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That fall passed slowly for me, but looking back on it, most of it's a blur of training. My weeks were scheduled almost down to the minute. During weekdays, I would wake up early to catch my ride with Catherine and Laurence to school. On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, I would stay after school for practices, normally wrapping up at around six. Catherine and I had made the team; of course we had. Neither of us had been too surprised to find our names on the list that Kimmit posted the day after tryouts. I was surprised to find myself listed as a shooting guard, but I kept it to myself.

I expected Kimmit to put me on more shooting drills in connection with my position, but to my surprise he had me taking part in quite a few rebounding drills. I didn't mind, though. I got to work with Maddie on these drills. After working together on the same team during the tryouts, the two of us had gotten closer. She was probably the closest thing I had to an actual 'friend' at the school. I'd been relieved to see her name listed as our starting centre, even if she couldn't quite keep up with the rest of us.

On Tuesday and Thursday, Laurence would drop me off near the court, and I would play with Garet and the others. Things there had returned to their normal pace from before Catherine's appearance the year before. With how much I'd improved, it didn't present much of a challenge to me anymore. Sure, Garet could box me out, but everybody else just couldn't keep up. Still, I wasn't going there for the challenge. It was simple, fun basketball. It helped keep me sane.

Regardless of what day of the week it was, I was always exhausted when I got home. I would have just enough time and energy to eat and scribble out the bare minimum I needed for my homework before passing out.

Weekends offered even less time. My practices with Catherine became more focused and specialized. With the team practices we were doing three times a week, we didn't have to focus quite as much on passing and other basic skills. Instead, we pushed each other even harder on the physical end of things, competing in suicides and simple shooting challenges. We gradually added more and more aggression to our playing, throwing more muscle into our blocks and shots. Things only got more intense as I continued growing taller and and putting on muscle, narrowing the gap between us.

On weekend nights, after eating a hearty meal with Catherine and, whenever they were around, her parents, I would meet Garet for our workouts. These were growing to have an increasingly odd dynamic. I had managed to excuse my absence from the three games a week by saying I'd taken on more shifts at the 7-11. There wasn't really any way for Garet to confirm or deny this; the times that I said I was working were always during those games after school.

Still, Garet was smart, and I knew I wasn't the best liar. So even as we learned to talk more casually with each other during games and workouts, there was always that barely palpable air of suspicion hanging around. He suspected that I was lying about what I did after school and where I worked on the weekends. Meanwhile, I knew that every time he wandered off to grab some water or use the washroom, he was probably conducting some sort of deal.

Neither of us ever broached either subject, though, and so we just went on with our workouts.

Each day faded into the next, broken up by nights of aches and pains. In late October the nonstop growth spurt I was on finally started catching up to me. I would wake up in the night with sudden cramps running through the muscles in my legs and arms. After I woke up my mom and Ken and Mai the first couple times, I taught myself to clamp my beak shut as soon as the spasms yanked me out of sleep. We had an old hot water bottle that I started keeping next to my mattress, and I learned how to get up, fill it, and get back to bed in the dark of the apartment without waking anybody. It took some time, but eventually I could pull it off while hobbling on one leg, keeping the other one unbent and held out at an odd angle.

Throughout all this time, though, there was a mounting unease in the back of my head. I wasn't sure what it was; at first, I just assumed that it was my dad's absence. There had never been a time in my life when he hadn't been around, and by this point he'd been away from the family for months. We got updates from the clinic in Washington at least once a week, and Mr DeMille had even arranged things so that my dad could call us whenever he felt well enough for it. It didn't make up for his absence, though.

It wasn't until the last week of November that I realized this wasn't the true cause of my discomfort. It was Friday, and we were just finishing up our practice after school. As always, all of us were exhausted from the intense series of drills and workouts Coach Kimmit had put us through. Oddly, though, he had left the gym for about ten minutes towards the end of the practice.

