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It is an unfortunate, but unavoidable, fact of life that university lecture hall chairs are not designed to properly fit anyone taller than roughly five foot ten.

So thought Cameron Parkhurst as he gingerly unfolded his wiry frame and stood up, the opossum yawning as he stretched. The natural slouch in his posture took an inch or so off of the six-foot, seven-inch figure listed in the team media guide, but even so, he towered over the vast majority of his classmates as they filed past him towards the exits.

Cameron was slower to collect both his thoughts and his supplies, carefully packing a color-coded batch of notebooks and folders into the oversized backpack leaning against the chair next to him. The bag was bright orange, a near-perfect match for Cameron's hair after his latest dye job - the latest in a string of eye-catching, and usually neon, colors.

Only one item remained outside of the bag - an unassuming Rubik's Cube, sitting in a temporarily solved state until Cameron scooped it up and began to scramble the colored sides once again. The absentminded movements continued for a couple of seconds until, just as he turned to leave, Cameron was stopped by a voice from behind him.

"Mr. Parkhurst?"

Cameron snapped to attention, turning around to meet the voice of his professor. Dr. Mary Greenwood had been teaching sociology at Forest Union University for roughly one hundred and twelve years - give or take a few decades - and was a legend in the eyes of both her students and her teaching peers.

"Oh!" Cameron stuttered slightly as he responded. "Yeah? What's up?"

The opossum, being that he spent most of his time either on the practice court or in an upper-level science classroom, hadn't developed quite the same reverence for Dr. Greenwood, and he winced slightly as he realized the flippancy of his response.

The old goat (she refused the word "elderly" and all its accompanying baggage) rolled her eyes at the young student-athlete standing in front of her. "You seemed disengaged in class today. I know this isn't your major, but you're almost never one to stay silent, even here."

Cameron unconsciously dropped his shoulders, taking one hand off the cube and running it through his hair. "Oh. Yeah. I guess, um, there's been a lot on my mind lately, and it's been hard for me to focus."

"Anything in particular?" Dr. Greenwood responded, her tone of voice softening slightly. "Or just typical youthful stress?"

"I mean, nothing out of the ordinary, no." Cameron's eyes trailed towards the floor as he spoke. "Midterms are coming, it's near the end of basketball season..."

The goat's gaze turned skeptical as she took a step in his direction, letting Cameron's sentence hang in the air for a few seconds before replying. "And there's nothing else?"

Cameron fell silent for a few seconds as Dr. Greenwood continued. "Mr. Parkhurst, I've been around college students for far longer than you've been alive. There's not much I don't pick up on."

Cameron sighed. "Yeah, I guess."

"Relationship troubles?"

The question elicited a nervous chuckle from the opossum as he nodded. "That plus everything else. It's been...floating in the background for a while, I guess? Now there are just a lot of things coming together at once."

Dr. Greenwood slowly walked the steps to where Cameron stood. "I'm not sure I can be of much help with that - it's been decades since I've had to deal with anything like it myself," she said, laughing softly under her breath. "But I can tell you this, Mr. Parkhurst. You're a sharp student, an excellent speaker, and from what I can tell, an altogether decent person. Whatever you're dealing with will pass, and I trust that you'll come out of it stronger than you went in - and ready to contribute in my class once again."

"Thank you, Dr. Greenwood," Cameron responded, forcing a half-smile as he re-slung his backpack over both shoulders. "I hope you're right about...all this."

He turned to leave the lecture hall, but was interrupted once again just before reaching the door.

"Oh, Mr. Parkhurst? When would I next be able to see the basketball team play on campus? It's been years since I saw a game, and I'd like to change that soon."

The opossum's smile grew as he turned back around. "This Sunday. We're playing Upstate Lakes. Remember to wear green."

* * * * *

"You've been really out of it recently."

Cameron poked halfheartedly at his phone screen, looking up every few seconds at the red fox sitting across the café table.

"Yeah. Sorry," he mumbled.

"So what's up?"

Cameron sighed. "Honestly? It's just been a whole-ass last few days."

The fox laughed. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." He set his phone down on the table. "Midterms, basketball, graduation shit...I've been forgetting to buy my cap and gown for, like, a week and a half."

A muffled shout of "Jacob!" interrupted the pair, the fox standing up and hurrying over to the counter to grab a tall cup.

"What'd you get?" Cameron asked as his boyfriend settled back into his seat, sliding in to allow his tail to hang out of the gap in the seatback.

"Same as always, duh. Cinnamon dolce latte, extra espresso."

