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I tugged at the corner of my collar, trying to loosen the vice-like grasp of my tie. The uniform wasn't exactly a rare sight in the café, being little more than a mile from the school, but it still drew attention to me, and I was beginning to wish I'd packed a jacket this morning.

The café was small and simple, walls painted in warm colours with generic pictures of coffee plantations and beans hanging on the walls. I was one of four other patrons, sitting at my usual table in the back corner closest to the counter. The others were mostly housewives, come to gossip over lattes before their kids came home from football practice or study hall.

They kept their distance from me. It wasn't hard to imagine why; Beecher's Hollow was one of those peculiar north-eastern towns that got stuck in the protestant mind-set sometime in the 1800s and never learned to get over it. That, and the fact everybody knew everybody, it was impossible not to have a reputation known across town.

I tapped my fingers impatiently on the table, checking my watch for the fifth time in the past two minutes. Finally, the door to the café's stockroom flew open, revealing a dishevelled zebra that looked like he'd been drinking too much of his own inventory.

"Sorry," Isaac said, coming around to sit across from me at the table, a coat thrown over his own school uniform. The zebra was tall, almost a whole head's breadth higher than myself, with the rugged spike of his mane making him seem even taller. His bluish grey eyes were wide, way more energetic than he should have been after a twelve hour day. His jacket was stained, and he had forgotten to take off his name tag before clocking off work.

"No problem," I said, keeping my eyes down as the women on the far side of the café looked over at our conversation, whispering to one another, "You ready to go?"

"Yeah," the zebra said, almost knocking over his chair in the process of standing up.

I followed him to the door, making doubly sure not to make eye contact with anyone else on the way out. He was already a good ways out into the parking lot by the time I reached the door, and he was pulling at the handle of my car's door before I'd even managed to fish my keys out of my pocket.

It was getting cold outside, the sun beginning to set far earlier than it felt like it should have. Main Street had much more colour than it usually had, bathed as it was in the gold and red of cast-off leaves. The muted blues and greys of the Victorian buildings looked so dim in comparison to the vibrancy of the surrounding forest. The sea danced in the far distance to my right, its colours dark and brooding. Steam rose from my nose as I exhaled, fogging up my glasses as I walked through the cloud.

The doors unlocked with a beep, and the zebra pilled in, pulling out the auxiliary cord to listen to his music. I got behind the steering wheel and started the car, turning on the heater as Isaac thumbed through his albums, finally settling on an electronica-jazz fusion band that only he and ten other people had likely ever heard of.

"So man," the zebra said, "I was talking with Lindsey, and she asked me if I knew you. You never told me she was in your European history class."

"Which one is Lindsey again?" I asked, pulling out of the café's parking lot onto the central road, heading north towards the school.

"She's the fox," Isaac said, "like you, but shorter. I forgot what they're called."

"There's a fair bit of difference between me and a fennec, Isaac," I said, rolling my eyes. I loved the guy, and he really was super smart, but he was absolutely oblivious sometimes.

"You know what I mean," he said, "anyways, she's the new lead of my section, and she asked if you would want to hang out sometime."

"Why wouldn't she just ask me herself?" I scoffed, "I don't think I've ever even spoken to her."

"Well, I don't think I was supposed to tell you she asked," he said, tapping his hoof along with the bass line of the song, "I think she likes you."

"What the hell, Isaac?" I said, turning off the main road onto the drive for towards the school, passing by a big fancy sign proclaiming 'Saint Marc's Christian Academy,' "Why would you ever think that?"

"I asked her," the zebra said, turning to me with a big shit eating grin, "she said she liked you."

"I'm gay, Isaac," I said, speaking slowly in a vain hope of the words getting through that thick skull of his, "that kind of excludes us from each other's dating pool."

"I know that," the zebra said, "I think she just assumed that was a rumour. Everyone used to say she was a lesbian."

"Well, what did you tell her?"

"I said we could hang out," he said, "She's cute, man."

"Do you know what gay means, Isaac?"

"No, it's cool man," the zebra said, "you're my bait. Then, when you let her down, I go in and ask her out."

"That is a horrible plan," I said, pulling around the final bend towards the school, pulling past the trees into the courtyard.

St. Marc's wasn't a big school by any means, especially since it mostly catered to Beecher's Hollow and other nearby towns, but it definitely had that stately charm and grandeur of a tried and tested institution.

