Alien: A Young Adult novel by Steven Preston

DRAFT MANUSCRIPT — NOT FOR DISTRIBUTION

This is an uncorrected proof / work-in-progress.

Please do not quote, share, or upload this document to any website

or file-sharing platform without the author's express written permission.

ALIEN

A novel

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A tragic drama of love and survival

by Steven Preston

Young Adult, LGBTQ+, Coming of Age, Male-Male Romance

Chapter One

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The Bright Side

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200 Mile to Oakland

Joel Tait squirmed in the backseat of his parent's late model Mercedes S class SUV, his short legs folded up like origami in the spacious back seat. The sun blazed outside, and even though he was safely behind the UV blocking tinted windows, that kept the danger at bay, he felt its oppressive heat. His mother, Rachel, glanced back at him from the front passenger seat, her eyes crinkling with concern. "We're getting there, sweetie, I know it's been a long trip, so try to hang in there. Okay?" she promised for the umpteenth time, her voice soothing despite the tension that hung in the car like a thick fog.

His father, Robert's knuckles were white on the steering wheel, "You know, Joel," he began, his voice tight, "you could try to be a little more optimistic. It's not like you're going to be living under a bridge."

Joel rolled his eyes behind the protective lenses of his, jewel encrusted, pink, UV blocking sunglasses. "You say that, but is it true?" he said, his voice dripping with angst. "Oakland is a sea of corn and cows, everyone there probably reeks of manure and wears dirty overalls every day. I can't live like that! Does Bloomingdale's even sell overalls? Or Saks? Does Oakland even HAVE a Bloomingdale's? Do they even have a shopping mall?" He knew he was being extra. He already knew the answers because he'd looked them up, but you can't quit when you're on a roll, right? "Where am I even supposed to get my clothes? Mom? I know Dad shops at Walmart, but does that mean I have to, too? Oooh, I know, I could buy the same clothes as dad, then we could be twins. Nobody would be able to tell us apart. I'd blend right into the crowd. Brown and boring! Isn't that right dad?" His dad did dress quite modestly compared to Joel, but he didn't buy his clothes at Walmart. Actually, most people dress modestly comparatively. "Ugh!' Joel cried loudly as he crossed his arms, slumping hard against his seat. "I can't believe this is happening to me!"

As Joel's cry filled the car, a 35-pound body went rigid beside him. Lulu, his seven-year-old pit bull, instantly sensed the shift, her cropped ears pointing forward. She lifted her head, her face—a soft, off-center splash of black and white—wrinkling as she aimed a low, warning huff toward the front seats. She was his shield. Joel's hand immediately found her, burying his fingers in her warm, solid fur. She was his anchor. She instantly quieted her protective growl, trading it for a low, sympathetic whine that perfectly mirrored his own despair, and shoved her head forcefully into his lap.

Joel's dad, Robert, growled low. "Rachel, say something to that boy before I do." In a flat, emotionless, tone.

Rachel sighed lightly, trying to defuse the tension, and reassure Joel, his fears were unfounded. "Joel, sweetie, I think you've taken it far enough now, don't you? She sat crooked in her seat so she could directly look at Joel. "We get your point, honey, believe me! And I'm sure we'll find some lovely boutiques for you to shop at. And, we can always buy online what you can't find in the store, okay? You'll still be the most stylish boy in school, as usual. I promise." She said with a wink looking right at him, letting him know, she would make sure he got what he wanted. His fashion choices were one of the many things that set him apart from the other kids in his old school. He thought of himself as fashion-forward, he always kept up with the latest designer trends. But try as he might, he was known to all the kids at school as 'the alien' or 'Snow White' as the bullies had dubbed him. Now at the prospect of living in a small rural town, he was beginning to feel like a real Alien, for the first time in his life. He didn't belong in a small town, he belonged in the big city, where he was born and raised.

"It's not just about the clothes, Mom," Joel retorted, pushing a tuft of white hair from his eyes. "It's about the whole... country bumpkin lifestyle. I'm going to be the only out boy, definitely the only albino kid, I have absolutely zero romantic prospects, and the icing on the cake? I'll be the only kid in town that has any sense of fashion, in a town where everyone probably thinks Gucci is a type of pasta, and Prada is a brand of brake pads!" His voice was high-pitched, a trait that made him an even more tempting target for the bullies. "How am I supposed to deal with that? I'll tell you how. Twenty-five hours of therapy, that's how! Midwesterners. Ick! How do they live with themselves?"

Robert, finally snapped. "That's enough Joel! You know what?" He said, his eyes still on the road, but his voice echoing with frustration. "Maybe if you weren't so... flamboyant. Maybe then, you wouldn't have so much trouble making friends. Maybe if you tried to fit in just a little more, you wouldn't be so lonely, you know, find kids that have something in common with you."

Robert's tight, frustrated voice was a spark in the tension-filled car. As he said the word "flamboyant," Lulu's head snapped up from Joel's lap. The sympathetic whine was gone, replaced by a low, guttural growl that vibrated through the seat. Her cropped ears were rigid, and she fixed an intense stare on the back of Robert's headrest, her loyalty making no distinction between a harsh word and a physical threat.

"And, there it is. The slap in the face. Othered. By my own father no less!" His cheeks burned, not from the sun, but from the sting of his father's words. "Yeah, you're right, dad. Thanks for pointing that out, it's MY fault that I get bullied, nearly every... single... day!" He pounded at his seat, his voice shaking with anger and hurt. "Is this your first day as my father? Are you one of those ‘I don't see color' people? FYI, I'm not like everyone else! I'm a living ghost. I'm an alien!" Tears started flowing down his cheeks. "People don't like ghosts. And they definitely don't like aliens! I WILL NEVER BE like everybody else DAD! I can't change my skin color!!! Is that not plain enough for you to, see?" Tears filled his eyes. Desperation in his voice. "WHY... why can't you at least TRY to understand me?"

As Joel's voice cracked and his fists pounded the seat, Lulu's agitation exploded. She fed directly off his panic, her deep growl breaking into a series of high-pitched, frantic whines and yips. She scrambled in the small space, pawing at his chest and trying to lick the tears from his face, looking wildly between her sobbing boy and the man in the driver's seat. The car was now a chaotic mess of human sobs and canine distress.

Joel's sobs and Lulu's high-pitched keening filled the awkward silence.

"Robert," Rachel said, a warning in her tone, seeing his temperature rise even more, but acted as if he hadn't heard her. "Don't do it." Turning to Joel. "Honey, please calm down, you're upsetting Lulu. I don't like where this is going." She handed Joel some tissues. "It's okay, Lulu, shhh. Daddy heard you, Joel." Joel and Lulu both acted as if they didn't hear her.

"I can't help being how I am, you'd know that if you ever paid attention to me." Joel's voice was small now, full of pain, exhausted. His sass evaporated in the face of his father's disapproval glaring in the rear-view mirror. Tears still flowing. "Nobody judges you for being who you are." His words hung in the air like a challenge, as Robert's grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles, nearly as white as Joel's porcelain face. "At least you have a choice." He clutched Lulu's fur, the dog's solid warmth the only thing keeping him from vibrating apart.

A pained sigh escaped Rachel's lips, so quiet it was swallowed by the hum of the tires. The casual cruelty in Robert's tone wasn't just an insult; it was a trigger. Her mind flashed, unbidden, to the hospital—to the chilling silence of the ICU and the doctor's grave voice talking about the moments they almost lost him. She had sworn to God, to the universe, to anyone who would listen, that she would never let him get that close to the edge again.

She watched her son now, a lump forming in her throat. She saw the familiar way he squared his slender shoulders, the almost imperceptible lift of his chin.

Joel felt his mother's eyes on him, but he stared straight ahead, his own internal battle lines being drawn. The Gucci sunglasses weren't just sunglasses; they were a visor. His designer clothes, a uniform. Every flamboyant gesture, every sarcastic retort—they were his shield and his sword. His father saw weakness, saw a target. He had no idea he was looking at a soldier who had already survived the worst battle of the war and was ready for another.

Robert sighed, his shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry I don't have the right answers for you, Joel." he said, his voice softer now, but still deflecting any personal responsibility. "People in the world, they don't get it, it's hard for people to understand you when you're... different."

"Nice try, Dad," Joel said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "I know you couldn't help making a crappy genetic contribution to my existence. But you could at least be honest, and admit it out loud. You don't like the fact that I'd rather read a book than dribble a basketball," His face twisted. "Ugh, such a barbarically sweaty sport. And you don't like the fact that I like boys instead of girls. Neither of which I could do, even if I wanted to!" He made a face his parents didn't see. "They're both gross. Ick! Sorry mom, I don't mean you, you're not gross."

The car was silent for a moment, the hum of the engine the only sound between them. Robert prayed it would stay that way. Rachel could feel the tension in the car was as thick as the humidity outside it. This was not their first go-round on the subject. Still, she knew that Joel's words had hit a nerve with Robert, who had always struggled with his son's differences.

Robert took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving the road ahead and not wanting to admit Joel was right. "You know it's not like that, Joel," he said, his voice a mix of weariness and sadness. "Your mother and I love you just the way you are. We just want you to be safe and happy."

But Joel was already retreating into his own thoughts, his mind reeling with the undeniable truths of his existence. He knew that albinism was a genetic condition, and his parents weren't really to blame. Robert had never been one to express affection openly, and it has only gotten worse as Joel has aged. Rachel, on the other hand, was his rock, his sanctuary in a world that often seemed to be against him. Rachel had always encouraged Joel to embrace his uniqueness, believe in his beauty, and for the most part, he had. But every once in a while, in moments like these that made Joel doubt whether even she truly accepted him.

Suddenly, Joel went in for the kill. "And you know something else? You don't think I notice things, but I do. I noticed, a long time ago, when taking me to the park to play, became a chore for you. A chore you just didn't want to deal with and happily passed onto someone else. 'Ewe, my son is gay AND an albino!'" Joel mocked his dad's imaginary words. "Or, when you conveniently have to work late every time I have a school function. You didn't think I noticed when it changed to only mom who came to my parent-teacher conferences? Should I go on? Admit it, dad, you have never accepted me, especially since I came out when I was seven! It's been SEVEN YEARS, nearly to the day. That's half of my life, dad, and you're still not over it! I am so sick of all the bullshit! I can't take it anymore!"

At the word "bullshit," shouted with all the air in Joel's lungs, Lulu's frantic energy peaked. She lunged forward as far as she could, letting out one, sharp, percussive bark that echoed like a gunshot inside the Mercedes.

Rachel gasped and jerked in her seat, flinching from both the word and the sudden bark. "Joel Coltrane Tait! Language! Lulu, down!" A shocked Mrs. Tait had never heard Joel swear before, nor her dog bark like that in the car. "And don't talk to your father like that. You are being mean, sweetheart, I don't like that."

Robert's jaw was clenched so tightly it looked as if he was trying to crack walnuts with his teeth. The car's air conditioner blew a cold wind that did nothing to ease the heat of the tension in the car. Rachel's eyes darted between Joel's reflection in her visor mirror, and her husband's furrowed brow as her own heart ached, seeing the two men in her life she loved so much.

Finally, Robert spoke, his voice low and measured. As he spoke, Joel's hand stroked Lulu's head, quieting her. She settled against his hip, trembling, but her eyes remained locked on the front seat, a low, nearly inaudible rumble of a growl still issuing from her chest. She was quiet, but not calm. "Joel, I never said any of those things. I don't like you putting words in my mouth. And you, DAMN WELL KNOW, that I've never missed a single one of your school functions because I didn't want to go. My job is very demanding sometimes. And sometimes, that means I have to miss things. I'm sorry that hurts your feelings, son, but that's how life works sometimes." He took a deep breath, his knuckles still white on the steering wheel. "And as for your sexuality goes... Well, that is not a conversation to be had at this time."

"Boys! Boys! Stop it! I've had enough of this back and forth with you two." Rachel looked at the navigation screen. "Robert, look, the map says there's a rest area up ahead, I strongly suggest we stop there." Robert knew it was really a command, not a suggestion. "This will be a good chance for you two to cool your heads. And, I'm sure Lulu would also like to go potty."

Joel slumped back in his seat, crossed his arms, and made an audible grumble. "humph" His hand rested on Lulu's head, idly scratching her cropped ears. Feeling as though his mother had rung the bell in a boxing match that he was winning.

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DRAFT MANUSCRIPT — NOT FOR DISTRIBUTION

This is an uncorrected proof / work-in-progress.

Please do not quote, share, or upload this document to any website

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The Deal

Robert pulled into the rest area. Surprising to everyone, it was modern and well-maintained, compared to the others they'd seen on their trip. Joel opened the door and the hot, sticky air hit him like a wet blanket. He took a deep, thick breath, the smell of scorched asphalt burned his nostrils. He adjusted the hood of his pastel pink hoodie emblazoned with large rhinestone letters spelling out SWIFTY, across the chest, to cover more of his face before jumping down from his seat.

Joel checked his watch. Fifteen minutes.

Turning around, he coaxed Lulu to jump down too, as she whimpered. "Come on Lulu, let's go baby girl." She had to jump, there was no way he could lift Lulu's thirty-five pounds of pure-bred muscle, but she did as he wanted, and they urgently made their way across the sun-baked black-top, seeking the safety of the shade under a large Oak tree in the dog-run area.

His heart still raced from the argument with his father. The deep sense of rejection he felt that day, was as fresh and hurtful as it was the first time. With his emotions still raw and the overwhelming scent of dry grass washing over him, the thick air felt even heavier, causing his pulse and anxiety to spike.

