FSE

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After hanging up the phone I hopped off of my bed and padded softy across the carpet to my bathroom. Excitement had banished any thoughts of sleep from my mind, but I was starting to feel that thick, hazy state of weariness creep in behind my eyes. I turned the knob in the sink and ran some cold water, then dipped my paws in and splashed it onto my face. The frigid sting sparked across my skin, soaking into my fur. I dipped my hands in and splashed some more. Chilly and rejuvenated, I blinked droplets off of my lashes as I grabbed a towel and padded dry, then looked at myself in the mirror.

I'd done this so many times. When I was a kit I'd cry whenever I saw myself. It was confusing and frustrating being how I was, stuck with a body that didn't fully match how I felt on the inside. I used to hate my appearance. With every mistake someone made in guessing my gender a wound was sliced into my soul, raw and inflamed and bleeding like no other pain I had ever had to endure. I'd tell myself it wasn't fair. What was I? I never felt fully male or female; instead being stuck in a mocking, in-between state, a parody of both. I'd get physically sick worrying about how others would see me. Every sideways glance from a stranger, every utterance from behind a paw to another, every snicker, every laugh, every scowl...they carved out my spirit. I felt like I was worse than a mixture of two. I was nothing. I was hollow, nothing but a shell that could walk and talk, but whom, on the cavernous walls of my inner-self, was bleeding to death.

If not for a good friend I would probably have gone on thinking and feeling the same way for God knows how long. He was a childhood companion, our neighbor's son who would actually take the time to play with the girl/boy next door. Six years older than me, he was born between parents of two different species: A wolf mother and a White-tail deer father, and he was as much in the same situation as me, if not worse. He was neither fully wolf nor fully deer; his body, although whole and sound, was completely alien, and furs never seemed to fully accept him. We both had suffered cruelty, and that kinship brought us together as friends. He was the one fur I knew I could trust. He was the first fur to never judge me because of how I looked. He helped me to overcome my fears. He was my first crush.

He was, now, also the art teacher at my school. When we were young he himself taught me how to draw as a means to cope with any raw feelings I may have been experiencing. It worked wonderfully, and I still do it often. I take his class every year so I can be near him, and he's only changed for the better since our childhood, making a difference in other teen's lives with nothing but a smile, devout patience, and a little paint.

Because he had accepted me, and because he admired my appearance, I grew to do the same. It was hard at first, but my thoughts shifted to the positive track as I grew and my body changed. I still found faults, but they were just normal teenage things: a zit, in-grown hair or fur. I'd accepted who I was, and, although it still hurt when furs would talk, it didn't cut me to the quick. My wounds became scars, and each scar told me that I was strong enough to endure any onslaught of judgments.

I roved over the fox standing in the mirror, mouth pressed into a flat, hard line. His hair was short, auburn, and wavy as a sea stirred by the eternal spin of the earth; Her ears were softly curved and plush because of the winter coat coming in, his right bearing a black cuff-earring near the base; Her face was sharp and pretty, his face was handsome and charismatic; Her tapering, elegant lashes surrounded his shocking gray eyes, irises encircled by a flecked ring of sapphire-blue; From the bridge of her snout to his black, button nose, to her glossy black lips and the alluring curve to his smile, they were lovely; Her body was lean but well-muscled, his arms toned, long, and elegant; Her waist curved like an hourglass, his stomach flat with abs popping beneath the fur; Her hips were round and firm, his legs thick and muscular from running all of the time. He smiled. She smiled. I smiled.

I was me.

I was a male, but I was beautiful. I was beautiful, but I was masculine, too. Conall loved me because, as he'd said, I was a beauty both inside and out - a work of art. I was so many wonderful things wrapped into one.

I sighed and patted my face with the towel one last time, used the bathroom, then shuffled down the stairs and into the kitchen. I was regretting not eating much during dinner. All of the emotional distress that had riled up my nerves also riled up my stomach, and it was, right now, feeling both famished and queasy. Not a good combo, albeit it much less messy if the latter triumphs over the other.

