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At the Rainbow Center the next morning, Margo greeted them with a grim expression. "Jeremy's mother was here yesterday with her sister. She wants to take him to this religious camp that tries to make kids straight. I don't know how she found out where we are. She went from pleading to threatening to screaming to crying. We didn't let her in, or let Jeremy talk to her, but he's been crying all night. Samaki, can you go sit with him?"

As the black fox hurried up the stairs, Kory looked around, the previous evening's worries still lingering. "Is Malaya around?"

"I haven't seen her yet. If you like, you can go up to her room and call her down." The black squirrel wrung her paws. "I've got to get food ready for the boys, and I hope Samaki can calm down Jeremy."

"If anyone can, he can," Kory said.

"Of course." The assurance didn't seem to help Margo too much, but she did lower her paws to her sides before rushing to the kitchen.

He'd been up to Malaya's room only once. The boys all roomed together and came tumbling down the stairs together when it was breakfast-time, but as the only girl, and, what's more, the only bat, Malaya had a small room to herself up on the third floor. Kory passed the boys' room, where he heard Samaki's soothing tones and smiled. One more flight up brought him to Malaya's door.

Nobody answered when he knocked. She wasn't in the bathroom; he'd glanced in on the way up. He knocked again and tried the knob. The unlocked door swung open.

Malaya kept her room neat and tidy. Toward the ceiling, he saw the bar she hung from to sleep. Below that, books were piled neatly next to the overstuffed, decrepit chair. Chilly morning air played over Kory's fur from the open window on the other side of the room, the sickly maple tree swaying gently in the breeze.

He walked in and saw a piece of paper on the chair. The handwriting, though he'd never seen Malaya's, was exactly what he would have expected of her: sharp, angular, and precise. "I'm going home. I can't stand the delusions any more. The lies have been exposed for what they are tonight. Good luck to all of you. You'll need it."

It felt like a joke to him at first, that she would come strolling languidly out from behind the door, take the note from his paws, and crumple it with a wry grin, saying, "You don't really think I'd do that, do you?" But no matter how hard he looked around, the room was empty and even Malaya's scent was weak. He wondered how long she'd been gone.

Margo was distraught enough about Jeremy that he didn't want to give her the note right away, but it was too depressing to wait in the empty room, so he wandered downstairs to the basement, where the aquatic room was vacant, as it often was. Kory sat on the rubber drying mat and dangled his bare feet in the two-foot-deep pool, letting the feel of the water relax him as he read Malaya's note over again.

What he wanted to do was go find her and tell her that whatever she thought she needed, going back to a violent homophobe wasn't it. He kept hearing her voice as she told him, "I think he might have killed her," and though he told himself it was likely childish exaggeration, that didn't drive away the worry. He knew that the familiarity and comfort of home seemed better to her than not knowing what would come next, where she would go from here, but had she forgotten the reason she'd run away in the first place? Maybe she hadn't. Her note contained no indication of it, but he could see her thinking that unhappiness was her fate. More than anything, he wanted to tell her that was wrong.

She'd thought that he was more of a "clear" thinker than the others, which in her mind was someone as pessimistic as she was. When it came down to it, though, he wanted to believe that people were destined to be happy. That might not be as easy as Margo and perhaps Samaki thought, but he thought it was possible and worth fighting for.

He set her note aside and closed his eyes, moving his webbed paws through the water and enjoying the eddies it generated, letting his thoughts swirl similarly around Malaya, colleges, and Samaki's school dance, without reaching any real conclusions. Time drifted as languidly as the water, until he heard the door open and caught a familiar musky scent.

"Hi," Samaki said, stepping around the pool. "Thought you might be down here. Where's Malaya?"

Kory reached down beside him and handed the note to the fox. Samaki read it, and sighed. "She really seems determined not to be happy."

"I wish there were something I could do for her," Kory said.

"I'll see if Margo has an address. Maybe we could send her a letter." Samaki sat next to him and dipped his paws in the water. "I don't want to bother Margo now, though. She's stressed enough about Jeremy."

"How's he doing?"

"Sleeping, finally. She told me to hang out with you and Malaya for half an hour or so while she tries to get things organized for breakfast."

"We should tell her Malaya's gone." Kory sighed, and leaned against the fox. "Great day we're having, isn't it?"

Samaki slipped an arm around him and squeezed. "There'll be bad days and good days. Last year we had three of the kids get into a fight and two had to go to the hospital. That day pretty much sucked."

Kory nodded. "This feels...worse, somehow. Like everyone's giving up."

The fox nuzzled him gently. "We're not giving up."

And that just reminded Kory of last night. "I'm sorry," he said.

"For what?" Samaki's usual light amusement covered his concern only thinly.

"Last night. Stopping you and...I guess I just wasn't ready to be doing it out in public." He was apologizing, but also trying to convey how outrageous it still felt to him. Sort of "I'm sorry I'm not as crazy as you," but nicer, aware that he couldn't just come out and say, "you lunatic," like he would if Sal did something nuts.

"Is it something you want to talk about?" Samaki squeezed his paw.

It was, but the problem was that of all the issues Kory was worrying about, the whole public display of their relationship was precisely the one it was hardest to talk to Samaki about, because the black fox was squarely in the center of it. So he just shook his head, repeated, "Sorry," and hoped Samaki wouldn't press.

He didn't. "It's my fault. I should've warned you. That's really a pretty secluded spot, and you can hear anyone coming with plenty of warning. Plus the river covers up most of the scents. Most." He wrinkled his nose.

"I didn't smell anything," Kory said, and reached up to brush one of the fox's large triangular ears. "And I can't catch every little sound like you can."

"Nah, but you can swim," Samaki said. "I figured if someone came along, you could just dive into the river and get away."

Kory drew in breath to retort, and then saw the twitching of the fox's tail, and grinned. "Oh, you did? Maybe I'd just drag you in with me."

"Oh no no," Samaki play-protested. "I know what happens to foxes who get dragged into water by otters."

Kory leaned closer to him. "Oh? What's that?"

"Oh, all sorts of things. They get those otter paws all over them in all kinds of private places."

"Do tell." He slid his paw up Samaki's leg. "You're in the water now, you know."

The fox glanced down at his feet and kicked up a splash. "Oh, dear." He turned to Kory and grinned. "You know, that door locks."

