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I caught the pass from our point guard, and then I drove forward, putting pressure on the opposing team's defence. As one of their guards closed with me, I turned my back on the net, keeping my body between the defender and the ball. My eyes cast about the gym, and my ears listened for the squeaking of shoes on the floor.

There was a flash of black out of the corner of my eye, and I turned, my arms already thrusting the ball forward in a pass. Catherine caught the ball, and then she was off, leaving two defenders staggering in her wake.

I started jogging back towards our end of the court before Catherine even finished making her shot. Odds were good that she would make it. If she didn't then I didn't have much faith in us picking up the rebound. There was a smattering of half-hearted applause from the few spectators sitting on the gym's bleachers, and I knew that she'd done it.

The focus returned to our end as the rest of our team backed up. I kept slightly back from our point guard as she moved forward to meet the opposing team. To my own surprise, after a few weeks of games as a shooting guard, I was beginning to prefer not taking point on defence. I'd always liked feeling as though I was calling the shots before; I knew that if I did my job well, I could shut down a play before it even began. As a shooting guard, though, I got to stand back and plot everything out. I could focus on every player on the court, see who was going where, and decide where I was most needed.

This was important, too, since Catherine was still very offence-heavy. Sure, she was getting better at blocking, but she just didn't have the instincts for predicting an attacker's movements. This left most of the weight of the defence resting on me.

I watched the opposing team's point guard make a move, and I stepped out to the side as he passed towards a short frog. I was already in front of the frog by the time he turned towards the net. He panicked, seeing me there, and I lunged for the ball, positioning myself to hinder any passing attempts at the same time.

The frog's eyes widened, and I saw the split second of indecision as he weighed his options. He rose to his feet, and threw a desperate, clumsy shot at the net.

I looked over my shoulder, satisfied at the result. We were out well past the 3-point line, and he hadn't had the time to line up the shot. My satisfaction lasted about as long as it took for the rest of the play to unfold. The ball hit the backboard, and then flew out wide. I watched the ball sailing through the air, and made a mental note of everybody's positions in my head. Our power forward was well out on the opposite side of the net, leaving Maddie to go for the rebound.

The big rabbit just stood there, staring at the ball moving through the air for a full breath. In my head, I was screaming at her to move, to get into position, to jump on that ball before the opposing team could snap it up. Her moment of motionlessness felt like an eternity.

She finally moved, jumping forward. The other team's centre was already there, though. He snatched the ball, and headed for the net. I ran to try and get in his way, but I was too far back. He slipped by Maddie without any trouble, and sank an easy layup.

I held in a groan of annoyance as another weak smattering of applause rose up from the crowd. Maddie sent an apologetic look my way, and I flashed the rabbit a reassuring grin. I wasn't surprised when I turned around to find Catherine glaring daggers at both of us. I met her gaze, and we didn't break eye contact until we started back onto the offence.

She could rant and be her normal snappish self once the game was over. For now, I still needed to focus.

---

"She needs to go."

I clenched my beak a bit tighter as I stepped into the back of the car. As always, Catherine had finished getting changed earlier, and was waiting for me. I took my seat, and waited until Laurence started driving before I responded.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Oh don't try to be cute, Hiro." That took me by surprise. I glanced over at her, and she was sending me that same glare from the court earlier. "Maddie isn't keeping up. She needs to go. We need somebody to replace her."

"We just won that game by twenty points. I don't think there's a case to be made for anything holding us back."

"How many more would we have won it by if we had a half-decent centre?"

"We haven't lost a game yet; it would take an act of god for us to not be city champions this year. I don't know what you're worried about."

She rolled her eyes. "Right, the city championship. You sure know how to aim high. I'm not aiming for the city, I'm aiming for provincials. Hell, why not go for nationals?"

I had to hold in a groan. Nationals? I didn't want that. I was having enough trouble keeping up with everything as it was. I was almost hoping we would lose the Vancouver high school competition, just so that the season would end earlier, and I might have some time to relax at home and catch up with school and sleep.

I looked back out the window, and watched the streetlights going past. I counted out a few breaths, waiting until my voice would be level before I replied. "It doesn't make much of a difference. It's not like we have anybody better to replace her."

"We could find somebody."

"She was the best centre out of everybody that tried out. It's not like we can just force somebody to join the team, and even if we could, we're almost halfway through the season. We wouldn't have enough time to train them up to play with the rest of the team."

I heard her sigh of exasperation. When she responded, her voice was hard even by her own standards. "I'm paying you to make this team as good as possible, Hiro. If you aren't going to hold up your end of the bargain, I don't have to hold up mine."