When he came back in, he called an end to the practice, and had us gather in the centre of the gym. He let those hunter's eyes roam over us in the unsettling way he always used, and then he spoke. "I've posted the final lineup we'll be using for games. Given that our official games will begin in January, we'll be increasing practices to five nights per week as of the beginning of December." A few people cast incredulous looks at each other. I ignored them. I could feel a yawning pit opening up deep in my guts. Of course, that was what had been worrying me.

Impressively, the weather hadn't returned to that odd, slushy mix of rain and snow yet. I'd been appreciating it up until this moment, when I realized that I would have to entirely give up my participation in the games at the court after school. Along with the stress relief those games offered, it also meant that I would have to come up with something or other to tell Garet to excuse why I wasn't taking part anymore. As I thought about it more, I realized that this was what had been worrying me all this time, lurking in the back of my mind.

Coach Kimmit dismissed us after a few more words explaining newer drills. I kept my head down and took my time getting changed out of my basketball clothes. I couldn't stop thinking about a new lie to tell Garet. Maybe I could just tell him that my family's finances were getting even worse, and I'd had to bump my shifts up to 5 nights per week. I was busy considering the holes he might poke in that excuse as I stepped out of the changeroom, my head still low. I didn't notice Maddie until the rabbit spoke just in front of me.

"Congrats, Hiro!"

I blinked, and looked up at her. There was a big smile on her face, and I could only stare in confusion. She gestured behind her, towards the door to the gym. I stared past her with uncertainty, but walked.

I stepped out of the door to see a few team members still gathered around the bulletin board Kimmit always used to post information. As I moved towards it, my teammates made room for me, and more than a few flashed me grins or gave me pats on the back. I looked over the paper hanging on the board, and at first I was confused. It looked just like the initial lineup Kimmit had posted back in late September. A few people had moved around a bit, but otherwise it was identical. I was still starting shooting guard, Catherine was our small forward, and Maddie was our centre.

It wasn't until I was about to look away and ask somebody what the big deal was that I noticed a small note I'd missed at the top of the page. At first I wasn't sure that I'd read it right, and I stared at it as my thoughts ground to a halt.

Team captain: Hiroyuki Matsuura.

My throat felt very dry all of a sudden. I turned to face the others, and they were still smiling at me. I forced a smile to my face, and gave a few small thanks for their congratulations. My eyes were roaming around, though, trying to find Coach Kimmit or Catherine. He had long since left, and she was nowhere to be seen.

When I made it out to the car, Catherine was already sitting in the back. She cast a glance at me as I got in, but didn't make any other comment. I felt I ought to have said something, but I couldn't think of anything.

The drive back to my family's apartment was quiet in a deafening way that I'd never felt before.

It snowed that night. When I went out on Saturday morning to meet Laurence for my ride out to the DeMilles' property, it was early enough that not many people had been out yet. The snow hadn't had a chance to get dirty, and it was cool enough that none had melted. As we drove out towards the outskirts of Vancouver, everything was covered in a layer of soft, pristine white. It made the dirty city feel bizarrely clean for a change.

By the time we pulled into the driveway, though, the sun was up, and the snow was getting that sheen to it that showed it was beginning to melt on the top. I looked away from the snow covering the extensive property and towards the door, and was surprised to see Catherine standing waiting for me. I stared at her as we came to a stop; seeing her waiting for me outside was just as strange as having Mr DeMille waiting in the court for me.

She was wearing a light jacket that was probably a bit too cool for the weather, and her hands were shoved deep into its pockets. She was clutching a basketball to her side with her arm. It took me a few seconds to put two and two together, and when I did, I had to keep myself from cursing.

Catherine was already speaking as I got out of the car. "I thought we might do a bit of practice outside today."

I eyed her up and down, thinking about my response. I was wearing my dad's old sweater; it wasn't exactly the best clothing for practicing in. "Where? You don't even have a court out here to practice on." I hesitated, then asked, "Do you?"