My dad was rifling through the refrigerator as I came in, his upper body practically crammed all the way inside. He heard my light paw-steps and banged his head against the top as he tried to pull himself quickly out.

"It's me, dad," I chuckled as he hissed and threw his hands back in to keep containers from falling out.

He groaned as he gingerly rubbed the top of his head, his eyes scrunched up in pain, snow-white ears fluttering in anguish. He bent over and leaned against the fridge door as the fur on his tail lay back down, and his round belly stuck out against his shirt as he smirked at me. "I thought you were your mother. You're both so light on your paws that I can't tell who's who."

Mom has him on a strict diet in an attempt to get his weight and high blood-pressure down. That doesn't stop him from pilfering sweets out of the back of the fridge where mom hid them, though, thinking that by sticking them in old spinach bags that they'd be left untouched. Well, I happened to like spinach; so surprise, surprise when I tried to make a healthy salad, and instead of leafy-greens I got Ding-Dongs and vanilla flavored Oreo cookies. Those would've been scrumptious with low-cal balsamic vinaigrette. Anyway, I passed my discovery onto my father who was in a miserable state of fatty-withdrawal. I make sure he only takes half of the serving sizes, though, and he's dropped a few pounds while still getting his fix.

"I'll try and be more club-footed next time," I said, reaching around him and plucking a bottled water from the fridge door shelf.

He resumed his plundering of sugary things. "Why are you up so late? It's not like you to stay up past eleven on a school night." He reemerged with an Oreo stuck in the end of his muzzle. "Effvryfing arriighff?" He then popped one of the wafers off and, with much savoring and delight, licked the crème clean then popped the cookies onto his curled tongue. He didn't get another much to my surprise. I was so proud. I wished I could be as proud for his manners, though. I pointed to his chin where creamy drool was dangling. He wiped it off on his shirt-sleeve.

"Yeah," I simply said.

He pulled a stool out from under our bar and took a seat, and he draped his tail across his lap like I tend to do. "You sure? You were acting like something was up at dinner."

"No. Everything's fine - honest."

He sat there silently surveying me as I went about the kitchen getting the coffee maker ready for my cup-a-joe in the morning, snacking on some pretzels that I'd pulled from the cabinet.

"Dad?" I asked, pouring a scoop of strong, soothingly aromatic grounds into a filter.

"Mmhmm?" he mumbled expectantly.

"Is it okay if I bring a friend with me to Greenwood this weekend?"

He made some kind of utterance of surprise, like choking on water and getting socked in the stomach at the same time. I turned and stared at him as he hastily smoothed down his tail. I guess he thought I was about to open up to him about something, and I'd unwittingly tossed a wrench into his supportive-father mechanism. He probably had a heartwarming speech prepared and everything.

He hacked and cleared his throat. "Oh, well, sure. Who...who is it? Trevor?"

I yanked out the coffee pot and ran water into it, then upended it into the little reservoir on the back of the maker once it was full. "No. I wouldn't have asked if it was Trevor. He's pretty much on the VIP list for any of our trips, so you always expect it's him."

He was sincerely interested now. I could see it in his eyes; If not Trevor, than whom? He was leaning across the bar propped on his elbows. "Than who is it?"

I had my back to him so I didn't hide the smile that inched across my muzzle as Red's face popped into my mind. My tail began to sway, though, but I brought that to a stop before he noticed. Like I said before, my parents could read me like a book. I had to be careful if I wanted them to think my only interests in Red were as a friend.

"He's new here, a pretty cool guy. Today I told him I'd show him around; we're in the same health class." That last bit I made up, of course. I had to make it seem as though I had a legitimate reason for befriending Red. I couldn't flat out tell my father that I met him on the football field after kicking him in the balls. "And, oh yeah, dad, we immediately HIT it off" - *BA-DOOM-TSH *- That would've been just grand.

"Mmhmm," dad mumbled suspiciously.