It looked so much like the preconception of an east-coast private school it hurt, with big Greek-inspired architecture and loads of ivy covering the walls. I followed the drive around the garden that took up most of the courtyard. It was mostly dead this time of year, aside from the late blooming flowers. The gardeners had tried, in vain, to keep the grass going at least until snow could cover it, but it was turning brown too.

We passed the admin building first, a relatively small building compared to the rest of campus. It was mostly abandoned this time of night, with only a few teacher's cars still there as they graded papers or oversaw clubs and teams.

Then was the arts building. It was identical to the science and athletics buildings next to it, the big three arranged in a semi-circle around the courtyard with just enough room to house a small parking lot between them. A little ways off to the right, behind the administration building, I could spot the dormitory buildings, lit up with students preparing either to spend the weekend partying or going home to visit parents.

I pulled into the one between the art building and the science building, stopping by the curb next to the door.

"Out," I said, unlocking the doors and popping the trunk as I said so.

"I'll talk to her about it after practice tonight," he said, leaning down so his face would be visible through the open door.

"Seriously, do not go through with your little 'plan,'" I said, leaning across the passenger seat to maintain eye contact as he closed the door, "It will not go over well."

If he heard me, he didn't acknowledge it, and circled around to the back of the car, pulling out his guitar before shutting the trunk and running towards the building with a backwards wave.

I sighed as he disappeared into the building. He was going to go through with it. It was too much of a dumb-shit plan for him not to. I put the car back into drive and circled the lot, exiting it back onto the central drive. I continued past the science building into the lot besides the academic building, parking along the back of the lot.

The air was noticeably colder than it had been only a short while ago at the coffee shop, and I again wished I'd had the foresight to bring a jacket. I went to the main door, nose cringing at the combined odours of chlorine and sweat. The entryway for the building consisted of two doors at either end with trophy cases along the walls wherever they could be squeezed. Most of the awards were for tennis and golf, basically showing off how rich and pretentious the school really was, and the football and lacrosse trophies never really got above the 2nd or 3rd place level. I knew it was the great ire of Coach Thompson, but St. Marc's lacked both the prestige of some of the larger private schools and the wider net of the public schools, so they missed out on plenty of better players.

I took a right, following the smell of chlorine until I reached the locker rooms. The football and swim teams were in the middle of practice, thankfully giving me privacy while I made my way down the rows of lockers until I reached mine.

It seemed nobody had written 'faggot' on it in the past couple of days since my last workout, so the day was already starting off better than last time. I traded my uniform for a windbreaker and a pair of shorts. They were on the shorter end, as far as legwear goes - like the basketball shorts they wore in the 70s - typically a fair bit more flamboyant than I liked to dress, but god damn if they didn't make my butt look good. Besides, everyone already talked shit about me, so why not indulge a little bit.

I tossed everything but my phone and headphones into the locker and double-checked it was shut tight. I set my phone to shuffle through a couple albums of some indie band Isaac had gotten me addicted to, then set off for the football field.

The football stadium was a bit off from the athletics building, separated from the school proper by bands of forest bisected by paths and roadways, most of them leading nowhere aside from the same few entrances and exits. The cross country team used them for practice sometimes, but the autumnal chill had made sure they were all but abandoned.

I started jogging the moment I left the door, hoping the rise in body temperature would compensate for the drop in temperature. Sure enough, by the time I'd hit the closest of the trails I was panting with exertion and all thought of the cold left me.

The trail was ragged with a patchwork of roots, disguised by the blanket of ruby leaves that littered the forest floor, and I was forced to slow my pace so as not to shatter my ankle on some hidden obstacle.

My phone showed twenty minutes before I managed to break through to the far side of the forest to where the stadium lay nestled in the forested hillside. The light had started to fade, and the overhead lights buzzed to keep practice going as long as possible.

It was a small stadium, just a couple bleachers supported by concrete stairs with a concessions stand attached to the ticket booth, and it was currently occupied by two separate sports teams, with track taking the asphalt lanes ringing the field while football ran drills in the centre.

I kept to the stands themselves, running down the far-left stairway, across the front row, then up the stairs on the far right. I got snipits of the occasional glance my way, but did my best to ignore them. The track team was generally alright, but the football team had a habit of yelling obscenities my way whenever they caught sight of me, even if the coach had gotten onto them for it a number of times.