"You know, if you don't stop drinking so much coffee, you're gonna have a heart attack and die."

Jacob snorted. "Okay, Mom."

The conversation soon returned to silence, the ambient sounds of the café (and the soft acoustic indie rock playing over the speakers) taking over. Cameron traced the wood lines in the table with a finger, ignoring the textbook set open in front of him and occasionally sipping at the smoothie he'd bought.

"So." Jacob barked, finally breaking the silence. "When are you gonna snap out of it?"

Cameron shot him a confused glance. "Out of what?"

"This!" Jacob gestured vaguely in Cameron's direction. "The whole bummed-out, vacant, empty 'woe is me' act."

"Act?" Cameron replied. "What makes you think it's an act?"

"You do this all the time, Cameron. Like, at least once a month."

Cameron pushed back from the table slightly, straightening up. "I have an anxiety disorder, you know. It's not like I can just, like, fix my brain chemistry."

Jacob rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. I know. But like..."

"Like what?" Cameron asked, the fox's voice trailing off across the table.

"Ugh, I don't know. Forget I said anything." Jacob scratched behind one ear and exhaled sharply. "Anyway. Some of the other theater seniors are hosting a house party tomorrow night. You wanna go?"

"Maybe," Cameron mumbled. "I'll see how I feel."

Jacob sighed. "Listen, I think it'd be good for you. You need to have some fun."

"You know I have a game this weekend, right?"

"I mean, yeah, but you'll be fine. Party Friday night, decompress Saturday, play Sunday. Besides, you know your limits, right? Just don't get too fucked up."

"I'm not gonna commit to it, but I'll think about it," Cameron said, standing up suddenly and collecting his things from the table. "See ya later.'

"Where are you going?" Jacob called after him.

"Where do you think? Practice."

* * * * *

"God. I know Coach Newcomb would never bench me, but maybe he should."

Cameron slumped as he walked, a workout bag slung over one shoulder and an earbud hanging out of one ear.

"You'll be fine, Cam," said the voice from next to him, a deep and distinctly Canadian baritone.

Cameron turned his head. His roommate and fellow player Mackenzie Huberdeau walked next to him, the pair returning to the dorm they shared in the athlete housing block. The moose stood a couple of inches taller than his friend, his straighter posture accentuating the difference further.

"You sure? Because I haven't played well in what, two weeks? Since the Central game?"

"It's a slump. Everyone goes through them." Mackenzie's words held an obvious confidence that both reassured and frustrated Cameron, and he grew more animated in response.

"I hope you're right! But it's not just basketball. It's everything." Cameron fiddled with the cube in his hands, not solving it so much as keeping himself occupied with it.

"Everything?"

"Yeah, everything! I've got shit to do for, like, four different classes, I'm playing like shit on the court..."

"And Jacob?"

Cameron sighed. "Yeah. He's been...kinda shitty recently. It's like...he expects me to be his perfect boyfriend on-demand or something. But I can't do that! I've got my own life and my own problems!"

"And he doesn't get that?" There was a hint of frustration in the moose's voice as the pair walked into the teeth of a stiff early-March wind, their dorm still a couple of minutes away.

"Has he ever?" Cameron bit back. "I mean, he tries, sometimes."

"You sure the two of you are..."

"Yeah. It's fine," Cameron snapped, less than convinced himself. "We'll be fine. We've worked through this before and it turned out okay."

"Well, okay," Mackenzie drawled, almost chuckling. The two trudged in silence for a while, reaching the dorm and making their way through the newly renovated lobby area. Mackenzie exchanged pleasantries with the student employee at the front desk, Cameron remaining silent by his side and retreating into his "Forest Union Athletics" hoodie.

The opossum didn't speak again until Mackenzie pulled out the key to unlock the pair's room.

"Jacob, uh, invited me to a party tomorrow night." He shuffled awkwardly, adjusting the weight of the bag on his back.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Some house party hosted by a bunch of theater kids. It'll probably be a mess."

Mackenzie snorted. "You gonna go?"

"Maybe," Cameron replied as the door opened. "I could probably use a night where I just don't care about anything."

"All right then. Just be careful." Mackenzie ambled over to his desk against the far wall of the room. "Don't do anything stupid."

* * * * *

"Why do you always eat here?"

Jacob slumped as he slid into the chair across from Cameron. It was just after six p.m., and the dining hall was bustling with noise and activity. A group of basketball players had congregated a couple of tables away, but Cameron had secured a small table for himself and his boyfriend a few minutes earlier.

