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Greenwood Academy. Nestled comfortably in the hills of Weston, Massachusetts, this highly selective preparatory school has garnered itself a reputation as where tomorrow's leaders are educated. One of the oldest of its kind in the nation, Greenwood was founded by Arthur Greenwood, a whitetail deer who wanted to give his fellow herbivores the tools to succeed in a world where physical prowess was still at a premium. To give them a path towards prosperity in a society still finding its footing.

Over the years, Greenwood began to open its doors to a wider swath of various species, in no small part thanks to advances in agriculture and the development of synthetic proteins for carnivores. With limited resources, the school became more selective in who they admitted, giving Greenwood an even greater reputation as an institution for the elite. Tuitions crept up to match, allowing the administration to outfit the campus with every piece of technology possible to make sure all students, regardless of species, could live comfortably.

Eventually, Greenwood became the centerpiece of Weston, a proud testament to species integration and coexistence. With one of the lowest admission percentages in the country, only the best of the best (or those whose parents have the deepest pockets) are fortunate enough to enroll, all but guaranteeing them their choice of any top university and beyond. Students of Greenwood are truly fortunate to be among their attendees.

"This is BULLSHIT."

...even if they don't realize it.

Principal McGee peered over his glasses at the teenager across his desk. Those crossed arms, the hunched shoulders, slumped as far down in the chair as his body could manage without falling out of it entirely. It was an image he'd become far more accustomed to than he would have preferred to be.

"Mr. Lewis, I would suggest you watch your tone," he said, his own voice less than friendly.

The young jackalope snorted, bouncing one leg anxiously. This wasn't his first dance with the old beaver. Actually, that wasn't fair. Mr. McGee wasn't that old. Come to think of it, he was one of the younger members of the faculty, having only been hired at the beginning of the previous year, replacing an absolutely ancient tortoise who had been on the staff for longer than most of the others had been alive. The running joke was that after half a century it only took one year of dealing with Marcus Lewis to send him into retirement.

In a way, Marcus wore that (and most of the barbs thrown at him) like a badge of honor.

The day Tim McGee arrived, the whole student body gathered into the near opera-house sized auditorium so he could introduce himself. It was a dry bit of pomp and circumstance, and Marcus struggled to stay awake. Not that it was unusual for him to nod off during school functions. The one thing that did stick with him was seeing the pudgy beaver in his nice slacks and sweater shuffling through papers on the podium, fumbling over his words as he talked about how he would be ushering in "a new era at Greenwood," one that was less strict and stifling towards its students. Friendlier. More "understanding."

He had a feeling it was bullshit then, and he knew it was bullshit now.

Marcus fidgeted a bit more, before reluctantly huffing. "I'm sorry I swore," he said with obviously feigned sincerity.

Mr. McGee's head dropped. He knew that tone. It was the tone of a student who would make sure that this conversation was going to be as difficult as he could possibly manage. The one that meant the next ten minutes of trying to come to a resolution would be like pulling teeth.

They'd only had just over two semesters together, but they'd already long run out of teeth to pull.

"Marcus... you have to be sick and tired of having these talks with me as much as I'm sick and tired of having them with you."

The teen did his best to look hurt. "I thought you liked talking with me."

Sighing heavily, the beaver reached up under his glasses to rub at his eyes. "I would like talking with you quite a bit more if it didn't involve trying to understand why you started another fight."

"I didn't start it!" Marcus protested, sitting straight up and dropping the shtick. "HE started it! I w-"

He was silenced by a raised hand from his principal. It wasn't a stern gesture, but a weary one, It was more effective in quieting the teen than if he was coming across just as an authority figure. Much as Marcus was loath to admit it, Mr. McGee really was doing more to reach out than any of the other faculty had in his time at Greenwood. He wasn't sure if that made it easier or harder.

"Yes, Marcus, I'm sure he did. You've never started anything, right? It's always the other guy."

The jackalope slumped back in the chair, folding back in on himself in his typical sulk. "It WAS," he muttered, looking down at his feet.

Mr. McGee regretted taking the tone he had. His job was to resolve problems, not exacerbate them.

"Listen, Marcus. I've been doing my best to be... compassionate with your problems here, and let's be honest, your time here has been, shall we say, tumultuous."

"Yeah, well... everyone here's assholes," Marcus said, still avoiding eye contact.