Kory's already excited sheath surged with warmth. "Does it?" He rested his paw between the fox's legs, lightly, but even so, he could feel the other's arousal, matching his.

"Uh-huh." Samaki's tail swished back against him. "Doesn't lock by itself, though."

The fox's violet eyes sparkled. Kory pressed with his paw and got up, suddenly worried that Margo would come to fetch them before he could lock the door. But he made it to the bolt and threw it, testing the door to be sure before running back around the pool.

Samaki was reclining back on his elbows, feet still dangling in the pool. Kory knelt beside him and reached around to bury his paw in the black fur at the back of the fox's head, leaning down for a warm kiss. As their tongues met, he returned his right paw to the fox's sheath, now warmer and harder than before, and rubbed through the cotton fabric.

His muzzle vibrated with the fox's soft moans. He opened his eyes so he could see the restless twitching of the long black tail. The sight sent the usual stirrings of delight through his chest, the happiness at being able to make this wonderful person's happiness match his. He kept his muzzle close to Samaki's as he unfastened the pants with practiced ease and gently worked his paw inside, along the white patch of fur and the warm thickness in the middle of it.

Samaki made no move towards Kory's pants, and Kory didn't expect any, after a little while. Sometimes it was like this: one, then the other, rather than both together. Sure, it was nice to have Samaki's paw on him while he was stroking the fox, but it was nice to be kissing Samaki, his paw moving up and down and being able to focus on the reactions in the slender black form below him. He liked that feeling, that he was doing something nice for Samaki.

The fox was at least as worked up as Kory was. He reached around and hugged Kory with one arm, leaving the other behind him to support his torso, and it wasn't too long before he was making muffled moans and throaty yips at Kory's strokes. When he shuddered and tensed, Kory grinned happily and stroked faster, and was rewarded with a warm splash over his paw and a series of gasps, a tightened arm around his chest. Closed eyes opened as Samaki drew his muzzle back and smiled, panting.

"Mmm," he sighed, looking down at his shirt. He'd tugged it out of the way just in time, so only his black belly fur had gotten spattered. "Have to find something to clean up with."

In the corner by the sleeping mat, Kory spotted a worn brush and a pile of handkerchiefs. He chuckled and licked the fox's nose. "It looks like we've been painting again. Just stay here a second."

Dipped in the water, the handkerchief did a serviceable job cleaning up the mess. When Samaki'd done up his pants, he pushed Kory over onto his back and said, "Now it's your turn, you naughty otter."

Kory was only slightly surprised to see the fox's muzzle dip towards his pants. Samaki had taken him that way only twice, partly because he was worried about his teeth, and partly, Kory suspected, because Samaki didn't want Kory to feel bad about not using his muzzle himself. He didn't, really. Samaki had told him that he didn't want to pressure him into doing things he wasn't comfortable with, and for all the things Kory did feel ashamed of or guilty about, he'd accepted that he and Samaki were at different comfort levels, and that in time, he'd reach a point where he was willing to take the fox into his muzzle. The other realm, under the tail, they'd discussed only once. For the moment, that lay beyond them both.

He definitely felt closer to wanting the fox in his mouth today, as he watched Samaki's long black muzzle bob up and down. It felt so good, the press of his tongue, the slide of his lips, that Kory wanted to let Samaki feel the same thing. And he wondered, what would it feel like in his mouth, the long, hard shape of it against his tongue, through his lips? That he didn't mind so much. It was more the idea of the fox coming, that musky liquid bursting in all in a rush, that worried him. What if he coughed and spit it out? What if he choked?

He abandoned that line of thinking as the sensations built up, his muscles quivering as they tingled. His left foot, dangling in the water, splashed and kicked to release the nervous energy he felt building up. Samaki's paw caressed his side, up under his shirt, the smooth brush of fingers overloading his brain even further. He heard himself making small cries and felt the material of the drying mat bunch under his clenched fingers. Samaki brought his other paw up under Kory's sac, holding it and squeezing him at the base, and that was enough to send the otter over the edge.

He cried out and arched his hips up into the waiting muzzle, feeling his release with electric intensity from the tips of his toes to the tips of his ears. It went on, forcing another moan out of his mouth and a tight curl to his tail, and then left him drained, panting on the edge of the drying mat.

A moment later, he lifted his head to see Samaki wiping his muzzle with the handkerchief. "Sorry," the fox said, ears still perked forward, a smile tempering the apology.

"For what?" Kory panted, and then grinned as Samaki gestured with the handkerchief. "Don't worry about it. Doesn't matter to me if you do that."

"It's not that you, y'know, taste bad. It was just kind of a lot." Now his ears flicked. "I need more practice."

"You can practice on me anytime," Kory said.

"Mm, good." Samaki smiled and stretched out next to him. "And we still have a few minutes before we should go look for Margo."

"Good. I think I'd be all twitchy if I tried to stand up now."

Samaki moved a paw lazily over Kory's tummy. "Don't want you to be twitchy, do we?"

"Definitely not." He leaned over to nuzzle the otter, but hesitated when Samaki moved his muzzle for a kiss. The scent of Kory's own musk was strong on the fox's lips. But after all, hadn't he gotten off in his own mouth more than once? He told himself it was silly to be that way, and leaned in to the kiss.

"I wonder if we're the first ones to do it in here," he said, when they parted.

Samaki laughed. "In a house for horny young unescorted boys?"

"Well, okay." Kory grinned. "Did you ever walk in on anyone?"

"No..." Samaki hesitated just a little. His paw paused on Kory's stomach.

Kory saw the tilt of the fox's ears and the shift of his eyes. In the afterglow, he felt relaxed enough not to mind asking, or hearing the answer. "Did you ever do anything with someone here?"

Now the violet eyes searched his. He smiled reassuringly. "Yeah," Samaki said. "Just once."

"You can tell me about it," Kory said. "I don't mind."

He watched Samaki decide, and then shrug. "There's not much to tell," he said softly. "He was all upset, talking about how nobody loved him, and we just ended up doing it. I just wanted to make him feel better."

"Oh." Kory nodded. The thought of Samaki being with someone else was vaguely troubling, but only vaguely. It was another Samaki who'd done those things, just as it was another Kory who'd slept with Jenny on and off starting, he realized, just about a year ago.

"It wasn't in this room," Samaki said. "And we just pawed. It wasn't anything serious."

"Did he feel better?"

The fox tilted his muzzle. "Yeah," he said. "I think he did."