"We'll just work on dribbling and stealing. Play some keep-away for a while. How does that sound?"

She phrased it as a question, but it was clear that I didn't have an option in the matter. Laurence headed inside, and the two of us stepped out onto the driveway. The snow covering it was getting more and more wet, seeming much more like slush than snow by this point. Catherine took up her position with the ball, and I settled down into a crouch, waiting for her to move.

She came on hard. If I hadn't spent over a year by this point practicing against her, I probably would've been bowled over by her speed. As it was, I waited until she came in close, and then I stepped with her.

I kept up with her for two steps, and then she cut back. I tried to stop my momentum and move with her, but my foot slipped through the slush. Reflexes honed from hours upon hours of practice kicked in, and I shifted my weight.

My foot kept sliding, and I toppled over. The wet snow did little to cushion my impact against the pavement beneath, leaving me stinging, wet, and cold. I was too surprised to notice, though. True, it had been a long time since the two of us had last played on slush, but my balance should have been better than that after all the practice over the past months.

Catherine stood a few feet away, still dribbling the ball. With every steady, wet thump it made against the ground, the ball sent a bit of slush splashing against me. I glared over at her, but her expression didn't change, and that ball kept bouncing.

I got up, and we started again. I started out trying to be more careful with my steps, but that slowed me down. Catherine had no trouble dodging by me again and again, her face not even showing any strain. My sweater was soaked from my fall, and it felt heavy and cold against my body.

I put on more and more speed as I started getting comfortable again. I was beginning to fall into a rhythm, and making her at least work for those cuts that let her slip around behind me. On one such cut back, I saw a telltale shudder run up her leg, and I knew that she had slipped a bit herself. I took advantage of the moment, and lunged for the ball.

She tugged it out from in front of me without the slightest effort. Before I even realized that her stumble had been a feint, my foot was sliding on that slushy snow again. My arms pinwheeled as I tried to stay up, but it was already too late. I hit the ground, landing square on my chest in the snow.

I lay there for a long moment, just breathing hard. I could hear that steady thump of the ball bouncing through the snow, and each beat increased my annoyance. I pushed myself up to my feet and glared at her again. Her face remained expressionless, and she waited for me to come on.

We spent the rest of the morning playing keep-away. It wasn't long until I was soaked through to my feathers. I eventually took off my sweater and just played in my shirt and pants. It wasn't like it was going to make me any colder, and the reduced weight helped me move faster. Catherine spent most of the time with the ball, her steps confident and steady in the slush while mine were unsure at best. The few times I managed to get possession, she stole it back without any trouble.

It took me a long time, but eventually I started to understand what was happening. I'd grown so much over the past six or so months that my balance was off. Sure, it didn't show when I was playing on a proper court. In a situation like this, though, where I needed my balance to be perfect, it was crippling me. Meanwhile, Catherine's height had remained almost the same over the past year. She was comfortable in the size of her body, whereas I wasn't.

We stopped when Harriett, Catherine's house cat maid, stepped outside to announce that lunch was ready. I was thankful for the chance to step into the warm house, but Catherine drew me up short before I could step through the door.

"Shall we move back to passing and shooting drills inside after lunch?"

I turned to look at her. Her face was straight, but it was the type of straight she used when she was holding back her smugness. I tried to keep my voice flat as I replied. "That might be a good idea."

She nodded. "You know I'm better than you." I blinked. Just like that, out of nowhere. She went on before I could reply. "Sure, you're starting to get taller, but when it comes down to it, I'm still better than you."

"Is this about me making captain?"

"That depends on what you think that means." Her reply was sharp; I imagine sharper than she intended. Her voice returned to its measured pace. "Do you think being captain suddenly means that you're better than me?" I wished I could've worked up the nerve to say that yes, it did. I just kept my beak glued shut. She went on, her voice matter-of-fact and removed. "The others can think whatever they want. I'm alright with that. Both of us know I'm better, though. On your own, you'll never be able to outdo me. So go ahead and do what I'm paying you to do; keep the rest of the team from blowing all the games I'll win for us."

