Steven watched Jim run to join the girls for jump roping on the playground's blacktop.  The girls (and Jim) still did that from time to time, although they seemed to do it less now that junior high seemed so close.

	The boys―most of the boys―had gathered on the field for kickball.  Steven remained apart from them.  The black and tan dog had a reputation, well earned, for playing dirty, and the others usually felt reluctant to include Steven.

	But Steven wanted the rep more than he wanted to play kickball.  Besides, there were benefits to being able to wander.  He glanced towards he girls and changed his trajectory for a clearer view; it was Jim's turn, and Steven always watched when it was Jim's turn.

	Steven could just barely hear the girls chanting as Jim jumped.  He knew the words to all of their jumping games, though he'd never tell anyone.  He said it under his breath with them: “Teddy bear, teddy bear, turn around...”  

	Jim finished without a hitch.  The black and white kitten jumped better than most of the girls.  Steven grimaced at the very thought of it.  Only when Jim took his place at turning the rope did Steven take his wandering away from the view of the girls.  

	Too soon, the bell rang and everyone started towards the doors.  Steven overtook Jim as he sprinted towards the door.  The German shepherd placed a paw on the slim cat's shoulder and shoved past.  “Out of the way, girly boy.”

	At the door, Steven glanced over his shoulder.  Jim's tail had poofed out to double in size.  The cat no longer got as upset as he used to, but even the smallest reaction satisfied Steven.

	The fun ended quickly when a heavy paw came down on the dog's shoulder.  “Finishing the school year on a low note, aren't you?” said Mr. Jones.  “Office.  Now.”

	Steven trudged towards the office.  He'd miss the movie that his teacher had planned to waste the afternoon with.  But he wouldn't see Jim all summer long, and that last contact had to carry him all through the summer.  That mattered more to him than even the risk of summertime grounding.

	
	“Not that shirt, Steven,” said his mother.  “You want to make a good impression on the first day of school, don't you?  Pick something nicer.”
	
	On the walk back to his room, Steven passed by Dewey.  His older brother slugged his shoulder.  “Yeah, pick something real pretty, gaywad.”

	Steven tried, but couldn't quite bite back his pained whimper.  Dewey hit [i]hard[/i].  “Quit it.”

	Mom raised her voice above the bacon she was frying for breakfast.  “Dewey, leave your brother alone.”

	“Aw, leave them be,” said Dad as he stole a piece of crisp meat from the growing pile.  “It'll toughen him up.  Maybe then he won't get cut from the football team like he did this year.”  

	Dewey hit Steven's other arm when he came back wearing a nicer shirt.  “That's for getting me in trouble with Mom, runt,” he hissed, soft enough to prevent either parent from hearing.

	Not that they'd have heard, anyways.  They were arguing about whether or not Mom coddled Steven too much.  But the pup knew where Dad stood on that, so he tuned it out and settled into a breakfast that was pleasant save for several kicks under the table from Dewey.  Only after Dad left for work and Dewey for the high school did he relax, though.  Dad kept pushing Steven towards sports like his brothers, and Dewey was...Dewey.

	When it came time for his turn to leave, Steven went upstairs instead of towards the door.

	“Where are you going, honey?” called Mom.

	“Be right back, forgot a folder.”  Steven closed his bedroom door behind himself and went to his closet.  There, he rummaged around in the pile of junk until he retrieved a battered old teddy bear.  The pup gave the toy a little squeeze.  “Wish me luck, Foo Bear,” he whispered.  

	Foo said nothing, of course, but Steven felt some of his first day jitters subside.  He stroked the toy's faded brown fur, then returned it to the bottom of the junk pile.  He felt relieved that Dewey hadn't ferreted out the stuffed bear's hiding place over the summer.  Only bullying Jim made Steven feel better than Foo could, and it'd been a long summer without the cat around.

	Steven took a deep breath and hurried downstairs again.  He felt ready to face junior high now.  He knew it'd be a good year.


	“What was it you called James, Steven?” asked Mr. Jones.

	Steven stared wide-eyed at the wolf, too shocked to answer.  It wasn't fair.  Teachers weren't supposed to get promoted to junior high with their students!  

