Line Dive

Moths fluttered around the overhead stadium lighting, the outdated mercury vapor lights radiating an unnerving hum. Much like the lights, a mutual buzz of energy and an isolated, restless chatter made its way throughout the crowd. A handful of lightbulbs that once illuminated on the scoreboard had been long shattered, after a few too many dingers and fly balls. Despite their lack of appearance, the score of "3-0" was still readable. More concerning, however, was the information being displayed just below the score. With only the runs being deemed important enough to be displayed with electric lights, the rest of the line score was instead displayed with the use of hung, wooden signage. Hits, errors, and walks were both currently marked as zero. Being late into the seventh inning, the jaguar on the pitching mound was only a few innings closer to pulling off the elusive feat of throwing a no-hitter.

Mandy scraped her cleats against a partially buried piece of lumber to chisel away at the buildup of soil that clung to her spikes. If one were to watch the jaguar for an extended amount during one of the game she'd be starting, it wouldn't be long for them to pick up the feline's rituals. After every batter, she'd stomp on the piece of wood that was used in lieu of a proper cleat cleaner. Between each pitch, the girl would pull off her glove, place it between her legs, and wipe off both hands on her uniform, before picking up the rosin bag and kneading it with her hands. As she plucked at the fraying strands that poked up from the pieces of gaffers tape that kept the well used bag intact, the jaguar did her best to not look over at the scoreboard. She felt confident in her abilities, but didn't need the scoreless opposition bearing down on her. For the countless time this game, she propped the heel of her right foot against the slab of rubber on the center of the mound, reading herself to hurl another sinker down home plate.

"I swear to god, if she actually throws a no-hi-"

"Shut up! Don't jinx her!" a teammate shushes, eyes glued on the performance.

Cocking her arm back and throwing her leg forward, the jaguar fires another pitch with a satisfying grace. The baseball rapidly spins and cuts through the air, all four seams of the stitches visible for a fraction of a second, before snapping into the awaiting glove of the catcher.

A perfect fastball.

The umpire turns to the side and forms a fist, punching it halfway into the air, punctuating with a loud, unintelligible grunt.

"Two strikes, one ball." Mandy exhales, keeping count for herself.

Nearly everyone in the dugout stood against the fence, some with their arms crossed with their chins flat against them, while others craned on their tiptoes as if it would help them see any better. With the dugout being level with the ground and not actually dug out, the team had a perfect view at all time. The trio of benches behind them sat empty, only a few empty cups of a sports drink taking up room, their unused bats kept upright on the fence. The coach remained in place at the tail-end of the dugout, arms crossed in front of herself. As another pitch was delivered, the umpire remained motionless, Mandy disappointed with her throw.

"Two strikes, two balls." she growled, catching the ball as it was thrown back to her.

In her clutched hand, the lynx's thumb the hand tally in her palm, turning the dial to now read "66". The silvery eyes of the coach took a quick look at the tally, double checking if her mental tally was correct. Sixty-six pitches into the top half of seven innings wasn't bad by any means. Ms. Holt should have pulled the girl by now, so she didn't wear out her arm, but she couldn't forgive herself if she relieved the jaguar now. Her lips briefly pursed as a sunflower kernel was expelled with a short and quick puff of her cheeks, one side still full of reserves. The dexterous tongue shifted another seed over between her molars, quietly splitting it in two. With her incisors, she separated the kernel, scooping the seed free, before sending another shell flying over the railing of the dugout to join the others. Momentarily, she pried her eyes from the field to look over her shoulder at the audience. Seeing as it was a Saturday night with a wonderfully warm temperature and clear sky, it was no surprise to see the bleachers packed with attendees. Normally, it was the boy's team that got all the attention, but a lengthy winning streak by the girl's was enough to shift the focus.

The catcher adjusted her face mask and tossed the ball back to Mandy, who snatched it from the air.

"Full count." the jaguar informed herself, finding herself clamping her teeth down over the tattered webbing of her glove as she decided on what to throw next.

The dried and cracked leather gave way to her pointed teeth as her grip tightened. The antelope that stood at home plate had a knack for judging everything she threw. So far, she hadn't been caught swinging at anything that wasn't close to coming into the strike zone.

"Time!" the badger standing behind the batter called.

As the umpire signaled for the pause, the catcher pulled up her protective mask and jogged up to the mound. The two of them put their gloves in front of their mouths, shielding their lips from any prying eyes.

"She isn't going for shit!" the jaguar hissed in frustration, her hunched back and posture exposing her anger to those who watched the meeting.

"I know. She has to have been watching you all game when she wasn't at bat. Only thing that she's swinging for so far are your fastballs and she only fouled one of them." the catcher replies, standing close to the feline.

"What're you thinking, then? She might blast one if I throw another and fuck up my streak." she asks, still nervously gnawing on the leather of her glove.

The badger thinks it over, before giving her suggestion.

"Has to be a changeup. Gotta throw down the plate and see if she chases it. If it looks anything like your heater, she'll go for it. I've seen her. She's stubborn, but won't go down looking, unless you throw it in the dirt." the catcher formulates.

Figuring it to be the safest option, the jaguar sighs and nods her head. As the girl turns and jogs back to her position behind the plate, Mandy once again pauses to wipe her hands clean. With the dirt from the ball and the stickiness of the resin, it didn't take much for her to feel the need. The deep burgundy of her uniform managed to hide the stains well enough, though the gray pinstripes outlines were more stubborn. The jaguar retrieves the rosin bag, giving it a toss and rub with her hands, ensuring she'd have proper control over the more unusual throwing style. With the baseball concealed in the beat up mitt, she positioned the ball between her first two fingers. It was essentially the same as her fastball, but with an odd and nearly painful placement of the ball in her hand. With the catcher back in place, the empire called for the game to resume. Ms. Holt and the rest of the team shared a mutual silence, unknowingly holding a breath for a time they couldn't quite place, not daring to utter a word as Mandy wound up to throwing the final pitch.

Her rotator cuff singed with exhaustion, but the jaguar was determined to fight through it. She wasn't used to throwing this many pitches, but this was a rare scenario she had found herself in. Spinning the ball around between her fingers with her thumb, her eyes watched the badger's fingers. The fluorescent green tape around the tips of her dark, furry fingers made it much easier to interpret her signs. After calling for the changeup, Mandy confirms with a nod of her head, falling back into her stance as she prepared for the pitch. With the rooted touch of the pitching rubber and one final breath, she stretched her arm back, springing her left leg forward and down the mound as she fired off the fateful pitch. The scuffed baseball was delivered with a frightening speed, closing the gap between the players in a blink of an eye. The gloves of the batter tightened around the rubberized grip of the baseball bat, her back twisting as the opposing player swung. In the matter of a heartbeat and the joined anticipation of the gathered crowd, she felt the solid collision of the tip of her bat and the soft, yet, resilient cork of the stitched ball. In the time it took for the crack of the bat to register in the restless ears of those who watched, the ball was on an unexpected trajectory. With little time to react, the baseball was returned to the pitcher, rapidly building up speed from the powerful swing, until what faint window of time to avoid it had diminished.

The crowd let out a collective gasp, some even underlining the reaction with a few frightening screams as the baseball slammed into the jaguar's head. In the instant it happened, Ms. Holt, along with everyone else, was only able to make out the sight of the ball hitting Mandy in the head, the baseball cap being flung from the jaguar's head as the ball ricocheted off her forehead to bounce high into the air. The girl protectively put her arms up in front of herself, but not in time to stop the impact as she fell backwards, landing on her back in a crumpled heap with her spotted arms crossed in front of her face. Followed by her team, the lynx burst from the dugout, sprinting towards her student, while spitting out her mouthful of sunflower seeds to the side. Dropping to her knees, Ms. Holt lands beside the jaguar, fearing the worst.

"Stay down and don't move." she instructs in a firm tone, not wanting to yell and stir up even more of a panic.

The jaguar remained motionless, aside from the tremors that overtook her body.

"Move your arms. Let me see." the lynx commands, kneeling to her side.

Mandy only folds her arms tighter against her face, tail coiled up under herself.

"Let me see!" Ms. Holt eventually barks, grabbing hold of her forearms to carefully persuade them to move from her head.

The antelope stood frozen at home plate, wanting to approach and frantically apologize, but feared retaliation from the home team. As he moved to check on the pitcher, the umpire instructs the girl to head to first base, finally getting her to move.

"I need to see if you're okay!" the lynx found herself demanding, reluctant to wrestle the feline's arms away in fear of aggravating a possible injury.

The girl whimpered and allowed an arm to be pulled away, the other quickly following suit. Ms. Holt snapped her head down to examine her, thankfully seeing a lack of any crimson.

"You're not bleeding. Keep your head still." she states, cupping her palms over her cheeks to keep her looking straight ahead.

Gingerly brushing a hand through the girl's hair, she didn't feel any kind of wetness, aside from the expected built up sweat. A closer examination revealed a small knot that had started to form above her hairline. Spying the discarded article, the coach spotted the baseball cap that had been knocked off, the brim bent and folded.