I lost count of the number of laps I made around the steps, running in time to the beat of the music as I concentrated on the dull thumping of my feet against the stairs and the rapid thud of my heart in my chest. I stopped only once my playlist had been exhausted, the new silence breaking me from the daze of movement.

The football team was in the final phase of practice, their gear removed as they gathered around the coach for one final word before heading to the locker room. The track team had left some time before, a few even giving me a nod in silent support. Comradery through cardio, I supposed.

I sat by the top of the stairs, waiting for my breaths to be more than a second apart. I saw the team on the field below break apart, signalling my time to head back to the locker room. Hopefully I would be able to get back to the athletics building before they did, if only to avoid sharing the space.

I took the main path back, avoiding the twists and turns of my previous route to make up for lost time. This one, at least, was paved, so I could avoid the hassle of stepping over debris and focus on getting back.

A burst of laughter emerged from not too far behind me, and I cringed, keeping my head forward so not as to draw their notice.

"Hey!" a voice called, loud and brash. Wonderful.

"Hey, Ethan!" the voice called again, and I begrudgingly turned around to inspect the source.

His name was... Jack? John? Something like that. Everyone just called him by his last name, though I would have preferred to not know that as well. He was an antelope, athletic enough to make it as a running back in high school but with a frame that was too small to make it anywhere close to a college level. Along with him where a few of his usual douchebag friends, all similarly likely to drop off the face of the athletic world if confronted by anything resembling tough competition.

Well, all except for Harris. Out of all of St. Marc's athletic teams, Harris was probably the closest thing the school had to professional material. He was varsity in football and lacrosse, which considering the state of St. Marc's athletic department wasn't saying much, but he had also been a contender for all-state in both sports since his freshman year. The panther was tall, handsome, and rugged, with an attitude that let everyone know he knew it. I would be quick to write him off as just another jock asshole, except for the fact he was also perpetually at the top of the dean's list and an officer of the school's debate team.

He sure as hell was a better student than I was, and most people were pretty sure he could easily take his pick of Ivy League, even without considering his athletic record. He was quiet, as usual. The line-backer didn't really talk trash like his friends did, keeping his conversation to jokes and banter more than anything else, but that didn't stop him from grinning at all of their dumb jabs.

"What do you want, Parker?" I asked with a sigh, facing the antelope and his cronies.

"Just wondering how you can run so much foxy," the antelope snickered, "I guess sucking cock is pretty good cardio then, huh?"

"I don't know Parker," I said, turning my back on them to continue towards campus, "maybe you should try and see if that stops you from getting knocked back to JV."

His friends began laughing at that, shouting things like 'burn' and 'ooh' like a bunch of morons who hadn't had an original thought in their entire lives. I put my headphones back in and began walking faster, thumbing through my phone in a desperate search for something to tune them out to.

"I bet he just comes around the field during practice to ogle us," Parker said, making sure his voice was loud enough for me to hear it, even if I had been listening to music.

"Don't flatter yourself," I called back, wishing I had just shut up and ignored them even as I said it, "I can find more testosterone watching the girls' volleyball practice."

Another round of laughing and jeers, and I could all but hear the seething of the antelope behind me. I finally managed to find something loud and angry to listen too, completely ruining the Zen I'd put myself into during my run, and I put down my head, focusing on getting back to the locker room.

I didn't bother to change, knowing how close they were behind me, and merely gathered my stuff from my locker and carried it out to my car, exiting the locker room just as the first couple football players began to filter in.

The heat from my workout began to fade by the time I jumped back into my car, and I blasted the heat as I waited for a few minutes. I was usually done with my run a couple minutes before Isaac got done with band practice. Normally I would just do whatever readings my English teacher had assigned, but my head was swimming after my encounter with Parker. Better retorts, ways I could have taken to avoid them, and simply replays of the conversation, keeping my mind racing too much to focus on whatever the hell was going on in Heart of Darkness.

People like him were the reason I hated this fucking school, and he was in the vast majority. I had been in public school for a few years in middle school, and while there was always the drama and bullshit clique rivalries, all of that was amplified in private school. It definitely didn't help Beecher's Hollow was such a small town, but at least most of the adults had the decency to whisper their bigotry.

