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I was already a bit tired when I got into the back of the car. Catherine and I had played a bit late that Saturday, and the dinner with Mr and Mrs DeMille had been anything but relaxing. My stomach already felt a bit uncomfortable as I started doing up my seatbelt.

"Back home, Mr Matsuura?"

I sighed before I answered. "No, Laurence. Would you mind dropping me near the YMCA?"

If Laurence was surprised, he didn't show it. He started pulling out of the DeMilles' driveway to begin the long drive back to downtown Vancouver. "The workout with young Ms DeMille wasn't enough?"

"Not anymore, it seems."

We were quiet for quite a while after that. I was perfectly used to just sitting in the back, reading or doing homework while Laurence drove. For some reason, though, tonight I was having trouble with it. My eyes kept drifting up to look out the window, watching the scenery rolling by. Maybe I was nervous about training with Garet that night. I don't know. Regardless, I finally found myself shoving my book back into my bag.

"Hey, Laurence?"

"Yes, Mr Matsuura."

"Why did... er, how did you start working for the DeMilles?"

For once, Laurence's reply wasn't immediate. I looked forward, at the back of the wolf's head over the seatback. It was difficult to tell through the tinted glass, but I thought that maybe his ears were slightly perked.

Finally, he responded. "Well. Quite simply, I'd been working as a chief of staff at the Empress in Victoria. Mr DeMille approached me and offered me a more lucrative contract, and I took it."

I blinked. "Wait, that's it? Had you even met him before?"

"Well... no."

"So he just appeared out of nowhere and offered you a job?"

"Well, it may seem like that, but..." Laurence hesitated again. It was a surprise to me; he'd always been calm and collected around me. At length, the wolf tried again, "Mr Matsuura, this may be a bit difficult for you to understand. Are you familiar with the ideas of new and old money?"

I was pretty sure he wasn't talking about how old a 5 dollar bill was, so I answered, "No."

"Well, when people talk about old money, they mean families that have been wealthy for a long time; many generations. When they talk about new money, they're talking about families that have only recently become wealthy. The DeMilles fall into the second group."

I hesitated, still unsure. "What does that have to do with Mr DeMille hiring you?"

"People from old money know how to be wealthy. It's difficult to explain, but they've grown up with an understanding of what's expected of them and what's necessary. People from new money don't have that. They just suddenly find themselves in a situation where they have a fortune, and they have to figure out for themselves how to use said money, and what they need."

"So what does that have to do with Mr DeMille hiring you?"

The wolf shrugged up in the driver's seat. "When you have a house as large as the DeMilles' and you're going to have staff cooking and cleaning for you, you need somebody to be in charge. You need a butler. Now, somebody from old money would know exactly where to go to find a butler, and who they should hire. Somebody from new money wouldn't. Mr DeMille came to me because he couldn't think of anybody else that would know how to fill the role of a butler."

I nodded, though I knew he couldn't see me. I thought about his answer for a few seconds, and finally asked, "Do you ever regret it?"

"Of course not. Again, I'm making more money here than I was at the Empress, and the work is much easier. Of course, working for just one family has its own... eccentricities, but all around it's much better than being the manager of an entire hotel."

"Eccentricities?"

"Every family has its own bits of strangeness, Mr Matsuura. I'm afraid I can't discuss that with you, though."

"Alright. Just one last question?"

"Depending on the question."

"What does Catherine actually... do at home when her parents are away?"

Laurence fell quiet again, and I didn't press him. When he answered, his voice was very delicate. "Well. Ms DeMille generally just practices and trains."

"That's it?"

"Oh yes. She's very dedicated. What did you expect?"

"I don't know. Does she ever do anything other than play and practice?"

"Outside of school? Not very much."

We didn't talk again after that. I just turned to look out the window and watch the scenery roll by. I really didn't know what I'd expected, but at the same time, I found it hard to imagine just practicing all the time. Maybe because I spent so much time around my family in such close quarters, but being alone in a big house like that was completely beyond my comprehension.

Slowly, buildings started cropping up outside the window, growing bigger and bigger as we got closer to downtown.

Garet and I had known each other for a few years at this point. We'd met each other on the court, and there I'd quickly learned his reputation as a physically dominating player. Even before his growth spurt, he'd been able to go toe to toe against older and bigger players with ease. He'd thinned out a bit during his growth spurt, but over the past few months he'd begun bulking up some more. Like I said earlier, there were a few rumours circulating about him, too, but... well, I would eventually learn how much truth there was to these.