Kory smiled. "Okay, then." He fastened up his own pants, and kissed Samaki on the nose. "We should go find Margo."

The squirrel was even more upset at Malaya's leaving than she had been at Jeremy's situation. Which made Kory feel guilty, because fifteen minutes ago he'd been enjoying himself with little regard to anyone in the house. He saw Samaki's ears flick back and knew the fox was sharing the same thought, so he swung his tail over to brush Samaki's, and smiled back at the look he got. Sharing the guilt made it easier. And after all, there was nothing either of them could have done fifteen minutes earlier to make the situation better anyway.

They played cards with the other boys for a bit, too distracted to organize any more productive activity. During one game, Kory saw the weasel leaning over and sniffing at Samaki, but if he smelled the evidence of their activity, he didn't say anything about it.

Margo had calmed down somewhat by the time they left. She promised to keep them up to date on Malaya and Jeremy, who was still asleep in his room, and they promised to come back the following weekend. "That's going to be hard," Kory said, walking to the bus stop. "We both have big tests week after next."

Samaki nodded. "I want to come back, though. I mean, if we disappear when she needs us...right?"

"Yeah." Kory nodded. "No question."

He hugged Samaki, rubbing muzzles as they saw the bus pull around the corner, then hefted his bag and climbed on, leaving the black fox behind for another week. The memory of Friday night by the river, and that morning in the aquatic room, kept Kory smiling all the way home.

When he walked in the door, though, his mood faded, as the scent of his mother and their house brought back his fears. He would have snuck into his room without saying hello if she hadn't been in the living room. "You look happy," she remarked. "Did you have a good time?"

"Sure." He walked quickly towards the little bridge over the house's pool.

"Kory." She turned in her chair to look at him. Her tail thumped down as it hit the other side of the chair. "What did you two do?"

"Oh, uh, we just had dinner, and then he drove down to...around for a while. And then we helped at the Center yesterday."

"Samaki can drive?" He nodded. She sighed. "I know you want to. I'm sorry I haven't had time to help you practice."

"It's okay, Mom." He did want to learn to drive, so as not to be reliant on his friends with cars, plus it felt like everyone else was learning, but that wasn't really bothering him. He knew that by the time his birthday rolled around in the spring, he'd have his license. He had plenty of other things to worry about.

"Where did he drive? Just around the block?"

"Oh, around the city a bit." He waved his paws, the memory of the dark space by the river vivid as he did.

Her eyes narrowed. "The two of you, by yourselves? I don't like that. Some of those areas are dangerous."

"Samaki knows the areas. He wouldn't take me anywhere dangerous."

"I want his father to go along with you if you go driving in the city again."

Kory's shoulders sagged, but he felt stronger, relieved that she was pressing on a topic that he didn't care as much about, not on why he wanted to see Samaki every weekend. "It's perfectly safe," he said.

"I read the news, and I know that's not true. Promise me, Kory."

He sighed. "I promise, Mom."

"All right. I trust you to keep your promises."

"I will. Can I go do my homework now?"

"Just a moment." She looked at him harder. "Kory, at your age, I know a lot of boys get into trouble. They have friends who don't always make the right choices."

He rolled his eyes theatrically to cover the pounding of his heart. "Mommmm."

"I know we've talked, and I am confident that the Lord has set you on a moral path, but all the same..." She scraped the arm of the chair with a claw. "I worry about you when I don't know what you're doing."

"We drove around, and then we went to the Center this morning. That's all, Mom. I promise." Please, please stop asking questions.

"I read in the paper," she said as though he hadn't spoken, "about these boys who were taking...meth, was it? And they did it in the one boy's bedroom, upstairs, while the parents were watching television."

He noticed that their TV was off. Meth, he thought, and almost giggled. "I'm not doing meth, Mom."

"Or any other drugs?"

"No drugs." The relief was taking a long time to reach his heart. "I should get to my homework."

She nodded, waving him to his room and turning back to the book she was reading. The Bible, he noticed. Not a good sign. She only did that when she was worried about something. Even when he got into his room with the door closed, the relief that she'd been on the wrong track didn't come. She knew something was up, and he was going to have to be more careful about hiding it.

*

After English class the following Monday, Perry caught up with Kory. "Hey," he said, smiling, ears perked up.

"Hey. What's up?"

"Well, I hope you don't mind, but I looked up shelters for homeless kids on the Internet." He was struggling to keep the bashful tone, but clearly he was proud of having succeeded.

Kory's fur prickled. "Oh?"

"Yeah." Perry's tail wagged. "If you were worried about what I'd think, you know, you shouldn't be."

His heart beat a little faster. Regardless of what Perry said, this intrusive feeling of someone knowing his secret was starting at uncomfortable and getting worse. Was everyone he knew determined to find out what he was hiding? "You know," he said, "I don't really work there. I just, I said that so you would think I was well-rounded."

Perry tilted his head. "Really? I mean, I asked about you and they didn't know your name, so I kinda wondered. You didn't have to do that."

Kory felt a light-headed sense of relief. Margo had lied for him, then. He wouldn't have thought she'd be smart enough to figure that out. "Well, you know," he said, and shrugged. "So you're okay with helping the kids out?"

"Sure, I mean, they're people too, right?" When Kory nodded, Perry went on. "And I know what some people say about 'em, but I don't care. It's just ridiculous about them ruining society. It's those conservatives, they'll just go after anyone who's not like them. But these kids, it's terrible, you know, they just want to have a normal life and they've been taken away from their homes and mostly lost their parents..."

"Some of them would be better off if they had," Kory said.

Perry bobbed his head. "Yeah. I didn't want to say that, but they said there's a couple where the families are alcoholic and it's just a bad situation. You know, you think they all come to this country to get a better life, and then how do you go from that to being a drunk and abusing your kids?"

His ears were back now, a definite growl underlying his words. Kory's ears came up. "Come to this country?"

"Yeah. Most of them from down south, or the far east, right?"

The beating of his heart slowed. "Which shelter is this again?"

"Holiday House. That's where you meant, isn't it?"

Kory shook his head. "No, I've never heard of it. What is it?"

"It's a shelter for the kids of illegal immigrants. I thought that's why you didn't want to talk to me about it, because of that. But I called them and they said they always need more help. So I'm gonna go in this coming weekend. That should look good on my application." His tail wagged, and then slowed. "I mean, uh..." He lowered his head. His tail curled under him, and it was only then that Kory realized that that was how he was used to seeing the wolf.