"Why not? It's all-you-can-eat, it's covered by my scholarship, it's open...most of the day..."

"It sucks."

"I mean..." Cameron trailed off, poking at the unevenly sauced pasta on his plate. "Maybe. But still."

Jacob laughed. "There's a reason I never eat here. Several, actually, but 'quality' is probably near the top."

"Several?" Cameron set his fork to the side. "Do tell."

"I mean, the building itself. It's so depressing." Jacob spread his arms wide, gesturing in all directions. "It's old, it's out of date, it smells weird. Sad."

"You're not wrong."

"Plus, the food's pretty shit. It's all thrown together in bulk and nothing actually tastes like anything. I can throw together better stuff in my apartment."

"Well, yeah, because you can afford to buy good food."

Jacob laughed again. "And you can't?"

"No, not really," Cameron replied. "I mean, I have the meal plan and I'm on scholarship, but I don't have a job or anything. I don't really, like, have money."

"Huh," Jacob mumbled. "No stipend or anything?"

"I get a little, but not much. And that goes to books, technology stuff, gas..." Cameron stopped to take a bite. "We're not at some big, awesome sports school, you know. There's only so much they can do."

"Then what's the point?"

Cameron stopped. "The point of what?"

"Why come play somewhere that isn't a 'big awesome sports school'? Like...it's not like you're ever going to make anything of it coming out of here, right?"

Cameron was silent for a few seconds. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah! Like, what's the point?"

"Jacob, my basketball scholarship is the only reason I could afford to go to college. Like, at all." He poked a finger into the table for emphasis. "Like, I know how far removed that is from your life experience. But I didn't really have a choice if I wanted any shot at a degree. It was here or nowhere."

"What do you mean, 'your life experience'?" the fox shot back, suddenly defensive.

"Oh, come on." Cameron's voice rose in pitch slightly. "You've never come close to worrying about money. Your parents are loaded and you're a legacy student. You've known you were coming to Forest Union since you were, like, eight."

"So?"

Cameron put his head in his hands. "You don't get it. You're fundamentally incapable of getting it. And I wish you'd realize that."

The opossum's words hung in the air for a painful few minutes, neither Cameron nor Jacob saying anything and both of them growing more uncomfortable. Around them, the noise and activity of the dining hall slowly dissipated, students heading off to night classes or extracurricular activities or Thursday night parties.

Finally, Cameron spoke up again.

"I'm sorry." He moved to put on his jacket, half-standing as he wrestled with a sleeve. "I know I'm overreacting. It's just...it's been a long week. I didn't mean to take it out on you."

"...It's okay," Jacob muttered as he started packing up his own things. "You seem like you need some space. Figure out what's going on."

Cameron barely bit back a sarcastic reply, instead shaking his head and forcing a smile. "Yeah, you're right. That might be good for me."

He hoisted his backpack onto his shoulders, adjusting the straps as he took a step away from the table.

"Oh, and the party - I'll be there. Sounds like a fun time."

* * * * *

"So why go, then? Do you actually like anyone there who isn't Jacob?"

"God, I don't know. It'll probably just be an overwrought shitshow." Cameron rolled on his side, nearing the edge of the slightly-too-small dorm bed. "Some self-destructive drive, I guess. It's been a while since I've gotten drunk."

Mackenzie laughed. "Is that a bad thing?"

"I don't think it's a bad thing or a good thing," Cameron said, shifting his weight again and wincing as his elbow popped. "I just want a fun night where I don't have to think about anything."

"You sure this is the way to do it?" Mackenzie sat on the pair's futon, pretending to focus on an online assignment. "Seems like you've been thinking about Jacob a lot as of late."

Cameron sighed. "I don't know. I don't know what's been up with him lately. He's just kinda been an asshole."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. About my anxiety, about the fucking dining hall of all things...I don't know. He just...he always wants to make everything about himself."

The opossum sat up, punctuating his words with an array of arm motions. "Like, even when we talk about me and my issues and my interests. It's not about me, it's about how it affects him. How I'm such a drag when I'm having a bad day. How he...ugh."

"Has he always been like this?" Mackenzie offered.

"I mean, I guess? Kinda? More so lately though," Cameron sighed. "Like, I always knew he was a rich trust fund kid but I didn't realize he was a rich trust fund asshole kid, you know?"

The moose nodded with a grunt.

"He's still...I don't know. He's still a nice guy," Cameron continued, pulling the Rubik's Cube out of his bag. "We go on cute dates and he comes to my games and I go to his performances and we hang out. It's just..."