I waited until the clock struck eight, then started the car, following the one-way drive until I'd circled back around to where I'd dropped off Isaac, and let the engine idle.

He came out in a matter of minutes, his uniform even more a mess than it'd been since I saw him a matter of hours ago. He opened the passenger side, rubbing his hands together in an effort to get the blood flowing.

"Damn, it got cold, can't wait to get home."

"Isaac."

"What?" the zebra asked, confusion plastered all over his face.

"Guitar?" I said, doing my best to lead him on.

He stared blankly for a moment, then sprung out of his seat, throwing the door open in a panic, "shit shit shit..."

His voice trailed off as he ran back into the building, and I pulled out my phone to pass the time while he went off in search of the instrument.

He came back just over five minutes later, shoving the case into the trunk before plopping back into the seat, wheezing uncontrollably.

"You know you can go somewhere without running, right?" I said, throwing the car into drive, completing the circle to head back towards Beecher's Hollow.

"They lock the music room at 8:15," Isaac said, the syllables falling between panting breaths, "and I wouldn't be able to get in there until Monday."

"Then maybe you should start coming with me on my runs," I suggested, "you sound like a dying fish."

"Oh hell no," the zebra said, relaxing enough for his voice to sound somewhat normal, "no one should be running that much if they aren't being chased by something."

We drove in silence for a while until Isaac decided to put on some music, this time choosing one of his piano pieces that sounded so old they were probably recorded on wax cylinders.

"How much do you have to work this weekend?" the zebra asked.

"I got the late shift tomorrow and the midday shift Sunday," I answered, "apparently Kara hired some new guy, so I have to train him to run the projector."

"You mean 'train him to press play on a laptop and sit on his ass for five hours at a time,'" the zebra retorted, "do you know who it is yet?"

"No," I answered, turning back onto main street, "probably another student."

"So I take it you're not going to make a new friend?" the zebra asked, only partially joking.

"Isaac," I said, rolling my eyes as much as I dared while focusing on the road, "I've lived in this town my entire life; in that whole time, I've met about twenty people that didn't hate me just for being gay, and about five of those who I didn't want to punch in the face within five minutes of meeting them."

"I'm just saying," Isaac said, holding up his arms defensively, "you'd probably have better luck of making friends if you didn't act like you wanted to set everything on fire all the time."

I passed the coffee shop he worked at, going to the light half a block past it, then turned off main street to the residential portion of Beecher's Hollow. The houses were almost entirely Victorian, with only the odd modern addition breaking the illusion of conformity. My house was almost directly behind the coffee shop, raised up on a small hill and about a block back, ensuring that I could almost always smell the roasting of beans with the wind coming off the sea.

My house was on the smaller side, at least in comparison to the others on the block, and was otherwise unremarkable. It was two full stories with a narrow floorplan, and a third smaller floor that acted as a loft with a turret rising off the left side of the high-sloping roof. It was painted a light blue, with a slight amount of chipping around the trim from years of salty wind battering it. There was no garage, just a driveway with an awning over it, added a whole century after the house had first been built. I pulled into it and turned off the car, classical piano replaced by the ticking of the engine.

"You want to hang out, or are you going home?" I asked.

"Can't tonight," the zebra responded, "gotta feed the snakes and do some chores."

We got out of the car in tandem, and I popped the trunk for him to grab his guitar.

"Well, have fun with those gross little scale monsters," I said, locking the doors with a beep.

"I'll see if I can head over before you have to go to work tomorrow," the zebra said, walking to the next house over, "Say hi to Monaco for me!"

He turned away from me, the momentum of his turn getting thrown off by the guitar in his hand, almost causing him to fall. His house was similar in design, but a fair sight bigger, almost the largest house in the entire town. It made my little place look tiny in comparison, but then again, I didn't need to share it with anyone.

I went up the steps and slid the key into the door, lifting the wooden slab to make the opening easier on the hinges. The interior was dark, the shadow broken by thin slits at the bottom of the blinds. I was greeted by the tweeting of a song and the rattle of a metal cage as I closed the door and began searching the wall beside me for the lights. They came on, filling the room with a yellowish light and slight current as the ceiling fan kicked on just above the bulb.