Once under the relative cool of the tree—while Lulu's half-black, half-white face rummaged deep in the grass—he paced in small circles while shaking his hands, but the attempt to bring calm failed to achieve its desired effect.

Dragging the soupy, humid air into his lungs had proved too laborious, rendering his breathing techniques useless. He was left to rely on sheer willpower to keep his panic at bay, anchored only by the serenade of the cicada-song. The high-pitched, electric buzz sounded just as hot as the air felt, but its steady, mindless rhythm had an odd calming effect.

A motion in the distance caught his eye, distracting him from his frustrations. He noticed a beat-up, old mini-van parked near his parent's SUV. Leaning against the scorching-hot metal hood of the minivan—a spot that would have blistered Joel's skin in seconds—was a young girl, not much older than he, with fiery red hair that seemed to shimmer in the sun. Damn, it's like she's surrounded by the glitter they put in snow globes. He mused. She was dressed for the heat in a cutoff black band t-shirt and torn jeans, earbuds in, rocking her head back and forth to a rhythm only known to her. Hmm, air drums. Must be some pretty good music.

Joel, already feeling a prickle of sweat gather under the fleece of his hoodie in the shade, checked his watch. Twelve minutes.

He marveled at her, feeling a tinge of jealousy over her bold, rebellious, appearance. I wish I didn't have to care about the heat or the stares… she's just... standing in it. In the full, skin-frying sun. Like it was nothing. I can feel her confidence from here.

She was nothing like his high maintenance image.

Oh, my God, here she comes!

The girl sashayed as if on a RuPaul's runway. Her steps were confident, powerful and carefree. As she came fully into focus, he realized that he liked her look, and feared it, in equal measure.

As she closed the distance between them, Joel trembled with fear. But, Lulu, ever the protector, stiffened at the sight of the approaching girl, her hackles rising. Lulu took a step toward the girl, her jowls slightly raised, she growled a warning to stay back. Joel stood frozen, safe, in position behind Lulu.

Stopping just on the edge of the shade line, a safe and non-threatening distance, she pulled off her sun glasses and a big smile beamed across her face. "Hey, I like your dog."

Joel didn't respond.

"She got a name?" The girl asked, her voice a mix of sweetness and the roughness of a girl who's seen too much.

His jaw clenched, Joel tightened his grip on Lulu's leash and backed away, noticeably unnerved by her advance.

The pale-faced girl with fiery-red hair, seeing his apprehension, raised her hands in a non-threatening manner. "It's okay, don't be afraid," she gently assured him, "I promise I don't bite. I just love dogs, is all." looking down at Lulu then back up at Joel. "Aww, and she looks like she could use a friend."

Thinking to himself, Okay? Rude! Lulu moved toward the girl, pulling her leash taught, bared her teeth with a low growl. "Her name's Lulu!" He snapped, replying for her. Annoyed by her assumption that he wasn't enough for Lulu, he jabbed at the girl, "And she has a friend. Me!" Defending himself as well as Lulu. "Besides, she bites everyone who's not me," That was a lie, Lulu had never bitten either of his parents. "So, if you're smart, you'll stay back."

Joel's hand tightened on the leash, the skin pulling taut over his knuckles. Lulu, sensing the spike of fear in him, instantly stepped forward and barked a sharp warning. "See," Joel said. "I don't even have to command her, she knows I don't like people."

The girl took a step back; her eyes glanced at Lulu but returned to Joel. "Wow, she really is protective, that's pretty awesome!" she said, her voice filled with genuine curiosity. Joel felt a twinge of pride in his dog's fierce loyalty, but his wariness of this strangely intriguing girl, remained. "Would it be okay if I pet her? I promise, I'm not a danger."

"I'd rather you didn't. Besides, she won't let you anyway." He snidely responded, "She won't let you get close enough for that."

"I respect that, for sure." She was not deterred. "But, I'm not sure that she wouldn't let me give her a little scratch behind the ears, dogs love that, you know." She looked at Joel, paused for a beat, tilting her head. "Uhm, you want to make a deal with me?" The girl tempting Joel.

He stood quietly, examining her from head to toe. A smirk crinkled his light pink lips as he suspiciously replied, "A deal?" His brow deeply furrowed. "What sort of deal?"

Now she had Joel on the hook. "I understand that you don't like people, believe me, I get that, and that's cool. Buuut, at the same time, I kind of feel like you're judging me without knowing me?" The girl paused.

Joel didn't respond.

"Okaaay… so, here's my offer." She continued. "If I can get Lulu to trust me, then you have to trust me too. But, if I can't get her to trust me, I'll go away and you'll never see me again. How does that sound? Do we have a deal?"

"Oh, so you're some sort of dog whisperer? Is that what you're telling me?" He scoffed at the offer, "That'll take all day," He glanced down at his watch, "And I only have eight and a half minutes."

"I'll do it in under a minute." She countered.

Joel cocked his hip and looked over his sun glasses with disbelief that she could do as she said. "Under a minute? Right!" Scoffing again at the seemingly over-confident girl standing before him. He stared at her, searching her eyes, looking for any sign of deception. Finding none, he begrudgingly took the deal. "Okay, fine. If it'll get you to go away quicker, I'll take the deal." Under a minute! Hah! Not my Lulu. Never in a million years. "You got ONE minute!" Reminding the girl of the deal she offered. He pulled his phone from his pocket. "I'm setting a timer, so when the time's up, you go away."

"You have my word. A deal's a deal!" She happily agreed. The girl took a step closer and crouched down, looking at Lulu. "Hello there beautiful." She spoke softly.

"Your minute starts now." Joel tapped his phone screen.

Lulu didn't move, still poised between Joel and the girl. She bared her teeth, growling again.

The girl held out a hand, her eyes focused on Lulu's. "It's okay, Lulu," she whispered softly, "I'm a friend, I promise I won't hurt daddy."

Lulu made a throaty rumble, but allowed the girl to lean in closer. Lulu stuck her neck out to smell the girl's hand, then jumped back quickly and stared at the girl, still unsure of her threat level, she growled again.

"Aww, you don't mean that Lulu, do you?" The girl's voice became soft, and warm. "You know you can trust me, don't yah, Lulu?" Lulu's eyes still locked on the girl, hesitantly stepped toward her. Her throat groaned. "Aw, come on now, there's no need for that Lulu. Come here pretty girl, I just want to give you a scratch. You want a scratch behind the ears? I know you do."

The stare down continued. Lulu cocked her head to one side as one ear perked up before tilting her head to the other side, as if considering a deal.

Joel stood watching the exchange in astonishment. His belief in her failure was fading fast.

The girl scooched forward again slowly, holding out her hand, palm up. Lulu matched her advancement, sat down and placed her chin in the girl's palm. "That's it, sweet baby." She softly stroked the top of Lulu's head, her voice soft and reassuring. "I knew you were a softy inside. You're such a good baby protecting daddy the way you do! Yes, you're a good girl, Lulu."

Lulu quickly scooched forward again, fervently lavishing doggo kisses all over the girls face as she whimpered. Lulu behaved as if she had known the girl as long as she'd known Joel.

Joel's eyes nearly popped out of his head at the sight.

*Beep Beep Beep* The timer ended.

Then without notice, Lulu hopped up on her hind legs putting her fore legs on the girl's shoulders and continued whining and kissing her.

The girl laughed, almost falling over under Lulu's kiss attack. She scratched Lulu gently behind her ears and looking her in the eyes, "Okay! Okay! I love you too Lulu! Yes, you're a good girl, you sure are!" Then she looked up at Joel with the 'I told you so' eyes.

"Hoooly shit!" Joel breathed, the words barely audible. Then speaking aloud to the girl. "I don't believe it! How the hell did you do that? Did you drug her?!" he demanded. "You had something on your hand!"

"Dogs just love me is all." she confidently replied. "It's not hard when you know how to talk to them."

Joel smirked, still in disbelief.

"Okay okay," she relented. "It's sort of a gift I have. When I talk to a dog and look them in the eye, they just trust me. They can sense that I'm not a danger." She paused, "I'm not actually sure how it works, I just know it works." She continued massaging Lulu's ears.

"That's bullshit if I ever heard it. You must have drugged her!" Joel demanded, still not believing her.

She laughed at Joel's insistence of a trick. "I swear! You saw me! I didn't touch her. She came to me. And you heard me, all I did was tell her how beautiful she is."

Joel stood with his arms crossed and brow furled in disbelief.

"You know what this means, right?" The girl reminded Joel of their deal.

Lulu looked at Joel panting heavily, he met her gaze as the girl rubbed Lulu's head. Are you smiling at me? He thought, I swear, that looks like a smile! He looked at Lulu in disgust. "Traitor!" His tone turned to disappointment. "I can't believe you; we are gonna talk about this later."

Lulu saw his displeasure. She crawled over to him, whimpering at his feet, pawing his leg.

"Aww, come on, that's not fair, she didn't do anything wrong! Don't blame her." The girl defended Lulu. "It's like I said, it's just a gift I have. Dogs trust me. I promise you it's not a trick."

Joel sighed, his arms still crossed over his chest. "Fine, you win." He begrudgingly allowed the girl to pet Lulu a little more. "But just because she likes you, doesn't mean I have to."

The girl looked up at him, her emerald-green eyes sparkling with amusement. "That's fair I guess, liking me wasn't part of our deal," she said. "But it'd be a shame if you didn't at least give me a chance. That's what we all want, isn't it? For people to give us a chance, before judging us?"

Joel felt a pang of guilt, using his own desires against him. This girl, whoever she was, had managed to do what no one else had ever been able to: she'd gained Lulu's trust. That in itself was some sort of miracle.

He took a deep, labored breath before he crouched down beside her. He folded his legs, and peered over his sunglasses again. "Fine. You got me to trust you... for the moment!" Putting a condition on their deal. "I only took the deal" Turning to Lulu, "Because I didn't believe Lulu would ever betray me." He glared at her. "She doesn't even like my parents; she only tolerates them." Lulu whimpered in agreement as she wedged her face into his lap. Joel stroked her neck. "She's been my baby since she was a pup, born only a few days before my birthday."

The girl, with the emerald eyes, and an oddly comforting smile, followed Joel's conversational lead, keeping the subject to something he was willing to talk about. "Wow, she's an amazing gift. It's like she was born special, just for you. How old is she, I'm guessing, five, maybe six? I'm leaning toward six."

"Not a bad guess, she's seven years old. I got her on my 7th birthday." He said proudly as he rubbed Lulu's head. Lulu raised her head, licking at Joel's face. He smiled, but the sad tone in his voice betrayed his boast.

"Aw, that's lovely, so that makes you fourteen then, huh?" She paused "But, uhm, I sensed a touch of sadness when you said that. Am I right?" She paused, her face softening. "But, uhm, I could be wrong; I get those things wrong sometimes. I'm probably wrong."

Joel looked at the ground. "No. You're not wrong." Offering no more information.

There was no need for further explanation. She felt his pain.

"Oh. I'm sorry," Her voice went soft and low, "I didn't mean to open an old wound." Trying to recover her fumble.

Joel shrugged. "It's fine. Really. It's just... complicated." He pulled a few blades of grass up by the roots. He watched as Lulu frolicked around, smelling the new girl, seemingly oblivious to his internal conflict, before casting the grass to the side.

The girl nodded, "Yeah, I get it," She didn't dig for more information. She offered understanding. "Some things are hard to talk about. I got those too. We get dealt shitty hands, then we're stuck having to play those cards the best we can. Sometimes, just to survive."

Her words dropped like stones. Joel was comforted by her apparent, genuine, understanding.

Taking his gaze off the grass, Joel turned to the girl's face, removing his sunglasses. He squinted as he looked deep in her eyes, as if trying to see some minute detail he couldn't otherwise see. She didn't move; she just let him look in her eyes until he spoke. "Who... are... you?" The astonishment in Joel's voice was thicker than the oppressive humidity. "Do you have another superpower I don't know about? I mean…" His eyes began to hurt from the bright sunlight. His eyes never left hers as he put his sunglasses back on and pulled his hood forward again. "I know we just met, but, it's like... It's like you already know me or something."

The girl smiled a sad smile. "Maybe it's because we're both outsiders? Each in our own way." She said with a hint of reality that she understood. "You know, the kids with the weird hair, and the love for dogs? When you first told me to go away, you reminded me of myself a few years ago, when I was going through a rough patch. I didn't want to be around people either. So, in a way, I do know you."

Joel, still feeling the sadness. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." She stood up and brushed grass off her torn jeans and offered Joel a hand up. "So, fashionista. Now what? Where do we go from here?"

Joel took her hand, feeling a strange comfort in her touch. He chuckled softly as she helped him up. "I'm not sure... Dog Whisperer... and thanks for noticing," Pinching his hoodie as if showing it off. "It's lost on most people."

They both laughed out loud, then smiled at each other.

"I'm really glad I met you today." She spoke with genuine gratification interlaced in her tone.

"Me too, I was having a shitty day, but you made it a lot better." Joel returned her compliment.

~ ————— ~ ————— ~

DRAFT MANUSCRIPT — NOT FOR DISTRIBUTION

This is an uncorrected proof / work-in-progress.

Please do not quote, share, or upload this document to any website

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Forgotten Time

Suddenly, Joel made a low murmur, his eyes going sideways as he stumbled to one side.

"Woah, are you okay?" The girl's hand instantly sprang out, catching him.