She walked by me and through the door. I stood where I was, taking deep breaths as I clenched and unclenched my fists. There was a pounding in my temples, and my entire body felt tense. I forced myself to just keep breathing, and let the air cool the heat I'd felt building up. Why the fuck was I doing this? Why was I putting up with her? I could just walk away at any time.

And have the payment for my dad's treatment suddenly dry up. Right.

I took a few more breaths, then stood straight. As I stepped inside and into the warmth, I took comfort in one thing. Clearly, she'd been expecting to be made captain of the team, and she was as surprised as I was about Kimmit choosing me instead. She was furious enough that she'd let her calm exterior crack. That made me happy.

The rest of the day was quiet, but otherwise normal. Catherine and I ate dinner in silence that evening; her parents were away for the weekend.

"You're fucking soaked, man." Garet's eyeridge rose when I approached him outside the YMCA that night. It was true; my sweater hadn't had nearly enough time to dry out in the warmth of the house that afternoon. I ducked my head down, not wanting to look at the enormous crocodile. His own enormous growth spurt was finally slowing down, but even with my added height he still towered over me. On top of that, now that his body wasn't struggling to keep up with his added height, he was beginning to bulk out again. Nobody at the court could measure up to him in muscle or height anymore, and he had more than enough skill to back it up.

I realized that he was waiting for me to say something, so I shrugged. "Whatever." I headed for the door, and he followed me.

"So what happened? Did you decide to go for a roll in the slush on your way over? Or maybe a ceiling pipe burst at the 7-11?"

"I'd rather not talk about it." I could hear the suspicion in his voice, and I wanted to just push the questions away. We were heading into the locker room by this point, and my sweater dripped as I hung it up in my locker. I couldn't help my eyes flicking over towards his locker as he opened it. I never knew what I was expecting to see when I caught such glimpses; a frigging pot plant with a uv light? It looked just like a normal locker; I assumed Garet kept his drugs in his gym bag.

"Right." The crocodile was still talking. I could feel his eyes rolling. "I'm sure it was a very traumatic experience for you."

"Look, I'm wet. Who cares, man? Does it really matter?"

"Must be something pretty damn significant if you're so defensive about talking about it."

I felt some of that frustration Catherine had caused earlier bubbling back up. I controlled my breathing as I replied. "I just want to work out, alright? Can we do that without an interrogation?"

I closed my locker with a slam that made the entire bank shake. I blinked, surprised by the force I'd put behind it. Garet didn't say anything, but the silence in the locker room was palpable.

He finished getting changed into his gear, and we headed to the weight room. We exchanged as few words as possible as we worked. I put all of my aggression and frustration into the weights. Whenever my muscles started aching with strain, I forced myself to remember Catherine's speech from before lunch. The fire helped me force my way through to the end of particularly long sets. After a particularly loud clang when I put down a pair of barbells, I had to start reminding myself to be gentle with the equipment.

After an hour of this, Garet and I stopped for our break. I sat on a bench, catching my breath as the crocodile left to 'fetch some water.' Only once he was gone did I slump, and reach up to rub at my temples. In a few minutes, Garet would return, and I would have to act casual and pretend that I had no idea what he was actually doing in the locker room. Then, after another hour of working myself to the bone, I would get to go home, sleep, and do the whole sordid thing again tomorrow.

I straightened when the door to the weight room opened again. Garet walked in with his bottle of water. He sat stiffly next to me, and had a few small sips before passing it over. I nodded my thanks and took my own drink.

"Kim's been improving lately."

I was surprised by the quiet comment. It took me a second to realize he was talking about our group from the court. I cleared my throat. "Yeah."

