even own the textbook.

There was no sign of her backpack, either. He always made a careful note of the days she did and didn't have it. Today, she didn't.

Hm.

I still don't know what she's smuggling.

Ben continued to watch her, frowning in the dark. Eventually, he ripped off a few pages of his notebook paper and passed them across the desk, offering one of his spare pencils. “Take notes," he whispered.

Lynn opened an eye. Instead of accepting the paper, she made a kissing sound.

Ben blushed.

She snorted.

A few more minutes passed. Ben made an honest attempt to draw some of the neurological diagrams, but most of the material was stuff he already knew, and the heavy feeling in his chest was only growing worse. Soon, he gave up the pretense of notetaking entirely and slouched down in his chair, hearing Mr. Peterson's voice like a TV in a different room.

It had been several hours since he had escaped from Hannah. His neck was still sore. His ear was no longer bleeding, but it was visibly punctured. The few people who'd seen it had all asked if he'd gotten it pierced.

He struggled not to sigh.

He didn't know what to do. Hannah had made it clear she didn't appreciate him following her, and he had a very certain feeling that she wasn't ever going to leave him alone about it, because he had done a group project with her in sixth grade and never heard the end of it from there, so why would she not give him shit for discovering she was a drug dealer?

Just like Lynn, he knew too much. And that made him dangerous.

An unwilling ally.

We're chums, aren't we, Ben?

Oh, yeah.

The best of chums.

He felt a shudder along his spine.

Sitting at the chemistry table, listening through the dark, Ben was very aware of the baggie full of weed currently sitting in a side pouch of his backpack. He had no plans to smoke it. In fact, he was going to dump it in the trash the first chance he got. He was utterly terrified of anyone discovering his hidden contraband, let alone the idea of his dad's canine nose sniffing it out the second he got home.

On the other hand, it wasn't like he didn't want to do drugs. He had gone through the DARE program like everyone else, and he had come out of it very convinced that everything was being overblown, just like all the stranger danger warnings—at the very least, marijuana didn't deserve to be lumped in with meth and PCP. It was a traditional ganja in India. People used it for medicine, hemp, and spiritual enlightenment. Ben had personally read all of this on the school's library computer.

He had fantasized about smoking a joint, admittedly. He had told himself that he should, at the very least, try it for himself, if only to say that he had.

He might end up liking it.

Still. . . .

Ben glanced at his backpack.

He didn't have anything to smoke it with. He could borrow his dad's kitchen lighter, but wouldn't he need a pipe? And how would it. . . .

What was it even gonna feel like?

Was it worth the risk?

Man, how do people even do drugs? There's so much planning involved.

This shit sucks.

Suddenly, a white paper slid across his desk, bumping into his hand. Lynn leaned back in her chair, as if she hadn't moved at all. Ben looked up at Mr. Peterson, waited for him to glance at the projector screen, and opened the note.

What happened to your ear?

Instinctively, Ben rubbed the lobe of his ear. He threw on his hood again. Lynn kicked his chair with her sneaker. Ben watched Mr. Peterson for half a minute before replying.

What happened to yours?

He passed the note. Lynn quickly read it. Just like him, she reached up to fondle the wound on her ear. It looked like someone had cut away the rounded edge with a knife, leaving a shallow wedge in the pink tissue. Her piercing only highlighted the damage.

She wrote a response.

I asked first.

Ben read the note a few times, thinking. He replied.

It's a long story.

Lynn read the note. She kicked his chair again. When he didn't look at her, a response came within seconds.

I still owe you that favor. Don't be a pussy.

She passed the note, not even bothering to hide it from the teacher, and stared at him as he read it. Ben looked absently at the black surface of his desk. He felt something stop him. It was the same something that made him eat lunch in the library, that always made him blush and cower whenever Hannah made fun of him with her friends.

It stopped him for a while. Then, slowly, the fear turned into anger, and the anger turned into bravery.

He scribbled without pause.

That's kind of the problem.