He didn't seem so content with my explanation. He never - ever - was, though. He'd have to meet Red first, and for that to go down smoothly the husky would have to play himself very collected and well-rounded. I'm sure he was, in all honesty, just as composed in everyday life as he was when conducting himself on the football field. I wasn't too worried.

No, okay, I was freaking out. I couldn't let him know that, though, for God's sake.

Diversionary tactic - GO!

"So," I said cheerfully, turning and leaning against the cabinet and facing my father. His ears perked at me, and his eyes bugged as if to say "Son? What you hidin'?" I just snapped half a pretzel off in my mouth and chewed it thoughtfully. "I think, for graduation, I want to get something else pierced."

Utter reactionary bafflement. "W...wha...what?"

I touched my right ear where I wore my favorite black cuff, then gingerly rubbed my chest with a pondering look on my face. "Nipples maybe, but I'm not sure."

He just stared wide-eyed at me with his ears limp. I'd say he scowled, but it looked more like he'd lost control of his facial muscles. I took a sip of water, peering at him innocently.

"Uh," he grunted. "We...we'll talk about it. You're mother and I."

I beamed as convincingly as I could. In reality I never thought he'd give me that much, even if I had meant it sincerely. I hopped over to him. "Yay! Thanks, dad!" I hugged him, and he gave me an awkward pat on the back, then I went back upstairs tweaking my nips as I did. I heard him moan begrudgingly, and I grinned.

The next day was Friday, and I promptly awoke myself at 5:30 to get ready. I don't usually get up that early, but I wanted to make sure I looked nice. Only just friends and the thought of Red was inspiring me to primp for him like a tropical bird. I'd hold off on the courtship dance, though, at least for now.

I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and popped in my contact lenses. I combed out my fur until it was glistening and soft as down, styled my hair accordingly with some curls left to bounce, and put my cuff back on my ear. Next came the most difficult part: What to wear? The fact that I was gay and feminine only made my outfit-sense all the more pronounced, and it took me a good half-hour to finally pick something that didn't make me cringe. It was simple yet stylish enough, I thought. I never went over the top with what I wore. I was flamboyant enough, and I didn't want my clothing to scream "Hey! Lookit me! I'm the quintessential queer with a body like a teenage girl! Ravage me!" No, no, no; a red V-neck tee with my favorite pair of slim, cement colored Bull-Head jeans did the trick.

After thinking about him last night I was feeling nostalgic, so I pulled out the denim Wrangler jacket that Conall had given me before he left for college. It was an old bugger, probably considered vintage now, gorgeously worn and frayed as style permits. For a jacket it was short, only falling to about my mid torso, but it fit well and hugged me like only good, well-made clothing can. It added a nice, rugged touch to my outfit - something that rarely works for me - so I rolled up the sleeves, straightened and flattened the collar, then slipped into my favorite red and black sneakers.

Red, red, red; I favored red today, for obvious reasons, of course. Perhaps I thought the more shades of it I wore the more likely I was to win the husky who shared the same name. Like a cry for mystical aid, I covered myself in the color of love and passion. Hopefully I wasn't being too obvious.

So pumped and clothed I went downstairs and made my usual cup of coffee, then I grabbed my car keys and headed for school.

I scoured the parking lot and - finally - found a space in between two sensibly parked vehicles. All of the other free spots were crammed between lifted pick-up trucks whose drivers had no idea what the white lines meant. I slipped out of my humble RX-8 and snagged my backpack, and then I nearly went into cardiac arrest as my friend Tory randomly appeared before me out of thin air.

"Hi!" she squeaked.

"GYAH!" I squealed, accidentally squeezing my key-fob in terror and setting my car alarm off.

I hopped spastically as I tried to get the thing to shut the hell up, finally succeeding after drawing a crowd of amused faces from other furs walking toward the school building.

I gasped and bid my heart to stop racing, then smoothed my hackled fur back down as I turned to Tory standing idly by and giggling into her paw.