"I bet it will," Kory said.

"They really need help, too. I mean, this house got stones thrown at it a couple times over the summer. People don't like the kids being there. It's right on the edge of a new rich development, that's what Jolena told me, but they were there before the development and now the people are trying to force them to move, so one of the things I'll be doing is not just working with the kids, but also doing some campaigning, like writing to tell people how valuable the house is. That's pretty cool, and it works with my English major, too. So what shelter were you talking about, or did you just make one up?"

"You're going to be an English major?" Kory said.

Perry bobbed his head, ears flicking sideways and back. "Not for writing like you, but literature. I love reading, and Mr. Deffenbauer says I have a real talent for analysis. He's coaching me for the AP English test this year."

"Hey, cool." Kory stepped up to his bus and waved. "Let me know how the kids work out."

"Yeah," Perry said, waving brightly. "See you tomorrow."

On the bus, Kory wondered why he was so reluctant to tell Perry about Rainbow Center. After all, the wolf wasn't an illegal immigrant, but he was helping kids who were. Just volunteering at a house for gay teens didn't mean Kory himself was gay. Perry would just assume he was doing it to pad his college application. But was it the sort of thing he would have done last year? Probably not. Well, to be honest, definitely not. There was something strangely...contagious about being gay. All it took was association for you to fall under suspicion.

He huddled against the window and stared out of it. Lines of a poem flitted through his head. You can have the symptoms but not the disease. It spreads by touch, by mouth, by sight. The outward signs don't mean a thing. The sickness is in the ones who point. He rolled the lines around, rearranged them. There might be something for him to work with there. He actually hadn't written any poems specifically about being gay, which, now that he thought about it, was odd. He would have to work on that, like Samaki'd encouraged him to. The disease lines might be a little strong, though. Samaki definitely wouldn't like that. Maybe he'd just write this poem for himself, and another one for the fox. Something about being evaluated for college, your life reduced to a piece of paper with marks on it. That was a good thought. He made a note of that one, too.

His lie to Perry continued to nag at him, building on the worry about his mother and the issue with rooming with Samaki in college. The world was pressing to know his secret, and the more he felt it slipping out, the tighter he clutched it to himself. The problem was that more and more his secret felt like a mass of water behind an inadequate dam. Pressure and containment would be second nature to a beaver, but Kory was an otter, and he just wanted to let things take their natural course. Just another few months, after the holidays, then it'll all be downhill. College, and the question of rooming with Samaki, was months away, a problem hidden by the larger one of getting accepted in the first place.

*

He'd spent Wednesday night talking with his mother about colleges, another exercise in frustration as she was mostly concerned with him getting into Whitford. He had to pretend that he was actually planning to try to get in there, all the while presenting his other choices as "insurance." The whole evening had left him drained and frustrated, and when he told Samaki about it, the fox said, "So just tell her you don't want to go to Whitford." Which was impossible, knowing Kory's mother, so he changed the subject to talk about the schools he was planning to attend. By the time the college prep class rolled around again, he was well prepared with his brochures and had printed out applications for Whitford and Gulliston. The application for State he'd left at home.

"One of the most important parts of the application is one you may overlook at first," Mr. Pena said. "I'm talking about the 'species and ethnic origin' page. I know a lot of you are used to just checking "fox," or "otter," and not thinking about it any more than that, but here's where you have to. A lot of schools have species quotas. Most of the ones you're applying to do, in fact. Those are laws you should have studied in Civics class. I bet you never thought your Civics homework would be useful, did you?" He chuckled, looked out at the silent classroom, and resumed his speech. "So if you are a river otter, for example, but one of your grandparents was a small-clawed Asian otter, you might be able to put "Asian river otter" in that space on the application. You'd qualify as a minority, and have a better shot at getting into school."

A grey squirrel, Jelena, Kory thought her name was, raised a paw. "My grandmother was an albino," she said. "Does that count?"

"With rare exceptions, color phases don't qualify for minority admission," Mr. Pena said. "There are exceptions--white tigers and white lions are culturally protected communities as well as being a different color phase, and would qualify."

Kory raised his paw. "What about black foxes?"

Mr. Pena shook his russet-furred head. "Maybe, but we don't have any of those at Carter. No, I don't think anyone here qualifies under fur color alone, but you do need to talk to your parents about your heritage. If there's anything unique in your background, don't be afraid to use it."

One of the other students raised a paw. "Isn't that a bit dishonest? Why aren't we just judged on our ability?"

The fox nodded. "I would love to live in a world where individuals were judged on merit. Believe me, it would be a vast improvement over the systems we have in place now, and there would be no need for you to attend this class. But as it is, all the other applicants are going to be doing the same thing you are, and there are so many kids out there with as much talent as you have that the smallest edge can mean the difference between Whitford and," his eyes fell on Kory, "State."

Kory flattened his ears to mute out the snickers. "Ah, I'm just kidding," Mr. Pena said, without much sincerity, Kory thought. "But really, kids, if you think someone's going to judge you on who you are, you're deluding yourself. Colleges have to weed through thousands of applicants and the people doing it are overworked and underpaid. You need to make yourself stand out in an easy, quantifiable fashion." His tail swished as he looked around. "You know what quantifiable means?"

"Easy to measure," someone said, behind Kory.

"Right. You've got to have characteristics that stand out on a list that someone can put together. If your grades are a half point higher than someone else's and you're the smartest kid in the class, you're still going to lose that spot if the other kid is more well-rounded than you are, in the sense of having the right number of activities on your application, or being a member of a minority group."

He kept on in that vein for a while, and Kory noted that among all the characteristics he mentioned, he never once talked about gay students. Isn't that distinctive, he thought? Wouldn't that stand out on a list? The difference, he told himself, is that it has to be a trait that colleges want.

As if they didn't have enough homework, Mr. Pena gave them an assignment as they were wrapping up. For the next meeting, they were to look at the essays on their applications and come in with three potential subjects. He'd evaluate them and return them the following week with suggestions for which was the best, and how to get started.

Kory left class wondering where he was going to find the time to do all of that in addition to his other work. When he called Samaki that night, they agreed not to get together on the weekend, for the first weekend since May. Samaki had just as much work as Kory, even counting the college applications. Kory made him agree to look at the application to State so he could pass along any questions to Mr. Pena under cover of his own interest. The thought of the class snickering at him was not bad enough to discourage him from helping Samaki.