I was gonna ask you to dump a bucket of chum in this one girl's locker, Hannah (the shark). Except I tried to follow her, and she saw me, and it turns out she's selling drugs, and now I might get the shit beaten out of me for even trying. It's too risky now.

He paused. He decided to add an extra line.

I'm scared, honestly.

He passed the note. He deliberately did not look for Lynn's reaction. Instead, he stared toward the front of class, watching the way Mr. Peterson casted a round shadow on the whiteboard. The passage of time slowed to a crawl. Every second felt like torture. The longer Lynn took to answer, the worse he began to feel.

She's taking too long.

Is she even going to answer? Was that too much? The favor she had in mind was probably just buying me a soda at the vending machine, and now I'm dumping all my shit on her, and she's probably feeling overwhelmed. Or maybe just annoyed.

Why would she care about me like that?

I fucked up.

I should've played it cool.

I finally manage to get a girl talking to me, and of course this happens. I'm such a weirdo. I can't read social cues. Everyone always leaves.

I'm gonna be a miserable loner for the rest of my—

Lynn passed the note.

Ben stared at it for a long few seconds. He was almost too nervous to look. As Mr. Peterson explained the origin of the anthro prefrontal cortex, Ben picked up the note, took a small breath, and opened it up.

Want to meet after class?

We'll figure it out.

Ben felt an indescribable rush of emotions. His heart actually skipped a beat, which he didn't even know was possible. Very quickly, he wrote back a response, crossed it out, and decided on something simple.

Sure, thanks.

The note almost slipped from his hand as he passed it along the desk. Once again, he tried not to look for Lynn's reaction, as if seeming to care would completely betray his thoughts. He kept his face hidden beneath the hood of his sweater, waiting impatiently.

A few seconds later, Lynn kicked his chair. It wasn't a hard kick from the tip of her sneaker—instead, it was more like a gentle tap of her heel, like she was just letting him know that she was there.

No worries, the kick seemed to say.

I've got your back, dude.

She didn't write a response. Ben continued to watch the cranial anatomy lecture from the safety of his hood, feeling a hot soup of emotions churn through his belly.

He spent the rest of lecture completely unable to concentrate.

---

Once the final bell rang, Lynn stood up from their desk and flicked her head. This seemed like a signal.

He followed her through the door.

They marched out into the roaming chaos of the halls. People poured from the doors, ran across the tiles, jostled for their lockers, clumped themselves into groups, all of which contributed to a constantly shifting maze. Ben always compared the end-of-day passing period to the flow of blood inside a vein.

Maybe this vein will cause a heart attack. All these clots, all this fat.

Something about society.

I dunno.

Lynn cut a sharp path through the hall. She didn't particularly get in anyone's way, but she didn't seem to care about bumping any shoulders, either, and Ben found himself struggling to walk alongside her. It wasn't just the chaos of his fellow students, though that certainly didn't help. It was the implication.

He was walking with a girl.

Now that class was over, he suddenly had no idea how to handle himself. Did he stick close to her? Did he keep a respectful distance, because they weren't like that yet? Should he walk beside her? A little behind? Should he tell her that he needed to go to his locker and grab his Art History textbook?

They were walking in silence. Should he say something?

Ben realized he was sweating.

I'm such a fucking spaz, man.

Jesus Christ.

“Dude," Lynn said. “Ease off."

He stumbled out of himself. “What?"

“You walk too fast."

“Uh, sorry?"

“You should be." She glanced up at him. “Lanky ass bitch."

It occurred to him that she was joking. He searched for a funny riposte. “Do you want a piggyback ride?"

She snorted, flipping him off.

Nailed it.

They continued on, slicing a path through the main atrium of the school. A tall, vaulted ceiling added echoes to dozens of voices. Ben found himself avoiding the crowd watching he always did when walking alone across the school. Instead, he was taking glances at Lynn, trying to gauge things between them.

He really was taller than her. This fact usually slipped his mind, because, for the last few weeks, he had mostly only seen her while they were both sitting down, but now that they were walking in tandem, the difference was obvious. He had at least half a foot on her, though the pink canopy of her ears did make up some of the difference. Usually, he wasn't taller than most of the other anthro girls in the school.