	“I'm waiting,” growled the new vice-principal.

	“Gaywad,” mumbled Steven.

	“What did you call me?”

	“No!  That's what I called him.”

	“Do you even know what a gaywad is?”  

	“Um.  No, sir,” said Steven.  Embarrassment burned in his ears when he admitted his ignorance..

	Mr. Jones shook his head and peered at the pup over his glasses.  “Leaving that aside, you also shoved James.  ”  The wolf's voice rose.  “Why can't you leave that poor cat alone?  The first bell of the year hasn't even rung.  This is a record, even for you.”

	A sullen silence settled over Steven, with a set to his jaw that promised he'd never tell.

	“Maybe I better arrange a parent-teacher meeting now, before we get further into the school year―”

	Steven's eyes widened  “No!”  Getting cut from football had made things strained enough between his father and himself.  He couldn't risk making his dad angrier.

	Mr. Jones looked at Steven with no hint of sympathy in his face.  “I wasn't aware you had a say in this.”

	In the hall the bell rang.  Steven glanced at the door, then back at Mr. Jones, eyes pleading.

	The wolf sighed.  “I'm not about to make you miss the first class of school.  Get out of here.”

	Saved!  Steven scrambled to his feet.  He wanted out of there.

	Mr. Jones cleared his throat, bringing the pup to a halt.  “Don't think this is over.  I'm watching you.  If I catch you harassing James, I'll push for a suspension.”

	“Yessir.”  Steven nodded once, and ran for class.


	The last month had sucked.

	Every time Steven thought he had a chance to bother Jim, he found Mr. Jones nearby, watching and waiting for the dog to mess up.  He couldn't get a break.

	He [i]needed[/i] that break.  Things had gotten tense at home.  Dad insisted on going to the junior varsity football games, even if Steven hadn't made the team.  Dad usually stressed that last part.

	He couldn't even use gym class as an excuse to let out some of his frustrations.  Junior high gym class had much less dodgeball, and worse, soccer had given way to ballroom dancing, to (nearly) everyone's dismay.

	Paired-off students shuffled awkwardly in the gym, while Steven trod on the toes of the girl he'd been stuck with.  But his attention focused over her shoulder, where Jim seemed to be the only boy in class enjoying the lesson in the cha-cha.

	Steven's partner pushed away.  “You suck at dancing.  I'm going to limp all day, thanks to you.”

	“Good job,” said Ms. Strickland, the girls' gym teacher.  “You're a natural, Jim!”
	
	Jim giggled.  “Actually, I learned this before, at dance lessons.”

	That admission brought snickers from plenty of the other boys, and a few of the girls.  Steven thought it served Jim right for revealing that he took dance―and what boy giggled, anyways?  What Steven couldn't understand is how Jim never seemed to notice the reactions of the other students.

	Steven decided at that moment that he'd had enough―of dancing, of Jim, of controlling himself.  He'd show Jim what happened to boys that acted so different.

	The bell rang.  Boys and girls headed for their respective locker rooms to collect backpacks.  Steven lingered behind long enough to be reasonably sure he'd be able to corner Jim alone.

	As Steven predicted, most of the boys had fled the scene of ballroom torture quickly, but it was clear that someone had stayed behind.  Voices echoed off the tile floors and walls when he entered the locker room.  “...play smear the queer,” were the words he caught.

	He heard a dull thump and then the slap of pawpads on tile as someone hit the ground, hard.    It came from the shower room.  Steven crept over there and peeked around the corner. 

	A bear cub stood near one corner.  Steven recognized the bear―Paul, he remembered―from football tryouts.  Paul had nothing but muscles, while Steven still had traces of puppyfat on his belly.  He acted more fierce than Steven ever had.  He'd actually made the football team.

	And at the bear's feet slumped Jim on paws and knees, bloody nose staining his white muzzle.  

	The bear turned and saw Steven.  “We're busy.  Go away.”

	A growl built up in the German shepherd's throat.  Someone had gotten to Jim first―and worse, had hurt the cat badly.  Steven had called Jim names, pushed him, punched a shoulder now and then, but never gone so far.  

