You're Not Really Human

I'm finally starting to calm down about the whole 'half-human/half-chameleon hybrid' thing when the intercom squawks to life.

"Harley Rochester, please come to the principal's office. I repeat, Harley Rochester, please come to the principal's office."

Aside from a few curious glances from my friends, no one really reacts as I take the hall pass from Mr. Rogers' outstretched hand and head out. Walking down the long, silent hallway, I try to figure out why Principal Bosch wants to see me: did he find out that I was behind his infamous nickname, Principal Buttsex? No, a stupid nickname wouldn't be enough to send a guy to the office. Or was it because of last week's food fight? I did toss the final salad, after all...

I knock on the door to his office.

"Come in," Bosch says, and I open the door to find three guys who look like they've come straight out of a political thriller, all decked in black with sunglasses and ear buds. My heart starts to pound. No way. There's just no way that the government could've learned about me, not after eighteen years. Hell, I had just learned about me!

"Can I help you?" I ask, dread building up in the pit of my stomach.

Bosch looks at me with a mix of fear and curiosity in what are normally dull, lifeless eyes. "Please sit down, Mr. Rochester, and close the door behind you."

Maybe I should run, get out here while I still can, but a huge part of me wants to sit down and hear these guys out. I don't know: maybe they want to put me in some witness protection program for half-animal, half-human freaks? I know I wouldn't get far running, anyway, so I might as well stay.

"Okay...what's up?"

Bosch sighs and suddenly, he looks older--and the guy's pretty old. "Well, Mr. Rochester, it's come to my attention that you're...you're...not quite human. At least, not completely human. These gentleman have expressed concern that your abilities could prove problematic if exposed--"

"Ah, say no more," I reply, hands up to show no harm, "I don't have any abilities--"

"Yet," one of the three men says, "But they will manifest, and we can't risk word getting out about illegal human experiments, especially ones dealing with human-animal hybrids."

I swallow. "So, what are you going to do with me?"

"We'll take you to a secure facility and monitor your health, behavior, and abilities--"

"You mean take me somewhere and study me?"

"Well...yes and no," the second man answers, "We'll analyze you to develop an 'antidote' that will inhibit your animal-like traits."

I'm not buying it. Where's this proof that they'll just use me to find an 'antidote'? How do I know that they won't lock me up somewhere and cut me open?

When I don't answer, the third guy says, "Look, I know this must be overwhelming for you right now--" He reaches out to me, but I jump back, then run out the door. I refuse to take any chances with these people.

Not daring to look back, I rush down the halls and out the double doors, almost blinded by the mid-morning sunlight. I need time to think and plan, but home isn't an option.

So where do I go? I wonder.

It takes me a couple minutes for me to decide.

Daria's garage.