Like Hannah.

Always like Hannah.

Lynn was skinny, too. She wasn't quite a beanpole, like some of the nerdy robotics crew, and she didn't have a lot of lean muscle, like some of the sprinters in track, but she did have an obvious sort of wiry strength that suggested she spent her days being active, in whatever form that ended up taking. Her hands were callused. Through the straps of her tank top, he could see bits of road rash and scraped fur on her shoulder.

Her tits—

She pushed open a door, spraying the hall with sun. Ben felt dazzled and blind.

Her tits are perfectly ordinary. I mean, B cups are great for someone of her body fat composition. She could've just had mosquito bites, instead.

Stop thinking.

They marched out into the backwoods asphalt driveway that led to the portables in the southeastern section of the school. Here, there was only a swimming pool, the PE locker rooms, chain fences, some modest roadside gardens, and a few racquetball arenas. Most of the students were shuffling toward the main building. Bodies grew thin.

Lynn took him up a small hill, cut across a section of the soccer field, jogged through a flight of stairs, danced over a cracked section of asphalt, and finally turned toward the back row of the portable classrooms, which laid adjacent to a busy street outside of school grounds. She scooted herself into a narrow alley between the flat-roof buildings and a chain link fence. Ben followed without complaint.

Eventually, Lynn turned again. When Ben followed, he discovered a little hollow sandwiched between the two portables, littered with magazines, food wrappers, and cigarette butts. The portables themselves were angled in such a way that none of this could be seen from the front. He had no idea this place existed.

On first glance, he almost thought it was a homeless camp.

“Take a load off," the rat said.

She slumped down on a standing cinderblock, digging around her back pocket. Ben eyed a few other cinderblocks, which were all arranged in a rough-looking circle. He guessed that other kids hung out here, too. He didn't sit down, and he didn't shrug off his backpack. He felt suddenly dirty for having followed a girl he barely knew into a trash-filled alley, way in the ass-end of school.

With no witnesses, either. Can't forget that.

I know she has a knife.

Lynn pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. She fished one out with her buckteeth, clicked open a Hippo lighter, and sparked it up, blowing smoke across a nest of weeds.

“Needed that, man," she said. “School just goes on forever."

Ben gave a non-committal response.

She puffed a few times, visibly relaxing. The hollow filled with smoke. Ben resisted the urge to waft it away.

“You high, dude?" Lynn asked.

“W-what?"

“You zonked? Faded?"

Ben frowned. “No. I'm not high. I don't smoke, really. I just—" He thought about it some more. “Do I look like I'm high?"

“Kinda," Lynn said. “You always got this zoned out look, most of the time." She waved a hand around her face, emphasizing the eyes. “Kinda bleary. Kinda sad."

Ben kicked some gravel with his toe. “Well. . . ."

“You stare a lot, too."

Ben reddened.

“I can tell, by the way," Lynn said. “You give me the side eye all the time. Tryin' to look oblivious." She gave a slight grin, cigarette dangling between her whiskers. “Not as slick as you think, amigo."

“Sorry."

The rat shrugged. “Well, hey. I'd be nervous around me, too. That's only fair."

Ben looked at her.

“Just don't stare at my tits," Lynn said. “Or I'll chortle your chode."

Ben looked away, mumbling quietly.

“What's that?" Lynn asked.

“Nothing," he said.

“Nuh-uh. That was something."

“It was—" He tried not to sound frustrated. “Nothing."

Lynn gave him a level stare. “Say it, pussy."

Ben glared in return.

“Puussssyyyyyy."

“I said," Ben said, “that you talk too much. You try to beg for my attention, like a dog. It's annoying. You're not as cool as you think you are." He paused, decided to keep going. “Also, you should do your own fucking worksheets."

Lynn cocked her head. It took her a couple seconds to react. Eventually, she barked out a laugh. “I'm just teasing you, dude, holy shit. Wanna chill down a notch?"