The prim little rabbit was as bubbly as ever. Her long, spry ears were held straight-up, and her massive, sparkling blue, perfectly circular eyes of utter Moe were veiled behind her blonde hair which fell to her shoulders. She was in a pink mood today, as nearly every article of clothing she had was a different shade of the migraine-inducing color: Belly tank-top, Converse, short-shorts. She even had an enormous pink ribbon atop her head and a pink bandana wrapped around her upper arm. Her white fur was brilliantly so - as always - and just as thick as mine from the encrouching winter. She twitched her adorable nose, jiggled her breasts, and waggled that pom-pom of a tail, and for the life of me I couldn't muster any anger toward her. She was an innocent, a girly-girl with only butterflies and rainbows musing about in her head. She'd cry if I even barely raised my voice.

"Hi," she said again. "You look nice today."

"Thanks," I piped, giving my long tail an elegant flourish. "You're very...pink."

She grinned, her big two-front teeth showing. "Yeah! The squad's performing in the pep-rally today, so we all wanted to look as cheery as possible!"

Ohhhh, I forgot about the pep-rally. My stomach knotted; Red was playing tonight! Why hadn't I thought to go and watch the game? Well, it was basically against every principal I had to go to a football game, but...I had to go. I felt that I just had to.

"You okay?" Tory asked. The frown she sported didn't fit well on her face. It slithered from one bouncy, round cheek to the other like a snake defiling a garden of white posies. It freaked me out, Tory frowning.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Come on or we'll be late."

Smile once again established. She hopped along ahead of me while chattering about the routines she was doing for the rally, and, although I listened - I always do, no matter how trivial the conversation - she didn't notice my attentions were elsewhere.

I didn't know what Red drove or when he usually arrived, but that didn't quell me from attempting to pick him out of the lethargic crowd ambling through the parking lot around me. My head turned this way and that; my ears flopped and directed themselves toward the clap of a closing car door or the clearing of a throat. I didn't see him though. It was already five minutes to bell, but he may have been inside already. Something made me pause on the steps that rose up from the parking lot, though - just a feeling - and I turned to look back toward the way Tory and I had come.

The parking lot fed out onto a main-stretch of the highway, and the highway rounded and disappeared around a curve to our left. I heard a whining roar, and Tory let out an awed gasp as, from around the curve, a crimson Mustang came tearing out as though the two-lane was instead a speedway. Every window was blacked out, and it sat low on matte-black 22's and hugged the ground as the driver whipped it into the parking lot. A thick, white racing-stripe split the entire car down the middle from front to rear-spoiler, and it shimmered brazenly as it came to a stop at a deserted area of the lot, rumbling like an earthquake jammed into a steel box.

"Wow," Tory muttered. "Someone's got it goin' on."

I swallowed - hard. Fuck did he have it goin' on. Tory looked at me wonderingly as I moaned.

Red practically leaped out of the car with his backpack already on, slammed the door - more roughly than I'm sure the car would've appreciated - and began sprinting toward the school. His curled tail was nearly flat as it whipped about behind him in his haste, but he didn't seem to be overwhelmed by the fact that he was almost late.

Tory got an eyeful of him as he got closer and closer to us. He just had on a black tee-shirt and some jeans, but even the humble attire couldn't hide the fact that he was gorgeous. I was tantalized by how his arms flexed as he ran, how his chest bounced with each hard footfall.

"Mmmmmm," my friend growled hungrily.

"Mine," I barked matter-of-factly, flipping her around by the shoulders and shoving her toward the school. She managed a shrill squeak of shock and stumbled onward. She cast a hurt, inquisitive glance over her shoulder as she went, but I just waved her on and she smiled. I'd laid claim, she now knew, but that was alright apparently.

I turned back as he mounted the stairs, and he nearly tripped up in surprise when he saw me standing there - as far as he knew - waiting diligently for him.

I tossed up a paw, and a smile spread warm and bright across my muzzle almost instantaneously. He had much the same reaction, and slowed to grin up at me.

"Nice ride, hot-shot," I poked.

He rubbed the back of his head as he turned idly to glare at the car. His cinnamon-brown hair was still glistening and wet from a shower. "If you say so. It's my dad's, and I think it's obnoxious. My bike's...uh...out of commission."