	Even though he'd intended to bother Jim himself, Steven found himself feeling angry.  How [i]dare[/i] Paul, thought Steven.  Only he could bully Jim!  He charged forward.

	No rational thought reached Steven until he was hauled off the bear by Mr. Breckinridge's strong paws.  The bulldog gym teacher dragged Steven off to Mr. Jones' office with ease.

	When Mr. Jones met with the three boys moments later, his growl put Steven's recent one to shame.  “Who started this?”

	Paul pointed at Steven.

	Steven shook his head, bloody-knuckled paws held up in a defensive position, ears flat and tail tucked low.  “It wasn't me!”

	But Mr. Jones had stopped listening.  “Look at Jimmy's face!  You'll be lucky to get a suspension.”

	Jim cleared his throat.  “Mr. Jones?”

	“What?” snapped Mr. Jones.  When the administrator realized that it was the victim who'd spoken, he lowered his voice. “What is it, James?”

	“He's lying.”  Jim took away the damp cloth on his nose and pointed at the bear cub.  “Steven stopped him from hurting me more.”

	Mr. Jones frowned, looked at Steven with confusion plain on his face, then back at Jim.  “Really?” 

	Jim nodded.  “Yeah.”

	Mr. Jones stood up.  “You, and you.”  He pointed at Steven and the bear.  “Out.”

	After several minutes alone with Jim, Mr. Jones came out of his office with the cat in tow.  “Steven, James, get to class.”  He sounded only half-believing, still.  “My secretary will write you a pass.”  He jerked a thumb towards his office when his stare fell on the bear cub, and his voice grew deathly soft.  “You.  Back in here.”

	Even far down the hall, Steven could hear Mr. Jones' yelling.  It made him shiver in its ferocity.  He'd been close―too close―to suspension.  “Thanks,” he mumbled.

	Jim glanced over at him, still holding a bloody compress to his nose.  “Thanks for helping me, too.”  Despite his injury, the cat smiled at Steven.

	The dog looked away from Jim.  When the cat smiled for Steven, it felt as good―maybe better―than when bullying Jim got a reaction.  Steven tried to think of something to say, but new and confusing realizations made it tough to put anything into words.
	
	Then they were at the classrooms and out of time to talk.


	Mrs. Perez held out the box, filled with slips of folded paper, for Steven to pick.  Half the class wrote down their names.  The other half drew names from the box.  That's how Mrs. Perez picked partners.

	Steven hated picking, but at least it made it easier to get a partner.  Word had gotten around about what he'd done for Jim, but that hadn't made him any friends.  He'd always had trouble getting picked for group projects.

	When it came to be his turn, Steven plucked a paper from the box and unfolded it.  He glanced at his partner, then away again, an instant of panic apparent in the flat lay of his ears.

	When it came time to meet with his partner, Steven stood and shuffled through the crowd of students and took a seat beside Jim.  “We're partners.”

	“I'd kinda guessed that.”
	
	Across the room, Mrs. Perez visited each pair for a second round of drawings, this time for report topics.  Steven watched the teacher instead of Jim. He'd managed, for the last few weeks, to avoid Jim.  He didn't want to make the cat think he wanted to be friends, and couldn't seem to work up the urge to bully him anymore.

	“We should meet this weekend to work on this, get started early,” said Jim.  “I want a good grade.”

	Steven gripped the edge of his desk as if trying to snap it in half.  There was that flare of anger that he used to be so familiar with.  “I'm not stupid, you know.  I'll work hard.”  He was used to people assuming he wasn't bright because he acted like a bully, but he kept his grades up.  “We can't meet at my house.”  If Dewey met Jim, both the cat and pup would be teased for sure.  He couldn't risk that.

	“I didn't say you were.”  Tom shrugged.  “We can meet at mine.”

	Mrs. Perez's arrival interrupted Steven's reply.  “Steven, you drew your partner, so James gets to pick your topic.”  She gave the box a little shake.  “Go ahead.”

	Jim's paw dipped into the box.


	Steven stomped up the driveway to Jim's front door.  He dreaded coming here.  How could Jim have drawn the [i]reproductive[/i] system, of all topics?  Humiliation was one oral presentation away.  He just hoped he got through the afternoon without much more stress than he felt already.  
	