They stopped walking.

Joel's delicate white hand loosely gripped the girl's forearm for balance as he took a slow, labored breath. "Uh, yeah." His usual high and silvery, voice was now dry and breathy, "So hot. I lost track... I need to..." His eyelids flicked behind his sunglasses, "The sun, now. I... forgot... the time." His head dipped down and back up as he swayed to one side again. "Ugh, I don't feel..."

"Oh my god! Yeah, let's get you inside." She pulled his arm over her shoulder to hold him up, guiding him toward the building's air-conditioned interior.

Inside the rest area facility—where the room smelled of industrial floor cleaner and sunscreen. A low-volume TV in the corner, glitched with digital static as it murmured a daytime talk show—Rachel had been watching the kids interact through a large window that overlooked the dog-run. She saw Joel stumble and cried out her husband's name, "Oh, my God! Robert! Robert! Joel's in trouble!" Before Robert could lift his eyes from his magazine, Rachel had already sprinted to the door and slammed the panic bar at full force. The door banged against the exterior brick wall at such a level, heads inside and out of the facility turned towards the noise.

Rachel cried his name as she ran towards him. "Joel? Sweetie, are you okay?" Upon reaching him, she took his face in her hands. "Oh, my goodness, honey, you're burning up!" She hooked one arm under Joel's arm while the girl kept his other arm hooked over her shoulder.

"He almost fainted, I think." The girl responded for him.

Joel started fading fast.

"Forgot... we were... mom… sorr—." He groggily murmured before his head fell to his chest.

"Oh, my God. Hang in there baby!" Rachel murmured a prayer.

When she saw Robert, she yelled to him as he came out of the building to see what was happening. "Robert! Robert! Come quick, get Lulu! I need to get Joel inside right away!"

Once inside, the sudden, frigid blast of air was a shock, making his skin prickle and his head spin even more. Rachel stripped off Joel's hoodie as he slumped into a seat beside her. Rachel wiped sweat from Joel's face, her voice shattering the artificial calm as she spoke her worst fear aloud, "Oh, my god, he's got heat stroke!" She tried to remain calm, but her fear was palpable as she frantically looked around. "Ice! And towels, I need Ice water!" Not speaking to anyone directly. "Help me! I need Ice! Is there Ice anywhere?" She looked back at Joel "Oh, honey, I'm sorry." Tears started dripping from her eyes.

"I'll be right back!" The girl yelped as she disappeared.

Robert appeared after putting Lulu in the SUV. "What's happening? What's Wrong? Rachel? What happened?" Feeling out of control, he began to panic. "Where'd that girl go? Who is she? Did she do something?" He rubbed his hair and forehead in frustration as he looked around whispering to himself. "What the hell just happened?"

The redheaded girl reappeared with a bucket of ice and a couple towels. "Here! Here's the ice."

"Oh! Thank you, sweetie." Rachel said to the girl. "Robert! Get some water! We need to wrap him in ice and cold water. We need to get him cooled down."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know he was too hot! I'm sorry!" The girl begged. "If I had known."

Robert returned with a couple bottles of water. "Here, honey."

Joel slumped into his mother's lap. "Pour them in that bucket of ice and dip the towel in it." She commanded as she stripped Joel's shirt off, fully exposing his bright white skin.

The other travelers, now gathered around the commotion, their mouths agape, apparently never having seen an albino child before.

"Rachel, should I call 911?" Feeling helpless, Robert asked for direction.

"I don't know yet." Her voice shook as she wrapped the cold, wet towel around Joel's torso. "Robert, get my bag from the car please, it's got a thermometer in it. I need to know his temperature before we call for help."

Robert nodded, his panic clear as he sprinted out to the SUV. Joel's skin felt hot and clammy under her touch, and Rachel could feel his heart racing. The girl, sat beside them, her own eyes filled with worry. "Is he okay? He's gonna be okay, right?" She whispered, her voice filled with genuine concern.

"Hold this, please," Rachel instructed, handing her the cold towel. "Keep it pressed on his chest." As she tucked some ice under the towel.

The girl did as she was asked, touching Joel's feverish skin caused tears to creep from her eyes as she watched Rachel frantically rummaged through her bag as she prayed. "Please God, don't let it be Heat Stroke." Having found the thermometer, she quickly placed it under Joel's tongue. "I have to take your temperature sweetie." She said, holding it in place. The seconds ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity. Joel's breathing was shallow and quick, his body shivering despite the heat.

Looking grateful at the red-haired girl, "What's your name, sweetie?" Rachel asked, trying to distract herself from her fear.

"Emily," she replied, her eyes never leaving Joel's pallid skin. "He never said anything about being hot." tears flowed unrestricted now, "If I had known... I'm sorry."

Rachel stroked Joel's sweat-soaked hair, her eyes darting between the thermometer and his eyes. "It's okay, Emily. It's not your fault." She tried to soothe her, but the guilt was already setting in. "Just keep the towel on him, please." Rachel packed some more ice under the wet towel. "He's had episodes like this before."

Emily nodded, her eyes brimming with tears as she tightly clutched the towel to Joel's chest. "I'm sorry." she murmured. "What did he mean by time? He said he forgot about the time."

"It's okay, Emily." Rachel offered a gentle smile. "Don't feel bad, you didn't do anything wrong. Joel has albinism, so he can't be in the sun for long. And as you can see, he's really susceptible to the heat, he's only good for about 15 minutes at most. I'm sure he was just excited to be talking to you; he forgot to check the time." Rachel's voice was calm, but the edge of fear was unmistakable. "But, it's really my fault, I'm his mother, I should've watched the time better myself." Rachel took the thermometer from Joel's mouth. "Ugh, only 102 degrees. Thank God, it's only heat exhaustion, not heat stroke. We just need to get him cooled down; he'll be okay." The onlooker's collective sigh of relief echoed around the room, as if they were all holding their breath waiting for word from Rachel. "Robert, honey. This towel is warming up, please, I need another one. And hand me that bottle of water there."

Robert nodded, his own heart racing, as he took the towel, dipping it in the bucket of ice water before handing it to Rachel. "Don't worry, sweetheart, you're going to be fine," Rachel said, her voice shaky. Joel moaned quietly, his eyes still closed. "Joel, honey, you're doing great, just keep breathing, okay?" She comforted him as she took him in her arms, rocking gently. "I love you, sweetie, you're gonna be fine… Mamma's sorry. I forgot the time too. But you're gonna be okay." She slowly ran her fingers through his shaggy white locks. "I love your hair, sweetie, it's so pretty." She propped him up a little, touching a water bottle to his lips. "Can you take a sip of water, honey?" His mouth barely opened, but he managed to take in some water.

Emily watched, feeling utterly responsible for his condition, guilt covered her face.

"It's not your fault," Rachel assured her, noticing her distress. "This is just part of Joel's life, sometimes these things happen."

The rest area buzzed with whispers, the sight of the alabaster boy and his devoted mother, out of place among the tanned families and rugged truckers. Rachel felt the weight of their stares, the curiosity and pity, but she focused solely on Joel as his breathing slowly began to even out.

"You're gonna be okay baby," Rachel whispered into Joel's ear, her own breath a shaky sigh of relief. "You're gonna be okay, it's almost over."

Their eyes met, Rachel could see the fear in Joel's deep blue eyes. "I'm sorry, mom." He murmured, his voice barely audible. "I forgot... time... she's a... dog whisperer," he said pointing a finger in Emily's direction.

"I saw that too, honey, pretty amazing, right?" Rachel responded.

Emily blushed at the compliment, looking away. "It's really no big deal. Dogs just like me."

Robert returned with fresh ice and a wet towel, taking the one Emily had been holding and replacing it. "Thank you," Rachel murmured, her eyes never leaving Joel's face. She could feel his temperature dropping slightly, a relief that washed over her like a cool breeze.

"Dog whisperer." Joel whispered to Emily, his eyes still closed.

Forcing a smile, she looked at him with understanding and unshed tears.

The Taits had never seen such genuine kindness, towards Joel, from a complete stranger. Rachel felt a warmth spread through her that had nothing to do with the oppressive heat outside. "You know, Emily," she said, her voice gentle, "other than Joel, you're the first person I've ever seen that Lulu liked. She's usually pretty... selective. And, seeing Joel… I saw you two laughing, and… well, that means a lot to me."

Emily smiled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm just a sucker for cute dogs I guess," she said, trying to lighten the mood. Joel cracked a smile, his cheeks still flushed. "And cute boys" she added, winking at him.

Rachel looked between them, her heart swelling. "It's rare for Joel to connect with anyone outside of our little family bubble, and even rarer for someone outside our family to see beyond his albinism." she said, with hope sparkling in her eyes.

"Well, he made me earn it, that's for sure!" Emily giggled a little "He flat out told me to go away at first. But I don't give up so easily. My dad says I'm 'bull headed'."

"Yeah, 'bull headed' that's a good one." Rachel giggled along with Emily. "I'm grateful for your bullheadedness today. Joel's always had a hard time making friends." The sadness in her voice was plain. "Joel's been bullied so badly, because of his looks, it's made him afraid of nearly everyone, especially strangers. But it looks like you may have won him over." She looked at Emily with thankful eyes.

"We were just getting there, that's when he collapsed." Emily said.

Rachel nodded, her eyes never leaving Joel's face as his breathing grew steadier. "I'm Rachel, by the way," she said, extending a hand to Emily. With Emily's hand in hers, Rachel looked up at the man who'd been standing near Emily observing the emotional scene. "And you must be Emily's dad?"

The man nodded, a look of concern etched on his weathered face. "Yes ma'am, I'm George, George Redd, and this here's my wife, Judy, and you've met Emily, of course." he said gruffly, his calloused handshake firm. Rachel felt a pang of gratitude for the Redds, who, like Rachel, had also been keeping a watchful eye on their daughter befriending the strange albino boy.

"Thank you for your help," Rachel said, her voice still shaky. "I'm Rachel Tait, and this is my husband, Dr. Robert Tait, and our son Joel." Indicating Joel with a nod. "I don't know what we would have done without the bucket of ice and towels. We're indebted to you," Still emotional over the ordeal, her eyes welled up again. "I just can't thank you enough."

Judy, like Emily, was a petite, fiery red-haired woman with a kind face. She took the seat next to Rachel, handing her a cold bottle of water. "Oh, dear, you don't owe us a thing." Attempting to comfort her, gently rubbing the back of her shoulder. "We're all just glad he's going to be okay. Besides, it was really Emily's quick thinking. She was the one who got the bucket and towels from our van."

Joel's eyes slowly opened, the sapphire blue peeking out from under his lids. "Mom," he croaked, his voice dry and raspy. Rachel's eyes snapped to his face, her heart jumping. "You okay, baby?" She asked, her voice thick with concern. "Here. Take a sip of water."

"Yeah, I think so," he responded weakly, managing a small nod.

Emily's eyes lit up with relief, at the same time, tried to lighten the somber mood that hung in the air. "Hey Joel, here's an idea for you, maybe start wearing one of those wide brimmed sun hats, instead of a hoodie? You know, like in that old timey movie, The Bird Cage." She playfully poked his arm.

"The Bird Cage?" Looking confused at Emily, "Never heard of it."

"Oh my god, Joel, you have to see it! You'd love it! It's got to be one of the funniest movies of all time!" Emily laughed, holding her stomach. "Ooh, that Nathan Lane, he's hilarious! I just love him!"

The parents' faces all crinkled with disappointment as they exchanged understanding glances. Emily's reference to an "old timey movie" hit a little close to home, reminding them of how quickly time passes. That movie came out when they were teenagers, long before either of the kid's parents were even married.

Emily's dad chuckled, "The Bird Cage is a classic, Joel, I'm sure you'd like it. It's about a drag..." he trailed off, remembering the plot and its complex nuances, would take too long to explain in the moment. "Well, you'll see. It's a really funny movie," He finished awkwardly.

"Maybe we could watch it together sometime, sweetie." Rachel said, her eyes glistening with hope as she gave Joel a loving squeeze. "Looks like you're feeling better, huh? How do you feel? We should take your temp again."

Joel nodded slightly, his energy not quite restored. "Tired, but, I think I'm okay." He took another sip of water, feeling the cold liquid soothe his dry throat. "And I'm not going to wear a sunhat," he added with a weak smirk, earning a gentle chuckle from Emily.

"Well, you do you, Joel, but I think it would be perfect for a fashionista like yourself! And remember," Emily's eyes twinkling with amusement. "It's not every day you meet a dog whisperer, who also might know a thing or two about fashion."

Joel couldn't help but laugh a little, the tension in his chest easing slightly. "Maybe," he conceded, feeling a little more like himself as his flushed face began to fade back to its normal, paper-white tone, highlighting his freckled cheeks. The conversation flowed easily between them now, their shared sense of humor shining through the awkwardness of their first encounter. Rachel watched her son come back to life before her eyes, his usual vibrancy slowly seeping back into his porcelain features. "Hold this in your mouth honey." She put the thermometer back under his tongue.

"So, Mr. Redd?" Robert inquired, as he glanced between George and Judy, "What brings you and your family through this area? You folks on vacation?"

George looked at Joel, then back to Robert, his expression softening. "I wish it were a vacation, haven't had one of those in years." He snickered. "Uh, but, anyway, we're on our way to Oakland. I'm starting a new job there next week, teaching welding, at the community college.

"Oh, my goodness! Is that right!?," Rachel's eyes lit up. "That's where we're headed, Robert is starting a new job too." Joel wasn't the only Tait feeling anxious about making new friends in Oakland. "He's the new President of The State University. Isn't that amazing, Robert?"