Garet was waiting outside the Y when I showed up. I'd asked Laurence to drop me off a few blocks away, and then jogged the rest of the distance. The crocodile was leaning back against the wall outside the door to the Y, looking relaxed in his hoodie and jeans. I was used to seeing him in his basketball gear, so it was a bit jarring at first seeing him like that.

"Sorry," I called as I jogged up. He raised an eyeridge at me, and I went on. "Work kept me late."

"Right, right." He glanced down at the claws on his hand, and then muttered, "So... shall we?"

We stepped through the doors, and headed into the lobby. It had an odd, sterile smell of cleaning products mixed with the reek of sweat and old cigarette smoke. Garet headed directly over to the locker rooms, while I headed for the front desk. The membership wound up costing me 18$ a month, which was less than I'd expected. Still, it hurt handing over a month's worth of milk money.

Once I'd sorted everything out, I followed Garet into the locker room. He was leaning against a bank of small lockers with chipped paint, waiting for me. I got changed as quickly as I could, back into the same clothes I'd worn to practice with Catherine earlier that day. I hadn't yet figured out when I would wash my basketball clothes during the week. Practicing every day, and then training and working out all weekend didn't leave me a lot of time. It wasn't like I could go and buy another set, though, so I pushed that question away for now.

Once I'd changed, Garet led me through the locker room to the door that went further into the gym.

"I've got about two hours I can go for tonight. Does that work?"

I tried to hold in my grimace at that. Two hours? After the eight I'd already spent with Catherine today? That seemed pretty ambitious to me.

"Sure thing," I replied, following him through a hallway. We stepped into the actual weight room, and Garet finally paused, thinking.

"So you're looking to bulk up, right?"

"Yeah."

"Any particular area?"

I just blinked. After staring at my blank face for a few moments, Garet grinned.

"Right. No idea?"

"I've never even been inside a gym before."

Garet snorted. "We'll start with the basics. Your legs should be pretty good from all the running... and your core should be pretty toned. So... arms and upper body. I guess you have no idea how much you can lift?"

I shrugged helplessly. "I can lift a crate from a skid over at 7/11?"

He snorted again. "Alright. Come on over."

Garet spent the next hour or so dragging me over to different machines and sets of weights. He would show me what to do, and then gradually add more weight until it was just getting uncomfortable. Generally, after that, he would just let me work on doing a few reps while he did his own lifting.

At first it was difficult. My arms were a bit tired from practicing with Catherine, but the real problem was with my abdominal muscles. All the running had already worn them down, and they burned as I forced them to keep working. Slowly, though, the burn began to fade away. It would spike again whenever I started a new workout, but otherwise I was fine. In some ways, it was good. The ache in my core helped to distract me from the growing burn in my shoulders and across my upper back. Those muscles weren't used to being worked so hard, and they were making their complaints known.

Garet and I worked mostly in silence. My eyes always widened when I saw how much he was lifting, but I didn't comment on it. The only sound in the room came from the clinking of people setting down weights, and the disconcerting creaking and groaning of the machines.

Eventually, Garet set down the barbells he was using for arm curls, and said, "Break time?" I was too out of breath to answer, so instead I just nodded to him. He nodded back, and muttered, "Alright, you sit down for a bit. I'll grab some water from my locker."

I gratefully took a seat on a bench as Garet headed out of the weight room. There were a few other people doing weights, but not many. Apparently, Saturday nights weren't a terribly busy time at the gym.

Garet eventually returned with a water bottle, and we passed it back and forth, sipping from it in silence.

"So..." Garet's voice was hesitant as he spoke. "How is your dad?"

"I'd rather not talk about it."

"Fair enough, fair enough. But I mean--"

"Garet, please drop it."

"Fine. So, how's working at 7/11?"

I blinked, but started talking. "It's fine enough. Boring as hell, but it pays for groceries."

"Yeah? Which one are you at?"

Before I'd quit, I'd worked at one not too far from our basketball court. I couldn't tell him that, though, or else he might come by on a Saturday or Sunday and see I wasn't there. I thought desperately, but for some reason, my mind couldn't think of where another 7/11 was in the city. After what felt like an eternity of my mind panicking and drawing a blank, I just said, "Would you mind if we started working out again?"

"Yeah, sure."