The room was a bit of a mess, with blankets strewn across the couch and a few pieces of dirty laundry piled besides the coffee table. Monaco moved about his metal cage in the corner, rattling the door as I approached. I unlocked the door, letting the green and yellow parakeet climb out and onto my arm. He chirped happily at me, jumping up and down in place on my forearm. I scratched at the feathers on his head and let him climb up to my shoulder, letting him hitch a ride as I went about settling in.

I had dropped off my backpack earlier in the day when I dropped Isaac off at work, and tossed my uniform on top of it, relegating it to the 'to be done at a later date' pile.

I then went to the kitchen, filling the kettle with water and starting the stovetop. The room was cramped and narrow, with barely room for a single person between the counters on either side, ending in a pantry stocked with all sorts of canned and boxed foods. I opened it, grabbing a can of potato soup before closing it behind me.

Canned soup wasn't quite the peak of my cooking ability, but it was as much as I was willing to manage after a long day of school. I searched the cabinets for the ideal pan before finding it in the dishwasher, slapping it onto the warming stovetop while I embarked on another search for the can opener.

After finding it and wrangling the top off of the can, I dumped the goo into the pan, sitting back as the bubbling of the kettle grew louder. I pulled it from the surface just as the steam began to screech, dumping the scalding hot liquid over a bag of earl grey.

I sat back, disinterestedly stirring the soup as I waited for it to warm up as I sipped my tea. A buzz at my hip drew my attention, and I pulled out my phone, sighing as I saw the face and number it showed.

"Hello?" I said, keeping to the socially accepted script despite knowing all too well who it was and why they were calling.

"Hello Ethan," the voice on the other end said, her voice just a little too shrill, "It's me, Vicky, with the child protection agency."

I rolled my eyes. She had made the same call every month for the past year, and still felt the need to introduce herself every time.

"Hey Vicky," I said, setting down my cup to focus on keeping my voice chipper.

"I was just calling to schedule my monthly inspection of the house and your wellbeing," she said, sounding like she was reading off of a script, "I've contacted Mr. and Mrs. Cromwell, as well as Dean Anselm, and they have both filed their reports for the month of November."

"Alright," I replied, tapping my foot in the vain hope she would just give me the date, "I have mine filled out, just need to send it tonight."

"That sounds great," she said, the sound of a keyboard on the other end of the line coming though, "I was going to be passing by Beecher's tomorrow, I can stop by in the morning before you leave for work."

Great. Less time to hang out before my shift, and I would need to clean up the place before she got here.

"Yeah," I said, trying to sound at least indifferent if not happy about it, "that'll work for me. What time should I expect you?"

"Oh, I was planning to be there by nine," she said, "I'll call if there are any hang-ups. See you tomorrow Ethan!"

"See you then," I said, pressing the button to end the call with a sigh of relief. I then turned my gaze to the piles of clothes and unwashed dishes that made a snaking trail through the entirety of the house, and the clock that showed the time rapidly advancing.

"Shit," I sighed, taking the soup off the cooktop before spooning it over into a bowl. If I started laundry tonight, I could probably finish the dishes tomorrow, but that would give me very little time to work in the studio before Isaac showed up. I would try to get her to let up on the damn visits too, but I could hazard a guess how well that would go over.

I finished my dinner, then set Monaco back in his cage on one of his perches, then set about gathering laundry and generally tidying up the space. It was only minutes from midnight by the time I'd finished and sent the report, and if I stayed up any later I was bound to feel like death tomorrow, and so tossed myself across the couch, only bothering to peel my coat and shorts off, letting the autumnal air weave currents along my fur.

It was soothing for a while, removing the dull ache of my run while alieving the stress and worry. I decided to go further, and removed my sweat-stained undershirt, until the only coverings I had were my underwear, and it wasn't long before I tossed those too aside.

I lay like that for a while, the occasional sound of movement coming from Monaco's cage until he too settled for the night. I let my hands lie on my chest, running through the thick banks of fur to massage the muscles underneath as I starred up at the light on the ceiling, flickering under the influence of the spinning of the fan.

I lost track of time, hypnotized by the twirling of the fan's blades and the delicate nuances of air, noticing my absentmindedness only once the chill of night truly began to set in. I got up, grabbing a couple blankets off the floor before turning off the light, finding my way back to the couch by memory.

One more year of school, I said to myself as I flittered between awareness and sleep, one more year in this shithole town.