"No, yeah, I think I get it," Mackenzie replied. He shifted his weight, turning to face his roommate more directly. "You're sure you're going to be okay tonight, though?"

"Yeah, yeah. Everything'll be chill," Cameron mumbled, his hands slightly faster on the cube now. "It's just a party. Not a big deal."

* * * * *

The house party was already in full swing by the time Cameron arrived just after ten, a four-pack of the cheapest beer he could find in hand. Loud music and a mess of voices could be heard from the street outside, and the house - which had certainly seen better and less alcohol-drenched days - was lit up both inside and out.

Cameron awkwardly made his way up onto the porch, pushing past a small group just in front of the door. He ignored a shout of recognition, knocking on the door and exchanging pleasantries with the short, stocky porcupine who answered.

"Hey, you're Cameron, right?" she shouted over the music. "Jacob Kenyon's boyfriend?"

"Yeah." Cameron arched his neck, looking above the crowd in the living room. "You live here?"

"Yeah," the porcupine continued. "I like your hair. Cool color."

"Thanks," Cameron replied, scanning his surroundings again. "Jacob's here, right?"

"Yeah. Somewhere. Down in the basement maybe? I think I saw him go down there earlier."

"Cool, thanks." Cameron slipped past, shutting the door behind him. He cracked open a beer as he walked, cradling the rest of them underneath his arm.

He poked around the living room for a few minutes, making small talk with a couple of students he recognized and half-heartedly dancing to a song he recognized. His mind was still on Jacob, though, and soon enough he made his way to the rickety staircase leading to the house's basement.

The small room's ceiling was lower than the opossum expected, and he had to duck under a low beam. The aroma of marijuana smoke hung over the room, and Cameron involuntarily sneezed before offering a muffled "excuse me".

The sound drew Jacob's attention, and he scooted forward on the couch that he shared with a couple of friends. "Oh shit, you did show up! Rad."

"Hey," Cameron said, forcing a chuckle. "Yeah, thought I deserved a fun night. Giving myself some time to figure things out like you said."

"Good." Jacob smiled and gestured at an overstuffed chair next to the ratty sofa. "Come on, sit down!"

Cameron obliged, sipping at the beer he'd brought and grimacing slightly as he shifted his weight.

"Want to smoke?" A friend of Jacob's, a tall, skinny cougar slung across half the couch, looked at Cameron inquisitively.

"Nah," Cameron replied. "Weed makes me anxious."

"Oh come on," Jacob spat, cutting in. "You'll be fine!"

"No, I'm good," Cameron continued, instead taking a larger gulp and coughing.

"Whatever," Jacob turned away and leaned back. "Wish you could lighten up for once in your life."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Cameron pointed at the fox, his eyes open wider now. "Please elaborate."

"Whatever," Jacob sighed. "When's the last time you had fun? When's the last time you weren't worried about, like, what made you 'anxious' or what was 'healthy' for you?"

Cameron motioned to respond, but Jacob cut him off and continued.

"You're a fucking drag, you know that? You're always worried about something. Why can't you just be fucking normal and enjoy your life?"

"Hey," Cameron put up a hand. "What the hell? Just because I wouldn't smoke with you?"

Jacob rolled his eyes. "It's not just that, idiot. It's everything. You and your anxiety and your practices and your fucking cube. If you're not gonna be able to devote the time to be a good boyfriend, just-"

"Wait. Wait. I'm the bad boyfriend here? The one who came to a party the weekend of a game to spend time with you? The one who's come to every single one of your shows? I'm the bad boyfriend?"

"That's-"

"Do you even understand how much shit I have on my plate, Jacob? I'm a full-time student. I'm an athlete. I have an anxiety disorder that makes me literally scared to wake up most days. I'm almost broke. But you know what? I thought I could make all that work and be in a fulfilling relationship."

"Cameron-"

The opossum stood up, grazing his head against the low ceiling, as his voice neared a shout. "I guess not, though. I guess I couldn't be the perfect, doting, lovable, healthy guy you so obviously deserve." He made a move for the exit to the basement.

"Cameron, where are you going?"

"I'm fucking leaving! Why do you care?"

"Cameron!"

"No." He started up the stairs, Jacob trailing a few steps behind. "Go have fun with your cool theater friends. I'm a 'fucking drag', you said it."

Cameron pushed his way through the living room, Jacob shouting and trying to catch up.

"I didn't mean that, Cameron! You know that!"