They met at the Rainbow Center Saturday morning, but didn't have time for another tryst; Margo had recovered her poise and put them all to work painting. Jeremy seemed recovered from the previous week, though reluctant to talk about his parents. The atmosphere was cheerful, but Kory felt paradoxically depressed by that, because it highlighted Malaya's absence. Margo had found an address and given it to them with the caution that they should only send letters, not try to visit her. All through the day, the weight of the folded paper in Kory's pocket distracted him, turning his mind to what he'd say in his letter. Between the lack of quality fox time and Malaya's absence, Kory felt less fulfilled on the way home than he normally did on Saturday afternoons.

He spent the next day poring over his applications, shut into his room after church. They would take him a while to figure out. The Whitford and Gulliston applications had essays and neither of them was easy. "Pose a question and then answer it," was Whitford's. Gulliston just said, "write an essay," and didn't even give him that much. He pored over online essay examples until his eyes and head hurt, and then had to shut off the computer and sit down with a pencil and paper.

The question he really wanted to answer was, "What does it mean for me to be gay?" He didn't think he could write that and send it off to a college, though. Maybe something about poetry. He could write something like, "Where do my poems come from?" No, that was terrible. Maybe, "What am I trying to accomplish with my poems?" No, that sounded horribly arrogant. "Where should I go to school?" A valid question, but not very original. "Should I listen to my mother?"

He looked down at the paper where he'd written the question. Now, where did that come from? He crossed it out slowly and wrote next to it, "Does God love me?"

That one he looked at for a long time. It had potential: he could talk about the hardships he'd endured and the blessings he'd been given, and discuss some of the theology he'd learned through years of Sunday school. He could even talk about Malaya and her family, his mother's devout belief in the face of her misfortunes, and Father Joe's cheerful sermons, if not the talk he'd given Kory last spring, back when Kory was agonizing over his feelings for Samaki.

In retrospect, it was hard to believe he'd resisted the attraction to the fox. Samaki had been a steadfast friend as well as a boyfriend, closer than anyone save for Sal and Nick in Kory's life, and their lovemaking seemed so natural now that Kory couldn't remember why he'd spent a whole night in Samaki's basement sleeping two feet from the fox, terrified to touch him. Father Joe had been one of the reassuring voices who'd told Kory that God did love him, that what he was going through was all right.

He couldn't use that in the essay, not without revealing his private life to the admissions officers and whoever else read the essay--he imagined it on the Internet next year at this time, available to all his friends. What he could use was Father Joe's calm assurance of God's love.

He jotted down some notes on that essay, and then set about coming up with two more subjects. Neither of the other ones felt as rich to him as his first question, and when he called Samaki that night to talk and told him the questions, the black fox agreed.

"It's really good to put a positive spin on religion these days," he said. "Just don't come off like some sort of home-schooled right-wing wacko."

"Like I normally do?"

Samaki laughed. "I know. Anyway, you could always just say you're gay. Gay and religious, that'd get you into any college. Talk about diverse."

Kory laughed too, but shortly, feeling the pressure on the walls of his internal dam again. After hanging up, he worked on some other homework, and didn't look at his essays again until he handed them in on Thursday.

*

Thursday evening, Samaki called him just as they were sitting down to dinner, well before the appointed time. Kory felt a prickling as he stepped out of the room to accept the call. "Kory, dinner is ready," his mother said sharply. "You can talk on the phone later."

"Just a minute," he said vaguely, staring at the phone. Samaki wouldn't call at this time unless it was important. He braced himself, and hit Talk.

"Malaya's in the hospital," Samaki said. "Margo just called to let me know."

"Which hospital?" he said numbly. His mother stepped into the room and held out her paw, glaring at him.

"Westfield General," Samaki said into his ear.

Instead of placing the phone in his mother's paw, Kory looked up at her and repeated, "Westfield General. Westfield's over past the river, right?"

"That's right. Can you go over there tonight? I'm going in a minute. Mom's just getting the kids dressed to go out."

His mother's expression had softened at the name of the hospital. "I'll try," Kory said.

"She'd probably like to see you the most."

"I'll try," he repeated. "We just started dinner." As soon as he said it, he was aware of how inane it sounded.

"What's wrong?" his mother asked. "Is it Samaki?"

He nodded, as Samaki said, "All right. I'll see you there."

He hung up with a warm flush that the fox understood him even when he said something silly. "Is he all right?" his mother was saying. "Why is he in the hospital?"

"He's not. Oh, no, I mean, that was him calling. One of the kids from the shelter is in the hospital. She was a friend of mine. Can we go, Mom?"

"It's a school night, Kory, and there's nothing you can do for her, is there?"

He holstered his phone, and shook his head. "But I want to see her. I want to let her know that I'm there for her. She probably got put in the hospital by her father."

"Her father!" His mother's eyes looked sharply past him. "Kory, you don't want to get mixed up in another family's business."

"I just want to let her know she's not alone."

She wavered, looked back into the kitchen, and then put a paw on his shoulder. "Let's eat quickly, and then we'll go."

Nick came with them, following silently out to the car and into the back seat as his mother started it up. At first, Kory thought Nick was just seizing on an excuse to avoid homework, but as they pulled out onto the street, he reached along the window and patted Kory's shoulder.

Kory turned and smiled, then sat forward and watched the lights speed past the windshield. He shouldn't let his imagination wander, but he couldn't help seeing Malaya's skeletal hand reach up over the porch, remembering the fragile body she tried to conceal with her tough manner. He wished he'd taken that hand and held it then. What if it were shattered now, what if it was too late? He pictured her bleeding from the head, paralyzed, back broken, and shook the images from his mind.

"How did she end up back with her father?" his mother asked. They had just merged onto the expressway. "I thought you worked with kids who'd been taken away from unsuitable families."

"She went back to him," Kory said. "She didn't have anything but her family, and she thought everything else was a lie."

"A lie? What does that mean?"

"We kept telling her she'd be okay, that she deserved to have a normal life, but she didn't believe it." He was too upset to give much thought to the words he used.

"Oh. Is she...special?"

He jerked his head to the side to look at his mom. "No!"

"Well, what do you mean, have a normal life?"

Now he was fully aware of how close he was to dangerous ground. Her stare probed for cracks in his armor. He looked straight ahead again. "You know, because she was abused." Another lie, but only a partial one, at least.