I turned sharply away from the window and glared at her. She met my gaze with cool indifference. I had to keep my beak from clacking as I spat out my reply. "Have you got somebody tall enough to play centre, that goes to our school, and that has basketball experience hidden somewhere? If you do, bring them out, fine. Assuming you don't, though, we're better off trying to work with what we've got instead of wishing for what we could have and tearing down our teammates."

"I hired you because you can do what I can't. No, I don't know anybody else that could fill in. Finding somebody new is on you. I get that the rabbit's your only friend, but that doesn't justify keeping her on the team"

"Then fire me, and see how well that works for you. I remember how happy you were being third best in the city last year. If you want my help, though, maybe try helping Maddie get better instead of glaring at her all the time, and don't bring my dad into this." I did my best to copy her cold sharpness as I spoke. Her face, as always, showed no reaction, but she didn't push me any further.

At length, I broke eye contact to look out the window again. I was breathing deep to calm down, but keeping it quiet so that she wouldn't notice how much she'd wound me up.

We were arguing more often lately, especially since the start of the season. It was always the same topic: how to improve the team. More often than not, those discussions had to do with Maddie, and that was what rattled me. Alright, she was a weak centre, and it bothered me whenever I had to watch her messing up. She was the best we had, though. People tall enough to play centre were in short supply at our school.

Not to mention, well... Catherine was at least partly right. I wouldn't call Maddie and me best friends, but we were close. Given how aggressive my schedule was, I didn't have a lot of time to get to know people outside of class. Maddie was one of my few teammates that I shared classes with, and it was nice having somebody familiar to talk to. On top of that, now that I wasn't going to the games at the court after school anymore, I rarely if ever saw any of my friends from there.

That left most of my time divided up between training with Catherine, working out with Garet, and classes and practices with Maddie. So fine, I'll admit it, I was a bit biased when it came to Maddie. It wasn't like there was anything we could do to deal with it, though, so I didn't have any trouble dismissing Catherine's concerns.

The two of us maintained our tense silence until the car pulled up at my house. I hopped out without a word, and slammed the door shut behind me. The car pulled away, and I just stood in the cool, late February night air, waiting until I'd calmed down. It took longer than I would have liked.

---

I was getting ready to head to bed that Friday night when the phone rang. I ignored it, and kept working at washing my workout clothes in the bathroom sink. When Ken knocked at the door and said that it was for me, though, I groaned and stepped out to grab it. I always tried to get as much sleep on Friday nights as possible, and even a short phone call might eat into that.

"Hello?"

"Ah, Hiro! Just who I was hoping to hear!" I slapped a palm to my forehead and held in a groan.

"Hello, Mr DeMille."

"Please, Hiro, how many times do I have to tell you? It's just James. I thought we could have a bit of a chat."

"Right." I kneaded at my forehead for another second before I spoke. "Sir, not to be rude, but is there any chance this could just wait until I'm over there tomorrow? I'm a bit exhausted right now."

"Actually, I need to talk to you about your plans for tomorrow. You and Catherine have been going at quite the pace for a while now, and I thought that maybe the two of you could take a weekend off."

My hand stopped its kneading, and I just stared ahead. Take a break? Catherine did _not_take breaks. "I'm sorry?"

"We wouldn't want the two of you getting burnt out in the middle of the season! You can just take the weekend off and relax. My wife and I were going to Montreal this weekend regardless, and we thought we might bring Catherine along."

"I see." I was trying hold in my rising panic. Was this their roundabout way of firing me? I assumed that Catherine would want to be more direct and insulting about it, but the entire situation was so strange. I'd been bluffing earlier that week, when I'd told Catherine to fire me after the game. Sure, my family could probably get by without the extra money I was bringing in (we had before, after all), but I didn't want my dad's treatment to get-

"In fact, in light of how hard you've been working lately, I thought it might be a good idea to offer you a bit of a bonus."

"A bonus, sir?"

"Yes. I try to make it a habit to give my employees a Christmas bonus, and it occurred to me that I never offered you one. So how would you like to visit your father this weekend?"

I was very quiet for a long few seconds. At first it wasn't even shock; it was just processing what he'd said. Everything about the situation was so... sudden and foreign. I was still in the middle of getting ready for another gruelling weekend. The idea of not practicing with Catherine was too much for my exhausted mind to keep up with.

"You still there, Hiro?"