"Yeah, honey, that's great." Robert managed an awkward, but, friendly smile. His tone was slightly elevated, over his usual flatness. Almost cheerful.

Emily's parents exchanged a surprised glance, "Well, isn't that just a small world!" Judy's eyes sparkling with curiosity. "What a coincidence!"

"Yeah," Emily agreed, her cheeks flushing pink as she turned to Joel, a mischievous smirk crossed her face. "Maybe we're destined to be friends or something."

Joel's heart skipped a beat. Is she for real? Does she actually want to be my friend? Like a real friend? Not a pity friend, but a real, genuine friend? I've never had that before. And even though he so, deeply, desired a true and genuine friend, his deep-rooted fears of rejection wouldn't allow him to be too excited. "I suppose anything is possible." His muffled words nearly unintelligible with a thermometer still under his tongue.

"Well," Rachel said, her eyes darting between Emily and Judy, "It seems we're all going to be neighbors… of sorts. I think it would be nice if we got together once everyone's all settled in." Rachel saw the way her son's eyes had lit up when Emily had talked to him. Now, full of hope, she wanted to do whatever she could to encourage their budding friendship.

"I think that sounds great, don't you honey?" Judy said to her husband, George, with a warm smile, her eyes reflecting the same hope Rachel felt. Turning back to Rachel, she continued. "Emily doesn't have any siblings, so she could use some new friends around her age too."

George nodded, his eyes still on Joel. "Aye, I think that sounds good, maybe Joel will be a good influence on our little rebel," He ruffled Emily's hair, who playfully swatted his hand away with a giggle. "And keep her out of trouble. heh?"

Emily rolled her eyes. "I'm not that bad, dad!"

They all laughed, the tension in the room dissipating like a cloud of dust in a gentle breeze. Joel felt something stir inside him that he hadn't felt in a long time: hope. Maybe, just maybe, this small town wouldn't be as bad as he thought. The onlookers had long gone back to their respective trips down the highway to destinations unknown, Joel was back to his normal self and everyone was feeling pretty hopeful about their new town, with their newfound friends.

"Let's see this now." Rachel pulled the thermometer from under Joel's tongue. "Oh, ninety-nine degrees, we're getting there!" As Rachel took a deep breath before she helped Joel to his feet, she couldn't help but feel a sense of relief that was so palpable, like a physical weight lifted from her shoulders, the whole room felt it. "You and Emily should exchange numbers," Rachel suggested, her voice brimming with excitement. "So, you can keep in touch and maybe even go exploring the city once we're all settled in."

Emily beamed, her eyes bright. "That would be amazing!" She exclaimed, while making a jab at her father's rebel comment. "We can see how much we can get away with before we catch hell from the police, heh Joel?" Her eyes darted between Joel's and her father's eyes.

"Emily," Judy chastised gently, though she couldn't hide the smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Let's not scare off our new friends with talk of trouble."

"Don't worry, Mrs. Redd," Joel said, though his own grin was hard to suppress. "I'm a real homebody, so I don't think we're in any danger of being arrested. Well..." He instantly modified his response. "Me at least. I can't control what she does on her own time."

Everyone shared a laugh, and Rachel watched the exchange with a mix of pride and relief. Her son, who had been so often misunderstood and isolated, had found a kindred spirit in a feisty redheaded girl.

~ ————— ~ ————— ~

DRAFT MANUSCRIPT — NOT FOR DISTRIBUTION

This is an uncorrected proof / work-in-progress.

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The Move In

Joel climbed out from behind the protective glass of the black Mercedes S-Class SUV, stepping into the stark midday sunlight. Lulu leaped out of the open door after him, her claws clicking anxiously on the hot concrete. She immediately pressed against his leg, her head low, letting out a soft whine. Joel's deep blue eyes, hidden behind his dark, polarized sunglasses, surveyed his new surroundings. The air was hot, thick, and wet. The scent of Spanish lavender, carried on an oppressive breeze from the south fields of the Hughes Ranch, filled his nostrils. The weather report said there wouldn't be any relief from the heatwave for at least a week, maybe two.

The moving truck was parked in the large semi-circle driveway. The clank of the metal ramp and the muffled thuds of furniture echoed from the open front door.

He and Rachel stood in front of their new Executive home, in Oak Valley Estates. The gated community was full of perfectly manicured lawns that stretched out like a vast, waveless emerald sea. The Taits' new home overlooked the 7th green of the Ridge Course.

Rachel put her arm around Joel as they took in the view. "What do you think, sweetie?"

A tight, humorless smirk played on his pale pink lips, and his voice dripped with disgust as he spoke. "This isn't a fresh start; it's more like the collective aftermath of every misplaced step, every unseen pile of dog poop I've ever watched someone else blithely step into." He let out a big sigh. "Ugh, gross."

The voices of distant golfers, the intimidating heights of giant oak trees—it was a lot for a city boy to take in. "I feel smaller here than I ever did among the skyscrapers." Joel moaned. "And so far, there is nothing here I find attractive. All this grass. So green. Ugh." Joel continued, "Mom, the only thing making this move bearable is the fact that you took time off from work to be here with me right now. I seriously couldn't do this without you here." Joel leaned into his mother's side, seeking comfort as Lulu pushed her head against his other leg. "I still don't understand why Dad had to take this dumb job anyway. Why couldn't we stay in the city?"

"C'mon, sweetheart," Rachel said, gently shaking his shoulder. "We've been over this so many times. You know Daddy can't commute four hundred miles. Being a university president means it'd be completely impractical." The joy from yesterday's new friend seemed to have made little improvement on his displeasure.

"Why not? You do!" Joel jabbed. Not waiting for an answer, "C'mon, Lulu." He smacked his hand to his thigh, signaling her to follow. He retreated to the house, his small, loyal shadow trotting at his heels. He was suddenly eager to see his new room. His new sanctuary.

Rachel sighed, watching her son disappear into the house. She knew that beneath his frustrated words was a sweet boy who felt isolated and misunderstood. No matter how many times they went over it, she couldn't make him see any 'bright side' to this move.

She couldn't deny his frustration. Joel knew precisely what lay in store for him when he started at his new high school in a couple weeks: a fresh round of bullying from new bullies in a new school. Only this time, it was in a strange town. At least before, when he'd changed schools, he still had the familiar, relative safety and security of the home he'd always known, accompanied by his long-time therapist, Ms. Janet, whom he'd known since he was eight years old. She was a reassuring voice that helped him manage his depression. Now, he wouldn't have her either, at least not physically. Rachel had arranged for her to be available via scheduled virtual visits, with an emergency number saved in his phone.

Though she believed it was foolish, she was also desperate and feeling inadequate. Spotting a small stick in the grass, she picked it up. What the hell, it can't hurt to try. She made the motion as if it were a real magic wand. She actually wished Joel had a fairy godmother who could wave a magic wand and take away his pain. She whispered to herself, "Poof!" Just like in the fairy tales, her baby would be okay and live happily ever after. But that only happens in fairy tales. Right?

Still, she hoped and prayed that in this new place, her son would find some peace in a friend—someone who saw him for the smart, funny, and deeply loving boy he truly was, and not the weird, gay, albino kid who was always left on the outside looking in.

For now, Rachel's hopes lay entirely at Emily's feet, she would have to pray that Emily had the strength Joel would need.

As Joel entered, the blast of the air-conditioner hit him, a cold shock against his overheating skin. The air was potent with the smell of fresh paint and new carpet. He raced through the chaotic maze of boxes and furniture like a gladiator, with Lulu hot on his heels. They zipped past Robert, who was standing in the cavernous main hall with a phone pressed to his ear. Lulu's shoulder grazed his leg as she passed causing him to spin on his heels. "Watch it, Joel!" Robert hissed, hand over the receiver.

Ignoring him, Joel took the carpeted stairs two at a time, Lulu bounding right behind him, her nails scratching for purchase. He took a sharp turn at the top, nearly colliding with a large, scruffy-looking mover.

"Whoa, easy there, kid," the man grunted, his voice gruff.

Joel stumbled back, startled. Lulu, however, did not. She planted herself between Joel and the man, her hackles rising, and let out a low, sharp growl.

"Whoa," the mover said again, this time his eyes wide, taking in Joel's paper-white skin and the bared teeth of the dog. "Easy, dog."

"She's fine," Joel said, grabbing Lulu's collar. "Where's my stuff? Which one is my room?"

The mover looked around, his sweaty face blank. "Uh, I don't know, kid. No kids room up here. Just master-bedroom, offices and a guest room." He shrugged, then carefully sidestepped the growling dog and lumbered down the stairs.

Joel stood frozen. The man's words echoed in the empty space. No kids room up here. His face crumpled. In disbelief, he peered into each room. Mom and Dad's room. Yep. Guest room. Yep. Room one, Dad's desk, boxes marked ‘Robert's books'. Room two, Mom's desk, boxes marked ‘Rachel's office'. Confirmed, the man wasn't lying.

"Mom! Mooom!" Joel's voice cracked, echoing throughout the house. It was punctuated by Lulu's high-pitched, anxious whines as she paced at his feet. "Mom, where are you? I need you up here right now!" He demanded.

Rachel had been directing the movers in the kitchen, but dutifully appeared at the bottom step. "What is it, Joel? I'm busy down here, is something wrong?"

"Yes, there's something very wrong, please! I need you to come up here right now, please!" He begged her.

Once at the top, Joel grabbed her hand, dragging her down the hall. "Joel? What's the matter?" Rachel began to pull away. "Tell me what's wrong!"

They stood on the large central landing, a hub in the center of the four bedroom doors, while movers maneuvered around them. Lulu, sensing both the strangers and Joel's rising panic, let out another low growl at a man who passed too close. Holding Rachel's wrist, Joel pulled her down to his level. He put a hand up by his mouth and sternly whispered just loud enough for Rachel to hear. His voice was desperate. "They are not putting my stuff in a room! One of these rooms should be mine!" He put his mouth up close to her ear. "Tell them to stop!"

Speaking softly, Rachel pointed at the different rooms. "Well honey, I can't do that. You see, these rooms are going to be your father's and my home offices, and this one is going to be our guest room."

Tears welled up in his eyes, like he'd been betrayed. He wasn't angry. He was broken. "But that can't be right. My room is next to your room. It's always been that way. I can't be away from you. I don't want to be away from you. How will I sleep?" Tears now flowed freely down his soft cheeks. He buried his free hand in Lulu's fur, who was now whimpering in perfect sync with his sobs. "I need to be by you."

Rachel knelt down on the floor, wiping his eyes. "Joel. Sweetheart. Look at me." gently lifting his chin. "Sweetie, I know this is sudden, but I need you to listen, okay?

"But…" he objected but she cut him off.

"NO! Sweetie, I need you to hear me." she wiped his eyes again as he looked at her loving smile. "You don't need to be by me all the time now…" He objected again to no avail. "You're a big boy now, I need you to be brave and trust me. Okay? You don't need a room next to mine any longer. You're getting to the age where you're going to want more privacy, your own space, where daddy and I need your permission to enter. Do you understand?"

Joel wiped his own tears away. "I don't know. I guess? But where's my room then? There's only four in this house. Don't you love me anymore? I'm sorry I've been such a pain lately mom, please, I'll behave, I promise. I won't be any more trouble. Please!" He begged again. "Are you sending me away somewhere? You're scaring me." The tears flowed again.

Rachel looked patiently and lovingly at Joel. 'Joel, sweetheart,' she said, cupping his face in her hands. "I'm not sending you away, I would never do that. And I will always love you, until my last breath. Now, if you let me explain… I have a surprise for you." Rachel knew Joel wouldn't explore the lower level of the house, so she never told Joel about his new room. Until now. "Come with me, you're going to want to see this."

She led him down the hall on the main level. "See that door down there at the end? Go ahead and open it." She had a devilish look on her face, making Joel suspicious.

"Is this some trick? Are you tricking me?" He smirked back at her as she just pointed with her head, repeating her instructions.

Joel hesitantly opened the door peering inside, but all he saw were steps. Confused, he looked back, questioning his mother. Close on his heels, she nudged him down the steps. "Go on!" speaking softly. "I promise, you're going to love this."

Joel's eyes bulged when he opened the door at the bottom. Lulu, sensing his sudden shift from terror to awe, bounded past him down the steps. "Oh… My… God…" he turned to see his mother's beaming face. "Are you kidding me? This is amazing, It's like a whole apartment!" Joel raced around touching and looking at everything. All his things were there waiting for him.

Rachel laughed gleefully. "It IS a whole apartment sweetheart! And it's all yours! It has a bedroom, a full kitchen, and a full bathroom. And… all this huge space is your living room, with your own sliding glass door!" She slid it open, and Lulu was already at the screen, her tail wagging. "It goes right out to the backyard. It's all fenced in, so Lulu can run around as much as she wants."

Joel's mouth was agape. He looked at the large, private, fenced-in yard, then back at the room. "A... a yard? For us?" He had forgotten all about his fear of being away from his mother. "Is this for real?"

"It's for real!" Rachel replied. "We'll pick out furniture for your living room, together, next week. But for now, your bed and all your things are here, so you can arrange and decorate everything just the way you want it! And we had all the windows in the house UV tinted before we got here, so you can go anywhere in the house you want without concern."

Joel squeezed Rachel as tight as he could. "I can't believe it mom; I love you so much. I'm sorry I've been so terrible lately. I've just been so scared all the time."