His mother stayed silent after that, but he could feel her disapproval of anyone who didn't take steps to solve their own problems. The Lord helps those who help themselves, he knew she was thinking, even though she didn't voice it. Her sense that something about him was wrong might have been diverted, but surely it was only a temporary reprieve.

Kory's only experience with hospitals had been at St. Michael's when Nick broke his arm playing on the playground in second grade. Westfield General looked nothing like his gleaming white memory of St. Mike's. The carpet of the lobby, dull grey, felt tacky under his paws, but he ignored that as he walked past the battleship-grey walls to the dimly lit reception desk and the tired-looking deer behind it.

"I'm here to see Malaya Bahar," Kory said, aware of the jangling of his nerves. His fingers drummed the desk; his tail twitched restlessly.

The nurse consulted her computer screen. "She's in 405, but visiting hours are over in fifteen minutes."

"That's okay, we'll hurry." He turned to his mother and said, "I'll be back down soon."

"Don't be silly," she said. "Come on, Nick." Taking Nick by the paw, she strode toward the elevator.

Kory squeezed his paws together, then hurried after her. "But Mom, you don't know her."

"I'd like to meet her. You're clearly important to her, aren't you?"

The elevator was taking forever to show up. He shifted from one foot to the other, and didn't respond. "Well?" his mother said. "Is she just a friend?"

"Yes!" Kory almost laughed at the thought of him dating the dark, grim Malaya.

"Well, I just wondered. You did spend so much time helping at that home, and it was right after you and Jenny split up."

Nick had wrested free of his mother's hand and now stood silently behind her. He met Kory's eyes and rolled his own. Kory nodded to him, and said, "She's not my girlfriend," just as the elevator arrived.

The elevator doors opened onto a jumble of bright reds, yellows, and blues. Cartoon characters cavorted over the walls, and in a corner of the large waiting room, yellow plastic toys lay strewn over the gaily patterned carpet and rounded plastic chairs. It took a moment to see the worn patches in the carpet, the white scars on the cartoon characters, the cracks in the chairs. In one corner of the lobby, Mrs. Roden and Mariatu were playing some game with a little toy, while Ajani and Kasim sat nearby, kicking their legs. The two boys jumped up when they saw Kory and ran over to him.

"Hey there," he said, hugging back, looking down the hallway.

"Kory!" Ajani said. "I'm so bored."

"I'm not," Kasim said, the lie as evident as his pride in telling it.

"Ajani," Mrs. Roden said. His ears folded down, his bushy red tail curling underneath himself. She greeted Kory's mother and Nick, and said, "I'm so glad you could make it. It'll mean a lot to her, poor thing."

"Mom, you want to wait here with Mrs. Roden?" Kory said.

"No, no, I'll come along."

"But maybe they don't want too many visitors there at once."

Mrs. Roden waved a paw. "Three is fine. We just came out here because Mari and the boys were bored."

"I'm still bored," mumbled Ajani. "I wish I had my comic books."

"Just recite them to yourself, dear."

"Mom!" Kasim protested.

She smiled, one paw grooming the fur between Mariatu's ears. "We do need to leave soon, though. Would you tell Sammy when you get down there, Kory?"

Kory nodded. "Sure." He hurried off down the hallway, hoping that if he moved quickly enough, he could ditch his mother. What if Malaya called Samaki his boyfriend in front of her? The click of her claws on the tile floor followed him. For a moment, he considered giving Nick a look that would enlist his help, but then he drove the worries from his mind. They only had a few minutes, and Malaya was more important than him worrying about what his mother would think. Though it was a good sign that Mrs. Roden was in good spirits.

Though the hallway walls were white, each door was a different color. They passed a bulletin board with a number of crayon drawings tacked up onto it: "A leukemia germ," "Get well Marky," and untitled illustrations of home, hospital beds, and children in casts. Kory scanned the numbers and then heard Samaki's voice, and padded quickly toward it.

"I only had one other person in my room at St. Mike's," Nick said behind him as they entered the room. Samaki looked up from the farthest of the three beds on the left as Kory entered. The black fox gave him a wave and a brief smile. Kory padded quickly around to his side, looking down at the bed.

Malaya's eyes, half-lidded, followed him partway around and then gave up, drifting back to where his mother and Nick were approaching. Her right arm lay across her stomach, encased in plaster, and one of her ears drooped with the weight of taped bandages. The other still bore a silver stud, but that was the only trace of the old rebellious Malaya. In the hospital gown, she looked sick, not goth. "Hey," Kory whispered, then asked Samaki, "Is she awake?"

"Yeah," the black fox said, and looked up. "Hi, Mrs. Hedley."

Malaya stirred, now turning her head toward Kory, blinking slowly. "Kory?"

"Hey." He smiled.

"Told you," she said, "didn't I?"

"Told me what?"

Her eyes had drifted over to the other side of the bed. "Who's that?"

"Malaya, this is my mom and my brother Nick."

They both whispered hellos. The bat turned back to Kory and Samaki. "Kory knows," she said. "He wasn't trying...to sell me on a rainbow."

Kory exchanged a bewildered glance with Samaki, and then decided to ignore the comment. "So how are you feeling?"

"Feel..." She raised her arm an inch, let it drop, and winced. "Like shit. How's it look?"

"How did this happen?" Kory saw his mother flinch at the language. Maybe another swear or two would drive her out.

"He did it. Course."

Samaki whispered, "Margo said the hospital banned her father from seeing her. There's a social services worker coming to interview her." Kory felt a knot of anger form in his chest, bright and hot. He clenched a fist at his side.

"Social services," Malaya shook her head back and forth in a full one-eighty. "Bunch of fucking morons."

"You really don't need to use that kind of language," Kory's mother said reprovingly.

Malaya looked at her again and said, "Don't need to. But I like to."

"It doesn't serve any purpose."

The bat turned back to Kory. "I haven't had a mom in twelve years. I don't need one now."

"Mom," Kory said, louder than he'd meant to, but his mother had drawn herself up, whiskers twitching and mouth pursed shut, her ears flat back.

The nurse broke the uncomfortable silence, announcing that there were only five minutes left. Kory's mother grasped Nick's paw and turned to head for the door, then turned. "Kory, come on."

Kory didn't move. His paw hurt from how tightly he was clenching it. "What happened?"