"Er, yes sir. I'm still here." I rubbed sleep from my eyelids. "You're saying that you would pay for me to go and visit my dad?"

"Yes, of course! I know it's been quite some time since you last saw him, and I'm sure he would love to see a familiar face, too. It would involve a short flight and a bus ride, but if you leave tomorrow, you could be there by noon. There's a hotel where you could spend the night, and if you left by noon the next morning, you could be back by dinnertime on Sunday."

There was an angle here. There was some kind of an angle here, and I knew it. There was some sort of a leg up he was trying to get on me here, and I knew it. I couldn't see what it was, though, and I was missing my dad, so...

"Sure, that would be great. Uh, thank you, Mr DeMille."

"Of course, of course, Hiro. Laurence will be by tomorrow morning to pick you up. And please," he laughed, "you really can just call me James."

I nodded, then realized he couldn't see that over the phone line. I cleared my throat, then said, "Right. Uh, thanks again."

I hung up the phone, and then stared at the wall as I processed that conversation. I'd seen Catherine earlier that day at practice after school. She hadn't said a word about us not meeting up for the weekend, or about going to Montreal, or anything.

I gave my head a shake, and headed back to the bathroom to finish washing my jersey. I was still going over the conversation in my head, trying to figure out what was going on, and what they could hope to gain from springing this on me. That was all just an undercurrent, though. On the surface, the realization that I was going to see my dad tomorrow was bubbling up. By the time I finished washing my jersey, I was almost shaking with excitement. I would have to call Garet and let him know that I would miss Saturday night, and pack some sort of a bag, and explain it to my mom, and a million other tiny things that were rushing through my head. All of that felt insignificant in the face of my excitement, though.

It had been months since I'd last seen my dad. I was going to see him tomorrow.

---

The next two days were a blur. The trip to and from the clinic took up most of both days. I flew from Vancouver direct to Seattle, and then took a bus out into the mountains.

The flight was a bizarre experience on its own. I hadn't been on a plane since my parents and I came over from Japan, and I was so young when that happened that I didn't remember anything of it. I was nervous about the flight, but it wound up being less than an hour from end to end. I had just enough time to be amazed about being in the air before we started our descent.

When I actually reached the clinic, I was shocked. It was... well, beautiful. A friendly nurse whisked me through the beautiful, remote pillar of modern design. Occasionally I would notice something that identified the place as a medical facility, like a gurney or a fluid rack for an IV drip. For the most part, it just seemed like a remote testament to wealth.

Then I stepped through a doorway and into my dad's room, and I kind of forgot about how nice and expensive the place was. My dad was sitting back in a chair, looking out the window. He looked... well. He didn't really look all that much better. I don't know what I was expecting. Sure, not a full recovery or anything, but he had been there for months. All I could really see was that he'd put on a bit more weight, and there was more colour to the skin visible through his patchy feathers.

As soon as I stepped into the room, he turned to face me. There was a long, long moment of silence while we stared at each other, neither of us sure what to say. His sharp eyes wandered up and down over me, and when he spoke his voice was as hard as I ever remembered it.

"Well. You've grown."

I kept staring at him for a few seconds, unsure how to respond to that. At last, I settled on saying, "It was about time."

He kept his eyes on me, measuring me up. Then, he just gestured over to another chair. I started, then walked over to take it.

It was awkward for a while. We traded smalltalk, though he didn't have all that much to discuss. He asked me about how things were going at home, how mom was holding up and how Ken and Mai were doing at school. They were all things he already knew, but I guess he wanted to hear it directly from my beak. At one point I asked him about the treatment, but he brushed the question off, and I didn't ask again.

Maybe it was while I was sitting there that I started thinking about how much time we'd actually spent together in the past couple of years. Admittedly, he had been gone for months now, which had limited our conversations to phonecalls. Even then, with how busy my schedule was, I was rarely around when he called. Most of our communication happened through my mom, or occasionally Mai or Ken.

And before then? Well before then... I'd been working since I entered highschool. Weekdays were spent in school or at the court after class, and weekends were spent at my job. We always had dinner together, even during the days when he was too sick to eat. Beyond that hour or so of time every night, though, we had barely seen each other.

The last time that I could genuinely remember spending a lot of time with my dad was when I was thirteen... or was it twelve? It was during that brief period when his cancer was in full remission. The symptoms had been on a slow decline for a few years by then, and around that period he finally grew strong enough to start working part-time again. He also started taking me out to the court near our house more often, and took a more active role in teaching me how to play. I could remember that even then it had felt surreal, seeing my dad running on the court like he was just recovering from a cold, and not some horrific ordeal that had lasted for years.