The second half of the workout was rougher than the first, but I managed to power through. The entire time, I kept dodging glances at Garet, wondering if he suspected anything. Part of my mind told me that that was stupid, but I knew him. Garet was smart. He was good at figuring things out.

After we finished, I rushed to get changed, and bid him goodbye, almost running out the door. By the time I got home, all of the work that day was finally starting to catch up to me. I greeted my parents quickly, and fortunately neither of them asked me any questions. I went into my room, and collapsed onto my mattress. I think I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

The next day hurt. Jesus Christ, it hurt. I groaned enough rolling out of bed that it woke up my brother and sister, who promptly started laughing at me. After I'd managed to give myself a wing cramp by trying to throw a pillow at the two of them, I quickly got ready and headed out the door. The aching in all of my muscles started loosening up a bit during my walk, and I did some extra stretching while waiting for Laurence to pick me up.

I don't remember most of the rest of that day. It was a blur of running, shooting, passing, lifting, and stretching. Throughout it all, I remember the constant aching and creaking of my bones, and the near-cramps constantly threatening my muscles. There was a growing pit of... emptiness sounds a bit too melodramatic, but I guess it's the right word. Yeah, just a growing lack of energy and drive in my chest.

I stayed for dinner again that night, and for once I didn't notice the silence. I was too busy wolfing down forkfuls of filling, hearty pasta. After I finished my plate, I only hesitated for a moment before asking for seconds. At home we never really had enough for there to be seconds, so I wasn't sure what the etiquette was on asking for them. My hunger quickly silenced any concerns I had, though, and I helped myself to another heaping plate. When I glanced up from my food, I noticed that Mr DeMille was grinning at me.

"Hungry, Hiro? You don't normally eat much."

"Just a bit more hungry than usual, Mr DeMille."

"Please, Hiro. It's James."

After that, it was the long car ride back to downtown Vancouver, then meeting up with Garet, and working out again. Garet offered to get the water again when we took our break, which I was grateful for. I got home, and had just enough energy to get things ready for school the next day before passing out.

The next few weeks went like that. I felt exhausted all the time, especially on Mondays and Tuesdays. I was nodding off in class, and I actually had trouble keeping up during our games after school. Normally by Wednesday, though, my energy would start returning. By the time Friday night rolled around, I would have my energy back again, and I'd be ready for another weekend.

Fortunately, Catherine didn't complain about any sloppiness in my playing. I'd already explained to her that I'd started working out more, and that seemed to satisfy her. She didn't ask for any details, and I appreciated it. By this point, it was getting to late March and early April, so she was busy herself preparing for Vancouver's junior varsity basketball tournament.

My workouts with Garet slowly got less painful. He was good at watching me and noticing when I was getting used to a weight. Over the weeks, he gradually increased my weight, and I found myself able to do more reps during my sets. By the end of the night, I was always exhausted, but there was far less pain involved than there had been.

I also found myself talking to him more and more. Really, it was inevitable with how much time we were spending together, but I enjoyed it nonetheless. Mostly we just asked each other about school and normal things like that. At first I felt awkward talking about it with him, but eventually I just let myself relax and enjoy the simple, boring conversation.

It was just over a month into this that one weekend, things changed quite abruptly. It was mid April now, and things were warm enough outside that I could just wear a thin hoodie around. We had been working for over an hour, and Garet finally called a break.

As always, he went to grab some water, and I sat on the bench to catch my breath. I was feeling good. Sure, I was tired, but the burn from the workouts was starting to feel good instead of just painful. Not to mention, I was already starting to see some results in the mirror. It was nothing big; certainly nothing you would notice if you weren't looking for it. That said, the muscles along my upper arms and across my back rippled a bit more with their movement.

Garet returned with the water, and we took turns sipping at it in silence. I was fine with the quiet, but finally the gator asked, "So what do you actually do for fun?"

"Sorry?"

"I mean, I know you play basketball with us during the week, but... man, it doesn't seem like you've got much time to yourself."

I snorted at that, taking a sip. "You haven't seen our apartment. 'Time to myself,' isn't a thing."

"Yeah, but when do you actually get to spend time with your folks? And don't you have a sister?"

"Brother and a sister. And I spend enough time with those two. We sleep in the same room. I get to spend evenings with my parents."

"Doesn't seem like a lot of time."

"Last I heard, you don't spend much time with your mom, either."