She squeezed him back, again, knelt down to look him in the eyes. "I'm glad you like it sweetie. I promise you, once you get used to this space, you're never gonna want to leave." she laughed. "But I still want you to leave once in a while, okay? Like Daddy and I have been saying, this is a new start for all of us, not just you." she looked at his hair as she ran her finger through his shaggy white locks, then back to his eyes. "We know this is going to be a really big adjustment for you, living here, in this town. And I know, there will be tough times, right? But daddy and I are here and we'll do everything we can to support you." Joel nodded in silent agreement as all his fears ran through his imagination. "Like Daddy said, try to look on the bright side of things, and there will be a bright side, I promise you! And you know I always keep my promises, don't I?" Joel nodded again.

"Hey! You're already ahead of the game. You have Emily now!" Joel's face beamed, "That's one bright thing, so you have to count it!" Rachel was trying hard to keep his spirits up until he could find out for himself that things weren't as bad as he thought. "We just have to track down where they live so we can get you guys together."

His face blushed. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Emily seems pretty cool, right?"

"Uhm, YEAH! Very cool! As a matter of fact," Rachel exclaimed. "she reminds me of one of my girlfriends I had in high school, Susan Bradford, she was misunderstood too. She looked rough and scary on the outside, but she had a heart of gold on the inside. You would have loved her!" Rachel's face warmed as fond memories flashed in her mind. "So, don't sell Emily short, I'm willing to bet, she'll surprise you. Stick by her side, she won't lead you wrong. But if you ever feel like something is ‘off', you let me know and we'll figure it out together. Deal?"

Joel sheepishly smiled. "Yeah… okay, you have a deal. What is it with people lately, wanting to make deals with me? First Emily, and now you! Who's next?"

~ ————— ~ ————— ~

DRAFT MANUSCRIPT — NOT FOR DISTRIBUTION

This is an uncorrected proof / work-in-progress.

Please do not quote, share, or upload this document to any website

or file-sharing platform without the author's express written permission.

Chapter Two

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The Grand Master

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Game of Thrones

The anticipation was like a heart-racing crescendo in a horror movie score, as Joel's first day at Oakland Prep loomed closer. Rachel, ever the nurturer, sensed the storm brewing in her son's chest. His pale cheeks would be even paler now, if that were possible, and the twinkle in his sapphire-blue eyes had dimmed like stars swallowed by dawn. She knew the drill, the dance of words and comfort she'd have to perform to ease his anxiety. But this time, she pulled out the big guns. Joel desperately craved time with his father, doing anything that would give cause to provide even a glimmer of encouragement.

"Robert?" Rachel called out to her husband, the master of calm under pressure.

Robert leaned into the living room from the kitchen where he was making himself a sandwich. "What is it, dear? I'm making my lunch."

"When you finish, would you please make some time to challenge Joel to a game?" Robert knew Rachel's request wasn't really a request. "He's stressing out about school starting soon, so he's been downstairs pacing a rut into the carpet all morning, with Lulu following his every step. Maybe it'll take his mind off things for a little while, and give you guys some quality time together."

"Yes, dear." His voice flat and emotionless.

Robert went back to making his sandwich. When he finished, he made another. He grabbed another dish from the cupboard, placing it on top of the one he already had out. He stacked the two sandwiches on the plates and grabbed a few napkins.

tap tap Robert knocked on the door to Joel's apartment.

A low, muffled woof came from inside, then silence.

thunk thunk He knocked louder. "Joel!" Robert called him through the door.

The louder knock put Lulu on high alert. She erupted in a series of sharp, insistent barks.

The door flung open. "Dad?" Joel's face beamed, and his surprised voice echoed up the stairs into Rachel's ears. A sad smile appeared on her face. "Come in!" Rachel heard the excitement in Joel's voice and Lulu was barking, her tail wagging; her smile became less sad.

"Hungry?" Robert's voice was still flat. He held the plates out for Joel to see. "I made one for myself, so I thought you might like one."

"Sure, thank you! Come in!" Joel motioned to the table near the kitchen. He was overjoyed; this was Robert's first visit to his new space. Lulu, upon seeing Robert, immediately stopped wagging. She gave his pant leg a cursory sniff, let out a soft huff, and retreated to sit by Joel's shins, her eyes fixed on Robert.

Robert set the sandwiches down on the table before pulling out a chair nearest the door, through which he had just entered. He sat down, rearranging the sandwiches on their individual plates, then setting one in front of Joel’s chair as Lulu sniffed his pant leg.

"Thirsty, Dad? Let me get you a drink! Do you want a Coke?" Joel excitedly looked in the fridge. "I have Coke, Orange... Uh, I have Coke or Orange!"

"Water's fine, thank you." Robert replied as he scanned Joel's apartment, his eyes lingering for a moment on the dog. "Looks like you're settled in."

"Oh, yeah! I've been working dawn to dusk since we got here.” His eyes darted around his space. “Ugh, moving is a lot of work! I don’t recommend it. I still have lots more to do, but I’m making progress." Joel dropped a single ice cube into the glass before filling it with water and heading over to the table. "Here you are, Dad. Just the way you like it, not too cold." Joel took his chair opposite Robert. His face beamed, brighter than his hot pink hoodie, at the sight of his father sitting at HIS table. "Oh, I’m a terrible host! Can I get you anything else? How about some chips? I have chips! You want some chips, Dad?"

Joel started to get up from the table when Robert stopped him. "No, no chips, Joel, thank you."

The excitement began fading from Joel's face. "Oh... okay." Then he perked up again as he sat back down. "Thanks for the sandwich, Dad! I didn't realize how hungry I was." Following Robert's lead, he took a bite from his sandwich. Smiling at Robert, "Mmm, this is good!" His cheeks looked like a squirrel’s who’d found their winter stash of nuts.

Robert’s eyes furrowed. "Don't talk with your mouth full, son." Casually scolding Joel, in his flat tone.

Joel shrunk in his seat, swallowed hard, and replied sheepishly, "Sorry, Dad." His initial excitement for Robert's visit completely faded. They finished their sandwiches in silence. Lulu, sensing the shift, lay down at Joel's feet, her head on her paws, her eyes locked on Robert.

Robert wiped the corners of his mouth, took a sip of his water, and asked, "You up for a game?" His voice still as flat as the bread they'd just eaten. There was no need to specify which game, they only played one.

Joel’s eyes snapped up from his plate, bright and wide. "Really? Sure!" He jumped up from his chair, running to the other end of the apartment, Lulu's nails clicking on the floor as she scrambled up to follow. He frantically dug around in a box that was sitting on the floor between his gaming system and a massive, floor-to-ceiling shelf spanning the length of the end wall, holding his entire collection of books.

Joel had never beaten his dad, but he always enjoyed the game, and their time together. Even though it was quiet time. It was always quiet. Robert never spoke during a game. Not audibly anyway. His eyes said more than words ever could.

Once retrieved, Joel rushed the game back to the table, setting it down in front of Robert with a big smile. He sat in his chair, on his knees, leaning in on his folded arms, on the table, trying to find the best angle of view. He watched wide-eyed as Robert set up the chess pieces, one by one, with mind-blowing grace and precision. His hands moved swiftly from box to board and back again, until every piece was set precisely in the center of their respective squares. Then, Robert took a pawn in each hand, one white, one black. He put his hands under the table, moving the pieces around in his hands, then bringing them up and holding out his hands toward Joel. "Choose," he stated flatly.

Joel stuck out his tongue, licking his lips, as his eyes darted back and forth between Robert's patient hands. Joel knew the odds of getting white, but he always gave the decision due contemplation anyway. "Hmm..." Full of nervous energy, he held out his little white hand, pointing, and hesitantly touching the top of his father's right hand. "Hmm... This one!" he said, quickly looking up at his father’s eyes to see his thoughts. Joel’s white eyebrows furrowed as he thought to himself, Hmm, nothing... same as always. Robert flipped over his right hand, revealing the black pawn. Joel frowned. "Humph," making his disappointment unmistakably clear as he spun the board around to its correct orientation.

The pieces clicked and clacked on the board like a Morse code of silent understanding as the game unfolded. Joel’s heart raced, each move a declaration of his intellectual might. Robert, ever stoic, his eyes squinted slightly with each of Joel's unorthodox moves, his mind racing through the possibilities like a chess supercomputer.

Robert’s usual game was as predictable as the sunrise; he followed strategies that had been laid down over centuries of human wisdom. Yet here he was, his son, an immature teenager in his view, challenging him with moves so avant-garde, it was like watching Picasso play with a Rubik's Cube. Joel’s pawns danced across the board like they were auditioning for Swan Lake, while his knights pirouetted into positions that seemed more suited for a game of Twister. It was a veritable ‘Game of Thrones’.

Robert’s eyes narrowed as he studied the board, trying to discern the method to Joel’s madness. Joel’s love for fashion was no secret, but it was finally becoming clear to Robert, that his son's creativity extended far beyond his daily outfit choices. He made his move, placing his bishop in a spot that would surely put Joel in checkmate. Or so he thought.

Joel’s grin grew as he took a deep breath, his mind racing with excitement. He had been waiting for this moment, the moment where he could finally show his father, that he wasn’t just a pretty face with a penchant for designer duds. He was a force to be reckoned with, a master strategist in his own right. With a dramatic flourish, Joel gleefully set down his rook, capturing Robert’s unsuspecting knight. "Check," he declared, his voice quivering with excitement.

Robert blinked, his stoic mask slipping for a fraction of a second before it snapped back into place. Joel didn't miss it. In his mind he was jumping up and down, screaming, 'Oh my god, I just might pull this off!' He was using every bit of energy he had in his bones to contain his excitement. He scrutinized Robert's eyes, looking for another sign of weakness.

In a shockingly rare show of doubt, Robert muttered, "Hmm," as he studied the board, his mind a flurry of calculations, trying to find a way to counter Joel’s unorthodox play style. "Interesting choice," he murmured, his eyes darting between the pieces.

Did I just see lightning strike twice? Twice in one game? Joel’s mind was exploding with shock and awe, as he watched his father's usual rock-steady demeanor falter before his very eyes. He knew he was pushing boundaries with every non-traditional move he made. This is monumental! Unprecedented! Like the War of Independence! This was his moment to shine, to show Robert that he too had depth, that he was more than just the facade of white and bling. He took his time with his next move, placing his queen in a seemingly vulnerable position.

Robert eyed Joel over the rim of the glass, as he took a sip of his, now tepid, water. Setting it down, he then looked over the rim of his glasses. "You're playing... differently today," he said, his typically flat tone now contained a tiny mix of curiosity and challenge.

Joel's eyes widened at his stoic father’s words. Oh my god, a third time? Is Mercury in Retrograde? His hand hovered over the board; his blushed cheeks betrayed his calm demeanor. "Well, Dad. Sometimes, you know, you gotta switch it up," he replied, trying to keep his voice from also betraying him.

"Checkmate." Joel's voice was calm, but his blood pressure was skyrocketing as Robert's king was surrounded, unable to escape the relentless siege of Joel's pawns and bishops.

The clock ticked like a gong in the quiet room. Robert took his time, his eyes darting from piece to piece, contemplating his response. His frustration began to show, ever so slightly, causing Joel's heart to thump harder as he read his father's eyes. Lulu, sensing the tension, lifted her head from her paws, her gaze fixed on Robert.

Robert sat back, his eyes narrowed. "Hmm," he murmured, not quite a question, not quite an accusation. It was the closest Joel had ever seen him to showing genuine emotion. Robert tipped his king and examined the board one last time, as if he were memorizing it. Then he stood up, looked at Joel with his own sapphire blues, and said, "Good game, son." He collected the plates he’d brought with him, looked at Joel again, whose face was beaming with pride, and winked, before turning toward the door.

~ ————— ~ ————— ~

DRAFT MANUSCRIPT — NOT FOR DISTRIBUTION

This is an uncorrected proof / work-in-progress.

Please do not quote, share, or upload this document to any website

or file-sharing platform without the author's express written permission.

Chapter Three

~ ————— ~ ————— ~

Mythology

~ ————— ~ ————— ~

Before The Bell Tolls

The double doors hissed open like the jaws of some glass and chrome-plated beast. Joel stepped into the atrium. His small hand instinctively flexed, grabbing for Lulu's leash. Nothing. He shook his fist loose, a hot, sharp sting.

"Damnit!"

The early morning light slanted through enormous windows, bouncing off polished concrete floors so clean they mirrored the panic in Joel's UV-blocking shades. The place was a monument to Frank Lloyd Wright, all concrete skeleton and cold, floor-to-ceiling glass. It should have blended with the trees outside. Instead, it just felt like a sterile, high-design box.

He'd chosen the hoodie deliberately—his armor. Faded pink, rhinestone-studded "SWIFTY" blazing across his chest. A dare. An external declaration. "Come at me," it screamed. "I dare you." The polar opposite of what he felt on the inside, like it's always been.

He hadn't taken ten steps inside before the scent hit him—not manure, like he'd asserted in the argument he'd had with Robert on the way to Oakland. This was much worse, institutional floor cleaner and teenage aggression. A terrible combination.

Joel's stomach lurched when he saw two shadows detach from a cluster of lockers. Oh, shit, here we go. Zane, built like a linebacker stuffed into a varsity jacket two sizes too small, and Darrel, taller, leaner, with a smirk that could curdle milk.

"Whoa, check the ghost," Zane snorted, blocking Joel's path. His sneer lingered on the rhinestones. "SWIFTY? That like… your boyfriend's name?"