The opossum wheeled around, staring down at the fox as he stood in the middle of the entryway. "Really? Then what the hell _did_you mean?"

"I - you - I just..."

"Stop pretending you care about me, Jacob. You just wanted an accessory. A fun pet or some shit like that. I'm sorry that I'm a real person with real problems." With that, he turned to leave. He nodded and offered a quick "thank you" to the porcupine who'd greeted him earlier before stepping out the door and into the cool night air.

God, he thought to himself, stopping on the sidewalk outside the house, that didn't take long.

He stood there for a few long minutes, unable to muster up the motivation to keep walking.

That sucked ass.

* * * * *

"I had two-thirds of one beer. I'm not physically hungover, I'm emotionally hungover."

"I'm sorry for assuming," Mackenzie said, offering a concerned glance. "In my defense, though, you haven't moved in three hours and you sound like garbage."

Cameron groaned, throwing his head onto a pillow theatrically. "I just..."

Both roommates were silent for a few seconds, save for a sharp exhale of air from Cameron, before he continued.

"I didn't do anything wrong, did I? Because I'm having a hard time convincing myself."

"Nah," Mackenzie retorted, almost flippantly. "At least, not from what you've told me. And I trust you more than I ever trusted Jacob, though that's not saying much."

Cameron laughed a bit. "You never liked him, did you?"

"He was always an ass."

"Yeah. I guess..." Cameron closed his eyes briefly, reopening them to stare at a crack in the ceiling. "I'm just a really trusting person, you know? Probably too trusting. And Jacob started out so nice! He bought me stuff, he came to my games, he was super doting and cute..."

"God," Mackenzie interjected. "I remember when you two first started dating. You did not shut up about him for a single minute."

"Yeah! It was great! For a while at least." The opossum sighed. "He got kinda controlling, though. Controlling and...entitled? Not sure if that's the right word."

"He was always entitled," Mackenzie offered, sitting up straight. "I think what changed was what he felt entitled to."

"God, you're such a psych major," Cameron mumbled, rolling his eyes. "You're right, though."

"Did you see any of this coming? I mean, if you don't mind me asking."

"Not really? I mean, I always try to see the best in people, so I guess I just assumed..."

"You assumed that the old Jacob would come back."

"Yeah. The old Jacob, not the 'your-anxiety-isn't-real-snap-out-of-it' Jacob."

"Wait, what?"

"Yeah."

"Jesus. How often?"

"Often."

"Fuck, I'm sorry." Mackenzie stood up, wandering over to the window overlooking the dorm courtyard. "Honestly, it's probably good that you're out of this now."

"Yeah, I guess," Cameron sighed again. "It's kinda hard to remind yourself of that in the moment, though."

"No, yeah, that's totally valid."

"Thanks."

An awkward silence returned to the room, neither Cameron nor Mackenzie knowing where to take the conversation - or whether to continue it at all. Mackenzie took to organizing his desk, humming softly under his breath as he did.

Cameron turned around, collapsing facedown back onto the bed and remaining motionless for almost a minute before suddenly snapping upright.

"You know what? Fuck Jacob!"

Mackenzie barely stifled a surprised laugh as Cameron continued. "Yeah, fuck him! He's an asshole, he's always been an asshole! How the hell did I not see that?"

"Cameron-"

"He never cared about me at all! The only thing that matters to Jacob is Jacob!"

"Cameron..."

"Fuck! I...wow, I'm so angry! How did I not..."

"Cameron! Cool it."

The opossum motioned to continue until Mackenzie jumped in again.

"Okay, okay. You're hurt, you're angry, and that's legitimate. But it doesn't help anyone if you're just...aimlessly angry, you know?"

Cameron stopped. "What do you mean?"

"Keep the anger, but find a constructive outlet."

"Wait..." Cameron let the thought hang in the air.

Mackenzie's face broke into a grin as he filled in the answer. "We've got a game tomorrow."

"Oh, man." A smile finally crossed Cameron's face as he stood up. "This'll be fun."

* * * * *

The Forest Union Lumberjacks' starting small forward was uncharacteristically quiet as he sat in front of his locker, headphones on and cube in hand. Mackenzie sat nearby, giving Cameron space but still watching him silently.

The opossum didn't exactly cut an imposing figure in his green-and-white jersey, but his look was unique beyond just the orange hair. A pair of prescription sports goggles graced his face, held on by an elastic strap around the back of his head, and he wore a white shooting sleeve on his right arm. The overall look was unusual but strangely fitting, and (along with his skill on the court) had made Cameron a favorite with the Forest Union fans and student section.