	A pretty calico woman answered the doorbell.  “You must be Steven.   James!  Your friend is here!"  She smiled at the dog.  "Would you like some juice or a soda?”

	Steven winced mid-wave to his mother's departing car.  Jim's mother had called him Jim's friend with no trace of irony in her voice, and that shamed him more than any reprimand ever had.  “Um, no thanks.  Just had lunch.”

	Jim came down the stairs then.  “Hey.  Come on.  We'll work in my room.”

	Steven trudged after the cat's black-tipped tail with all the enthusiasm of the condemned.

	Jim pushed open a door.  “This is my room.”

	Steven sucked in air sharply, surprised.  It wasn't that Jim's room looked as neat and finicky as Jim himself did.  It was.  Nothing seemed much different from Steven's own room.

	Except, perhaps, what caught Steven's eye―the pile of stuffed animals in the corner.  He definitely couldn't have [i]those[/i] in his own bedroom; he'd been lucky to hide Foo Bear for so long.  He felt a stab of―not annoyance, but something more complicated than he understood.

	Jim glanced at Steven.  “What's the matter?”

	“Nothing.  Let's get started.”  

	Jim shrugged.  “Okay, whatever.  Anyways, I took some notes from the book.  We can finish those.  But I checked the library for the other two sources we need and they were out...” He trailed off as Steven opened his bookbag and took out a stack of battered library books.

	“Got 'em,” said Steven.

	“Guess that's why they were out.”  Jim pursed his lips, then shook his head.  

	Steven glared at Jim.  “Let's just get this done.”  After a moment's indecision about where to sit, he chose to keep his face on Jim and his back to the plushies he so longed to examine.  

	Jim moved his health textbook and stack of index cards to the floor, slid some notes over towards Steven.  “Here's what I have so far.”

	Steven glanced at the top few index cards, then tossed the stack in the cat's direction.  “I already took notes on all that.”

	Jim's brow furrowed.  “I didn't know you already took notes.”

	Steven scrubbed his paws over his eyes.  “Take one of the library books or something.”  He got his own notes out.  “We'll finish quicker if we're not doing the same work twice.”

	Jim's tail twitched.  “Sorry.”  He took one of Steven's library books.  “I'll take notes from this, then, if that's okay.”  

	“S'fine.”  Inwardly, Steven winced.  He'd sounded much harsher than he intended to.

	The two settled down and worked for a little while.  Steven relaxed.  Things might go okay, after all.
	
	Then Jim stood, long enough to grab a stuffed bunny from his pile.  The cat cuddled it to his chest as he sprawled once again on the floor, using the toy like a pillow.

	Steven tried not to pay attention, but soon his glances over at Jim became the focus of his attention, not his notes on canine reproductive systems.  

	Despite Steven's best efforts, Jim eventually noticed that the dog's attention had become diverted.  “What's the matter?”
	
	“Nothing.”  Steven made a show of shuffling through the notes he'd taken so far.  “Aren't you too old for stuffed animals?”

	“No,” said Jim, voice frosty.  

	Steven lifted his book high enough to block Jim from his sight and tried to study.  “Kitten stuff,” he murmured, trying to cover up his embarrassment at being caught staring.

	Jim sat up and cradled the plush rabbit in his lap.  “What's your problem?”

	“Nothing.”  

	“No, it's not nothing.”  Jim frowned, and his tail began to lash.  “I don't get it.  Most of the time you're just a jerk, but then you helped me, and...”  The cat trailed off, then started again.  “Why do you hate me?”

	Steven flattened his ears and shook his head, but couldn't bring himself to tell the whole truth of things. 

	“Really.  You're the only one who's like that around me―well, the only one now that Paul got expelled.  Everyone just thinks you're a bully.”

	“Good,” said Steven.  “Then they know I'm tough.”

	“And that's good?”

	Steven growled.  “Of course it is!  I have to be tough.  That's how it is when you're a big dog like me.”  He hunched his shoulders.  “You don't get it.  You're small and skinny and get to do whatever you want.”