“That wasn't teasing," Ben said. “Fuck you. I know I'm weird. And I'm—" He kicked the gravel again. “I'm done being teased. I'm not putting up with that shit. Someone claps me, I clap them back. That's how it is. That's the new me."

The words felt awkward coming out of his mouth. It was obvious, to his own ears, that he was putting up a front, trying to puff out his non-existent fur. He felt suddenly sure that he had come across as a total spaz.

Lynn stared at him, her cigarette curling with smoke.

“Alright," she said. “You know what? I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way."

Ben felt his anger deflate as quickly as it had arrived. “Yeah, no. I'm sorry."

“Sure. Consider it dropped." She took another drag. “Good answer, man. You got some fire in your gut."

Ben looked away, folding his arms.

“You want a smoke, by the way?"

He looked at the cherry of her cigarette, remembering the weed currently stashed in his backpack. He thought about it. He also thought about his dad smelling his clothes.

“Nah, I'm good."

Lynn shrugged, like nothing between them had happened. She stuffed the pack into her jean pocket and leaned back on the cinderblock, her shoulder settling into the weeds that dangled from the portable walls. “So. You're in some shit, huh?"

Ben grimaced. “Yeah."

“You know," Lynn said, “I coulda told you that Hannah sells. I buy from her all the time."

Ben felt a sinking in his gut, like the true depth of his mistake was only now becoming obvious. He had followed Hannah specifically to impress Lynn. And, of course, it turns out he could've just asked the punk rat herself instead of overthinking.

“Really?" he asked.

The rat took a drag. “Well, not from her. I buy from Trevor. You know Trevor?"

“Not really."

“Well, I buy from Trevor, and I know through the vine that he gets his stuff from Hannah, so, really, I'm buying from Hannah." Lynn blew out some held smoke. “Never met her myself, though I've seen her around."

Ben gave a humorless snort. “She's a fucking bitch."

“So I've heard, yeah."

Ben paced around the hollow, kicking through candy wrappers and empty styrofoam cups. “I don't know what to do. She knows that I know. I can't avoid her. And I'm . . . scared she's gonna kick the shit outta me. Something. Like, you know?"

“Yeah, actually," Lynn said. “Why didn't she kick the shit outta you?"

Ben exposed his throat, running a finger along the horizontal bruise. “She choked me, right in the hall. Said it'd be a real shame if we stopped being friends."

“Stopped being friends?" Lynn asked.

“I don't know. It's code. Like, some secret agent shit. Mafia stuff."

Lynn snorted. “Dude, Hannah has kicked the shit outta kids before. This summer, she broke a dude's arm at a party, just cause he threw up in her mom's vase or something. She kicks people off their boards during surf. She's a scary chick. If she wanted to hurt you, she would."

Ben felt himself shivering in the shade between the portables. He remembered the sound of Ryan Pressly getting strangled. His bruise started to ache.

“Considering that you stalked her," Lynn said, “and could now get her arrested if you decide to snitch, she let you off really easy, I gotta say."

“She sold to me."

“She what?"

“She . . . sold to me. You know." Ben pulled on his backpack straps. “I tried to play the whole thing off like I wanted to score some weed, and she said sure, and I gave her twenty bucks, and she gave me an eighth. Said it was a good deal."

Lynn looked at him with something between amusement and pity.

Ben stuttered. “It's not like—"

“Dude, Hannah likes you."

“No, she doesn't!"

“Uh, yeah, dumbass, she really does."

“No! No way!" Ben threw up his hands. “You don't know what she's like. She's tortured me for years. Literally. She—" The depth of his feelings surged passed his words. He took a moment to speak. “She's a scaley, black-eyed bitch, and I hate her guts."

“Dude," Lynn said, like this was all painfully obvious. “She sold you drugs. In the middle of school. After you stalked her. Do you think she woulda done that if she hated your guts? If she just wanted to scare off a snitch?"

“She. . . ."

Ben stopped. Suddenly, he remembered all the times when Hannah tried to talk to him. She had passed him notes, and chosen seats next to him, and tried to be his partner for projects. She remembered everything he ever said. Apparently, she had been keeping track of every class he was in. Even today, she had gone out of her way, multiple times, to ask if they were friends.