Darrel circled, a shark scenting blood. "Nah, man. It's what he does when he runs from mirrors." His laugh was a harsh bark. "Look at this freak show. Pink on pink on pink. You blind and albino?"

A shove. Hard. Joel stumbled, his shades slipping.

"Ooh, pretty pink shoes!" Zane mocked, kicking Joel's ankle. "Bet they match your purse."

Another shove from Darrel sent Joel crashing into the lockers. Metal rang out. The sound ripped through the atrium. Joel scrambled to right himself, heart hammering against his ribs.

"Give me that!" Zane yanked the backpack off Joel's shoulders. The strap tore. Books, sketch pads, Joel's precious limited-edition Gucci wallet spilled across the floor.

Darrel scooped up the wallet, waving it like a trophy. "Ooh la la! Fancy! We got us a new Coin in the house Zane!"

Joel lunged— "Give it back!"—but Zane shoved him down hard. His palms scraped raw against the concrete.

Darrel hurled the backpack down the hall. It skidded, scattering papers. "Fetch, Fido! Oh wait—" He grinned, vicious. "Fetch, Frosty."

Coach Thompson was surrounded, in a mini huddle, with some of his basketball team members, chatting about the upcoming season. The commotion ripped his focus away. Down the hall, near the main entrance. A flash of pink. Pale skin. White hair.

Now, Zane and Darrel had Joel cornered. Coach's fists clenched, his jaw tightened. Zane laughing as Joel scrambled for his scattered things. Darrel kicking a sketchpad—a delicate pencil drawing of a dragon mid-flight—across the floor.

"Pathetic," Zane sneered, towering over Joel. "Go back to your spaceship, freak."

"Adams! Webb!" Coach Thompson's voice boomed, like a gunshot, over the clangor that always filled the halls before classes started every morning. The roar of voices fell to hum of hushed whispers. Heads turned. Zane and Darrel froze.

The crowd of students parted, like the Red Sea for Moses, as he walked toward them, every step measured. "You boys got a problem?" Coach's six-foot seven-inch stature was intimidatingly high, but his voice was low, controlled. Ice.

Coach Thompson, P.E. teacher and beloved head of Oakland Prep's basketball team, the Wildcats. He was known to students only as 'Coach' or 'Coach Thompson', no one seemed to know his first name. But nobody really cared so much about his name as they did about him, and their star player, Sam Hughes, the team captain. As the pride of the school, their leadership of the winningest basketball team in the district for five years running.

Coach stopped a foot away from Zane, his shadow swallowing the boy. "Adams. Webb." He didn't look at Joel sprawled on the floor. His gaze pinned Zane. "You lost something?" A nod toward Joel's scattered belongings. "Pick it up."

Zane hesitated, smirk faltering. Darrel shuffled, eyes darting.

"Now!" The word cracked like a whip. Zane flinched. Darrel scrambled, grabbing Joel's backpack, stuffing books and papers inside. Zane snatched the Gucci wallet from Darrel's hand, wiped imaginary dirt off it, and dropped it into the bag like it burned.

Coach turned to Joel, still on the floor. He offered a hand. "You alright?"

Joel recoiled instinctively. "Fine," he muttered, scrambling up himself. He snatched his bag, clutching it to his chest like a shield. "Was just quicker than I expected. I thought I'd at least get to put my stuff in my locker first."

Coach studied him. The rhinestones. The hoodie. The white hair peeking from under the hood. His expression softened. "You're the new student, Tait."

Joel nodded, his voice was small and shaken, his eyes fixed on his scuffed sneakers. "Joel."

"Coach Thompson. Welcome to Oakland Prep, Joel." He glanced at Zane and Darrel, now frozen like statues. "You two. My office. After school." He ordered.

They slunk away, shoulders hunched.

Coach Thompson watched them go, jaw tight. Then he turned back to Joel, who stood rigid, knuckles tight around his backpack strap. Sunlight caught the rhinestones on his hoodie—tiny defiant stars against faded pink. "Locker 217," Coach said, voice low. "Next to mine." A nod toward the faculty wing. "Less traffic."

Joel's eyes widened behind his shades. "A locker next to a teacher's? Unheard of. Why?" The words slipped out sharp, suspicious.

Coach Thompson leaned against a locker, the metal groaning under his weight. "Three reasons." He ticked them off on thick fingers. "One: My office is ten steps away. Two: Webb and Adams avoid this hall like plague rats. Three—" He paused, gaze locking onto Joel's trembling hands. "You fight like you're drowning. But you ain't drowned yet."

Joel's knuckles tightened around his backpack. "I don't want pity." His voice stronger, filled with offense.

"Wasn't offering any, Joel." Coach Thompson retorted, pushing off the locker. "Just strategy. Survival ain't pity." He jerked his chin toward the faculty corridor. "Locker's yours. Combination's your birthdate—month, day, year. The administration loves predictability, not disruption of the status quo."

Joel hesitated, his delicate fingers digging into the strap of his frayed backpack. The scent of industrial cleaner and teenage sweat choked the air. Coach's gaze stayed steady—no pity, just assessment. Like sizing up a wounded player. Does he know? Joel's mind raced. About my past? Or am I just another freak to manage?

"Strategy," Joel echoed, voice brittle. "Like chess?"

Coach Thompson's eyebrow twitched—almost imperceptible. "Something like that. Chess teaches patience. Street fights teach survival." He turned toward the faculty wing, motioning Joel to follow. The hallway thinned, lockers replaced by frosted-glass office doors labeled "ADMIN" and "COUNSELING." Joel's footsteps echoed too loud.

Locker 217 stood wedged beside a dented steel door stenciled "THOMPSON." Coach spun the dial. "Birthdate?"

"Left to 02. Right past it to 23. Left to 11," Joel mumbled.

The lock clicked open. Inside gleamed untouched metal—no graffiti, no dust. Sanctuary.

Before Joel could speak, Coach Thompson's phone buzzed. He glanced down, jaw tightening. "Gotta take this call. Stay sharp, Joel."

Coach vanished down the hall, leaving Joel alone. Sanctuary? We'll see about that.

Joel pulled his phone from his pocket as he leaned against his locker. His delicate, white thumbs began madly tapping against the screen. Well, Mom, I'm off to a great start. *smirk emoji* Made it 10 feet inside before they got me. 'On the bright side', it was only name calling and shoving, this time, not a punch in the face. So, not my worst first-day on record. But It's still early, the first bell hasn't even rang yet. *Angry face emoji* His text jabbed at her previous instructions to look on the bright side of things. Also, need a new backpack. They ruined mine.

Joel switched his sunglasses for his tinted prescription glasses, adjusted his hood and began finding his way to his homeroom class. When he rounded a corner, he ran smack into Zane, who was lying in wait.

"Watch where you're going, freak!" Zane hissed, grabbing Joel's hoodie with both hands, shoving him against the lockers, easily lifting, Joel's 101 pounds, up onto his tiptoes. The metallic clang echoed down the empty corridor.

Joel's glasses slid down his nose, revealing wide, panicked eyes. "Get off—"

"Shut it, freak." Zane leaned in, his breath sour with cheap energy drink. "Coach ain't here now." He jabbed a thick finger into Joel's chest. "You think you're safe? You ain't." His voice dropped to a venomous whisper as he looked Joel up and down. "Your queer kind ain't wanted here. And Coach can't protect you, all the time. So watch your back, Ghost."

Darrel materialized beside them, smirking. He leaned on the locker next to Joel, leaning in but whispering loudly. "Yeah, faggot. You should tell mommy to take you back to where you came from. I'm sure she'd be really upset if her little alien science experiment got hurt."

Faculty voices were moving in their direction,

"Darrel." Zane said, flatly, pointing with his chin. "This ain't over, freak, we're gonna get you, Coin boy." Zane released Joel with a final slam against the lockers before they disappeared around the corner.

Joel sagged against the lockers, heart hammering. His hands trembled as he adjusted his hoodie. Bright side? That's bullshit. What bright side? And what the hell is a Coin boy? He took another deep breath in an attempt to steel himself with enough positive energy to make to homeroom.

As he tentatively made his way down the too-bright, cavernous hall, he passed a group of kids laughing by the lockers, talking about a movie they all saw together at the theatre. Seeing the way they effortlessly existed, their camaraderie, their friendship. One girl touched a boys arm as she held her stomach while laughter spewed from her lungs. After the events of the past thirty minutes, the reality of being a social pariah, and a person who's mere existence in their shared space, instills fear and fans the flames of hate in the weak minded, while everyone else seemed to just glide through life effortlessly, was just too much.

A deep, mottled flush crawled up his neck, making the veins there stand out. His thoughts immediately went back to the recurring conversation he has with his mother. His hands began to tremble, his pace quickened.

"You are so beautiful, Joel. Those bullies, they're just jealous of you, so they lash out. They can't see how wonderful you are. This is only temporary." His mother's optimistic voice echoed in his mind.

"No, mom, the names that bully's call me are accurate. I am a freak, a snowman, an alien. And my IQ is more of a burden than a gift, it only adds one more degree of separation between me and the rest of the world."

The conversation always varied slightly each time it replayed in his mind, but the essence remained the same.

I've always known I'm not like other kids, Mom, and I was okay with that, because I do actually love myself. I know I'm beautiful. I feel beautiful most of the time. Because, I believed you when you told me that I was special because I was so unique. But the world doesn't want unique Mom! It only wants similarity." His breathing became labored. "I just want to be normal, like the other kids. I want to know what it's like, to blend in with the crowd, to go unnoticed for an entire day! I want just one fucking day, to not be the target of cruel jokes and glaring stares, the kicking, the punching, the spitting. I'm tired of carrying a change of clothes in my backpack every day because, inevitably someone dumps milk on me, or paint, or dog shit! It's all too much! I can't take any more of this. Is it all worth it? Tell me, mom! What's the benefit of being a genius when you get the shit beat out of you all the time? The fem gay boy everybody despises? The alien outcast? Huh? While everyone else seems to just glide through life effortlessly. Huh? Why mom? So much for being a genius, I can't even answer that question? I'm tired, mom. I'm just so tired. My life is just one torturous day after another, mom. I don't know if I have the strength to carry on. Or should I even carry on at all? I just want it to end. Maybe I should just end it all and be done. Nobody would have to look at this alien again. I wish I could talk to mom about this, maybe Ms. Janet, but not mom, it would hurt her too much.

His eyes began to swell with tears as his imaginary conversation progressed. Feeling a breakdown coming on, he found the nearest boy's restroom before losing it completely. He locked himself into a stall, and hoped, with any luck, he could silently cry it out, unnoticed. His hands covering his face were now soaked with tears. I miss my old school. A weird thing to say because he hated that school too. I miss my room. I miss the city. Fuck dad for taking this job! I hate this fucking place! He yanked a few yards of toilet paper off the roll and made a sort of cushion. He smashed it into his face to muffle the screams. "Fuck you dad!" He screamed as quietly as he could. "Fuck you dad!", as he continued crying in whimpering sobs.

It wasn't long before some boys came busting in the restroom chewing on rumors already flying around the school, jolting Joel out of his breakdown.

"Yo, Trev, you see that new kid?" A nasal voice echoed off the tiles. "White hair? Pink hoodie?"

"Did I?!" Another voice, deeper, scoffed. "Looked like a melted snowman. Adams and Webb had him pinned like a butterfly, bout' ready to tear his wings off, before Coach swooped in."

Joel froze mid-sniffle inside the stall, pressing the wad of damp toilet paper harder against his face. Melted snowman. The words scraped raw against his already frayed nerves.

Trevyn "Trev" Huxley, a lumbering Point known for his brute strength and lack of filter, and his wiry shadow, Kellan Moss, whose gossip fueled half the school's drama.

"Yeah, Coach is gonna give Webb and Adams a reaming," Kellan chirped, the sound of a faucet turning on. "But seriously, Trev, what is he? Like, medically? My cousin has vitiligo, but this… I've never seen skin so white."

"I dunno, Kellan," Trev grunted. Water splashed. "He looks like something that was cooked up in a lab. Alien, like Webb called him. And a queer too, prancing around in pink shoes that look like something from the Wizard of Oz." A wet snort. "Freak. They'll probably get run out of town before long. My dad says that kinda thing's unnatural."

"Your dad's old school, man," Kellan chuckled, but there was an uneasy edge. "Anyway, Coach stuck him in locker 217."

"Next to the faculty wing?" Trev's voice sharpened with disbelief. "Who the hell gets a locker by the teachers? Coins don't even rate that!"

"Exactly!" Kellan hissed, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "My sister works in admin. She told me his dad's Robert Tait. The new State university president, and his mom's some kind of big-time attorney. Serious Coin." Kellan paused for a beat. "And, she said they paid full tuition rate, and, they made a fat donation to the school, to get every window in the school tinted.

Silence. Joel could practically hear Trev processing it. Coin. He remembered, Darrel sneered the word, Zane used it like a curse. So that must be the hierarchy – Coins at the top. Privileged. Protected? Not me. Not with albinism painting a target on my back.

"President?" Trev finally breathed, awe mixed with resentment. "Explains the fancy digs. Still… alien Coin. Doesn't fit."

"Bet Hughes knows," Kellan murmured slyly. "He knows everything about the Coins. Runs with all of ‘em. Hell, he's their top dog."

"Maybe, but Hughes is different," Trev stated flatly. "Built different. Plays different. Doesn't mess around."