"What's your name?" the lynx asks, reaching into the pockets of her track pants.

"M-Mandy." she replies with a shaky tone.

"What's today's date?"

"Uh, it's Saturday. April eighteenth, I think." the jaguar answers.

"See if you can remember these words for me, okay? Physics, wood, sky, orange. Now, repeat them back to me." the lynx instructs, pulling out a penlight.

"Physics, wood, sky, orange. Do I look okay?" Mandy whines, stiff as a board.

"You look fine. Just do what I say, okay? Look straight ahead and try not to blink." the coach asks, clicking on the light.

She lowers her head and shines the moderately bright light into the jaguar's brilliantly yellow eyes. The first pupil begins to tighten and shrink as it was hit by the beam. Slowly, the light was moved to the second, seeing the pupil react in the same way.

"Does that hurt?"

"A little."

Repeating the test a few more times, Ms. Holt was satisfied with the results, clicking off the penlight.

"Follow my finger." she says, raising her arm and extending her finger.

Nodding, the jaguar's eyes blinked a few times, clearing the spots that now tarnished her vision, after the light was shone into them. Afterwards, they smoothly followed the lynx's digit, tracking it's unpredictable trail.

"Repeat those words I told you to memorize." she asks, continuing her tests.

"Physics, wood, sky, orange." Mandy parrots, feeling more relaxed as time passed.

"Good. Think you can stand?" Ms. Holt inquires, moving off her knees to instead squat.

"Yeah. I'm okay." she nods, removing her mitt to push herself off the infield, dusting herself off.

Once she rose on her own accord, the crowd gave a relieved applause, thankful she hadn't been seriously harmed.

"Stand on your left foot." the coach adds, once she had risen.

No longer feeling dazed, Mandy lifted her right leg, her posture steady and unwavering. Satisfied, the lynx walks over and picks up the feline's lost cap.

"Looks like the brim took most of the impact." she notes, passing the damaged hat back to the owner.

"Can I keep going now? I'm fine and I have a game to finish." the jaguar restlessly asks, picking her glove back up and sliding it over her non-dominant hand.

"You know I'd let you, if I could." Ms. Holt sighs, gesturing for her to follow her back to the dugout.

"No way! I have to play! I have a no-no going!" Mandy begs, unwilling to back down now.

"You did." the lynx frowns.

Looking down at her feet, the jaguar soon realizes the live ball sitting in a patch of uneven turf. In the heat of the moment, it never occurred to her that she'd actually given up a hit.

"I'm sorry, but I have to pull you. I can't let you play, after taking a hit like that. I wish I could let you finish, but rules are rules." Ms. Holt continues, feeling a tinge of guilt of having to remove her when she was having such a phenomenal performance.

Shaking her head, the dejected feline silently follows, anger bubbling up inside of her of giving up a perfect game. Still standing on first, the antelope avoids looking over at any of them, awkwardly waiting for the next batter.

"Jenny, go warm up. You can go for a few innings and Phoebe will close us out." Ms. Holt says as they file back into the dugout, picking up her clipboard to make the adjustments.

Mandy mostly ignores the second wave of cheers from the crowd as she disappears into the dugout, receiving a number of empathetic pats of the back and words of encouragement from her teammates. After passing on the news to the umpire, the lynx steps back into the dugout. Frustrated, the jaguar sweeps her leg at a line of baseball bats against the fence, flinging them across the ground, which loudly clatter against the concrete.

"C'mon, we're going to the locker room." the coach demands, dropping her clipboard on the bench, after adjusting the new lineup.

Ignoring the stares of her teammates, the jaguar sulks and walks out of the dugout and through the gated fence. Leaving last minute instructions to the team, the lynx quickly catches up and follows behind. The two of them walk in silence as they head up the short staircase away from the baseball field, soon approaching the twin buildings. A pair of generic concrete structures sat away from the stands, one labeled for the visitors, while the other held a plaque and coat of arms of the high school. Mandy pushed open the heavy door in a huff, entering the air conditioned locker room, pulling off her now mangled hat and throwing it against a set of lockers.

"Would you rather miss a game or the entire season?" the lynx speaks, breaking their silence.

Unresponsive, the jaguar continues to walk, tripping over a duffel bag that one of her careless classmates had left on the ground. The coach takes notice of the stumble and feels the need to repeat her questions to be on the safe side.

"Can you repeat those words to me again?" she asks one final time, certainly unsurprised by the fiery response.

"Physics, wood, sky, and orange! I don't have a fucking concussion, alright!" the jaguar snaps, struggling to accurately dial into her combination lock with her fingers trembling in an understandable anger.

Unphased, the lynx shuts the door behind them and approaches her student.

"Mandy..." she calmly starts.

Usually, such backtalk was a guaranteed way to earn a vicious and unrelenting bellowing by the frenzied instructor at any student who dared to disrespect her like that.

"Look at me." the lynx quietly asks, her tone remaining gentle, but persistent.

The jaguar shakes her head, which now hung down as she gave up on opening her locker.

"It's just us in here. Turn around." she continues, now standing behind the feline.

Her shoulders hunching, the feline shook her head once more, her body now being wracked with uneasy, shuddering gasps of air. Ms. Holt carefully lifted her hand, lowering it on the square of the feline's back, giving it a reassuring rub.

"Come on." the lynx persisted.

Mandy spun on her heels, nearly slipping on the tiled floor in her cleats, throwing herself at her coach. The lynx caught the girl, her head now burying itself against the older woman's shoulder.

"It's okay. Don't let it get to you." the coach sighs, equally upset at the painful situation.

The jaguar sucked in short, jagged bursts of air, body trembling as she sobbed into the sympathetic shoulder her coach offered. Ms. Holt hooked an arm around her back, the other resting above to clutch the girl's collar and pull her in closer. She'd felt the kind of pain of having something robbed of her in such a way and knew the sting of being so helpless in this situation.

"You played an amazing game and should be proud. You know I'd let you keep going, but I have to make sure you're okay. This isn't your fault, so don't even think that. You're gifted with one hell of an arm." the lynx assured, moving a hand to the feline's chin, tilting her head up slightly, since she didn't want to risk pressing against the lump on her forehead.

She could only feel the jaguar's weak nods as she spoke, cradling the feline who had such a rare achievement ripped from her. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but Ms. Holt was all but willing to lend a hand to help her.

"I'm sorry I yelled." the jaguar sniffled in between ragged chokes of breath, keeping her face hidden.

"I forgive you. To tell you the truth, I liked it. I need you girls to have that competitive mindset. Don't you dare think I'm giving you permission to mouth off to me, though." the lynx chuckled, lightly guiding the jaguar off of her once enough time had passed.

Mandy caught her breath, the corners of her eyes and the entirety of her cheeks now soaked with her spent tears. Giving a rare smile, the lynx stepped in, brushing aside what little tears remained with the tips of her thumb.

"You'll finish next time. I promise that. By the time you're up to start, that thing on your head will just be a memory." the lynx smirks, guiding the jaguar to sit down on the bench.

"I hope so. Hate that team. Glad we play them again next month." Mandy frowns, rubbing the painful knot on her forehead.

"Don't hate them. They're a very good team and bring out the best in you girls. Never forget that respect is a two way street." she lectures, walking away to step into the small supply closet.

"Yeah, I know. You say that a lot."

"So don't forget it. Got some ice for your head and we'll take care of your arm too." she states, pulling out a few reusable ice packs, along with a sling.

"Shoulder is a little stiff." the jaguar complains, rubbing the tender joint.

Moving back to her side, Ms. Holt undoes the velcro straps of the sling, before placing the girl's arm inside. The wrap consisted of a large sewn in ice pack that was wide enough to be laid around ones shoulder, along with a longer, thinner pack to be used on the forearm. With Mandy's arm in place, the lynx goes about fastening the straps, having to attach a particularly lengthy one around her chest to keep her shoulder pack in place.

"Gonna complain that it's too cold, like usual?" the coach jabs, double checking the velcro was secure.

"Nah. Actually, it feels pretty good this time." the jaguar grunts, leaning her back against the wall of lockers, letting her iced up arm go limp to her side.

"I bet. You pitched a bit longer than usual. Almost seventy pitches." the lynx states, pulling her tally counter from her pocket to view the dial.

"Could have had a complete game too." she frowns, bending down to unlace her cleats.

"Don't be too focused on throwing complete games. Last thing we need is you going under the knife for Tommy John's surgery, before you even reach college." the coach cautions, passing her an ice pack for her forehead.

"Eh, I think it could be good to get it out of the way early." she shrugs, wincing as she pressed the solid, freezing mound against the knot on her head.

"You'll be eating those words when your UCL snaps during a game. Don't forget that surgery is to correct something broken. My advice? Don't break." Ms. Holt advises, moving to step into the office.