Malaya's rattling laugh made Kory's fur prickle. "Teen Vogue. Caught me reading Teen Vogue. Told me I had to cast Satan out. I told him...Satan has pretty dresses." She indicated the bandage on her ear with her good hand. "Hit me in the head. Knocked me down." She lifted her cast. "Broke my arm pulling me up."

Kory looked up at the nurse, an elderly wolf beckoning them with a gloved paw. His mother had listened to Malaya's speech and now was dragging Nick past the nurse and out. He wanted to tell Malaya that it wasn't right, that he'd help her and protect her, but she knew it wasn't right, just as she knew there was nothing he could do. Social services or not, once she was out of the hospital she would go back to her father and this would happen again until maybe it wasn't a hospital she'd wind up in, but wherever her mom had gone. He wanted to tell her not to go back, but the words got jumbled together in his throat and nothing he could say would be more than a crayon "get well soon" drawing she could tack on the hallway of her mind and look at while her father was hitting her. "We gotta go," Kory said.

"We'll come back and visit when we can." Samaki leaned over and squeezed her hand.

Malaya nodded. Her eyes closed slowly as they followed Kory's mother out.

"Well, if anyone needs help, she does," Kory's mother said softly as they walked down the hall. "You're to be commended for your charity, Kory."

Samaki's tail brushed against his, safely out of sight. Kory worked to unclench his paw and relax. "I wish I could do more."

"Her father sounds like one of those Baptists."

"I don't know, exactly."

"He must be, to think Vogue is sinful. Talking about casting out Satan." She made a 'tch' sound with her tongue.

Kory had been wondering that himself, but the brush of Samaki's tail against his, reminding him of their shared secret, gave him the answer. "He thought she was looking at the women." He only realized after he said it that he'd said it loudly enough for everyone to hear.

They had just arrived in the gaily colored lobby, where with one final tail-tag, Samaki left Kory and padded over to his family. Ajani said, "Can we go now?"

Kory's mother had half-turned to look at him, her brow creased. "The women?"

Mrs. Roden, holding Mariatu in one arm, distracted her before Kory could respond. "Are you all leaving now, too?"

"We have to," Kory said. "Visiting hours are over."

The elevator dinged. Doors creaked open. "Come on," Mrs. Roden said. "We'll all ride down together."

The two moms talked about recipes and pointedly skirted the subject of Malaya, while Ajani and Kasim both tried to talk to Kory at the same time, Ajani telling him about the latest comic book and Kasim trying to talk about one of his cartoon shows. He listened to their chatter with one ear, catching Samaki's eye and noticing that the black fox wasn't smiling, either. The violet eyes reflected Kory's pain, if not so much the anger. Kory tried to suppress his own, knowing it wasn't Samaki's way, knowing it wouldn't help, that what was needed was for him to be Malaya's friend and support her. It was hard to let go, and it was compounded by the black fox's presence three feet away, because all Kory wanted right now was to hug him and tell him how unfair it was for a bright, funny girl to be lying dazed and broken in a hospital bed, but with his mother in the elevator, he didn't dare. They shared the thought with their eyes, but eyes couldn't encircle him warmly, wrap a tail around him and squeeze him, rub a muzzle against his and kiss his cheek softly. His fur and skin ached for that touch, and to see Samaki so close just fed the small, hot anger he felt at Malaya's father.

It all came from the same thing, didn't it? His mother wouldn't knock him down and break his arm--probably couldn't--but she wasn't so different from Malaya's father. Not in spirit. He disliked her intensely for a moment, a spike of rage that simmered down as Kasim pulled on his shirt, distracting him. Perversely, his annoyance spread, encompassing his whole situation. Why did he have to be trapped in this life where he couldn't be honest with his family and friends about the people he loved? Why did Samaki have to come along and drag him into this? If he'd never met the fox, he'd never have met Malaya, and he wouldn't be here in the hospital in an elevator that felt more and more claustrophobic by the minute.

He met Samaki's eyes again, and instantly felt bad. If he hadn't met Samaki, then he wouldn't know Samaki. He wouldn't want that. It was everyone else causing the problems. Guilt flushed his ears, still warm as the elevator doors opened.

As they left the elevator, the Rodens all milled around one end of the lobby, away from where Kory's mom had parked. They said good-byes, Mrs. Roden promising to call, Kory's mother saying she hoped to see Samaki again soon. Kory and Samaki squeezed paws in a firmer-than-usual grip and said goodbye with their eyes. "Call ya tomorrow," Kory said, and Samaki nodded.

"What did you mean, she was looking at women?" his mother asked as they left. Kory groaned inwardly. Of all the things for her to latch on to.

"Nothing," he mumbled, feeling his paws tighten into fists again. Relax, he willed them.

"Is she homosexual?"

Hearing his mother say that word sent a jolt through Kory's chest. He snapped his head up and opened his mouth to say something noncommittal like "I don't know," but heat formed different words. "What does it matter?"

His mother blinked. "Of course, at that age she's still vulnerable to urges. If she was being approached by homosexuals, she could be confused."

"Her father beat her up and broke her arm."

"Lower your voice," his mother snapped. "You're too young to know what you're talking about. You have to protect children from those people while they're at an impressionable age."

"Mom, that's so lame." Kory had almost forgotten Nick was with them. His younger brother looked at Kory around his mother's dress, his eyes wide in warning.

"Quiet, Nick."

"He's right," Kory said. "It is lame. You think you can protect us?"

They had left the hospital and now walked along the sidewalk back towards the car. "The Lord knows I'm doing the best I can." When Kory snorted, not trusting himself to speak, his mother turned around, paws on her hips. "What is so amusing, young man?"

"Nothing," he said, glaring at her.

"Come on, let's get home." Nick tugged hard on his mother's arm, his eyes pleading with Kory: Don't!

She ignored Nick, staring back at Kory. "Have you been approached by homosexuals, Kory?"

"Oh, I sure have, Mom," he said, the words spilling out. He wanted to hurt her. His heart was pounding. "They got me. There wasn't anything you could do."

As soon as he said it, Nick groaned, and Kory wished he could take the words back. His mother didn't scream, or strike him, or gape in disbelief. She stared at him for a moment, then turned around and walked for the car again, Nick firmly in tow.

Kory stood, bewilderment overcoming anger for the moment, and hurried after them. His mother's ears swiveled back, hearing his footsteps, and she shook her head. "Father Joe said you'd go through this stage."