The faucet squeaked off. Footsteps shuffled towards the exit. "True," Kellan conceded. "Still… locker 217. Weird flex. Wonder how long before someone tests that ‘protection'."

The door swung shut. The heavy silence rushed back in, thick with the lingering scent of institutional soap and Trev's ignorant disdain. Joel slowly lowered the soggy toilet paper. Tears still streaked his cheeks, hot and humiliating, but a different heat was rising now – a sharp, jagged anger. Alien Coin. Doesn't fit. They see me as a walking contradiction. An anomaly. Something to poke until I break.

Still unnerved and trembling, Joel creeped out of the stall, ignoring his reflection in the streaked mirror – the blotchy face, the defiant pink hoodie now damp and crumpled. He splashed icy water on his face, the shock jolting him back. 'Strategy,' Coach Thompson's gravelly voice echoed in his mind. ‘Survival ain't pity.' Ugh. This place may prove to be worse than any other school I've attended. Locker 217 was sanctuary? Maybe, for now. But Trev and Kellan were right. Someone *will* test it. Zane and Darrel most likely. And probably soon.

He sniffed and took a few deep breaths to put himself back together. He let out a big sigh and whispered into the mirror, You can do this, Joel. Taking another deep breath, giving himself a much-needed pep talk. You can do this.

The bell rang, piercing the silence. Joel jumped, his heart skipping a beat. Homeroom. He adjusted his hoodie, buffed his glasses, and forced himself out of the restroom.

Sanctuary was over. Strategy began now. A new game of thrones?

~ ————— ~ ————— ~

DRAFT MANUSCRIPT — NOT FOR DISTRIBUTION

This is an uncorrected proof / work-in-progress.

Please do not quote, share, or upload this document to any website

or file-sharing platform without the author's express written permission.

Survival Rewritten

The bell's shrill scream sliced through Joel's already frayed nerves. Homeroom? A thirty-minute purgatory—where his name was sure to me mispronounced. Where the likelihood of eyes drilling into his back, whispering, curious, hostile, bored, was absolute. Alien. Coin. Freak. The labels buzzed in his skull like trapped wasps—had immediately lost its appeal.

Fuck that shit. I just can't right now. His brain screamed for a reprieve from the anguish.

He took a deep breath, then lurched into the hallway chaos, clutching his ruined backpack to his small chest—a casualty of Webb's shove, seams gaping like a wounded animal. The crowd surged around him, a river of denim and cheap cologne. Fluorescent lights, seeming brighter than ever, burned his eyes. He ducked his head, hood pulled low, and stabbed at his phone. The digital map glowed: a pulsing dot guiding him. Sanctuary? As close as I'm gonna find here. Strategy. Survive.

* * *

His footsteps echoed hollowly as he peeled away from the main current. The library wasn't a sanctuary; it was an Emergency Room, containing the life-saving medicine. Seclusion, peace and quiet. A balm for open wounds. Floor-to-ceiling oak double doors loomed ahead, heavy and silent. Joel pushed through, the sudden hush of reverence washed over him like a spiritual healing experience. He stopped. Standing frozen, silent as a church mouse while his eyes feasted. Floor-to-ceiling windows let the sunlight bathe the cavernous space—dust motes dancing in golden beams being filtered through the leaves of the giant oak tree standing sentinel just outside—that pooled on a sea of study tables and soft furniture arranged in squares and rounds with a coffee table in the center of each. A literal fortress of books. Solitude. Safety. Shelves stretched skyward—mahogany soldiers, guardians of worlds and keepers of centuries of knowledge, while offering the same, freely.

Joel breathed deep, the intoxicating air that carried his favorite scents, old paper, lemon oil, and something else… calm.

Before he could retreat further, a figure emerged from behind a leaning tower of returned books. Tall and gaunt, draped in a cardigan the color of young grass even in midsummer. Auburn hair, cropped, faded and shaggy like Joel's, framing black, thick-rimmed glasses perched on a thin nose. His eyes, not quite emerald, but still green, and startlingly sharp behind the lenses, locked onto Joel. Not scanning. Not assessing. Seeing.

"Misplaced homeroom?" The man's kind face had a gentle voice to match; low and buttery, like a late-night DJ playing R&B soft love songs. No accusation. Simply… observation.

Joel froze. His eyes wide behind his tinted lenses. His backpack shield held tight to his chest, heavy and tattered. "Uh. Yeah. Got… turned around." That was a thinly veiled lie, dry and brittle as old parchment.

The man didn't blink. His gaze drifted—lingering on Joel's wounded eyes, the tear tracks he hadn't fully scrubbed away, the tremble in his small white hands, the defiant rhinestones on his pink hoodie peeking around the edges of the torn backpack.

"Mmm," he murmured, soft as turning pages. "Homeroom's a noisy place. Overrated." He gestured vaguely towards the towering shelves. "Quiet's better. Quieter." His grass-colored cardigan whispered as he moved, drifting toward a mahogany desk piled high with books. "Locker 217?"

Joel startled. "How—?"

"You're a popular topic in the faculty lounge. For better or worse. And besides, I also have the assignment sheet." The man tapped a long finger against a stack of papers. "Faculty wing. Smart." His eyes flicked back to Joel—sharp, assessing. "Safer. For now." He paused, tilting his head. "You're Joel Tait."

It wasn't a question. Joel nodded mutely.

"Books," The man stated simply, gesturing to the fortress around them. "Armor. Better than…" He trailed off, eyes darting toward Joel's pink hoodie, then away. "...others." He shuffled behind the desk. "Need anything? Atlas of Atlantis? Guide to Grief?" His voice held no mockery—just dry, quiet certainty. "Or just… quiet?"

Joel swallowed. "Just quiet, please." he murmured.

The man nodded once. "Back corner. Near Mythology." He pointed—a slender finger slicing through dusty sunlight. "No one goes there. Too many whispers." He offered a ghost of a smile. "Ghosts like quiet too."

Joel fled deep into the stacks—past Greek tragedies, Russian epics, shelves thick with unread histories. The air grew cooler, quieter. Dust motes danced in shafts of filtered light. He found the corner the man promised—a fortress within a fortress. A cracked leather armchair slumped beside a narrow window overlooking the ancient oak tree. Sanctuary. He sank into the chair, backpack clutched like a shield, Lulu's phantom warmth a memory against his leg.

Alien. Coin. Freak. The words still buzzed, but softer here—drowned by the quiet hum of forgotten worlds. He closed his eyes. Breathed. For a long moment, the panic receded like a tide. Calm. Finally.

Then—a soft rustle. Pages? Footsteps? Joel stiffened, his eyes darted in all directions, clutching his ruined backpack tighter.

The man emerged from between two towering shelves labeled MYTHOLOGY, carrying a worn leather satchel. Without preamble, he held it out. "Yours looks worse for wear," he murmured, eyes lingering on the ripped seams. "This one's seen a few battles. Kept me safe."

Joel stared. The satchel was old—rich, dark leather scarred by ink stains and time. It looked like armor. "I... can't," he stammered. "What if I ruin—"

"Ruin?" The man snorted softly. "It survived the Odyssey of '07. Two seniors, a stolen frog dissection, and a fire drill. Your Algebra textbook won't phase it." He nudged it closer. "Consider it... inter-library loan. A temporary shield. Just for today."

Joel took it. The leather was warm. Supple. It felt alive. Friendly. It smelled faintly of pipe smoke and peppermint. He slid his battered belongings inside—the weight settling differently. Lighter. Safer. "Thank you... uhm?" he whispered.

"Mr. Elliott. Head librarian." He winked, barely noticeable, accompanied by and equally faint smile, but Joel didn't miss it.

"Thank you, Mr. Elliott. I won't forget this." Joel's soft voice cracked with emotion.

"Think nothing of it, Mr. Tait," Mr. Elliott adjusted his grassy cardigan. "Ghosts prefer sturdy containers."

Second ally found. Strategy. Find more allies. Survive.

* * *

The borrowed satchel became a shield. Joel navigated Oakland Prep's gauntlet back to his locker—head down, hood up, clutching Mr. Elliott's leather like a talisman. Trev's lumbering shadow loomed near lockers, but Joel ducked behind a cluster of cheerleaders, their sequins sparkling like distraction flares. Kellan Moss's gossipy whisper trailed him ("…alien Coin, I swear…"), but faded as Joel slipped past, nearing the faculty wing.

The faculty wing air was thick with the tang of institutional cleaner and authority. Lockers lined the wall—217 wedged beside a, now familiar, dented steel door stenciled "THOMPSON." Joel fumbled the combination: Left to 02. Right past it to 23. Left to 11. His fingers still trembling. Come on. It's a damn combination lock, not microelectronics.

On the third attempt, the lock clicked open. Sanctuary. Ugh, finally.

Inside: Just metal shelves and the faint scent of disinfectant. Joel's calculus textbook—thick as a brick—sat waiting. He swapped it for his battered fantasy novel, fingers brushing the satchel's scarred leather.

Then—a loud click of a door latch letting go. Movement. A shift in the light.

Across the hall, one door down, the door marked "ATHLETICS" swung wide. Joel's eyes slid right. No movement, only voices. One distinct, familiar. Gruff. Safe. One deep, unknown. Smooth. Hypnotic.

The voices—blended oddly perfect, like salted caramel—vibrated in the hall.

The smooth voice—rich, warm, layered like honey over gravel—carried clearly. "...told him, Coach, if he wants that rebound, he's gotta want it. Not just stand there looking pretty." Another laugh—deeper, masculine—followed. Coach Thompson's familiar rumble replied, something about "hustle" and "heart."

Joel froze, only partially hidden, trying hard to 'act natural', so as to not draw attention, he peered around from behind the narrow locker door.

Out stepped a boy.

Standing in full, glorious, view, bathed in harsh fluorescent light was… perfection.

All Joel saw was the tension in the boy's jaw, the way his broad shoulders rolled slightly as he shifted his weight.

Tall, he stood nearly eye-to-eye with Coach—maybe 6'4", his shoulders broad enough to carry worlds. Skin the rich, deep brown of mahogany, smooth and flawless. He wore green and white Oakland Prep athletic pants. A matching basketball team hoodie, unzipped, hung loosely over a crisp, form-fitting white tee. His chiseled chest and abs were clearly defined, the sleeves pushed up to reveal powerful forearms corded with lean muscle. His posture was relaxed power, one hand casually shoved in his pants pocket, the other gesturing as he spoke to Coach Thompson.

But it was his face that stopped Joel's breath.

Strong jawline, sharp cheekbones, a nose perfectly straight. Thick, dark eyebrows framing eyes that caught the light and held it—warm, intelligent, impossibly alive. They crinkled slightly at the corners as he laughed again, white teeth flashing against dark skin. His hair, close-cropped coils, topped the sharp, clean line of his fade, accentuating the elegant lines of his skull. Confidence radiated from him—not arrogance, but a deep, unshakeable certainty. Like he belonged everywhere. Like the world bent to meet him.

Seeing the boy with his impossible perfection was like staring directly at the sun. Blinding, overwhelming, and terrifyingly beautiful. His image burned permanently into Joel retinas.

Laughing students at the end of the hall grabbed his attention for a heartbeat. The boy shifted his weight, his head turning slightly in Joel's direction. His gaze—intense, focused—swept down the hall taking note of a few students at the far end, then back, low on the floor stopping short, on Joel's pink glittery shoes for a heartbeat, before traveling up to Joel's hoodie, the rhinestone "SWIFTY", to his pale face… and paused.

Their eyes locked, for a long, life-altering, second.

Those impossible eyes swam in Joel's, startled sapphires, fully visible over the rim of his tinted glasses that had slid down his paper-white button nose.

Time stopped.

The hallway noise—sneakers squeaking, loud students, locker doors banging, muffled into a dull roar. The buzzing labels vanished. Alien. Coin. Freak. The smell of teenage sweat and testosterone. Gone. All replaced by a sudden, electric silence that crackled in the stale air.

Joel's heart hammered against his ribs like a wrecking ball. Run. Hide. Look away. But his muscles locked. Those eyes—warm sultry brown flecked with gold—held him pinned.

The boy didn't look away. His lips parted slightly. His easy smile faded, replaced by an expression Joel couldn't decipher—a flicker of intense curiosity mixed with something softer, almost startled. Coach Thompson kept talking, oblivious, but the boy's focus narrowed entirely on Joel's deep sapphire blue eyes. His gaze held Joel's: a silent, electric current humming between them. Recognition? Curiosity? Something raw and unnamable. Then, quick as a flash, he masked it. Neutral. Unreadable. But Joel saw it. A crack in the perfect boy's armor.

Joel felt seen—truly seen—not as a target, not as an anomaly, but as, simply... Joel. Raw. Exposed. Trembling.

"Sam?" Coach Thompson's gravelly voice cut through the tension. "You listening, son?"

Sam blinked. A split second. Joel watched his throat work—a single, sharp swallow. Then, his mask slid back into place. That easy grin returned, lazy and brilliant. "Always, Coach. I, uh… I just spotted a unicorn." His gaze lingered on Joel—intense, curious—before snapping back to Thompson. "Where were we? Right. Rebounding like you mean it."

Coach stepped into the hall, touching Sam's arm, directing him to walk with him to the gym as they continued their conversation. He turned to follow, but not before one last glance back. A ghost of something—confusion? hunger?—in those dark eyes. Then he was gone, swallowed by the heavy doors guarding the court.