Unlike hers in the school, the office inside the game day locker rooms was a bit too dreary for her liking. Since it was used by her, the boy's coach, and the assistant coaches, there was a lack of any personal touch inside the tiny room. A cork bulletin board was nailed to the wall, plastered with overlapping schedules, safety advice, and multiple calendars that were each scribbled over with personal notes and important dates for each person. The metal desk was an older one that was repurposed, after being dragged to the curb by the local library. The lock that should have been installed to keep the drawers secured was instead punched out to leave only a perfectly circular hole. Seeing that all of the coaches shared it, having someone forget their key would only lead to incidents that were better left avoided. A simple placard that only read "Coach" in faded bronze scripture was placed at the edge. The lynx stepped behind the desk, taking a seat on the uncomfortable folding chair, the metal hinges squeaking from her weight. Used to her padded office chair, she found herself choosing to stand and do paperwork on her clipboard, rather than give herself any further back ache.

Pulling open the permanently unlocked drawer, she shuffled through the stacks of papers, until she located an incident report. Peeling free one of the sheets, she plucked a ballpoint pen from a mug overflowing with stationary and set to fill out the questionnaire. The lynx attempted to sign her name, only to discover the pen had dried out. Growling, she flung the useless writing instrument into the trash, snatching another from the mug. It was a simple, but necessary report to file any time there was a notable incident on the field. Mostly just a bunch of check boxes and a couple lines to document any important information, it took less than a minute to complete. After filling out the time and date, she checked the columns for the location and severity of the injury and whether or not the girl had passed any tests performed. Finishing with her signature, Ms. Holt took a yearbook from the bookshelf and placed the report on top, bringing it out to the jaguar.

"Just need your signature." she asks, passing over the sheet and handing her a pen.

Mandy nods and takes the pen in her left hand, making an annoyed face. Without her dominant hand, her signature was guaranteed to be as sloppy as could be.

"What's your parents number? I have to tell them about what happened." the coach requests, taking her cell phone from her pocket.

"Uh, gimme a sec. I think I remember it. I'm used to just having it in my contacts." the jaguar passes back the report, pausing to recall the number.

While she tries to cite either of her parent's phone number from memory, a frantic pounding is heard on the door. Startled and now reminded there was a game still in progress, the coach hurries over to the entrance, hoping there wasn't another injury. As she pulled the door open, she was nearly knocked over as a pair of well dressed jaguars barreled through.

"Where's my daughter?" the elder woman demanded, quickly spotting the girl inside the empty locker room.

"Our neighbor called and said she was hurt." the father gasped, running over with his wife to their daughter's side.

"She took a hit to the head, but she's okay." Ms. Holt informed the worried family, shutting the door and excusing the rude actions.

"Okay? Look at her arm!" the mother yells, sitting down beside the uneasy jaguar.

"I thought you said it was her head." the male angrily states at the sight of her mummified appendage, pulling the growling girl into a one armed hug.

"It is. Icing the arm is standard practice for a pitcher, after a game." the coach adds, crossing her arms as she approached the scene.

"What happened, honey? You do remember who we are, right?" the mother coos, brushing the bangs out from the daughter's gaze.

"I took a ball to the head. It's nothing! I'm fine." she hisses, pulling away from her dad, only to swept up by the mother.

"Lord almighty, I think she's delirious." the mother frowns, kissing her on the crown on her head.

"Knock it off!" Mandy cries in anger, looking over to her coach with a pleading look.

Catching her stares, the father glares at the lynx.

"Are you the coach?" he barks, standing up off the bench.

"Yes." Ms. Holt replies in a stable tone that hid her obvious irritation.

As if the whistle dangling from her neck wasn't sign enough.

"And where were you during this?" the male asks in a bitter tone, crossing his arms as well.

"I told you we shouldn't let her play this sport. It's too dangerous for her." the mother shakes her head, unwilling to let the jaguar slide away from her side.

"I was in the dugout, like every coach should be. When she was struck, I stopped the game and immediately checked on her. She passed the concussion test and is coherent, so, like I already said, Mandy is okay." Ms. Holt reassures, matching the intensity of the stare the older feline threw her way.

"A concussion? Does she need a doctor?" the mother rapidly asks, now snapping her daughter's head to face herself, worriedly inspecting her face as if she even knew what to look for.

"If you would just listen to me, you'd know she's fine. I understand that you're worried, but-"

"Do not speak to my wife that way!" the father challenges, stepping towards the coach.

"If this is the coach, I can't imagine how many other children have been crippled under her watch." the mother scoffs.

"She didn't do anything! Quit blaming her, cause it isn't anyone's fault!" Mandy yells, growing sick of her family.

"Calm down, sweetie. You've been through enough already." the mother shushes, patting her on the hand, which she quickly yanked away from her touch.

"First off, they are not children. Second, this is the first accident all season. And finally, do not ever disrespect my coaching. Mandy is a solid athlete and not some delicate Faberge egg that you are treating her like." Ms. Holt seethes, tail wildly twitching behind her back.

"I'm sorry? Do you have any children? I am not going to stand here, while a stranger lectures us on how to raise our child!" the motherly feline proclaims, climbing off the bench to help her daughter up.

"I almost threw a perfect game and you two weren't even around to see it!" Mandy dejectedly accuses, her emotions shining through her exhausted exterior.

"You know your father and I had plans." the mother brushes off the accusation in a coy demeanor.

The lynx looks the two of them over, shaking her head in disapproval at the grandiose apparel the parents were donning. A baby blue evening gown and heels for the mother, not to mention the pearl necklace and the completely unnecessarily pretentious accessory of opera gloves. The father wore black leather oxfords, a conservative and dress shirt with a plaid sports jacket. At least he seemed to be more reserved in displaying himself as the apex of propriety.

"Ready for a night out on the town? Seems you both got her pretty quickly. Couldn't have been far away." the lynx chimes back in.

"Yes, thanks to a personal friend who had the courtesy to call about what had happened. Clearly, someone such as yourself isn't responsible enough to perform even the most basic task." the father fires back, assisting his wife in helping their daughter up, who was more than capable of doing it without aid.

"I was in the middle of calling you both." she growls back, displaying the cell phone still held in her hand.

"Enough of your excuses. I'm not sure what you're problem is, but we're finished." the mother dismisses the coach with a patronizing voice.

"You want to know? My problem is it's the middle of the season, this is the first time I've even seen Mandy's parents, who are clearly too busy to even attend one of her games and support her, when the both of you live right down the road!" Ms. Holt flares, at last raising her voice at the overbearing felines.

"How dare you!?" the mother squawks, stomping over to the lynx, her husband throwing out his arm to stop her.

"It's true!" Mandy interjects, taking her coach's side, shaking the two hands off her, which quickly double their grip.

"Don't listen to this wash-up. We're taking you to a real doctor to look you over. Someone who has experience and an actual education." the father insults, not even looking to acknowledge the coach as him and his wife drag their daughter passed.

"I knew it was a mistake letting her sign up for this barbaric sport." the mother scoffs, leading her to the door.

"No worries. I'll be sure to let the office know all about this little conversation. I'd start looking at other schools." the smug father proudly declares, flashing a self-satisfying smile to the coach as they departed.

As the heavy door shut, the protests of the younger jaguar were soon silenced, leaving the lynx once again alone. Sighing, the lynx slid her phone back into her pocket and returned to the office. Ms. Holt looked over the incident report, checking off the box to signify that the parents had been alerted to the accident, before dropping it off into a wire basket for someone else to pick up Monday. Exiting the office, the lynx flicked off the lights, slinking over the chipped tile flooring. Shutting off the main set of lights, Ms. Holt pushed open the door to head back and coach the remainder of the game, the father's threat still percolating through her mind.


Shifted in his seat, watching the teacher wandering between the aisles of desks. The elderly bulldog kept a grip of the arm of his eyeglasses as he squinted to read the names written on the top of each test. Like usual, he waited to the end of the class to return the previous day's exam to the students, since the process could take a few minutes. A few of his pupils nervously fidgeted with themselves as the graded papers were laid face down on their desks. This wasn't a bad sign, seeing as every test was delivered in a way to keep their grade hidden from the curious eyes of their neighbors. With a lick against his dried fingertips, the canine peeled another test from the others, easily reading the cleanly printed name at the top.

"Here we are, Mr. Martin." the teacher hummed to himself, setting the test down at Bryce's desk.

"Thank you." he replies, sucking in a breath as he flipped over the test, looking at the "B+" written in red ink in the middle of the paper.

He felt indifferent to the grade. For all the studying he did, Bryce was hoping for an A, but was satisfied with the mark. As much as he enjoyed history, the amount of dates and names did get confusing to memorize, but at least it wasn't algebra. Ugh.

Bryce unzipped his binder, sliding the paper into a neatly organized file, one for each class. With this latest grade, he continued his streak of averaging an A in U.S. History. There wasn't many subjects that he struggled with and history did prove to be a favorite of his. Having a fun teacher didn't always mean a guaranteed easy grade, but it sure seemed to help.

"Well, this class seemed to do just fine. A big improvement from the last exam." the bulldog spoke, hands now empty.