Ohhhhh, I thought. Motrocycle, huh? Maybe he'd take me for a ride. I envisioned the both of us on a sport-bike, him revving the engine and me with my arms wrapped around his waist. Vroom, vroom...

I snapped myself out of fantasy land as he turned back, and his eyes glimmered as he looked me over. I blushed as he climbed the rest of the way up the stairs and stood next to me. "This is a nice surprise, by the way." He flashed a brilliant smile. "What's the occasion?"

I pretended to be hurt. "What? I can't be courteous and wait for a friend?"

"Sure," he said. He then dipped his head shyly, and his ears fluttered. "I couldn't wait to see you anyway."

I. Melted. Right. There.

"My parent's said I could go."

I'd gotten caught up in watching him out of the corner of my eye, and I totally missed what he said. "What's that?"

He repeated himself, and I sighed in relief at the news. "Great!"

"There's just one thing."

He'd said that in an awfully morose way. I was almost afraid of what was coming next.

"What?" I asked apprehensively.

"My parents want to meet you. They...they worry about...things." He shook his head. "It's idiotic. You don't have to."

"No, it's fine." We entered the school, Red opening the door for me. "What kind of...things...do they worry about?"

His wide shoulders sagged, and he let out a grisly sigh. "It's complicated." He peered around at our classmates as they bumped and rushed past us like a rabid stream of fur. He seemed eager to spill something he'd been holding back, but for some reason he didn't. Instead he wagged his tail and smiled again. "I'll tell you when we have some time alone, okay? It's nothing too bad, I promise."

I wasn't so sure about that, but I'd take his word for it. We waved goodbye as the bell rang and went our respective ways.

In seventh-period Mr. Atlee - AKA Conall - was demonstrating how to divide the proportions of a head so that each feature could be represented correctly. The chalk clutched in his paw whisked gracefully across the board as he went, explaining as he'd mark the spots for the eyes or nose.

As much as I respected Conall, I couldn't help but zone out. He'd taught me this stuff ages ago anyway. I'd already shown my proficiency on the subject by sketching a face in case he came around to look, so I took to staring blankly toward the board while, in all honesty, I was looking at the teacher before it. Not in that way, just so we're clear. I'd overcome the crush for my 24 year old instructor and friend, but that didn't mean I couldn't still admire him.

He was the strangest and most tantalizing fur I had ever seen. He was beautiful in his peculiarity, and I relished in the fact that there was no other fur like him, that we were so close. He stood a good eight feet tall, probably taller, and that's not even taking into account his full rack of antlers. It always saddens me a bit to see how he has to lean way down every day so he doesn't snag a door-frame or light fixture.

I'd overheard the female teachers joking around one day and ranking the male teachers by their looks. "Atlee, now," one had said. "He's a definite ten..." Here there was a long pause, and then, "POINTER! Ten-pointer! Get it?!" Then there was much to-do about laughing and giggling. I could've smacked them across the face with my history textbook. He was a ten-pointer though, joking aside, but I'd rank him as a ten in looks any day without a doubt.

He had the soft, tranquil, adoring complexion of one with actual sympathy towards others and not just the façade of it. He looked more like a wolf in the face except for his snout, which was longer and more robust and capped with the characteristic round, flaring nose of the Cervidae. His ears and muzzle were still wolf-like, though, but his pinnae were a bit more elongated, and he could completely swivel them around like a radar. He had a knack for homing in on conversations during class, no matter how covert the culprits were attempting to be. He also had a knack for being intimidating - though, it wasn't purposeful. His height was one contributing factor, and his toned physique was another, but the biggest reason was because of his eyes: they were the most striking shade of amber I had ever seen. When he looked at you it was like peering into the bowels of the sun. His gaze could both warm and comfort you, but it could also burn and strike you dumb with fear.