Joel turned into his locker, his head hung low, eyes closed, hands gripping the frame of the locker to steady himself. Oh... My... God... if I die right now, I'll have lived. His heart still hammering against his ribs, hands trembling, legs wobbly.

Strategy forgotten. Survival rewritten.

Unnoticed in the athletics doorway, Ricky Bird watched. Clenched fists. Eyes narrowed. Skin hot. Flushed. Radiating jealousy.

Unicorns Don't Belong Here

If I die right now... Joel clutched the locker's cold metal edges, knuckles fused in place. Sam's face burned behind his eyelids: flawless mahogany skin, gold-flecked eyes, that throat-swallow moment when their gazes locked. Looked right at me. Sam. His name is Sam. Said he spotted a unicorn. Joel's breath hitched. I'm a unicorn? He saw me. Really saw me. The realization wasn't hope—it was freefall. Love, sharp as shattered glass, lodged in his ribs like shrapnel. One wrong move and it'll slice your heart to shreds.

The hallway emptied like water swirling down a drain—lockers slamming, footsteps fading. Even Ricky vanished, swallowed by the tide-shift of first period. Silence bloomed, thick and heavy. Joel turned from his open locker. His shoulder blades rested on the cool metal of the locker stenciled with 'Thompson,' and slid down the metal door until his butt hit tile. Alone. Finally. He pressed trembling palms against his eyelids. Unicorn. Sam called me that. A rare creature. Seen. Wanted.

He traced the raised veins on his wrist, pale as moonlight. For years, he'd been glass—invisible, brittle, waiting to shatter. Now? Something hummed beneath his skin. Electric. Dangerous. Sam's gold-flecked gaze had stripped him raw, leaving not shame, but… recognition. Joel's lips curved, unbidden. A laugh escaped—a startled puff of air. He felt it. The shift. Like armor dissolving under sunlight. In the span of a few heartbeats, by just a gaze and a word, he had metamorphosed: from Albino Freak to Unicorn, from Unseen to Seen. And it terrified him more than any bully ever had. He pressed his forehead against his knees, breathing in the scent of floor wax and his own sweat. He saw me. He really saw me. The thought wasn't soft. It was a blade twisting, sweet and sharp.

Joel pressed his spine harder against the locker, relishing the sting. The silence was velvet. Heavy. Alive. He stretched his short legs across the hallway tile—two denim, pale pink, exclamations topped with bright pink, glittery points against institutional gray tiles. Unicorn. Sam's voice echoed inside his skull, low and resonant as distant thunder. Spotted a unicorn. It wasn't pity. I've seen pity. Wasn't mockery. It was… discovery. A collector finding something rare and valuable. A treasure. Joel traced the faint blue rivers under his wrist-skin. He looked right at me. Not through me. He raised his chin to the ceiling, breathing deep. My whole life I've been glass—transparent, fragile, easily ignored and easily broken. Never valued. But today, Sam called me a unicorn. Unicorns are valued. Rare and beautiful. Magical. Sam's gaze had etched him opaque. Solid. Real. He closed his eyes, replaying the gold flecks in Sam's irises, the slight hitch in his own breath when Sam paused. He lingered. The realization fizzed through him like shaken soda. Dangerous. Delicious.

Now what? What do I do? I've never been 'seen' before. I've never been a unicorn before.

The gym door creaked open. Coach Thompson emerged alone, whistling softly while wiping sweat from his brow with a towel. His whistle died mid-note when he spotted Joel: crumpled against locker 215, legs splayed like broken compass needles, Mr. Elliott's borrowed satchel spilling economics notes onto the tiles.

Coach's heavy footsteps echoed—thump-thump-thump—across the hollow silence. He crouched, smelling of pine tar and old gym socks. "Kid? You okay there?" His voice rasped like gravel under tires.

Joel lifted his head. The harsh fluorescent light caught his pale lashes, turning them prismatic. A slow, radiant smile unfolded across his face—wide and genuine, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Perfect," he breathed, the word tasting like spun sugar.

Coach blinked. "Perfect? You look like you just wrestled a grizzly bear in a U-Haul van. C'mon, get off the dirty floor." He offered a calloused hand. Joel grasped it, letting Coach haul him upright. The world tilted, then settled. "You'll have to enlighten me on your version of 'perfect'... so I can avoid it."

Joel brushed imaginary dust from his pale pink jeans. He cranked his neck back so his eyes could meet Coach's gaze, his radiant smile beaming. "He saw me. Sam. Called me a unicorn." The words tumbled out, raw and unguarded, recited like undisputed facts from the Roman era: "I'm not glass anymore. I'm something rare."

Coach Thompson froze mid-handwipe. His whistle dangled limp around his neck. "Sam? My Sam? Sam Hughes? My team captain?" His voice dropped to gravel. "Called you a unicorn?"

"Yeah." Joel's intoxicated voice and smile were full of pride. Unbridled. "A unicorn. Unicorns are treasured. Valuable, you know." Not a question. "Hughes? So, that's his last name?"

"Uhm, yeah, Hughes. Uhhh, listen, Joel… Unicorns belong in fairy tales and Vegas slot machines. Not Oakland Prep." He scanned the hallway before placing a large hand on his shoulder, grounding him. Coach leaned down to Joel's eyelevel, lowering his voice. "I really don't want to burst your blissful bubble. Believe me. And I know you think he's easy on the eyes, but... Sam's on a path paved with gold sneakers and NBA trophies. Not... uhm. You're..." He trailed off, gesturing at Joel's pink glittery shoes. "...uh, well, I'm not really sure about you just yet. I'll get back to you on that." Coach's tone took on a heavy somberness. "But I'm pretty certain your future doesn't have anything to do with Sam Hughes. Or basketball." He said, gently squeezing Joel's shoulder. "Sorry, Joel."

His words hit Joel like a gut punch, knocking the wind out of him. His chin fell. His eyes went out of focus. "I thought you were an ally," he breathed.

An awkward silence hung between them for a long moment.

Coach softly patted Joel's shoulder. His voice low and sad. "Go to class, Joel. Economics waits for no unicorn."

The fluorescent lights buzzed like angry wasps. He didn't cry. The pain was too great. He was numb. Feeling everything and nothing at the same time.

Coach disappeared into his office. The lock clicked loud in the emptiness. One final stab in Joel's heart. The hallway felt even colder. Lonely. He picked up his borrowed satchel, now a burden not a shield. The economics book inside suddenly a useless, heavy brick. With slumped shoulders, he turned toward the math wing. He'd made it barely half way to the end of the hall when the lights flickered before plunging the hallway into darkness. Joel stopped dead. Perfect. Just fucking perfect.

Strategy. Down one ally. Who gives a fuck about strategy?

Unicorns don't belong here.

~ ————— ~ ————— ~

DRAFT MANUSCRIPT — NOT FOR DISTRIBUTION

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Hall of Despair

Darkness swallowed the hallway whole. It wasn't just the absence of light; it was a physical weight, thick and suffocating like tar. Cold. Absolute. Normally his paper-white skin was easy to see in the dark, but this was not your average dark. It was cold, full of fear, and imagined danger.

Not safe. I'm a unicorn. Sam said so. God, it's so dark. He's right, I don't belong here. I don't belong anywhere.

The sudden absence of light felt like being plunged into deep icy water. The chilly water brought fear along with it. Not a fear of the darkness itself, but of what could be in the darkness.

More accurately, who.

What if Zane or Darrel know I'm down here? What if they find me?

His eyes pooled before overflowing. His body reacted reflexively, his hands gripped the strap of his messenger bag so tight his knuckles hurt.

Freaks don't belong anywhere. I can't see a damn thing! He doesn't even know me! Fuck him! I'm a fucking unicorn!

The cold, pitch blackness, was disorienting. He turned his head left, then right, forward and behind. No light to be found, save for a small red glow, that seemed too far away, and wouldn't have the strength to make the trip.

His hands involuntarily began to loosen on the strap. An uncontrollable tremble flowed like a river from the nape of his neck to his fingertips.

Oh, no. His breath quickened No, no, no, don't panic! Not now!

The trembling worsened. He shook his hands vigorously at his sides, turning his head again in all directions, praying, to nobody in particular, that a light would suddenly show him which way was out.

The fight or flight instinct was raging but he couldn't see to fight, nor flee. There was nothing to do but stay. Don't move. Be small. Small is safe.

Instinctively he began walking in small circles. Breathing. Shaking. His shoulder collided hard with metal. "Ouch!" He gasped. The clang of the locker door vibrated through his bones, louder than a gunshot in the silence. Pain shot down his arm. His breath hitched. He slid down till his butt was on the floor.

Oh, no! They're here. They're here and I can't see them.. The phantom scent of Axe body spray mixed with stale sweat invaded his nostrils. Zane's laugh echoed in the dark—that cruel, nasal whine screeched in his ears It's not real. Breathe. Just breathe. Oh, God, but what if it is real?! Breathe, Joel, breathe.

His eyes darted in every direction but he was still lost.

And then.

A soft tap echoed down the corridor. Then another. Footsteps. Slow. Measured. Not the thunderous stomp of Zane's crew. These were light—almost hesitant. Quiet. Joel pressed himself flat against the cold lockers, the metal biting through his thin hoodie. The tremors worsened. Run. Hide. But where? If there was a safe place to go, he'd already gone there. Joel drew his knees up wrapping his arms around his legs, trying to be as small as possible.

"Hello?" A voice sliced through the blackness—melodic, tentative. "Anyone there?" It wasn't Coach's gravel. Nor Zane's sneer. This voice was... younger. Softer. Feminine. Familiar.

Joel's breath hitched loudly at the sound. He froze.

Not real. Can't be real.

The footsteps paused. "Hello?" A light cut through the dark—not the harsh white of emergency lamps, but the soft blue glow of a phone screen. It swept across the tiles, side to side, illuminating scuff marks and discarded gum wrappers. It got closer and closer. Then, his glittery pink shoes sparkled, the light rose, finally landing on his face.

The light trembled. "Oh." A sharp inhale. "You are here." Surprised, but not surprised.

A girl stood only a few feet away, phone held aloft like a torch.

The light shone too bright in his sensitive eyes that, only a moment before, had strained to see through the pitch. His arm flung up in front of his face, blocking the light from his eyes.

The light carved shadows under her cheekbones, made her green eyes look like molten emeralds. She looked like a redheaded angel—only more human—more punk rocker.

Joel's throat sealed shut. Speak. Say something. Anything. But his vocal cords were stone. His hands still trembling violently. Only a squeak of fear escaped his lips.

"Joel?" The girl's voice. Calm. Soft. Safe.

Hearing his name punched through the panic. Joel lowered his arm slowly.

No, it can't be. It can't be!

The phone light angled down, painting her sneakers in soft blue relief. She wore neon-green leggings dotted with tiny black stars and fluorescent pink sneakers. Her red spikes were a wild halo in the dim glow. She took a step closer. "Did the lights freak you out?"

"Em—?" Joel managed. His voice cracked, brittle, glass shards caught in his throat. He wrapped his arms around himself, pressing deeper into the lockers. Cold seeped through his hoodie. Strategy forgotten. Survival instinct rewired: It can't be. Hallucination. Don't move. How? Be small.

Emily didn't crowd him. She crouched, setting her galaxy-print backpack on the tiles. The light pooled between them like spilled ink. "Hey, there… fashionista." Her voice full of empathy. "You okay?"

"D… dog whisperer?" Joel's mind dropped the fear like it was burned, becoming fully absorbed with shock. "But..." His voice shook along with his hands. "H... how?"

"There was a power surge," she said, "Apparently, it happens when the science nerds overload the particle accelerator in Lab 7."

"How?" His tremors eased fractionally, but he wasn't having any of her humor.

She grinned, a flash of silver bracelets jangling on her wrist. "I don't know anything about particle physics Joel, you'll have to ask them." Emily giggled as she reached into her backpack pulling out a glow stick, "Rave leftovers. Never leave home without 'em." Snap. "Here, sweetie, take this."

His shaky fingers slowly reached out, began to glow green. The plastic was cool. The glow pulsed like a heartbeat. Unicorns? Maybe not. But glow sticks? Practical. Real. Grounding. He clutched it tightly. Green light bled between his fingers and illuminated his cheeks, the green glow turning his tears into emeralds.

"No," Joel whispered, his voice gaining a fraction of strength. He looked from the glow stick to her face, his brain finally catching up to reality. "I mean... how? You go here?"

Emily tilted her head, her spikes casting long, jagged shadows. "To Oakland Prep? Yeah, unfortunately. Academic scholarship. And my dad gets a discount as a professor at the community college. Why? You think they don't let punks in the front door?"

Joel blinked. "No, I thought... I just assumed..."

"That I was a public school delinquent?" She smirked, nudging his shoe with hers. "There you go again, judging me before you know me. I thought we talked about this at the rest stop?" She reached out, tapping the "SWIFTY" rhinestones on his chest. "We're on the same cruise ship, Fashionista. Just different decks. Just like that old movie, Titanic, but you're Rose and I'm Jack.

"But how did you find me?"

"Remember?" she said, turning to wave her phone light down the hall. Emily smiled, tapping her nose. "I'm a dog whisperer. I just followed the scent of fancy cologne and panic." She held out her hand. "Come on, fashionista. Let's get you out of the dark, so you can shine like a diamond."

~ ————— ~ ————— ~

End of Chapter Three

~ ————— ~ ————— ~

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DRAFT MANUSCRIPT — NOT FOR DISTRIBUTION

This is an uncorrected proof / work-in-progress.

Please do not quote, share, or upload this document to any website

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