The old canine returned to the seat behind his desk, letting out a pleased sigh as he settled back into the cushioned leather. Unlike the other teachers, he was one of the rarities that wore suspenders everyday, which Bryce found amusing for an unknown reason. Maybe it was because the elderly dog gave him the impression of an old timey talk show host, his barrel belly needing those suspenders to keep his pants upright. With a brushing of aging white fur creeping up the folds of the bulldog's floppy jowls, Mr. Adams seemed like the fun grandfather everyone had growing up. At first glance, there wasn't anything threatening about the man. Once the students entered his class and got to know him, they learned there was much more to the seemingly mundane man. At least, it was to the nonobservant and oblivious students that never took the time to look at the personal decorations he sparingly added to the classroom. Flags and maps among the painted brick walls were one thing. A few model airplanes suspended from the acoustic ceiling tiles by nearly invisible lining were a neat touch as well. Still nothing too out of the ordinary, but a neat addition nonetheless. It wasn't until you took a look at the whiteboard, that you could start learning about the man.

Like every room, a fairly large whiteboard was affixed to the front wall, the erasable surface framed with metal edging to allow additional things to be attached. For Mr. Adams, that would be personal photographs. From the period at which they were taken, the large majority were in black and white, while a few were shot in the much rarer color film. Dense jungles and forest, sunlight hardly able to penetrate the canopy. Rivers running with a dark, muddy water, bleak men up to their waists with rifles above their heads. One in particular stood out. A bulldog that couldn't be older than the ripe age of eighteen. The figure stood with a set of skinny, tropical trees behind him, the sand he stood on having dusted the black leather and green canvas of his jungle boots. One could feel the weight of the equipment that was stuffed into his belt, not the mention the already heavy flak vest worn over his t-shirt. In one hand, he gripped the wooden forestock of an M-14, bracing the butt against his thigh. If anyone mentioned the photo, he was sure to mention how he was one of the lucky ones to have been issued the battle proven rifle. His other leg stood in the air, boot planted on an overturned tree, clutching an open canteen in his left hand. With his shadow behind him, the canine's eye were tightly squeezed together as he faced the sun, head half cocked to the side with a cursory smirk on his face at the unexpected candid snapshot.

Whenever the classes began to study the Vietnam War, they'd be treated to the stories and personal memoirs he was happy to tell. Of course, he had to leave out a fair bit of information and always had to deal with the typical question of whether or not he had killed anyone, while he was deployed. The question crossed Bryce's mind, but knew that asking such a thing was disrespectful of any trauma the man may have experienced in the four years he served. Still, it made for a very enjoyable class. Bryce could still hear the laughs and gasps of the others when Mr. Adams had brought in a very old container of C Rations and then proceeded to eat a canned fruitcake that had expired over forty years ago.

"Still delicious!" he'd boast, savoring the dessert that was a highly sought after component of their meals.

Stuffing his binder back into his backpack, Bryce had just finished zipping it shut as the bell rang. The human stood and threw his pack over his shoulder, prepared for his final and favor class of the day.

"Enjoy the rest of your days." the bulldog spoke, enjoying the few minutes he'd have before the next class would begin.

Bryce gave a departing smile at the teacher as he left to join the others pouring out into the hallway. It'd been a pleasant day so far, so he could only wonder what gym would consist of today.


"Did I ever tell you about when I was broke my ass doing a cannonball into the bathtub?" Aaron asks, tightly lacing his gym shoes.

"God, I swear you should be in the gifted programs." the sheep shook his head as he changed into shorts.
It was days like these when Bryce was happy he was assigned a locker so close to these idiots. Bryce shut his locker, slipping the combination lock back into place with his valuable secured inside. He didn't need an incident like last week when someone, couldn't possible have been the usual three, filled up one of the pockets of his backpack with shaving cream. Even after washing it out, he could still smell the menthol.

"So. Any guesses for what we're doing today?" the fellow human asked, directing it at no one specific.

"Depends. Heard some classes are doing basketball if the class was good. The classes full of assholes have to practice for the state fitness test. Whenever the hell that is." Michael answers, standing up.

"At least we'll be inside." Bryce speaks, tightening the drawstrings around his waist.

"Which is kinda weird." the hyena acknowledges, starting his walk to the locker room door.

With his friends following behind, the trio makes their way out to the indoor gym. Hoping that group isn't a reason for his class to be considered one of the bad ones, Bryce walks out into the hallway. The two groups of guys and girls merge together in the hallway, pushing through the double doors into the gymnasium. Looking up, Bryce could see that the basketball hoops were lowered from the ceiling into a playable position, but that still didn't mean much. He listened to the others chatting away about how the school won a baseball game over the weekend and something else that happened during it. Unable to hear much, he stepped to the bleachers, taking a seat on the polished wooden surface. From the corner of his eye, he saw the Yorkie standing at the edge of a circle of her friends.

"Hmm..." he narrowed his eyes, scanning the faces of the furs and humans she stood beside.

No, actually. They didn't seem like the usual crowd she hung around. Instead of the pixie cuts and angled bob haircuts, able smell the hairspray and makeup applied in such thick layers, that he couldn't tell if they were human or fur, he instead saw fairly normal looking girls. Ponytails and braces, instead of a Prada and Mary Kay.

"Interesting." Bryce comments to himself, watching Daphne trying to talk with a fairly tall otter, who was currently busy with a Dalmatian.

While he was busy wondering why she had chosen to expand her normally close-knit clique, the lynx at last made her presence known. With a swift backwards kick to the crash bar, unlatching the door and flinging it open. Curling her tail, Ms. Holt brought her rear forward to keep the door from closing as she wheeled in the ball rack. At first glance, some of the students got giddy at the sight, expecting dodgeballs, until they instead saw the boring orange of basketballs. Bryce couldn't say he was a fan of the sport. There wasn't a professional team in the city, so maybe that added to his lack of interest. Just seemed like a boring game to watch, but not too bad to play.

"Alright, gather 'round." the lynx began, picking up one of the balls, giving it a squeeze to feel if it held suitable pressure and was free of leaks.

At her command, the students fell into formation, forming an open huddle around her view. The lynx looked around and picked up her clipboard that was balanced atop the rack, slipping the pen out from the top. Keeping the pen in her hand, the feline looked up and skimmed the faces of her students, the silence in the room splintered by the noise of her pen scraping along the attendance sheet. Like the others, Bryce stood at attention, looking over at the teacher as her eyes passed over his own. His brows lowered as her gaze passed, taking in the lack of iron that usually flashed in her vision.

"Rubin?" Ms. Holt announced, seeing a lack of sheep amongst the students.

Michael suddenly popped up from the back, his burly fur framing his face.

"Here! Sorry, had to tie my shoe." the sheep claims, earning a smirk from the hyena to his side.

The bored feline stared at him for a moment, clearly irked. Holding her glare, she blindly ticked the column beside his name, breaking their contact as she slid the pen back and dropped the clipboard down on the rack.

"Basketball. Do I really need to say more?" her tired voice asked, grabbing another basketball from the cart, holding it an upturned palm.

The students shook their heads, some giving each other quizzical glances.

"Dribble the ball. Pass the ball. Shoot the ball into the hoop. Don't walk without dribbling. Don't let the others score. Simple." Ms. Holt lethargically summed it up, bouncing the ball against the court.

The dozens of eyes followed the basketball in an amusingly mechanical way, head slowly nodding as it ball rose and sank.

"Good. Chest pass." the lynx states, bringing the ball up to the center of her body.

With the tops of her hands facing inward, she shot her arms forward, flicking her wrist and outstretching her fingers to propel the basketball forward. Daphne jumped in fright, catching the ball, before it could slam into her bosom. To her surprise, the ball didn't carry nearly as much momentum as she was anticipating, nearly botching the catch as it slowly landed in her hands.

"Bounce pass." Ms. Holt explains, turning to grab another ball from the cart, which she then carelessly tosses over her shoulder.

Thumping off the ground, it springs back up, being caught by the attentive Dalmatian, before it could bounce away from the crowd and into the bleachers. The class stayed in place, perplexed at the indifference of her lesson. Ms. Holt looked between them all, assuming they all understood the lecture.

"Great. Grab a ball and start shooting. We'll split into teams later." the woman adds, reaching for her whistle, which she now realized wasn't hanging from her neck.

Frowning, she instead gave a sharp clap of her hands, demonstrating she had some energy inside of her. Bryce gave her an uneasy stare, before walking with the rest of the teenagers as everyone snagged a basketball from the rack. Ball already in hand, the Yorkie turned and headed for one of the six basketball hoops that hung from the high ceiling, claiming one for herself, before anyone else could get the chance. Once everyone had retrieved a ball, they began scrambling towards the baskets, some already attempting to score a shot from halfway down the court. Daphne was close to being run over as the sheep, hyena, and human all sprinted by her, Carter leaping into the air at a failed attempt at a layup.

"Careful!" the girl pouted, turning to see the detached lynx staring elsewhere.