Chums.

The best of chums.

Oh, yeah.

In his mind, the laughter of Hannah's friends suddenly took on a different light. They weren't just laughing at him. They were cheering her on. They were laughing at the fact that she was talking to him.

Realization struck him like a fist to the gut.

“Oh, my God," Ben said. “Hannah likes me."

Lynn cracked up laughing.

Ben stood there, surrounded by trash and weeds and the metallic thrum of a portable AC unit, feeling himself blush until his face was beet red. Lynn nearly tumbled off her cinderblock. Outside, the sound of street traffic roared beneath an afternoon sun.

“Holy shit, man," she said, between keels of laughter. “This's fucking rich. Hannah, the shark, the school's queen bitch of drugs, too shy to tell a boy she likes him, so she plays the bully until he likes her back. It's too dumb to be fake."

Ben took a shallow breath, feeling something tight in his chest.

“Fuck me, dude," Lynn said, getting a hold of herself. “Like, how long's this been going on?"

“Sixth grade," Ben replied.

Lynn started laughing again.

Ben kicked at the gravel beneath his shoe, digging through the creeping vines of weeds, the bits of trash and discarded cigarette butts. He kicked at the ground until he was hitting dirt, and he kept kicking it from there, working down into the hard-pack. He felt an indescribable urge to rip something apart.

“Sorry, sorry," Lynn said, trying to calm herself again. She ran both hands across her snout, flattening down the whiskers. “I know you got that whole 'don't laugh at me' thing."

“No," Ben said. “I think I deserve this one."

Lynn sprouted a wicked grin. “Well, dude, come on. It's not your fault. Don't be all mopey, here."

He kept kicking the dirt. “I never thought about it like that. I just . . . really, really hated her. All this time. She made me miserable." He gave the dirt a final punt with his toe. “It just never occurred to me that she would actually . . . like, why? Why would she do that for years, if she always. . . ."

“I dunno, man," Lynn replied. “Kids are weird. All of us are weird. Puberty is a bad time in all our lives. Anyway, you should hate her, for what she's done. It's not an excuse. She acted like a bitch. Fuck her."

“Yeah," Ben said, recovering a bit of himself. “Fuck her."

Lynn dropped her cigarette, snuffing the cherry between the sole of her sneaker. She leaned forward on the cinderblock. “Alright, look. Serious time now." She opened her pink palms, staring up at his face. “What do you wanna do about this?"

Ben pulled his shoe from the dirt, considering. “That kinda depends."

“On what?"

“How far my favor goes."

Lynn continued to watch him. Her expression grew more and more serious. “You really saved my ass, man. I would've been fucked. Not even juvey. Actual prison time. So, you know, I would say your favor stretches pretty far, actually. Ask of me, and ye shall receive."

Ben nodded, meeting her gaze directly.

“Also," Lynn said. “Thank you."

“Sure."

“And, hey, I'm in it for the mission, man." She gestured to her tank top, where the phrase KILL UR IDOLS had been painted in bold, red letters. “My guiding ethos is mischief and mayhem. I pray at the altar of self-destruction. Make it a good ask, and I'll gladly join my rebellion to yours."

“Did you practice that speech?" Ben said.

“No way, compadre. I'm a true soldier of anarchy. That was from the heart."

“Did you buy that heart at Hot Topic?"

She flipped him the bird.

Ben listened to the sound of a pickup truck croaking its way across the exterior street. The vibration of the engine rattled through his chest. When he spoke, his voice was quiet beneath the roar. “I want to break into her locker."

Lynn raised a brow. “Really?"

“Is that too much?"

“Fuck no, dude. That's easy. I can snip the lock just fine. What I mean is—" She cocked her head, listening to the sound of roaming laughter. She watched the shadow of several students pass by their hollow. When it was clear, she said: “You sure it's a good idea to target her locker, when you just got caught scopin' it out? She's gonna know it was you."

“I'm not planning on dumping chum anymore," Ben replied. “I wanna see her stash. I wanna see what else I can learn about her operation. We'll keep it subtle, for now. This is just the preliminary."