	Jim's ears swiveled towards Steven.  “Get to?”

	“How do you think I'd look jumping rope, or taking dance lessons, or...or hugging a stuffed animal like you?”  Steven sneered.  “They'd laugh harder at me than they do at you.”

	“No way.  Anyways, you're not that big for a shepherd.  You'd look fine.”

	Steven winced.  His brothers―Dewey especially, made a point of calling him a runt.  He hated that.  “Gee, thanks.”  He threw his book down on the floor in exasperation.

	A call floated up from another part of the house: “Everything okay, boys?”  Jim's mom, voice faint.

	“We're fine,” shouted Jim to his door.

	The two furs glared at each other, ears set back.  “I think you're jealous,” said Jim, after a moment's silence.

	“Shut [i]up[/i].”  Steven shifted, turned his back so he didn't have to look at Jim.  He concentrated on keeping his ears upright while he picked up his book and pretended to read.  The leaden feeling in his gut, though, occupied most of his attention.  Jim had cut too close to the truth.

	Behind him came a rustle of papers, a scuffling on the carpet―and then a soft touch on the shoulder.  

	The dog turned his head quickly―but the paw on his shoulder was made of fabric.  

	Jim made the plush bunny wave.  The cat had a slight smile on his face.  “Sorry.  I didn't mean to make you mad.  I wasn't teasing, honest."

	Steven blinked, his thoughts forgotten at the sudden intrusion of Jim into his personal space.  He brushed at his shoulder as if the toy were an annoying fly.  “You didn't―I wasn't―will you quit it with the bunny?”

	Jim used the other paw to tilt the bunny's head quizzically.  “Nope.” He giggled.

	“We've should work--”  Steven tried to scowl, but he felt off-balance emotionally, and the cat continued to fluster him.  The scowl faltered.  “Stop it,” he said, before he, too, dissolved into laughter.  He tried to push the toy away again, but twisted a little too far and reached a little too far back.  He knocked both Jim and the toy down, dog sprawled on top of cat.

	Both boys stopped laughing.

	In the silence, Steven could hear the steady tempo of Jim's heartbeat against his cheek.  Why was it beating so fast.  Why was his?

	Steven closed his eyes, inhaled once, slowly.  Jim smelled warm and clean.  He hadn't known it would be like that.  People in his family, except his mother, rarely touched unless it was to roughhouse or fight.  The contact felt new, and not at all bad.  

	A paw on Steven's arm―flesh and blood, this time―brought him back to the here and now.  He jerked upright.  “Sorry, mumbled the dog.

	Jim nodded.  “Yeah.”  The cat moved, but not very far.  “Hey.  Catch.”

	Steven caught the stuffed bunny when it rebounded off his head.  He cradled it like a receiver with a touchdown pass.  “What the hell?”

	Jim hissed sharply.  “Don't!  My mom can hear swears from like, a mile off.”

	“Sorry,” Steven said, quieter.  He looked at the plush rabbit.  Part of him wanted to tear at it, reject it, ruin it like Dewey would if he ever found Foo Bear at his own home.  It'd be sure to keep Jim from being so damned [i]nice[/i] to him.  But he suspected it'd hurt himself more than it would hurt Jim, somehow.  Some things he just couldn't do.

	Out of the corner of his eye, Steven could see Jim, watching with a placid, unblinking expression.  What did the cat want from him?  He held the toy out to Jim, though that, too, hurt in a way.  “You should take this back.”  The doorknob turned, and Steven dropped the bunny.

	“Thought you might want some snacks,” said Jim's mother.  She held a tray with two glasses of milk and a pile of cookies.  Her gaze swept across both boys.  “Everything okay?”

	“Yeah, Mom,” said Jim.  He gave Steven a look that said, “I told you so,” before he stood and took the tray.  “We've got lots to do, so we'll study while we eat.”

	Snack time brought Steven a brief respite from what had turned into a strange afternoon with Jim.  The sweet treat seemed provided welcome distraction.

	Crumbs wiped away, Steven reached for his notes.  He eyed the stuffed rabbit, which lay where Steven had left it, halfway between the two boys.