The canine instead moved to a different hoop, seeing that the mongrels were going to be abusing the one she originally aimed for. Bryce had already found one that wasn't too crowded. He'd seen how the Dalmatian played hockey during class a while back and felt that she'd be less inclined to do something irresponsible. Dribbling as he went, a few of the other girls Daphne was with earlier joined the Dalmatian in shooting a few free throws. Judging by how they all cleanly placed their shots, Bryce felt it was a safe bet that they were in some kind of afterschool activity. One throw went high and banged against the support beams keeping the thing airborne. Surprised by the racket, the girls and Bryce turned to see the sheepish canine walking by the chase after her ball.

"It's not about how hard you can throw the thing." the Dalmatian commented, following up with a shot of her own, which made a satisfying swish as it fell through the netting.

"I don't play basketball. Kinda thought we'd get more of a lesson." Daphne replies, scooping up the lost ball.

"I'm just glad we didn't have to do laps for a change." the otter chimes in, her thick tail wagging behind her.

"Almost like she forgot." Bryce says to himself, taking a shot, which manages to just hit the rim.

The Yorkie dodges his ball as it ricochets off and comes close to thumping her on the head. Now carrying two, the girl looks over at Bryce, making brief eye contact. He feels his cheeks flush as she approaches him.

"Think something's up with her?" Daphne says, bouncing the ball towards him.

"Why are you asking me?" the human nervously replies, catching the ball.

"I dunno, you, like, talk to her sometimes. Don't be a dick about it." the dog sulks, now standing beside him.

"S-sorry." Bryce clears his throat, misinterpreting the innocent question.

"You and me are probably the only ones who don't hate her. Well, I think. I mean, I still remember her blowing up on you that one time." the girl smirks, watching the other girls who still hadn't missed.

"That's in the past. I don't think I'm on her bad side anymore." he shrugs.

"Yeah, me neither. Kinda cool once you get to know her." she adds, giving a short hop as she attempts to score another basket.

"She's nicer than people realize, that's for sure." he admits, watching her basketball hit the hoop.

"It's weird seeing her like this. Hope she's okay." Daphne worries, turning to look over her shoulder.

Ms. Holt stood at the other end of the gym, arms crossed in front of her. The teacher's ears were pulled back in a peculiar way, close to being flat against her skull. Head sinking downwards, her whiskers pulled to the sides of her muzzle.

"It is weird. Never thought I'd say this, but I wish she'd start yelling at us." he adds, catching the girl's basketball once it rebounded off the backboard.

"At least then, she'd look alive." Daphne sighs, the human immediately frowning.

They two of them turn towards a commotion coming from behind them. The sheep was doubled over from an elbow to the ribs.

"Your feet were moving, so no penalty." the hyena laughs, flexing his arm.

Bryce and Daphne both turn to the lynx, who hadn't seen the cheap shot.

"Your friends are weird." Daphne teases.

"They aren't my friends! Yeah, we sit together sometimes, but it's not like we're close." Bryce defends, glaring at the guys.

"Jeez, touchy!" she grins, taking a moment to dribble the ball once against the toe of his foot.

His heart skips a beat at the action, praying it wasn't an obvious jab. Ms. Holt wouldn't be telling her about his secrets, right?

"You know, that reminds me. My ribs finally healed and it doesn't hurt to breathe anymore. Thanks for that, by the way." the human growls, rubbing the spot where she checked him with a hockey stick.

"Oh, yeah! Uh, sorry about that. I was trying to use my shoulder, but you have a few inches over me and I kinda missed. Didn't mean to use my stick." the Yorkie apologized with a quick giggle.

"Uh huh. Sure...." he rolled his eyes.

"Oh, c'mon. A girl my size can't pack that much of a punch." she grins, reminded of how she took the wind right out of his lungs that class.

"You're no lynx, that's for sure." Bryce jokes, shooting again, which was another clean basket.

Daphne laughs at the comparison, switching to dribble with her left hand.

"I think I might talk to her after class." she states, taking another look her way.

Bryce thinks it over for a moment, staring at the removed feline. The more he watched, the more concerning it became. Those usually sharp, keen eyes had lost all their luster, now fogged and apathetic. It was the first time he'd had a class with her that didn't involve a single shout or even having to reprimand someone for not taking things seriously. She should have been crucifying Aaron, after he struck the sheep. Instead, she just stood there. Motionless, staring at the wall. It pained him to watch.

"You know, I think I'll talk to her. Just go home. Don't worry about it." he offers.

He wanted to have some alone time with the lynx and didn't need the thought of the Daphne barging in to spoil any moment they may share together.

"I guess you can tell me whatever it is tomorrow, then. If it's something really bad, it's probably best that I don't bring it up again." the girl nods, after thinking it over.

Bryce dribbled the basketball a bit more, soon looking up at the clock to see that half the class had already passed.

"Um, I think we aren't getting into teams for a game." Daphne points out, checking the time as well.

The human shakes his head, looking over at the teacher with a frown.


The styrofoam cup in her hand grew hot as the near boiling water flowed from the water cooler. She inched her head back as the steam rose, keeping an eye on the water level, releasing her hold on the dispenser, before it overflowed. Quickly, she sat the cup down on her desk. The lynx paused for a moment, taking time to appreciate being able to sit down in her office. Her eyes wandered from the ribbons and awards she had pinned to a message board, the shelf of trophies from what she bitterly considered to be her past life, and of course, the framed teaching certificate, her full name printed in a gold foil with the officiating stamp from the state beside. Underneath, hung her college diploma, a masters in physical education. Pulling her eyes away, she retrieved a set of keys from her pocket, choosing a smaller one to slide into her desk. Unlocking her drawers, she pulled out a box of tea, something she rarely drank on occasion. The flimsy cardboard box was still nearly full, its cover depicting a caricature of a feline, its eyes shut and drawn with a single line, a series of Z's above its head. Ms. Holt opened the lid and unraveled one of the teabags, dunking it into the scalding water, until it swelled and was capable of staying submerged on its own. The lynx took in a deep breath over the concoction, inhaling the woodsy and faint mint aroma. She then flexed her fingers, allowing her claws to peek from their tips, displaying the jagged edges. With her labored breathes, she reached under her desk, touching the tip of her fingers against the wooden underbelly, before curling her fingers and slowly jerking her arm back. The feline's claws drag through the wood, scratching deep trenches into the material, shredding the desk as she dug her talons through it. The sound of her claws turning the desk into tinder didn't go unnoticed as they tore through the wood.

A knock on the door called for her attention, feeling herself tremble at the noise.

"Come in." she calmly answered, fishing out her stop watch to time how long the tea would be steeping for, returning her arm to her lap, checking her nails.

The handle turned as the door opened, the human poking his head inside.

"Um....hi." Bryce greeted, unnerved by whatever sound he had heard.

"Hello." she cooly returned his welcome.

"Mind if I come in?" he requests, now standing in her doorway.

"If you must." she huffs, brushing her fingers over her track pants, the polyester cleaning away whatever splinters that clung to her fur.

Stepping inside, Bryce shuts the door behind him, before taking a seat in front of the desk.

"Hang nail?" he asks, seeing her tugging at each claw as she examined them.

"It's nothing." the lynx replies in her new distant fashion.

"And that sound I heard?" the human raises a brow.

"Didn't hear anything." she answers, checking the stop watch.

Lowering his eyes, he could see a trail of sawdust hiding under her desk. Climbing from his seat, he craned his head under the desk, stunned at the sight of the underbelly. Numerous gashes covered the once pristine wood in multiple trails of four. The channels that had been dug into the desk were dark and smoothed with age, while a newer, fresher array of scrapes had been recently installed.

"You okay?" he nervously asked as he pulled himself back into his seat.

"I don't want to talk about it." the woman claims, unable to look at him as she took hold of the tea bag string to fiddle with her drink.

"I just want to know if you're okay. You worried us today." Bryce confesses, scooting his chair closer to her desk.

"Who's us?" the teacher asks, briefly looking up at him.

"Me and Daphne. I'm sure everyone else noticed too." he answers, unsure of what was wrong.

Ms. Holt slowly nodded, watching the water being overtaken by the yellowish tinge as the teabag soaked.

"I got a call from the office this morning." she starts, swirling the bundles bag of leaves inside her cup.

"What happened?" Bryce reluctantly asks, bracing for the worst.

"Someone filed a complaint against me." the teacher states, staring at her tea.

"Have you ever gotten one before?"

"A few. Never by the parents though." the lynx shrugged.

"Does that make it worse?" Bryce leans forward.

"Students is one thing, but parents are way worse. I've had people in my class whine to the office that I'm too mean or something and they always rule in my favor. They know I'm good at my job and keep things in order. I'm not afraid to discipline anyone." she speaks, growing a little louder in volume.

"And parents are worse?"

"Parents attend PTA meetings. Parents vote for the school board. Parents donate to the school. Parents set up fundraisers and help keep the school going." she sighed, carefully lifting the bag from her cup, tossing it in the trash can beside her desk.

"Oh....so it's like a politics kind of thing?" Bryce clarifies.

"Something like that. Schools like to appease the parents. Doesn't look good for the school when the superintendant, or worse, the state, catches wind of this sort of thing." she continues, raising the cup to her lips, blowing at the steam.

"What do you think they'll do?" he gulps.