Lynn raised her other brow. “There's gonna be more?"

“Oh, yeah. A lot more."

“How far you plannin' to go?"

“As far as it takes."

“As far as what takes?"

“As far as it takes to ruin her life."

Lynn sat up on the cinderblock, paying close attention.

“I've decided," Ben said, his voice low and steady, “that my best defense is a good offense. I'm not letting her choose the battles anymore. I'm coming to her. If she really does have a crush on me, I'll use it to get in close, to learn her secrets, to eat her rotten soul out from its core, and I'll do it all with a smile on my face, same as she did to me."

Lynn gave a low whistle.

“I'll make her think," Ben continued, “we really are chums, or friends, or boyfriend and girlfriend, or whatever she wants. I'll play her up. I'll make her think I'm right in the palm of her hand, right up until the end, when I send all the evidence we're gathering to the cops, and they put her in jail."

Lynn hummed from her chest. “That's raw, man. That's personal."

“It's very personal," Ben said. “Breaking into her locker is just the start. The real favor is years worth of payback. That's what I'm asking."

“It sounds like a war."

“I think I really need a war. A battle. Something."

Lynn nodded. “You need a cleansing."

“I need to wipe the slate clean."

“Is this important to you?"

“It's the most important thing I've ever done in my life."

“Yeah?"

“Oh, yeah," Ben said. “I'm making a stand. Either she breaks my teeth, or I kick her future down the drain. Nothing in between. No compromise, no surrender. That's the score. This is who I really am."

“You practice that speech?"

“Fuck you." He thumped his chest. “That was from the heart."

Lynn shot up from the cinderblock, smiling wide. “Ben?"

“Yeah?"

“Gimme some skin."

She raised her hand. The palm was callused and dirty. Down below, her tail slithered through the trash. Ben didn't think twice. He reeled back and gave her a high five, slapping their hands so hard together that the sound echoed around the trashy hollow. Flesh smarted and burned.

It felt good.

It felt really, really good.

“Hell yeah," Lynn said, giving a playful punch. Ben punched back. They socked it out, hitting shoulders, grinning and breathing. Cars passed in the distance. “I'll make a punk outta you, man. Just you wait."

“You in?" he asked.

“Wouldn't fuckin' miss it, bro. Let's cause some anarchy."

Ben was brimming with energy. “When can we start?"

“Tonight."

He paused, suddenly stammering. “T-tonight?"

Lynn fixed him with a shit-eating grin. “You know that thing I've been working on?"

“Yeah?"

“I was gonna make a move tonight. I'm gonna break into the school. I'm ramping things up. Some real damage to the system, man. You can tag along, because why not hit someone's locker on the way? What's it even matter?" She raised a middle finger toward the main school building, somewhere beyond the portable walls. “Fuck 'em all."

Ben felt a cold wind blowing through the weeds. Cigarette butts danced against his shoe. “You're gonna . . . break into the school? Really? How do you even. . . ?"

“Don't be a narc," Lynn said.

“Right. I mean. . . ."

“Don't be a fucking narc, man. I'll tell you later."

“I'd like you to tell me now."

“No," Lynn said. “First, little bird, you gotta tell me whether you're coming along. That decides how much you get to know."

Ben looked at her, blinking. He felt the same moment of self-awareness he'd received upon first arriving at Lynn's secret hideout, when he realized it was hidden, covered in weeds, and littered with trash. “I'd, uh, have to make an alibi with my dad. I guess, buy some clothes? Some gloves? For the fingerprints? Don't they have . . . cameras? Alarms? Like, I don't know. What would I have to do?"

Lynn stepped close, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Ben?"

“Yeah?"

“Do you trust me?"

“I guess, yeah."

She stood on her toes, bringing her snout parallel to his cheek. She whispered right in his ear. “Then trust me when I say that you'll be fine. I'll take care of you."

Ben felt a warm blush on his cheek. It mingled with her fur.

“It'll be a night to remember, man." Her other hand roamed down his side, tracing the loop of his jeans. “I think we can really make something special here."