The beaver closed his eyes and took a slow breath through his nose. It wasn't worth derailing the conversation over vocabulary. "I understand that it's been difficult. I do. I know I've only been here a short time, but I understand the struggles that your k... that hybrids can face, but you're not the only one at Greenwood, and you know that."

Marcus suddenly sat up again. "Oh come on, the liger? He doesn't even count!" he blurted, causing both himself and the beaver to pause awkwardly, as though the teen's statement were floating in the room between them and both were waiting for it to go away.

For all of the advancements in society, attitudes toward hybrids still remained much like they had been in times past. Inter-breeding was a touchy subject going back as far as the written word and then some. Exceptionally close kin, where the species were only a fork or two in the road from one another, could breed easily and the only arguments would be between the parents on which traits each could take credit for.

As the distance grew, though, so did the complications. A few more steps apart and while a hybrid child was not impossible, they would be left, tragically, sterile. Beyond that and the odds of a pregnancy in the first place were incredibly low, and there was no guarantee the child would be viable even should one occur.

For hybrids, their very existence came with a stigma. Being genetic "dead-ends" marked them as a family's final generation. Mixed-species couples were no longer as uncommon as they were in the primitive days, when species survival was paramount, but in most cases the two would decide which of them would produce a child with one of their own kind for the couple to raise.

By and large, few integrated couples chose to have a hybrid child. More often than not, they were the result of mixed species pairings thinking they didn't need to use protection, playing the percentages about how likely a pregnancy would be. Unsurprisingly this resulted in many hybrid children, in a best case scenario, landing with adoption agencies.

In the cases of those such as Marcus Lewis, there were extra millstones about their necks. "Exotics," as they were not-so-affectionately nicknamed, were those from much more distant bloodlines, and often came with connections to folklore. Such hybrids were incredibly rare, even more so that they would look just like their "mythological" counterparts. Stepping into the world as an exotic meant a lifetime of staring eyes.

Paradoxically, the very same reasons that such exotics found themselves ostracized had also, in more modern times, become why well-off families sought to adopt them. For some, there was a mystique about their rarity, romanticizing their connection to old fables, leading to a fortunate few to land in the homes of society's elite.

Of course, that wasn't to say all was perfect. Nothing ever was.

After a moment, the cloud of Marcus's outburst dissipated, and the boy swallowed awkwardly.

"Uh... sorry, I just mean, it's not the same for him. He's got it easy."

A moment of self-awareness. Thoughtfulness. Maybe all was not lost, the school principal mused. He nodded. "I understand, and as I said, I know that you have an uphill battle around here. At the same time, you have to meet us halfway. We can't always be there to intervene, sometimes it falls on you to just walk away if they're giving you grief.."

Marcus's nose wrinkled. "Oh right, cuz then they'll leave me alone. Come on, they'll give me shit no matter what, and then when I fight back, I'm the one in trouble!"

It wasn't a lie. The beaver had seen it for himself, and it wasn't limited to Mr Lewis here. A group of students poking at someone until they got mad enough to burst, then acting innocent as could be in the aftermath. In a school where family connections were common, it wasn't unusual for a teacher or administrator to pick sides based on something other than who appeared to be the aggressor. Bullying victims found themselves in trouble more often than their bullies. A tale as old as time.

"Well, Marcus, perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad idea," Mr. McGee began, speaking slowly, trying to ease his way through the sentence as best as he could. "If you, ahem, didn't make yourself stand out so much."

Marcus's response was something he both had expected and had really hoped his tone could have avoided. The teen sat bolt upright, staring daggers at the portly principal. "Oh I'm sorry, I forgot. I thought THESE things were attached!" he barked angrily, gripping one of his horns and giving it a shake. The Scarlet Letters growing out of his skull that proudly told the world of his heritage. "You're right! Fuck, I should just pop 'em off and leave 'em at home!"

The beaver seemed a touch confused. "Well... don't they shed every year, anyway?"

Marcus stared daggers back at him.

Mr. McGee grunted, quickly backtracking. He put his hands up defensively. "Marcus, hold on, you know I didn't mean it like that..." The beaver paused, giving the young jackalope a moment to settle.

"I just mean, you push the limits of the dress code," he continued, gesturing to Marcus's outfit. The teen's tie was only barely tied, resting loosely on his chest. His shirt was untucked in the back, belt on his slacks loose enough that his underwear would be showing under other circumstances. Even his shoes managed to thumb their nose at the rules, laced up in a decorative pattern with the ends knotted off on the sides rather than appropriately tied.