He patted his chalked-white paws against his forearms, the sleeves of his purple dress-shirt rolled up to his elbows, and the residue stuck cloudy to his dark, chocolate fur. He pulled a paper-towel from the back pocket of his jeans and wiped the white spots clean.

Everyone around me had put their heads down and were busy scribbling, so I guessed he'd finished his lecture. His shoes squeaked against the concrete floor as he wandered around peering over my classmate's shoulders, his wispy tail swaying and, to my delight, sometimes flipping up and revealing its white-furred underside. He bent low over one of my classmate's - Lee: a cute Australian Shepherd, and one of the few friends I had that was on the football team - and nodded as they whispered to one another. Lee rose quitely and smiled as I waved to him, and then he left the room. I guess he had to go meet with the rest of his team before the pep rally. Conall made his way closer, so I guessed I should look busy. I dropped my head and scribbled some more on the face I'd done already. To my surprise, it looked like Red. My tail swishing back and forth behind me brushed against Conall's leg as he came to stand over me.

"Nice, Sash," he commended. His voice was smooth and pleasantly tenor, and I remember how just hearing him talk used to make the fur and skin along my spine tingle yearningly. "Although I'm sure this was dull for you." He patted my back, and I smiled at those glimmering, sunshine eyes as his cheeks wrinkled with a grin. He always carried his sketchbook around with him, and he pulled out a sheet of paper and laid it on the table before me. "This is the description for the final piece I'm going to have you all do. If you want you can go ahead and get started on it. I know you can handle it already."

"Great! Thanks," I said brightly.

"Love the jacket by the way," he said with a smile and a wink.

I beamed, then looked over the sheet as he went on his way. "Choose a feeling, an emotion, or an event from your life which has had a vast impact upon who you are - whether it be good or bad - and represent it in any medium of your choosing. The larger it is the better, and nothing smaller than 24in x 32in."

"Cryptic as always, Mr. Atlee," I said loudly so he would hear me wherever he was in the room.

"You know it," he replied happily.

I didn't even have time to mull over what I wanted to do before the intercom buzzed and we were directed to head to the gymnasium for the pep-rally. I herded along through the hallways along with everyone else, and, to my relief, I found Trevor. We walked to the gym and sat together in the section reserved for seniors.

The lights dimmed and there was pumping, bass-filled dance music. The cheerleaders hopped out, tumbled and flipped around for a while, and then they formed a pyramid while standing on each other's shoulders. Tory, now drenched in glitter, was at the apex shining like a hot-pink angel atop a skinny Christmas tree. Principal Rutledge (a heavyset Stallion) spoke about teamwork and commitment, and then Corbin (our Doberman football coach) took the stand and pretty much reiterated what had already been said, except he hollered "GO, GO KNIGHTS!" like a mad-fur when he was done. Of course we all did the same, and then the gym was soon shuddering to contain the school spirit that had been unleashed. When our vibrating roar of comingled voices reached a climax, the football team burst through the gym doors hopping and leaping and rallying us all into an even bigger uproar. As much as I despised most of those guys, I have to admit I was enjoying myself. I would've enjoyed myself even further had I seen Red down there doing a backflip or roaring in glee, but he was nowhere to be seen. Trevor noticed, too.

I could barely hear him when he yelled even though his snout was practically jammed into my ear, "Where's Red!?"

I shrugged, and then both of us looked toward the doors again as - miraculously - the savage roar within the gym increased even more.

"Who the hell is that!?" Trevor bellowed, his tufted ears twitching backward with each rise in octave of the crowd.

We were the Emerald Bluff Knights, and our mascot - fittingly - had been a Knight clad in clunky, green-foamed armor since even before my father had graduated from here. The guy that walked triumphantly into the gymnasium baring a broadsword and shield and covered head-to-toe in full plate was no imitation, though.