Now Kory's fur prickled and he felt a chill that had nothing to do with the crisp evening wind. "What?" Father Joe had told him their talks would be confidential.

"He said all teenagers go through a rebellious stage. You obviously feel sorry for that poor girl and...you're lashing out at me. That's okay. God gives me the strength to handle it. If you really are confused about homosexuals, you can talk to Father Joe about it."

"I already have," Kory said.

"Oh." This stopped her only for a moment. "I don't mind that you went to him first. It's natural for you to hesitate to talk to me. It's part of that stage you're in. Well, if he can't help, there's a camp you can go to that will clear it all up."

"I'm not going to be brainwashed," Kory said. He wondered how much Father Joe had told her. Not what he'd initially feared, it seemed. "And stop calling it a 'stage'."

"Oh, Kory," his mother sighed. "The Lord works in mysterious ways. The camp may be just what you need anyway."

"Just what I need? For what?"

They all climbed into the car. His mother didn't say anything until they were on the street. "A little discipline, a father figure. I know...I read about cases like this. You're missing a strong male authority figure. I tried to compensate with sports and that church retreat."

"That's what that was about?" Nick said from the back seat.

His mother continued as though he hadn't said anything. "But I can see you need more. I'll go find the information on those camps, and if you're still persisting in this fantasy, we can sign you up for the summer before you go to college. Okay? See, it's an easy problem to solve."

Looking across the seat, Kory fumed at her placid expression. "It's not a problem, and it doesn't need to be solved," he said.

"This girl in my class kissed another girl right in front of--"

"Nicholas!" His mother acknowledged Nick now, sharply.

"Seriously," Kory said, "I've read about those camps, you know. Have you?"

"I don't want to discuss that right now. I just want you to know that I'm willing to help you with this problem, Kory. I love you."

The words sounded forced out. Kory stared at her. "Yeah, Mom. You and God. Right?"

"I know it might be hard for you to believe."

"When you talk about sending me away to camp to fix me, it is."

She heaved an exaggerated sigh. "If you broke your leg, I'd send you to the hospital. Would you not want that, either?"

"Nothing's broken!" Kory yelled.

She stopped at a red light, slamming the brake hard. "Lower. Your. Voice," she snarled back, and turned onto the freeway. "I don't know whether you're really feeling these things or if you're just acting out some kind of rebellious impulse because you know it will upset me, but either way you need to learn how to behave normally."

"Rebellious impulse?" he gaped at her. "You think this is about you?"

"Of course not," she said with false sincerity. "It's about your need to have your own space, to define your identity independent of me. I know I haven't given you everything you need, Kory, and I'm sorry about that. But it's important that whatever you think you're feeling, you talk about it and make sure we can head it off before it becomes any more of a problem. Nicholas, that goes for you too."

He folded his arms and stared straight ahead at the road. Lightposts and other cars sped by them while Kory tried to figure out how he would talk about it with his mother so that she would leave him alone. As they exited the freeway, she said, "It's that fox, isn't it? He's the one putting ideas in your head."

"His name's Samaki. You've eaten dinner with him."

They turned down their street. "Well, I don't want you seeing him any more."

Kory laughed. "You going to ground me all the rest of the year until I go to college?"

"If I have to."

"I'll sneak out of the house. I'll go directly from school."

She stopped the car in the driveway. "As long as you're living under my roof and eating my food, you'll obey me."

Kory found that his paws were shaking as he got out of the car, following his mother to the house with Nick close behind. "You're just like Malaya's father."

When she whirled to face him, her eyes glowed. "How dare you," she whispered. "I would never raise a paw to you. I have loved you, fed you, sheltered you..."

"Except when it mattered," Kory said defiantly.

They both knew he was not talking about being gay. Mouth open, she stopped, turned, and opened the door. Paw on the knob, she stopped just inside. "That was not my fault," she said. "I can only control what I do. I can't be responsible for the behavior of others."

"Except me, apparently."

"Of course, you. You're my son." She closed the door after Nick and locked it emphatically. "I'm just glad you talked to me before you acted on any of these so-called 'feelings.' Lord knows what might have happened otherwise."

Kory stared at her, and when she'd hung up her coat and turned around, she saw his expression. He made no attempt to hide anything from her. It was a relief to let the dam burst, all the things he'd hidden from her for the last six months plain to see on his face. He watched her eyes meet his, widen, and flick to his room, and he could tell the moment when she began counting up all the times Samaki had stayed overnight because her jaw dropped, slightly, and then her eyes narrowed. "Kory James Hedley," she said, "you had better not mean what I think you mean."

His heart pounded hard in his chest again. "What if I do?" he said.

"Don't be insolent with me, young man." She strode toward him.

"What are you going to do, break my arm?" He lifted his chin. "For being in...in love?" He'd never used that word to talk about Samaki, but he needed its weight in this argument, wanted to hit her with it as she was hitting him with her God and her motherhood.

"That is not love," she started.

He interrupted, yelling, "Didn't you tell me God is about love? Didn't Father Green preach that every Sunday, and Father Joe every Sunday since then?"

"Don't you throw the Lord into this. He is about love and this is not love." She matched his pitch. He saw Nick standing frozen at the door of his room, his eyes like saucers.

"How do you know that?"

"Because love doesn't make you defile my house," she cried, and then, as if to herself, "Oh, dear Lord, I'm going to have to get the carpet cleaned now. I always hated that smell."

"What smell? My boyfriend's smell?" He'd been mad enough when she was only judging him, but to bring Samaki into it set his blood racing faster still. "You...you goddamned bigot."

Her ears flattened all the way. "Don't you take the Lord's name in vain, you sinner," she hissed. "And how dare you sit in judgment of me. I clothed you, fed you, raised you..."

"And somehow I turned out okay anyway."

"You ungrateful child. You're not even repentant."

Kory folded his arms and shook his head, vaguely aware that part of him was shaking as badly as Nick was, but anger kept his defiance up. He looked his mother in the eye and said, "You're the one who should be repentant."

She breathed hard for a few heartbeats and then raised a paw and pointed at the door. "Get out of my house. Get out right now."

Kory spun on his heels and unlocked the door. He heard her yell after him, "And don't you come back until you're prepared to--, " but he never heard what he should be prepared to do, because he drowned out her last word with a loud slam that rattled the glass in the door.