"Could be forced into additional training, given a talking to, attend some meetings. That's if things go well." the feline answers, taking a careful sip.

"....and if they don't?"

"Certifications pulled. Could be suspended without pay. Forced into retirement or fired. Blacklisted by the district and have to find a new city to teach in. The list goes on." Ms. Holt answers in a grim voice, gingerly sipping at her tea.

"Fuck. What the hell happened?" Bryce winces, now resting his arms on her desk.

"Baseball game over the weekend. My star pitcher took a line drive to the head. Knocked her on her ass. She was fine though. No concussion or anything. Didn't bleed. Just a bump on her head." the lynx nods, savoring the grassy flavor of the calming drink.

"Jeez. That isn't anyone's fault, though. Especially, not yours. It was an accident. They know these things happen when they sign up to play sports." Bryce scoffs.

"Yes, but there are some overprotective parents out there. Ones that may get very offended if you may stumble and insult their parenting." the lynx grumbles, taking another drink.

The human throws his head back and groans.

"You can't lose your temper like that! I know it's hard, but really?" he shakes his head, stunned.

"I'm well aware. So, that's what happened. Parents dropped her off this morning and went to the office. They're still looking over my case, so I find out sometime tomorrow." she exhales, nearly finished with her drink.

"I really don't know what to say. I would hope they'd try to defend you. I mean, you're a very good teacher." Bryce praises.

"They might. Can't say for sure. Maybe I'm just a thorn in their side and they'd throw me under the bus. Get a new teacher that takes less pay. They don't want someone like me who actually tries to help the students. They just want a teacher that goes with the flow and doesn't rock the boat. Letting these fuckers run wild." she rumbles, restraining herself from squeezing the delicate styrofoam cup.

"Don't say that. You're a role model and we care about you. I'd like to see them try to toss you." Bryce stiffens up, getting emotional over the thought alone.

"I'm sure you two do. But, yeah. That's happening now, so forgive me for being a little fucking distracted." she spits, leaning backwards in her chair, reaching up to press her palms against her eyes, rubbing them.

"I understand completely." he nods, leaning forward to lift his chair, moving it around the desk, so he could be closer.

The lynx stays silent, now rubbing her thumbs against her temples, taking deep breathes.

"Didn't know you drank tea. Figured you more for a coffee drinker." the human comments, hoping to relieve the tension.

"It's catnip. It helps. Last thing I need is caffeine right now." she explains, moving her hands away from her bloodshot eyes.

"I can imagine. Try to take your mind off of it. I don't see them doing anything so drastic." he claims, trusting his gut and hoping she'd do the same.

"One can hope." she sighs, shifting forward, finishing her tea, before it could become cold.

Bryce sat in his seat, moving it closer, until it was right at her side. He didn't know how to approach, but wanted to do what he could to make her feel better. Anything that could alleviate the stress she was drowning in. Leaning forward, he inched his hand towards her, resting it on her knee, but captured her attention.

"Anything I can do for you?" he asked, his voice rising.

The lynx looked him over, her emotionless face soon finding it's familiar shape with a glare forming against her muzzle.

"What are you trying?" she growled.

"Nothing like that! I swear! I just really want to make you feel better." he protests, jerking back his hand off her.

"Feel better? How do you plan on doing that?" she narrowed her eyes.

"A massage?" he gulps.

Ms. Holt threw him a dirty glare, close to throwing, literally, out of her office.

"Please, just let me try. I promise if I do something wrong, you can just stomp me into oblivion again. Okay?" he pleaded, needing to do something to help.

"Yeah, like I need your permission to do that." she scoffed at him.

"Are you saying you'll let me then?" he begs.

"Fuck it. Not like this can get any worse." she sighs, slumping forward against her desk.

Determined to improve her mood, Bryce springs out of his chair and approaches her from behind. It was unusual for him to not be on the floor for a change, so he was already enjoying this. The human stood at her back, resting his hands on her shoulders. His teacher flinched at his touch, grumbling with her head facing forward. Bryce swept his fingers along the manmade material of her tracksuit, feeling the warmth from her body underneath.

"Can I take your jacket off?" he requests, receiving a shrug in response.

Taking hold of the opening of her top, he gently guided it backwards, slipping it over and off her arms, laying the jacket down over the back of her seat. Leaving her in just a t-shirt, he returned his hands to her shoulders. With no experience of giving such a massage, he just did what felt right. Bryce ran his thumbs along her collar bone, forming a loose C with his hands. Fingers pointing outwards, he drew his digits along her muscles. Starting close to her neck, he drew his grip upwards and rolled her muscles towards her clavicle in a constant motion. With long, smooth motions, Bryce kneaded and worked at the stiff muscles in her shoulder. As he went after any aches and pains, the feline began to drift forward, soon laying her head on her desk, the combination of his massage and the catnip reducing her to pudding. The heel of his hand was pressed against her spine, pushing up her back with a respectable amount of force, watching her tail rise alongside his hand.

"Good?" he asks, bending down, so he could hear her.

"It's a start." she purred, shutting her eyes.

Smirking, Bryce moved his hands inwards, hoping he'd discovered a nonthreatening way to cup his palms around her neck. The human's thumbs went upwards, applying a firm pressure against the center of her neck, swirling them in a circular motion against the sore muscle, which wasn't nearly as thick and meaty as her shoulders. In between rubs, he allowed his first fingers to make their way upwards, scratching at the space behind her furry ears. Seeming to enjoy that, Bryce soon abandoned his original massage to instead scritch at the furry points, savoring the first time he was able to cup and fondle the adorable satellites she called ears. Pushing his thumbs inside, he twirled around at the fluff that poked from her ears, which is what he imagined clouds would feel like to touch. As they twitched from his touches, Bryce gently tugged at her ears, pinching their tips between his fingers for a final squeeze.

"Want me to let your hair down?" he questions, eyeing the long, white hair pulled up in a ponytail.

"Fine." the teacher answers, not for nor against the idea.

Bryce moves his fingers up the bundle of hair, gripping the grey elastic that held it together, gently guiding it down and off. Once removed, the feline's hair unraveled, draping over her shoulders. The human couldn't think of a single time he'd seen her hair down, so the sight was a bit unusual for him. Bending his fingers, he pressed his short nails against her scalp, lovingly scratching along with a pleasant sharpness. While he massaged the lady's scalp, the other set of fingers raked through her hair, feeling the softness of the frosted locks. Luckily, she didn't wear a hat, like the other coaches usually did. Otherwise, Bryce probably wouldn't be able to pick up the faint, rich scent of charcoal and cocoa from her shampoo that remained unsullied, after her morning shower. Keeping a hand toying with her hair, Bryce curiously moved one to her cheek, brushing the tops of his fingers along the puffed out fur. Seeing that she didn't object, he inched towards her chin, gingerly scratching at the underside. Ms. Holt tilted her head sideways, wordlessly encouraging the maneuver as he fingernails dug through the fur to scritch at the vulnerable area.

"You're very pretty." he compliments, twiddling his fingertips against her neckline, still straightening her long mane.

The feline spoke no words, but instead grumbled out a few unintelligible things, though she didn't pull away.

"A bit different from our usual time together. I'm enjoying this. Hope you are too." he adds, trapping her whiskers between two of his fingers, straightening them with care.

"Might be our last." the lynx groused, eyes still shut.

"Don't say that." Bryce repeats, sweeping across her neck to give another reassuring squeeze to her collarbone.

Finished with her top half, he moved back to his seat, wanting to focus on her tail. Taking hold of it, he moved it to rest on his lap, combing his fingers through the bushy fur, straightening it out. He wasn't sure how to pleasure her tail and didn't want to risk hurting her, so he chose to simply rub and brush it to his best ability. The furry serpent slowly moved in his lap, the tail raising a bit, it's tip brushing over his cheek. Seizing the moment, he dove his face into the tail, kissing along it as he worked it in his hands. It was the first time he could really show his appreciation for the rest of her body, after only giving it to her big, sexy paws. It never really occurred to him until now, but why would a lynx have such a long tail?

"Weird question, but don't lynx's have small tails?" he questions, finally releasing her tail, letting it wag to its own desire.

"Usually. I got it from my dad's side. He was a snow leopard." she quietly answers, head buried in her arms as she relaxed.

"Huh. It's very cute." he compliments, now moving to kneel down at her side.

The lynx tilts her head further downwards, spying the human.

"Care to scoot back a little?" Bryce asks, wanting to get in front of her.

Sighing, the teacher wheels her chair back, after finally getting comfortable. With the additional room, Bryce crawls over, kneeling down between her legs. The coach gives him a very curious look, silently daring him to try something profane. He moved forward, dropping his hands on her thighs, not exactly putting her at ease. The lynx had an impressive set of legs, her thighs as thick as a tree trunk. Okay, maybe not that big, but of considerable strength.

"Can I open these?" he asks, noticing the zipper on the side of her pant leg.

"Fine." the lynx answers through her teeth.