Since then, though... the talks had been rare. It was partly my fault, and I knew it. I could have chosen to go to fewer games after school, or not go at all. To this day, I don't know why I started playing so obsessively. Or maybe I do. I don't know.

But those were the things I thought about as we struggled to find something to talk about. I hate to admit it, but I was starting to dread the thought of spending hours here, with nothing to talk about.

Then, quite abruptly, he asked, "So, playing competitively. Your mom told me that your coach has you playing shooting guard?"

"Yeah. He bumped me up before the start of the season."

"And?"

"It's... a switch."

"You know I never played anything other than centre. I hit my growth spurt too early to try out any other positions."

I snorted before I could stop myself. He gave me a look, and I shrugged. "I think you're better off like that. Changing positions is weird."

"Tell me."

So I told him. I started talking about how things had changed, how my position was different. That led to talking about actual games, and my teammates, and plays we'd taken part in. As I went on, he leaned forward in his chair to listen more closely. There was a hint of a grin on his face when he heard that I was playing more on defence than offence, and I knew why; he'd been known as a major defensive centre on his team in university. Throughout it all, I could see in his eyes that whenever I was describing my movements he was imagining them; maybe imagining himself making the same movements years ago.

I was surprised when one of the the clinic's employees came in with dinner, and was even more surprised to see that they had brought me food, too. It was already getting dark out as we sat down to eat. My dad mentioned that there was a Spokane game that night, and so we turned on the TV in his room to watch.

I spent the night at a small motel in a nearby town, and came back the next morning. Again, we spoke mostly about basketball, this time talking about the game we'd watched the night before. Eventually, I got him to tell me about some of his own games when he played in Japan. He even told me a bit about playing for the Japanese national team. Those stories weren't exactly interesting for the playing; my dad had been a reserve player during one of the Asian Games before I was born, and he had gotten precious little playing time. Still, the few times he'd told me about it while I was growing up had always made me burn with excitement.

Another clinic employee walked in close to noon to tell me that the ride to my bus was here for me. I thanked her, and when she left silence fell in the room again. We just sat, not quite looking at each other as I thought of a way to excuse myself.

I finally looked to him, but stopped myself from speaking. He was sitting up more fully in his chair, and his eyes were sharp again as they met mine.

"Hiro, I need you to be honest. How has the DeMille girl been treating you?"

"Catherine?" I took a moment to gather my thoughts. "We've been getting along fine."

"Hiro." His voice was stern.

"Look, it's fine."

"No it is not, and you pretending it's 'fine' isn't going to make it better."

All at once, I felt fire building up in my chest. I had felt alright being evasive up until this point, but all of a sudden I was glaring back at him. "Fine, she's an asshole. Being around her makes me miserable. That better?" It was the first time I'd ever sworn in front of either of my parents, but the significance of that was lost as he replied.

"And how do you respond?"

"Excuse me?"

"How do you respond to the way she treats you?"

"How else am I going to respond? I need her and she needs me. I can't stand her, but she has to put up with me. There isn't much more to it."

There was silence again for a few seconds. When he finally spoke, his voice was much softer.

"Don't let them own you."

I sighed. "I'm not letting them own me. They're using me, but I'm using them just as much."

He leaned back in his chair again. "You know that I care more about your happiness than this treatment, yes?"

"Yes." It wasn't a lie. I knew that. But I also knew that I was happier knowing that he was getting any kind of treatment rather than wasting away.

"Alright. Tell your mother and Ken and Mai that I love them."

I left after that, but I didn't go straight to my ride. As I was walking down the hallway, I ducked into the first bathroom I saw. I closed the door behind me, and leaned my back against it, just taking deep breaths. I didn't step out again until I knew I had myself under control.

---

I recognized the DeMilles' car waiting for me as soon as I stepped out of the airport. I jogged over, keeping my hands shoved firmly into my pockets against the chilly air. I slipped into the backseat, and nearly had a heart attack as I almost bumped into a mountain of smiling palm cockatoo.

"Hiro! How was your visit with your father?"

I took a few seconds to just stare up at Mr DeMille, the door still open behind me. Once I felt the cool air flooding in, I roused myself and pulled the door shut. I never took my eyes off of the big cockatoo. He was still looking at me expectantly, so I forced myself to speak.

"It was good, sir." I stalled, my mind racing. "Uh... if you don't mind me asking, Mr DeMille, why are you here? I thought you were supposed to be in Montreal all weekend?"