The armor was real, silver, and it seemed to glisten and pulse like the heart of a star as the Knight strode into the middle of the gym. An emerald-green tabard was draped over the suit and fastened on by a wide leather belt, and emblazoned in the center with silver stitching was a sword and shield. The stitching, from what I could tell, matched the actual sword and shield clutched in the Knight's gauntlet covered hands. His helmet's face-guard was pulled down so no one had a chance to guess who was beneath all of that metal, and I think there was even a layer of black-tinted Plexiglas keeping any prying eyes from catching the Knight's identity; even his tail was wrapped in strips of linen beneath the low-hanging back of the tabard. His pauldron latent shoulders rose and fell as he stood there, then he did something we never would've expected: he flung the sword, spinning, high up in the air.

Everyone let out a collective gasp of shock, and every eye, from student to faculty, followed the sword as it reached as high as it would then came whirring back down like a saw blade. I squealed, horrified, as the deadly weapon looked to slice through the Knight like paper, but, as if it were a leaf drifting lazily to the ground, the guy flung up an arm and plucked it out of the air. He spun it deftly behind his back with the momentum it had gathered, twirling about in that heavy suit, and performing spectacular slashes and stabs to the sides and front. The blade was a blur of gleaming silver as it hummed through the air and was twirled like a baton overhead, behind, left, right. Then, with a huff of effort everyone could hear through the helmet, the Knight launched the weapon high again. As if there wasn't a lethal piece of giant cutlery looming overhead, the Knight stood at attention. He bowed to every section of the bleachers, to the principal and football team huddled off to the sidelines, and then, as if just remembering, he snatched the sword out of the air right as it was about to slice through his head. He then spun it one last time and held it upside down, then let the blade drop gently to the floor and leaned on it like a cane with the hilt clasped in front of him.

As loud as the gym had been before, it was just as deathly-silent now. Then, from somewhere in front of me, someone screamed "HUZZAH!" and I clapped my ears flat against my skull as the roar broke through the silence like cannon-fire.

Principal Rutledge strode to the center of the gym with an enormously satisfied grin, clapped the Knight on the back, and then he raised his arm toward the formidable warrior/mascot. "Emerald Bluff; I give you the NEW...NEW...Emerald Knight! Let's here it!"

I was going to be deaf before this rally was over.

When everything did begin to draw to a close, a lot of furs were disappointed when the Emerald Knight's identity stayed wrapped in the secrecy that was his protective armor. I, too, was curious to know who it was. I mean, it's not every day you see something like that. Whoever wore that helmet was a complete badass, though, without a doubt. We all watched as he took up his sword and shield and gave the floor back to the cheerleaders; he spoke to the principal through his helmet, and then slipped out of one of the side-doors.

"That was the coolest thing I have ever seen," Trevor gushed after school let out.

He seemed to have gotten high off of the excitement, and he'd whoop and holler with other furs as he sat on the hood of my car. Tory soon found us, and both Trevor and I lavished her with praise toward her performance with the cheerleaders. She had done really well, but she humbly accepted out praise and instead chose to talk excitedly with Trevor about the Emerald Knight.

While they went on I sat on the ground in front of my car, staring toward the crimson Mustang still parked where Red had left it that morning. Where could he have been? Hopefully he hadn't gotten into trouble for something and was forced to sit out of the rally. Maybe he'd been called into the office, or maybe...

"Hey," a tantalizingly familiar voice called from behind us.

"Yo, Red!" Trevor answered.

I whirled to my feet, yelping as my tail got caught in the front-plate of my car. It yanked out a good clump of my fur, but I just smoothed down the irregular spot and acted like nothing happened.

He walked down to us and tossed his backpack on the ground. His red fur was damp, and the white clumped together on his neck and let the pink of his flesh show through. He looked tired, and his round shoulders drooped low like he'd been carrying a heavy weight, but his tail still flopped around excitedly behind him as he smiled at me.

Tory stated the obvious, her wee nose wrinkling in distaste. "You're all wet!"

"What happened to you?" I asked.

Red, in reply, shook his body and gave us all a small sprits; the air smelled like rosemary afterward. "Sorry; Just a shower."

Okay. Maybe he'd practiced or something. I doubt he could fit a suit of armor in that backpack. "I meant why didn't you come out with the rest of the football team?"