"Though I guess with the snow, we won't get to see much of her for a while." The smalltalk sounded stilted in my ears.

"Right."

"Still, there's spring. I always love getting the group back together."

I sighed heavily. He looked over at me.

"What?"

"I won't be joining back up in the spring."

That was met with silence. He stared at me, and I kept my own eyes focused straight ahead, refusing to look at him.

"Why?"

"I'm not going to have the time."

There was a long moment of hesitation before he spoke again. I could hear the angered suspicion in his voice. "What is it? More shifts?"

"No. I joined my school's basketball team."

"You're on José María's team?" The anger was gone from his voice, replaced by surprise. "I thought you didn't have time for that with your job."

"Not José María." My throat felt very dry. "East Vancouver Collegiate Institute. And the job doesn't get in the way, because I'm not working at 7-11 anymore."

Again, I didn't look at him. I didn't want to see his face. If he was going to be furious at me for lying to him and beat the shit out of me, then fine. I didn't want to watch his face as he made that decision, though.

His voice was dangerously level when he spoke. "It's time for you to do some explaining."

My heart was hammering in my chest as I opened my beak. "Fine."

It took me almost half an hour to tell the whole story. I kept having to backtrack to explain things I'd missed, or stop to give him extra information. All the while, I kept my gaze forward, and he kept silent. All the while, the few other people in the weight room kept working, oblivious to my story.

When I finished, I let out a long breath and sat waiting. Garet didn't respond at first, and I was forced to wait in the tense silence, broken up only by the creaking of weight machines.

"So all this time," he finally muttered. I couldn't tell how he felt from his voice.

"Yeah."

"I knew you were up to something, but I didn't think... Why didn't you tell me?"

I swallowed. "You threatened to break my wing last year because I wouldn't help you drive her away."

That drew him up short. I could almost hear the gears in his head turning. "Yeah. I did."

"So... where do we stand now?"

"I'm angry." I inclined my head at that. No surprise. "Not sure what I'm most angry about. You went behind my back and kept playing with her--"

"Hey, I never said I was on your side against her."

"And then you let her fucking buy you." He paused, probably expecting another outburst. It didn't come. His voice was getting a harder edge to it as he went on. "Then, worst of all, you come and ask me to help you bulk up, just so you can help _her_get even better."

"Yeah. That's fair."

Garet sighed. I finally looked over at him, and to my surprise, his face didn't look angry. It definitely wasn't happy, but he seemed more like he was measuring me up. "Man... I'll miss having you at the games."

I snorted despite myself. "Trust me, if I had the option, I'd much rather be playing those games than competing on the team."

Garet nodded. "But your dad."

"But my dad."

He let out a long breath. "Fine then. I think I'm going to call it a night."

I nodded, and we both got up. I kept dodging glances at him as we headed to the locker room. His face was closed and unreadable. There was a question in the back of my mind, but I kept hoping that he would bring it up so that I wouldn't have to.

Once we'd both gotten changed, though, and were heading for the door, I worked up the courage.

"So... are we meeting up tomorrow night?"

Garet glanced over his shoulder at me, and he seemed genuinely surprised. "Of course we are."

"I thought you were angry."

"I'm fucking pissed, man. But... I get it. You're doing this for your dad. I'd do the exact same thing in your place." He grimaced at that, but went on. "I meant what I said. I'm going to miss having you at the games. You bring something I can't. But you need to do what you need to do, and if I can help, well..." He shrugged.

I could only stare, stunned. I opened my beak, but he cut me off before I could speak.

"Don't thank me, man. Like I said: I'm still pissed."

I swallowed. "Right." I took a deep breath, and then added, "So... no more secrets, right?"

"Yeah, of course."

I followed him out the door. There hadn't been even a moment of hesitation in his reply. My eyes were locked on that athletic bag he was carrying. Well... at least my conscience was clean. If he wanted to keep his business deals to himself, then so be it. I was probably better off the less I knew.