Mr. McGee sighed once again, seeing the boy's expression of faint pride at having his rebelliousness noticed. "You mouth off to teachers, you aren't in any clubs... it's like you're intentionally isolating yourself."

Though his previous rage was calmed, Marcus was now developing into a nice bout of self-pity. He shrugged lamely, "Yeah, well, I don't think they want me in clubs with them anyway."

That felt like a path best left for another day, so the old rodent quickly moved on. "My point is, Marcus, in my year and a half here, you've been in more scuffles and caused more scenes than anyone else. I know that this isn't entirely your fault, but you do shoulder some of the responsibility. It's disrupting the other students. We're getting complaints. Greenwood Academy has high standards and that means everyone has to do their best to meet them, yourself included."

Marcus's brow creased, looking back at the beaver, unsure of where this was going. Mr. McGee continued. "Unfortunately, that means taking administrative action. And that means more than just making you sit in the study hall for the afternoon. So, much as it pains me to do this, Marcus Lewis, you're suspended and will be sent back home for the rest of the week."

"WHAT??"

Marcus was aghast. Suspended? He didn't even know they did that at Greenwood. The worst he'd had up to now was after that time in gym class when he "accidentally" hit that lemur in the crotch with a football, and even that was just a few days detention and an apology note. A suspension? He couldn't imagine coming back after that. The freak that was sent home mid-semester. Not even allowed to stay in the dormitories.

The rotund beaver was not good at handing out discipline. One of his hopes in coming to Greenwood was that the upper-class student body meant he would have to do less of it. As it turned out, spoiled brats were sometimes more of a pain in the behind than public school students, and unlike his predecessor, there was no enjoyment to be had for Timothy McGee in punishing students for misbehavior.

"Look, I'm sorry. My hands are tied, Marcus," he said, doing his best to be genuine. Partly because it was genuine. "If we don't start taking this seriously, it's going to get a lot worse before it gets better. You're a senior next year, college applications are starting, we ca-"

"Maybe I don't WANNA go to college," Marcus spat back.

Mr. McGee frowned. When he was practicing this speech in his head there weren't as many interruptions. It took him a moment to get his momentum back.

"I... well of course you..., " he harumphed, starting again. "What I'm saying is, you're almost an adult now, you have to take this seriously. Moreover, from an administrative side, we have to show that we're taking this seriously. I don't think you appreciate just how much leeway I give you. Normally, with all the trouble you've had, it's not out of the question that you'd have been expelled under normal circumstances. But, well, being in the situation you're in,"

Marcus snorted. "Oh, so you've been going easy on me up to now?"

Again with the martyr complex. Mr. McGee leaned forward on his elbows, with a glare that was enough to make Marcus wilt faintly. "I mean that I've made sure to impress upon the staff that you aren't looking for trouble, but it certainly does seem to find you. I had hoped that leaning on our guidance counselor would give you better tools to manage all the conflicts, but she's told me you've been less than agreeable, so now this is where we are, and I truly hope it's the only time we need to take such severe measures."

The jackalope sat, stewing, trying to just collapse completely in on himself in that chair while Mr. McGee continued. "I've arranged with your teachers to have your assignments sent home with you so you can still get your classwork done. I'll call your parents so they c-"

"They're NOT my parents."

Mr. McGee blinked, once again halted in his tracks. A fresh silence hung in the air between them. Despite the frown on his face, Marcus's gaze shot to the side, avoiding eye contact. It was clear he wished he hadn't said that.

"Er... well, I'll call your... adoptive parents, and have them come pick you up."

Marcus's eyes narrowed at the beaver. He felt betrayed. The only member of the school's faculty who wasn't against him, and the old man was letting them throw him out the door.

The jackalope snorted. "They're not home. And I have a car, pretty sure you've seen it before."

The principal let out a quiet chuckle, though one devoid of humor. "Of course. How could I forget. That lovely bumper sticker."

Another beat stretched between jackalope and beaver.

Despite all the difficulties he'd had with the boy, Timothy McGee's heart went out for Marcus. Were circumstances different, he was sure the kid wouldn't be acting out so much. He might even be a model student. For all his other faults, his test scores were always near the top of his class.

So, Mr McGee decided to extend an olive branch. "Marcus... I'm going to do something I shouldn't, and if you burn me on this, I will not be there to catch you should you fall again, are you listening?"

The teen looked at the older rodent across from him. His eyes latched onto the beaver's, trying to read him.