"Oh," he mumbled. He then grunted as he bent down and unzipped his backpack, pulled out a thick binder, and thrust it out toward me. "That's why," he grumbled.

Trevor eyed it warily as if it might bite him. "What is it? Math notes?"

"No," Red chuckled. "It's our playbook." His expression then soured, and he rolled his hazel eyes as he thumbed open the binder and flipped through the pages. "Apparently, with a new mascot, Coach Corbin was inspired to write up a handful of new plays and spring them on me - literally - at the last minute. I was in his office trying to memorize the ones he wants to use tonight."

Oh. "Well that's an asshole move to pull," I spat.

"Tell me about it."

"Awh," Tory whimpered, her eyebrows sinking into a melancholy arch across her face as she frowned. "You missed the Emerald Knight!"

"Dude," Trevor said flatly, as if that one saddened word represented all which Red had missed.

"It's alright," Red sighed. "I'll live without catching our mascot's swordplay, but I'll stone myself to death if something goes wrong tonight."

He was genuinely unnerved, and I don't blame him. What kind of a coach pulls something like switching to brand new, never before seen plays the very day of the football game? Or was there something more? The book in his hands, although weighty, didn't seem to be the thing troubling him. In fact, I could swear he was looking past the pages entirely.

"Are you going to be alright?" I asked.

The binder popped loudly as he closed it. "Oh yeah - no - it'll be fine." He floundered the playbook around in his paw. "These are pretty straightforward." He zipped the binder up in his bag.

"Then what are you so upset about?" Tory inquired with a tilt of her head. Her big ears toppled to one side and smacked Trevor atop the head. He gave a feral hiss, but she grinned and bared her buck-teeth at him.

"Yeah," I agreed. I watched Red's face as he, in return, watched mine.

He gave a meek smile, and his tail slowed to a gentle swish. He nodded toward me, and an ecstatic jolt ran through my belly. "Are you busy?"

I looked around passively. Trevor grinned, his sandy-brown fur glowing golden in the sunlight. He gave a coy wink, and Tory looked from him to me in bland confusion.

"Nope," I said, giving a shrug.

His tail quickened its pace. "Care to take a ride?"

Both Tory and Trevor let out an envious moan and looked toward the Mustang.

"There would be no greater pleasure," I said.

I yanked up my backpack and tossed it into the front seat of my car. I waved to Tory and Trevor as they sulked, still sitting on the hood. "I'll see you guys tonight."

"Drive safely!" Tory piped. I wasn't sure if she was being genuinely worried or if she'd attempted sarcasm.

Either way, I strode alongside Red towards his car - err - his father's car. I was a bit close to him; my hand accidentally brushed his as we walked, but he only smiled. We were about ten feet away from the car when it chirped, and then I jumped as the thing suddenly roared to life as if it had a mind of its own and knew we were coming. I heard Tory and Trevor gasp, and then they busted out laughing as I had to smooth my fur back down.

"Shit, sorry!" Red babbled, his paws held up in apology, the car's key-fob clutched in his right. He waggled it at me. "Remote-start - I should've warned you."

I laughed it off.

"So," I said, trying my best to ignore the cackles still emanating from the hood of my car. "Where we headed? Am I getting to meet your folks?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I hope you don't mind."

"No, not at all, but..." He paused at opening his door. "What are they worried about? You're worried about what they're going to say, right? I thought you'd meant something else when you said you'd 'stone yourself tonight if something goes wrong.'"

He chuckled to himself. "You don't miss a thing do you?"

"Not if I can help it."

"I'll explain on the way."

"Okay. One last thing, though," I twittered, pulling out my keys.

The alarm of my car blared, but it was soon drowned out by Tory's scream of fright and Trevor's wail of dismay as she dove onto him and they both tumbled from the hood and onto the ground. From the looks of it their fur was rightfully frightened into a puff. I gave a contented sniff.

Red was holding his laughter back. I saw tears welling up in his eyes from the exertion of it. "Good now?"

"Very."

And we got into the car.