Bryce pinches the zipper between his fingers and drags it down, opening up her pants to bear her naked legs. The only time he'd seen this much of her fur was the time he witnessed her showering in the locker room. Though it still counted, wet fur didn't come close. He laid his cheek down on her knee, her leg between his own as he mounted it, running his hand up along the inside of her thigh. God, she was so warm. He raked his fingers through the dense fur, taking handfuls of the fluff, taking notice of the slight dampness of sweat. Since the track pants were made to be breathable, it didn't leave much behind, though he could still pick up her scent. He pushed his nose into her fur, trailing up her thigh, able to detect the scent growing in strength, becoming what he could only describe as "spicy". Unable to go up much further without risking his manhood being rendered useless and mangled, Bryce was forced to settle with an enticing teaser of the real thing.

Maybe one day.

Switching to the back of her leg, he dug his fingers into the grey fur, trailing a collection of kisses against her thigh. Bryce looks up to her with a smile as he pushed his palm against her hamstring in a long, forceful, sweeping motion. The lynx stared at him, eyes partially shut from what he hoped was pleasure and not boredom.

"Damn, these things are like tree trunks." he teases, rubbing the underside of her knee.

Ms. Holt rolled her eyes, before shutting them again.

Drifting further down, Bryce kept her pant leg open as he took hold of her calf, digging his thumbs into the sizeable lump of muscle. Just holding her leg in his arms was enough to realize how heavy they were. That soft, thick fur partially obscuring the well built muscle underneath. No wonder she made sprinting a mile look easy. His fingertips dove into her coat, tracing along her shin, scratching at its side.

"You know, I'd be willing to do this whenever you want." he speaks.

"Noted." she sighed.

"Is this helping?" Bryce asks, hoping for a positive answer.

"I guess." the feline replies, after a moment.

Well, it was as good as a reception that he could hope for. Seeing as she wasn't giving a few sharp kicks to the ribs, he felt that he was doing a good job.

"Do you want to talk about it more?"

Ms. Holt sucks in another deep breath, letting it slowly exhale through her snout.

"Just gets hard sometimes." the teacher states, moving her other leg to his lap.

Like the first, Bryce climbs on it, holding it against his chest as he undoes the zipper. Once open, his fingers eagerly explore and scratch along the well toned limb.

"I bet it does. That's why you have me here. I'd happily do this whenever you needed it. I've wanted to do something like this for weeks now." he comments, nuzzling his cheek and nose over that silky plumage of her fur.

"That so?" the lynx hums, toes curling inside her shoes, quietly enjoying his touch.

"Seriously, though. I'd worship every inch of you if I could. Big, strong, beautiful lynx. I hated seeing you so off today. I'd much rather have you down on the wrestling mats again. Never noticed how strange gym can feel without you barking at someone." the student admits, now moving off of her to lean down, kissing down her leg, until he reached her ankle.

"Does that mean I should be even harder next class? Really make sure that no one believes I'm getting soft?" the teacher smirks, the rare expression going unseen from under the desk.

"I'd do it. Maybe you could actually teach us how to play basketball too?" Bryce teases back, now looking down at her shoes.

"I'm pretty sure I already did. Seriously, is it that hard to understand?" she scoffs, throwing her head to the side, flinging the hair out from her face as she was reminded as to why she keeps it in a ponytail.

"Why am I starting to think that you aren't good at basketball?" the human chuckles.

The leg that he focused on suddenly shot upwards without warning, giving him a half-hearted jolt to the groin. Though he was wincing, it was still hard to not smile at her normal self taking over.

"I'm very good at basketball, you little fuck." the woman growls, returning her foot to the ground.

"Understood, understood. Now....can I get your shoes off?" he cautiously asks, feeling nervous despite the lack of any lewd plans in his mind.

With the sound of her chair legs screeching over the scuffed tile, the lynx darted her head under the desk, an incensed, fiery guise plastered over her speckled mug.

"It's not what you think! It's not what you think! I swear! Just another massage is all." he hastily clarifies, knowing exactly how it looked to her.

"Then prove it." the lynx hisses, returning to her seat, offering her feet.

Nodding, Bryce sat cross-legged and brought her left paw to his lap, yanking her laces free as he removed her running shoe. Normally, he'd already have his face stuffed into the freshly worn, dank interior of the footwear, but he had a promise to keep. Ignoring the alluring black athletic shoes, he turned his attention to her socked paw. Unlike the black color of her trainers, the lynx wore a smoky gray pair of low cut socks, just long enough to come up over her ankles. Taking hold of the elastic hem, Bryce peeled the partially damp cotton off her paw, whining quietly as he revealed the massive barefoot. Those four, meaty digits flexed as the imprisoning footwear was removed, the white claws glinting in the light that spilled under the desk.

Gulping, Bryce took her by the ankle, guiding her foot onto his thigh, purposely avoiding any and all contact with his groin. Like her legs, the weight was immense as the broad foot sat on his leg. His fingers traced along the leathery pad on the ball of her foot, pushing his thumb and finger into the plush fur that outlined it, giving it a squeeze. The closest thing he could compare it to would be one of those big, pink erasers you use in school. His thumb pressed flat against the lynx's pad, rubbing directly against the pink surface, a few splotches of black tainting the otherwise flawless area. As he did so, Ms. Holt curled her toes, pleased with the forceful pressure against the tender area. He ground small, tight circles against the pawpad, now picking up the quiet murmurs of the teacher above him.
Continuing to please her, Bryce grabbed her biggest toe, rocking it with his fingers. He had learned from experience that the lynx possessed considerable strength in them. Picturing how they'd be able to grip the ground as she ran, it seemed to make sense to him. As he wove his fingers between them, Ms. Holt made sure to demonstrate this once again by gripping at his digits. To his surprise, it was actually difficult to pull them free from that iron toe grip. Bryce knew how to fix this, quickly pressing a knuckle against her center pad, her grip soon releasing as he attacked that sensitive bit. It was a playful struggle of control. Hooking his digits, Bryce swept his nails down along her heel, where a particularly lengthy piece of fur grew. He quickly straightened out the bunch up fur with a few light tugs, fixing what being trapped inside her socks had done. Moving to a new area, his fingers glided over her arch, once again causing the feline's thick toes to squirm at the pleasing sensation. Tilting her foot to lay on its side, he covered the other with his hands, massaging it in a similar way he had her shoulders. With a loose grip, Bryce's fist slid in opposite directions with each other, pulling at the tensed up muscles and tendons. He'd alternate between a looser grip and a stiff, tightened once as he felt needed to ease away her tender paw. Curious, he fluttered the tips of his fingers against her sole, just under her pad. Not a particularly intense reaction, the lynx instead squirmed for a brief moment. Since she wasn't ticklish, it felt safe to scratch along the patch of fur between her heel and pad, occasionally rocking his knuckles against for good measure.

"Don't forget this one." the lynx purred, nudging his knee with the virgin foot.

"Oh, I won't." Bryce smiled, relinquishing her paw to move to the next.

After stripping it of her shoe and sock, he took his time in admiring the feline's paw. It made sense for them to get sore, seeing the immense frame of the lynx that they had to support every day. All that running had to do a fair bit of damage. Not one to disappoint, Bryce repeated the same actions, smoothing out her fur as he massaged her sole and arch, kneading at the adorably pink pad as well. Once he finished attending to her foot, he picked up both paws and sat them heels down on his leg. He then took all eight of her toes in his palms, squeezing and tugging at them, feeling them lazily wagging underneath his hands, content with his attention. Bryce gave them each a rough, loving squeeze and tug, feeling the last few days worth of stress popping with a, frankly, painfully sounding report. The textured bits of her pads felt hot and stiff as he massaged the undersides of her toes. The human's fingers trailed along above the center of her foot, pushing through the satiny touch of the curtain of fur. At long last, Bryce finished with a grooming sweep of his fingers over the tops of her paws, scratching through the beautiful, grey and black speckled fur.

"I think we should call it here. You already missed your bus. Don't know if someone might be coming by to talk to me too." the lynx spoke, pulling her feet from his thigh, but not after an affectionate little knead of her own with her toes on his leg.

"Probably wise. Hope this helped." Bryce nodded, sad it was over, but happy to have done it, a little blush as well.

"It didn't hurt. Well, aside from whatever is going on in your pants right now." the lynx taunts, leaning down to pull her used socks back over her relaxed paws.

Staying silent with a burning crimson on his face, Bryce crawled out from the desk, wiping off the dust bunnies that clung to his tented jeans.

"Not allowing you to enjoy those in your usual way was probably more torture than I could have normally done to you." Ms. Holt grins, stuffing her feet back into her track shoes.

"You would be right." the human grumbled, rubbing his back, after being under the desk.

The teacher stood from her chair, looking down at her watch to check the time.

"Guess we should both get going." the lynx sighed, walking over to the wall to flick off the office lights.

"Mhm. I know I'll be seeing you tomorrow." Bryce states, opening her door to hold it for her.

"That is when I'm hearing back, so at the very least I will be here tomorrow." she nods, walking out into the hallway.

"Things are going to go well. Try and get some sleep tonight." Bryce states.

"I'll try." the lynx nods, taken back as the human latches onto her for an unexpected hug.