"...what?"

Mr. McGee pulled out a large notepad and began writing on it. "I am going to write this note to your parents telling them what happened. I am going to give you this note and instruct you to deliver it to them. I am not going to call your home to make sure you have done so. Rather I am going to trust that you will, in fact, give this to them. Do you understand?"

Marcus leaned forward, sitting up, watching the beaver writing. Not that he could read the upside down text. He watched the note get folded up, and slid across the desk to his side of it. He sat, looking at the paper there, eyes flicking between it and the one who had passed it to him. Finally, reluctantly, Marcus reached out and snatched the note, earning a satisfied but stern nod from the school administrator.

"Good. Thank you."

Marcus opened the note and read it over. It was pretty much what he expected. Terse, businesslike, informing the Lewises of the suspension, but mercifully not going into details about what had caused it. He had to admit, the principal was handling it as gently as possible.

The jackalope shifted in his seat, his legs going all fidgety again. "So, uh... what now?"

Taking a big breath, the beaver leaned back in his seat and drummed his hands on his belly. "Well. Since you aren't going back to your classes for the afternoon, would you mind telling me what happened? What exactly made you feel the need to get into a fistfight with Mr. Kissel?"

Marcus frowned, his eyes dropping to his shoes, all the hate building in his throat once more and held in only thanks to clenched teeth.

"He got me a birthday present."

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

Corey Benton sat at his desk, carefully poking at his laptop with oversized, hoof-nailed fingertips. He didn't mind doing homework back in the dorms, but damn he wished he'd gotten a keyboard that was a bit bigger. It made him feel stupid, gradually pecking his way through a paper like he barely knew how to type. It didn't help that it was for a biology class. Corey could never get all those stupid cycles and systems organized in his head.

Granted, it was hard to focus on the screen in front of him at all, let alone the assignment. Every time he tapped a word out, his mind drifted to earlier that day. Much as he tried to keep his eyes on his laptop screen (through his shaggy mop of hair, at least), the sight of Marcus mounted on top of Eli flashed in front of him.

To some extent, he was kinda impressed with the little guy. For as long as Corey had known him, Marcus's usual way of dealing with someone messing with him was to pretend his headphones were up too high to hear anything and then when he got back to the room he'd unload about whatever the Asshole of the Day had said. Those big ears picked up everything, even with music firing directly into them.

Granted, sometimes he did kinda ask for it, and Corey hadn't been terribly successful at making any progress there.

"Like... can you believe that shit?" Marcus might say after a dramatic retelling.

"Yeah but... didn't you key his car last week?" Corey would reply.

And then another tirade would begin.

It wasn't that he didn't understand Marcus's predicament. Okay, he didn't understand it directly. Corey had his birth parents, and he didn't really have any problems making friends at Greenwood, but still. He saw the struggles Marcus was having, and since he was the only one on campus that spent much time with him, he had more of a perspective on it than most.

Corey sighed and leaned back in his chair, listening for the tell-tale creak and groan of it to let him know when he'd reclined enough. He wasn't getting anywhere, and the more he tried to force it, the worse the end product was likely to be.

He blew a breath out through his lips and spun in his chair, looking at the room he shared with the troubled jackalope. Corey was the one who'd just moved in that semester, but it looked like he'd been there since freshman year. The bull's side was lived in, with posters on the walls from his favorite shows and bands along, his desk was covered with little knickknacks, and over on his dresser there were some family photos and a little tree. The sheets and covers on his bed were decorated with little cows, a set that matched one he'd had as a calf.

Marcus's? Actually, that was a funny story.

Corey had shared a classroom or two with Marcus, and certainly knew the jackalope's reputation, but tended to keep himself uninvolved. The big bull wasn't one to worry himself about campus drama, and the few interactions he'd had were, as far as he could remember, pretty amicable. When there was some room shuffling at the end of sophomore year and he got asked if he wouldn't mind moving in with Marcus Lewis, though, suddenly everyone had something to say.

"You know he'll run to the principal if you even look at him funny."

"I heard his first roommate demanded a room change on the first day."

"I heard he kept scratching out the faces on his last roommate's family pictures."

"Well I heard if you make it to the end of the year living with him the school automatically gives you all A's."

To put it lightly, it was hard to tell what to expect when he first opened the door of Room 108 in the Laurel building dormitory. He wasn't expecting it to be like the inside of a serial killer's apartment in a horror movie but, well, if he had walked in and found the walls covered with pages out of magazines and weird drawings, it probably wouldn't have surprised him too much.