	“Why don't you hold it?” asked Jim, when he noticed where Steven's gaze went.

	“Because I'd look stupid with it,” said Steven.

	“I don't think you would.”

	“Who cares what you think?”  Steve scowled. 

	“You do, or you wouldn't get mad like you are.”

	Steven turned away from Jim.  “I can't act like you do.  I don't even know how you do it.  People think you're gay,” he said.

	“So what if I am?” said Jim.

	Steven's ears flattened.  “What?”

	“I know that I'm gay,” said the cat.  “Why would I be mad?  They're right.”

	Steven recoiled as if he'd been slapped.  “You really don't care, do you?”  He turned and peered at Jim, unbelieving.  

	But Jim sat there, placid, maybe even a little defiant.  

	Steven looked down at his paws, clenched them until his clawtips poked hard against his palmpads.  “I don't get it.  My dad called me gay once.  He caught me watching gymnastics over the summer.  I cried so hard he actually apologized.”

	“I'm sorry,” said Jim.   “That doesn't sound very nice.”

	“Don't you hate it?” asked Steven.  “How do you even know you're gay?”

	“I guess it's just something I know, deep down,” said Jim.  He shrugged.  “I don't hate it, though.  I like being me.”

	“Well, I don't!”  When he saw the wide-eyed expression on Jim's face, Steven softened his voice.  “Not―I didn't mean you.”

	Jim leaned forward, his expression earnest and curious.  “Um.  Are you saying you're gay?”

	Steven closed his eyes.  He took a deep breath.  “I don't know.”

	“Would it be bad if you were?”

	“Yes!  I made fun of you for it.  Used to.  Why wouldn't everyone do the same to me?”

	“I wouldn't.  Not ever.”  Jim reached out and punctuated his words with two firm pokes on Steven's shoulder.  

	Steven snorted, shifted his shoulders slightly.  “I'd deserve it most from you.”

	“I don't like bullying.”  Jim kept his voice quiet, but set his jaw firm and sure.

	“Yeah.  Sorta figured.”  Steven dropped his gaze to the floor, embarrassed.  "I'm sorry about that."  He swallowed, and couldn't think of anything more to say than that.

	Jim broke the moments of uncomfortable silence that followed.  “What would be different if you were gay, anyways?”  

	“Just...stuff.”  If he hadn't been sitting down, Steven's tail would have tucked between his legs, just thinking about what it would be like to tell anyone that he was gay.  As it was, his tail pressed lifelessly against the floor.  "I don't get why you're not so scared about it."

	“I get scared sometimes.  Doesn't everyone?”

	“You're kind of brave.”  Steven shook his head.  “Really brave, actually.   That's the opposite of scared.”

	Jim laughed.  “I don't think you can be brave without being scared.”  The cat slid a little closer to Steven as he talked.  “Pretend for a second that you're definitely gay.  What would you do?”

	Steven glanced at Jim, then back at the floor.  He swallowed.  He felt afraid, but thought that maybe he [i]could[/i] be brave.  In a pretend sort of fashion, of course.  He closed the gap on the floor between himself and Jim, then reclined so his head rested against the cat's chest, just like before.  “I guess I'd do something like this.”  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jim's tail fluff out, just like when he used to tease the cat.  He smiled.

	Before Steven could get back up, though, Jim's arms slid over the dog's shoulders, supporting the dog where he lay.  The cat giggled softly.  “What's so bad about this?”

	Nothing.  Nothing at all, said a voice in Steven's head.  That voice managed to drown out the other one vying for attention, the voice that told him to tuck tail and run out of there.  A shiver ran along the dog's spine, fear and comfort mingled into one sensation.  He shifted just enough to look up at Jim, albeit upside-down.  “It's kind of nice, actually.”

	Jim splayed his fingers across Steven's chest, rubbed tentatively, then firmer.  “Still scared?”

	Steven relaxed underneath the cat's touch.  He reached up and touched the back of Jim's paw, stroking the soft, smooth fur there.  It felt more than nice.  It felt right.  “A little.  But I think I'll be okay.”  Then it grew quiet, save for Jim's low purr and the slow thump of Steven's tail against the floor.