"You'll be fine." he reaffirms, holding her tight.

Ms. Holt rapidly swings her head around to see if anyone would notice. Assured the hallways were deserted, she gives him a pat on the head, rubbing his back as well. After the unusual display of affection from the both of them, she guides him back off of her.

"See you tomorrow then." Bryce smiles, heading down the hallway.

"Yup. Um, thanks for, uh. Forget it. Just, thanks." the lynx clears her throat, nodding, before walking down the opposite end of the hallway.


Fingertips brush over the faux red bricks that stood out around the main office. The administration figured it to be much more "formal" than the plain white walls that were found on every other wall inside the high school.

"Fucking things." the lynx snarled to herself, almost twisting her ankle inside the high heels.

Ms. Holt grabbed the metal handle of the glass double door, yanking it open to the sound of copiers whirring and the electric chirping of a number of telephones either on hold or waiting to be answered. Behind the walnut counter that stretched across the front of the office, sat a hippo.

"Name?" the woman asked, a pair of rectangular glasses balanced on the end of her round snout.

"Holt." the lynx answered, taking one long stride to approach the reception desk, not risking another tumble.

The clerk took the glasses from her eyes, now dangling from the beaded retainers around her neck. Her eyes scanned the paper in front of her.

"First name?" she inquired, earning an annoyed glare.

"Abigail." the coach answers, wondering how many people in this school even shared her last name for this to be an issue.

With a check of her pen, the woman looked up.

"They're ready to see you now." she smiled, reaching over to answer the phone.

"Great." she quietly sighed, walking around to the left of the counter, heading back into the principal's office.

The anxious feline stumbled down the short walk, approaching a heavy oak door, the privacy frosted window making it difficult to see inside. With the school district going through five principals in the last year, they didn't bother to spend the money for a personalized plate outside of the door.

Room 101: Principal

Ms. Holt gave a reluctant knock on the glass.

"Come in." a modulated voice answered.

With a gulp, the feline twisted the brass knob and stepped into the office. The blinds covering the tall windows were partially undone, letting the early morning sun shine into the room. A calming blue was painted on the plasterboard walls. The principal's credentials and certificates hung inside freshly dusted frames. A keen eye would notice the sun bleached portions of the past items hung up on the walls from the revolving door that was now the front office.

"Good morning, Abigail. Come, take a seat." the warm voice greeted.

A cougar sat behind her chunky maple desk, hands out in front of her, a mug of piping hot coffee to her side.

"Morning, Barbara." the lynx replied, sitting down in the padded chair in front of the desk.

"And how are you today?" the principal politely asked.

"I'm well. Ready to start the day." Ms. Holt answers, nervously smoothing out the folds in her brown, knee high skirt and matching long sleeved top.

She couldn't take any risks today, even if it meant betraying her personal taste in dressing up like an office worker.

"You and me both. I'm sure you know why I called you in today?" the feline states, taking a sip of her coffee.

"I have an idea, yes." she nods, weaving her fingers together.

"Good. We went over the case filed against you yesterday as you may have guessed." Ms. Starling begins, setting down her mug.

"Yes. I am curious as to the verdict." the feline wavers.

"We will reach that at the end. I need to explain how we reached the verdict first." the principal assures, reaching over to a stack of folders neatly arranged at the side of her desk.

"Alright." she nods, chewing on her bottom lip.

Fishing out a report from the previous week, she laid it in front of her, reading it over.

"So, we received word that the student Mandy Wagner was hurt during a baseball game last Saturday, correct?" the principal begins, reading over the document.

"Yes."

"You performed all the necessary tests to determine whether or not she received a concussion, which came back negative to your screening. The girl was removed from the game and you both returned to the locker room. Sound good so far?"

"Yes."

"It was then that Mr. and Mrs. Wagner entered the locker room and an argument broke out. Mandy was taken to the emergency room by her guardians. The physicians conclusion matched that of the coach's. The family entered the main office on the following Monday and filed a complaint. Does this summary fit your recollections of events?" the cougar asks, setting the paper aside.

"Yes."

"Wonderful. Now, are you familiar with Mr. and Mrs. Wagner?" Barbara curiously asks, reaching over to remove a folder from the stack.

"No, I can't say I am. That was my first time encountering them, since Mandy started playing baseball."

With a sly smile, the cougar dropped the hefty stack in the middle of the desk.

"Well, you seem to be the only one. These are all the complaints that have been filed by them since Mandy's freshman year." the woman states, a sticker on the manilla folder documenting the spanning time of complains, which were indeed spread across years.

Ms. Holt's eyes widened at the shockingly impressive and, honestly, sad amount of grievances.

"History, chemistry, economics, cooking, geometry, health, and starting this week, physical education. Congratulations, Abigail. You've now completed the set." the cougar jokes, opening the folder to fan her thumb through the dense array of papers.

"So, what does this mean for me?" the lynx quizzically asks.

"Well, it means they are very quick to complain, often exaggerating the way they interpret the events and how they went in their minds. I must admit, I didn't have the usual hunch that I get when they file one of these. They stated in their report that you were shrieking and screaming at them. No offense meant, but I certainly could have seen that being the truth." the cougar explained.

"I did not scream at them." Ms. Holt defended, honestly wishing she had.

"That is exactly what Mandy told us." she smiles.

"Mandy talked to you?" the lynx perks up.

"Yes, we have to talk to those that witnessed the events. We were going to interview you about it, but Mandy cleared things up very quickly for us. According to her, her parents were the aggressors. Yelling at you, invading your personal space, barking in your face. Mandy says she's sorry about all of this, by the way." the principal continues, closing the folder.

"I'm in the clear?" Ms. Holt gulps, literally on the edge of her seat.

"Yes, we see no reason to punish you. I'm used to parents complimenting you, actually." she chuckles.

"Really?" the lynx gapes.

"Mhm. You really must attend our parent teacher conferences. I've had a fair share of families saying how you've helped their children's behavior and attitude." the cougar insists.

"Really?" the flabbergasted feline repeats.

"You seemed to have straightened out Mr. Martin, after I caught him in the girl's locker room. I've been waiting for a teacher to write him up for something, but here we are." she smirks, leaning back in her office chair.

"I don't know what to say." the dumbfounded lynx sighed, leaning forward to suck in another breath.

"I'd say that we have five minutes before the buses arrive. It may be best for you to head to the locker room and change into something more fitting for yourself." she suggests.

"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea." Ms. Holt nods, shaking as she stood.

"Well, thank you for stopping by. I apologize about this whole ordeal, but you know how people can be." she hums, standing and extending her arm across the desk.

"Any time." the lynx swallows, shaking the woman's hand.

The principal sits back down, going over the morning's announcements. Ms. Holt stumbles out of the room, clutching her chest. Her heart pounds against her fist, tail wildly flicking as she stepped out into the main office. She staggers out into the hallway, giving a friendly wave to the hippo as she caught her racing breath.

"Holy shit." she gasps, once she was out into the hall, brushing her hand across her forehead to wipe away the nervous sweat that clung to her brow.

Her ragged breathing began to soften as she walked along the school, a smile growing across her lips, the insides seeping plasma from her anxious biting. The lynx began to chuckle, turning into a quiet laughter as she pranced down the hall. That is, until the stiletto heel slid out over the tile, sending the lynx tumbling to the ground.


The mixed crowd steps to their feet, giving a standing ovation as the jaguar's name was announced during the starting lineup. Mandy had been forced into absence for a while, after the last game she's started for obvious reasons. After her last appearance, the jaguar was all too eager to once again step up on the mound and deliver another win. The rest of the team had been chatting with her during their warm up, the keen eye of the lynx tolerating it to an extent. The night was young and the sky was clear. To top it off, the school's rival was in town to cap off their road trip. With the air filled with the smell of popcorn and the tangible atmosphere of athletic passion and excitement, Mandy continued her stretches. Her hand tightly gripped the elastic band that was knotted around the fence post, pulling back to extend and warm up her throwing arm.

Finished with her reps, the jaguar picked up her battered glove and slipped it on her hand. As she walked back to the dugout bench, she was stopped in her tracks by a spotted and striped arm. Ms. Holt looked the girl over, eyeing her hand. Reaching down, she snatched the old glove off the jaguar's hand, before tossing it into the metal drum that was used as a trash can. Giving her coach a confused look, her jaw soon dropped. The lynx picked up a bag from the local sporting goods store, reaching inside to pull out a glove. Made of the top five percentage of animal hides that are rigorously examined for a consistent and flawless strength, the leather pitching mitt was one of the very top of the line models. The gold trim and piping was only given to the more expensive and luxury mitts, but the price was worth every penny. Thin leather strips formed the webbing, ensuring a strength that would outlast the most violent of catches. A mixture of the graded leather lined a firm, protective shell of the pocket to keep her palm fresh and free from pain. It was the kind of glove that Major League Baseball would crown to their starters, which she was striving to become. Mandy looked up at her coach, unable to find the words to properly express her gratitude.

"Don't show your parents."


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Pub: 05 Feb 2023 08:02 UTC
Views: 274