What did he find? Well, it was certainly surprising, but not in the way he'd expected (if one could expect a surprise).

No magazine pages, no ominous messages written on the walls... not much of anything, really. The sheets on his bed were standard-issue, the desk was mostly bare aside from a handful of cables and school supplies. Really, the only indication that anyone lived there was some clothing on the floor and a big-screen television with a few gaming systems hooked up in the suite's common area. Even the bathroom was threadbare. It was like Marcus never actually moved in.

Corey wheeled his moving cart in, so jam-packed that he needed to lean his shoulder into it to get it rolling, and for a moment he wasn't even sure which side of the room was his.

For that matter, it wasn't until pretty late in the evening when Corey's had a chance to say hello to his new roommate. Curfew at Greenwood was by 9pm, and given the general state of the room, it shouldn't have been a huge surprise that Marcus would be sliding in as close to that time as possible.

"Hey, Marcus!" Corey greeted, sounding as friendly as he could. "Thought maybe you were out for the night."

The jackalope stopped in the doorframe, taking a moment before realizing he hadn't gone into the wrong room. He tugged an earphone out, looking at the bull seated at the desk opposite his, dropping his bag and skateboard.

"Oh... uh, hey," he said, hesitantly. "Forgot you were coming today."

Corey nodded, laughing, leaning back in his seat carefully. "Yeah, sorry, kinda sudden. Hope I didn't mess anything up getting settled in."

The two looked at the state of the room, and how much there wasn't that Corey could have disturbed. Marcus's eyes met with his new dorm buddy's, but only briefly, before darting away again.

"...you're good," he said, barely audibly, before popping his earphone back in and dropping down on the bed, fiddling with his phone.

That was about the extent of any conversation Corey got out of Marcus for the first week. Brief small talk quickly cut off and headphones going in. Marcus always seemed to be on the defensive. Like he was ready for something to get thrown at him and looking for the fastest exit route.

As the semester dragged on, Corey took it upon himself to ease Marcus into socializing more, if for no other reason than to avoid those agonizing silences of sitting four feet away from someone for hours on end without a word being spoken. Maybe the jackalope didn't mind, but it made Corey anxious. Besides, he was a good guy, Marcus just needed to know someone on campus wasn't out to get him.

Gradually, Marcus came out of his shell. Corey couldn't say they were exactly best friends, but they could hold conversations and Marcus seemed to feel less guarded around him. They got to talking about hobbies, about video games, about lots of things. For as quiet as he always was out and about campus, Marcus was a chatterbox in the room. Corey liked that. He liked seeing Marcus let down the shields.

Of course, it also meant he was the one to get an earful about whatever grave injustice Marcus had faced that day, and there was usually something.

Today was different, though.

"Damn... he musta said something bad to set the kid off like that," Corey thought.

Corey grunted at himself, scratching his shaggy-haired scalp. That was offensive, wasn't it? They were the same age, so thinking of Marcus as a "kid" had to be just because of his species, right? Or whatever the term was for more than one species. Corey didn't know. He'd never really looked it up, come to think about.

Regardless, this time he had a feeling it wouldn't just be Marcus coming into the room and going off on a tirade. Corey had never seen Mr McGee that mad. He was kinda worried. Focusing on his classwork wasn't happening, all he could really do was wait, and maybe distract himself with looking at his social media feed...

Post: OMG did you guys see that weird kid attack Eli?

Comment: He should get expelled!

Comment: He should get ARRESTED! That was assault! My mom's a lawyer, she'd take that case in a heartbeat!

...okay, maybe not social media.

The shaggy moo groaned, rubbing his face some more. They said rooming with Marcus Lewis would be a challenge. They were right.

Suddenly the door slammed open hard enough to make Corey jump out of his chair. Marcus was home.

"Yo, heh, horn bro! Did uh, did everything..."

The jackalope stormed in like a whirlwind, not even looking at his roommate. He went over to his desk and gathered up every cable, every book, and crammed them into his bag as violently as he could manage. He grabbed his hoodie off the back of the chair and blew right back out the door, slamming it shut behind him without a word.

"...go okay."

The bull's shoulders dropped. He huffed a breath out through his nose. Well, whatever happened, he'd probably hear all about it anyway, he'd just hoped it would have been first-hand. The rumor mill would be going into overdrive come tomorrow.