"We got back a bit early, and I thought I might meet you at the airport. Headed home, I assume?"

"The YMCA, actually."

Mr DeMille raised an eyebrow, but he gestured for Laurence to start driving. "You really do never take a break, do you?"

"No time for breaks, sir."

For a moment, I thought I saw a falter in Mr DeMille's smile. As soon as I saw it, though, it was gone, and he kept on speaking with that slick voice of his. "You enjoyed your time with your father, though? How's he doing?"

I shrugged. "Well... he's better than he was, at least. I wouldn't say great. It was good to see him, though. I think he was happy to see me."

"Well of course. He must get lonely being there on his own all the time."

The two of us fell silent. I finally forced myself to look away from him and out the window. Even with my growth spurt, I felt dwarfed in the car next to him. Looking away didn't help matters; I could still feel him, feel that enormous presence just next to me.

"You know," he said, and the tone of his voice immediately made my stomach jump with nerves, "if you wanted, we could set it up so that your father could come and visit home every once in a while."

Everything was quiet in the vehicle. I was resting my chin in my palm, and my fingers were gripping tight enough for it to be uncomfortable. I didn't look back to Mr DeMille; I kept my eyes focused out the window.

"Not that it would be all the time, mind you." He went on, his voice still casual like he was discussing the weather. "The additional travel costs would be a bit much for even me to absorb without noticing." I knew for a fact that cancer treatment at a private clinic in the United States cost a damn lot more than even weekly travel from midwest Washington to Vancouver. I kept that to myself as he went on. "Maybe just for special occasions. He would probably love to come and watch your games, especially any of the major final games."

He stopped as I chuckled. I was sure that he was looking at me in confusion, but I didn't acknowledge him. So that was it. That was their angle all this time.

I didn't know who had come up with it; Catherine or her father. Regardless, one of them had realized that I had no motivation to try and push the team any further. But now, just like that, they had their leverage. If we reached more major games, I got to see my dad more often. That was their angle. It was all they needed, and they knew it.

"Hiro?"

I finally looked over to him. Mr DeMille seemed a bit off-balance, but he still had that reassuring smile on his face. "Yes, Mr DeMille?"

"How does that sound?"

I knew what he was really asking me. What Catherine was asking me, through her father. They were asking if the chance to see my father a few extra times per year was a good enough exchange for me finding somebody to replace Maddie. So it was that question, the exchange, and not the seemingly generous offer, that I was answering when I said, "Let me think about it."

He nodded. "Of course."

The rest of the ride passed in silence. I was constantly aware of his presence just next to me, and it made me feel uncomfortable the entire time. It didn't help with my thoughts. They were racing, considering the deal. My gut kept telling me not to do it; not to give the DeMilles the pleasure of knowing that they'd read me perfectly. There was no way I would trade away the closest thing I had to a friend just so that we could win a couple more games.

In the back of my head, though, I think I knew why I was able to believe that. Even if I wanted to do it, I couldn't think of anybody to replace Maddie. She was one of the tallest kids at our school, and I doubted that any of the other tall students wanted to just join the basketball team halfway through the season. On top of that, that random tall student would have to be better than Maddie. Sure, she wasn't great, but it wasn't like she was awful, either. She at least knew her way around the court, even if her skills were lacking.

So it was good for me. I didn't really have to make a decision, because I genuinely couldn't see any way of following through on my end of the bargain. I could refuse the deal, and not feel like I was losing out on anything. It let me push away the thought of my dad actually getting to watch me play a proper game.

I allowed myself to relax as we pulled into downtown Vancouver proper. I let Mr DeMille think that I was still considering the deal; it was nice feeling like I was in control. We pulled up to the YMCA, and I began gathering my things. Now that everything was out in the open, I didn't have to get Laurence to drop me off a few blocks away so that Garet wouldn't know.

As soon as that thought crossed my mind, I froze. I could feel my feathers going up on end a bit, and I turned to stare out the window. Garet was leaning against the wall by the door to the gym, wearing a thick hoodie. He was watching the car, staring at the tinted rear windows. I stared back at him, and there was an odd empty feeling in my guts. In my mind, all I could see was the look on my dad's face when I was describing my games.

"Hiro?"

I blinked, and looked back to Mr DeMille. He was eying me, and I realized that my feathers were puffing up around my collar. I cleared my throat and brushed them down again.

"Mr DeMille, we might have a deal."

"'Might?'"

"Yes. I'd like to introduce you to a mutual friend of Catherine's and mine."