“Yeah?" Ben asked, slightly breathless. He was growing accustomed to Lynn violating his personal space, but only just. Her hand was wandering into dangerous areas. “Do you . . . say that to all the guys who save your ass?"

“No," Lynn replied. “I don't."

Her hand settled above his groin.

“Why me?" he said.

“Who else?" She pulled back, looking him in the eye. “Who else do either of us have, right?"

Ben met her gaze.

“No one," she said. “No one gives a shit about me. And I think it's the same with you."

“Yeah," he answered.

Mom.

Sorry.

I wish you were here.

I wish it had been Dad instead of you.

“What else is there to do?" Lynn asked. “School? Homework? Grow up to a 9 to 5 life, feeling our souls dying one weekend at a time? I'd fucking kill myself, man."

He didn't answer.

“What else do people like you and I got to lose?"

He didn't answer. Her eyes were very green, more vibrant than the forest of weeds growing among the trash. He looked at her, and he did not want to look away.

“What I'm getting at here," Lynn said, “is that I saw it in you. That longing. That thing that can't be filled. I get it, man." She poked his stomach. “I see you."

She leaned in, just slightly. Ben mirrored the motion. He felt his eyes wanting to drift along the curve of her snout, wanting to take in the forest of her whiskers. He watched the curling of fur at the edge of her lip. He had never dared to look at someone like this before.

“Has anyone ever seen you before?" she asked.

“No," he said, his voice thick.

She closed her eyes. Completely on instinct, Ben went for the kiss.

Her hand squeezed his balls.

“Sike!"

Ben opened his eyes, flinching, gasping, sputtering for words.

“Sorry," Lynn said, grinning, “but I have to threaten you now."

She had both his dick and family jewels slung into her palm, gripped straight through the fabric of his jeans. When she gave an exploring squeeze, he nearly whined from his chest.

Ben's mind was on fire.

“Talk about cojones, huh?" Lynn said. “Say, when you take off your clothes, do you have to, like, spool all of this up, or does it just retract back inside?"

“What the fuck are you doing?"

“Ruining the moment."

“Why?" Ben hissed.

“I dunno. Why not?"

Ben glowered down at the shorter rat.

“Sorry," Lynn said, still grinning. “You're just cute when you're mad."

“Please let go of my balls."

“Nuh-uh."

“I'm going to hit you."

“Don't you like it when I touch you?"

He put his hands on her chest, hoping to push, but she gave another squeeze, and he quickly folded in opposition. Lynn stood on her toes, reaching up to his height.

“Okay," she said. “Sorry, but that was getting a little too mushy for me. I still meant what I said." The tip of her nose brushed against his. “I see you, little bird."

“That's very sweet of you," Ben said, his face turning red.

She gave a winning smile. “Now that you're paying attention, I'm gonna tell you something. And I want you to really listen."

“Okay."

“Are you listening?"

“I am very definitely listening to you."

She brushed her nose across his lip, over and around the circumference of his cheek, settling close to the lobe of his ear, where her whiskers tickled the side of his neck. All the while, Ben tried very consciously not to get a boner.

When she spoke, her voice was gentle and soft.

“Don't be a fucking pussy," Lynn said.

And, just like that, the rat pulled away, releasing his family jewels from bondage. She stepped back until her foot hit the edge of a cinderblock.

And she watched him.

And he watched her, watching him.

And eventually he stared over her shoulder, passed the forest of her whiskers and the rounded curve of her ear, until he was searching through the tangle of weeds growing along the chain link fence, watching the flicker of cars roar by on the street.

Out there, he thought, there were kids getting picked up by their parents, or carpooling with their friends, getting excited about the weekend. So many other times in his life, Ben had been standing there along them, silently apart, feeling relieved that he could finally head home and play some video games, all alone in his room.

He wasn't standing there anymore. Instead, he was standing on the other side of the fence, hidden amongst the trash and leaves, with a girl he had kissed, and a dream of the future.

He spoke without thinking.

“I'm in. Let's do it."