I said the words before I had time to think about them. I had been getting increasingly annoyed with the personal, prying questions, and so I'd bitten back sharper than I'd intended. Garet immediately tensed, and I started backpedalling.

"Sorry. I'm sorry."

"Hiro, if you're going to say your dad's off-limits, then so is my mom."

"I know. That was low. I'm sorry."

The crocodile's head was down, and I watched him awkwardly for a few seconds. I had learned about Garet's mom in overheard conversations between some of our teammates that knew him better. She'd been in prison for a few years now. I knew that Garet was sore about it, but for that one moment I'd felt the need to stab back at him. To twist the knife.

"I'm gonna put the water back," Garet muttered abruptly. "Be back in a few." He got up, and walked stiffly out of the weight room.

I lifted up my weights again, and did a few reps. My heart wasn't really in it, though. I felt bad. Finally, I sighed, and walked out of the weight room, heading for the lockers. I felt the need to talk to Garet. To really talk to him. Explain... not everything, but a few things. I had to make it up to him.

I was surprised to hear voices when I stepped into the locker room. It's just one of those things; you don't really talk in a guys' locker room. I held the door open, standing half in the other room, and the voices continued. They hadn't heard me.

I was possessed by some kind of sudden curiosity, and so I carefully closed the door behind me, making sure not to make too much noise. I crept forward towards the banks of lockers, trying to pick up the voices. It was as I was listening that I realized Garet was speaking.

"...the usual?"

"Yeah." A gruff voice replied, tinged with annoyance. "The new hours are really a pain in the ass, you know?"

"Well tough. I set the schedule, got it?"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Why'd you change your time, though?"

"Helping out a friend. Now stop wasting time. Where's the money?"

I froze as I reached the next bank of lockers. I knew that our lockers were in this bank. I let out a breath slowly, quietly, and then leaned around the edge of the bank, looking.

You know, in that month or so that I'd spent working out with Garet, it had never struck me as odd that he'd always volunteered to go and grab the water when we took our break. I never questioned why he insisted on taking the break at the exact same time every week, or why he didn't just bring the water with him. They were all things that should have stuck out in my mind, but I guess I'd just been too exhausted, or too nervous to notice.

As I peeked around the row of lockers, though, all of those questions screamed through my head at once. All I could do was stare at the mountain of a bull standing next to Garet and our lockers. The bull looked to be in his twenties, but he seemed intimidated by Garet.

Garet was standing with his back to me. The door of his locker was slightly ajar, and he was busy leafing through a small stack of bills, counting them out. Finally, he nodded, and reached into his locker. He pulled out a small plastic bag packed tightly with tiny, dried green leaves and buds. My nose wrinkled as a not-unfamiliar smell of skunk wafted through the air.

"Always a pleasure to do business with you," Garet said. His voice broke me out of my reverie, and I turned and started sneaking out again, moving more quickly this time. As I headed out the door, I heard the hiss of an aerosol can. Probably covering up the smell.

I walked very quickly back to the weight room, keeping my head down all the way. I should explain; I wasn't really innocent or naïve at that point. I knew what weed was, and I knew that it wasn't quite as bad as most of my guidance councillors would have me believe. Hell, I lived in Vancouver; weed was just a fact of life.

Hell, I'll be honest; I'd tried it once. Once, after a game the year before, Kim had invited a few of us to try a joint she'd stolen off of her older brother. I still remember the feeling as we stood in a circle, hiding behind a dumpster in one of the alleys. I'd watched the others passing it around, each taking a careful puff. A few of them had coughed a bit after their turn, but a few breathed in the smoke like it was any other air. When it had come to my turn, I'd taken a long, deep pull, not wanting the others to know I'd never tried it before. I'd been fine for one brief moment, before the burning erupted in my chest. I'd nearly dropped the joint, and wound up bent over double, wheezing for breath as my eyes watered. The others had laughed at me, but I hadn't really cared. I'd felt light headed and a bit giggly for an hour or so afterwards. My lungs had hurt for a couple days. That was the first and only time I'd tried smoking. So yeah, I understood that just doing weed didn't make you a monster.

Selling... Well, selling was something else entirely.

I kept my head low when Garet came back. We didn't talk for the rest of the workout. When we left the gym, we didn't even bid each other goodbye. I groaned internally as I was walking home. Just when things seemed to be going well, they were suddenly getting complicated again.