Upstate Lakes was not a particularly formidable opponent, a middling team with a slow-moving defense that the fast Lumberjack offense was primed to play against. The Forest Union squad, though, was stuck in a bit of a skid, losing three of their last four games going into the home matchup.

As such, the atmosphere in the locker room was unusually tense, with conversation happening in hushed tones and Coach Nathan Newcomb, a typically animated and energetic river otter, pacing back and forth and mumbling to himself.

An assistant popped into the locker room to inform the team that it was time to warm up on the court, prompting almost the entire squad to stand up at once, stretching and letting out nervous energy. Cameron stood up more slowly than most, his eyes directed at the ground, before feeling a hand on his shoulder.

"You good? You ready?" Mackenzie asked, a slight smile on his face.

The opossum straightened up and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm ready." He added himself to the ready line of players, a serious gaze still plastered on his face.

As a venue, Baxter Fieldhouse was small and far from state-of-the-art, but held both a throwback charm and an acoustic setup that became very loud very quickly. With only a few minutes left before tipoff, the section behind one basket was filled with green-clad students, some bearing signs and the like.

Notably absent from the student section was a certain red fox. Cameron noted this fact as he jogged onto the court, cursing under his breath and grabbing a basketball off of a nearby rack. The pre-tip warmups were generally low-intensity - a few jump shots, layup lines, and the like - but the opossum went after them with an atypical intensity, shouting at himself after each miss.

Cameron then found himself at the end of the final layup line, paired with one of the team's young backup point guards, a golden retriever. As the drill began, the opossum gestured upwards towards the hoop. The dog's face was temporarily blank before she recognized the signal and broke out into a grin.

Cameron started with the ball, taking a couple of dribbles before passing to the dog and breaking for the hoop. She took a couple more dribbles, soon looking up and lofting the ball towards the rim with one hand.

A few more steps and Cameron leapt off of his left foot, extending his right arm upwards into the path of the ball. The alley-oop wasn't perfect, but it was good enough, and Cameron got a solid hand on the ball before sending it rocketing through the hoop in front of the student section.

Cameron landed, taking in the explosion of sound from the crowd for a couple of seconds before returning to his teammates, making sure to high-five his young teammate after her pass. The warmups were followed by a pregame huddle and the National Anthem, sung relatively well by a junior vocal performance major that Cameron half-recognized.

As the two teams got in position for the opening tip, high-energy rock music playing through the old building's PA system, Cameron took a couple of deep breaths, staring at the floor and counting down under his breath. Mackenzie took a few of steps back from his starting center position and shouted.

"Play angry, Cameron!"

Cameron looked up and nodded, his gaze now locked onto the action that was about to unfold.

* * * * *

Forty-four points. A new school record.

Eleven three-pointers, including makes on five possessions in a row in the second half. Another school record.

93-77. The Lumberjacks were back on track, and Cameron was the hero.

The moments after the game were a blur, with teammates, fans, and alumni congratulating the opossum on his performance. A sizable crowd remained in the old arena, the bleachers slowly emptying as fans walked back into the mild spring air.

Cameron made his way back to the locker room, beaming. He was nearly off the court until a familiar voice sounded from the bleachers next to him.

"Mr. Parkhurst?"

Cameron raised his eyebrows. "Dr. Greenwood!"

The goat made her way steadily down the steps towards the court. It was the first time Cameron had seen her dressed so casually - she sported jeans and a Forest Union sweatshirt that looked decades old.

"I must say, I haven't watched much basketball. But you were truly impressive."

"Thank you," Cameron replied, a step below Dr. Greenwood. "And thanks for...caring enough to be here, I guess."

"It was my pleasure, Mr. Parkhurst." Her gaze turned more serious. "How are you dealing with...everything? Is that how you put it?"

Cameron sighed. "I've been better. But," he gestured towards the court, "things are looking up, I guess!"

"I can see," Dr. Greenwood muttered. "Mr. Parkhurst, I know you won't be my student for much longer. I would like you to know, though, that you'll always be welcome to come to me with whatever you need. You're a bright, talented young man, and you're going to go far."

"Thank you very much, Dr. Greenwood. I'll remember that." He motioned to leave before quickly turning back. "Oh, uh, see you on Tuesday."

With that, Cameron left the court, an uncertain feeling in his gut rapidly being displaced by a sense that maybe - just maybe - things were going to turn out fine.