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Good Enough--Crossroads--Chapter Three--The Offer

"Thanks," Chance said kindly as he sat down for breakfast on Friday morning. He tried his best to say it without any kind of sarcasm or resentment as he plopped down, looking analytically at the plate of sausage, fried eggs, and French toast. David smiled approvingly at his son, who began to eat slowly, while Michelle studied him curiously.

"Okay, this has gone on long enough," she said suddenly. "What's the game?"

"Game?" Chance repeated curiously through a mouthful of food.

"Swallow, Chance," David ordered. "Remember your manners."

Chance swallowed, but Michelle hurriedly spoke further. "You've been acting strange for two days now and I'm a bit... concerned." She leaned back, studying her husband and his son strangely.

"I'm perfectly fine!" Chance said with a forced smile that he was sure caused his face to twitch achingly.

"And that smile's creepy," she added.

"He's simply turning over a new leaf," David said hurriedly. "Sweetheart, I bet he'll even want to use a beautiful lady like you for a model this weekend."

I'd rather gargle nails, Chance thought ruefully.

But Michelle seemed rather taken by the David's compliments, grinning widely as he took her paw. She giggled girlishly and Chance suppressed his desire to gag at the sight.

"Excuse me, I need to get my stuff together for the art club," Chance said, standing.

"Chance, sit," David said, pulling back, smiling.

"Okay," Chance said, lowering once more. Michelle was beaming and looked over at Chance with a grin.

"So," she ventured, "how is the art club?"

"Fine," Chance said curtly. "Just fine." His clipped tone did not go unnoticed; David frowned at him. Chance smiled weakly at him. "The breakfast tastes decent."

Michelle's good mood seemed to lessen. "Thanks," she said politely. "So, Davey, is anything interesting happening at work today?"

---

"You look happy," Junior noted when Chance approached them at Benny's locker. It was becoming routine for Chance to join his friends at Benny's locker, gathered around it to chat, laugh and enjoy each other's company.

"Well, the art club's meeting again today and--"

"How is the club?" Lexi interrupted. "Anything fun happen?"

"Well, we mostly just draw or paint or stuff," Chance said. "It's not a lot of conversation because everyone's focusing on their art. Oh, but you won't believe who's in the club."

"Who?" Lexi urged. "Violet Cranston?"

"Who?" Chance wondered.

"Caleb Hale?" Junior said.

"Who?"

"Zack Bailey," Benny said matter-of-factly.

For a moment, Chance was about to ask who he had mentioned, but he soon realized that Benny had guessed correctly. "Yep. Zack's in the club. He's a painter."

"Really? Is he any good?" Lexi questioned in surprise.

"No clue, but Mr. Wagner was talking like he really wanted to see what he'd make," Chance said. "And I wanted to see what he'd make too, but I didn't get the chance. Although, I started a really good sketch of--What's wrong?" he asked Junior, caught off-guard by the venomous look on Junior's face.

"Nothing," Junior said darkly.

"He's not a friend of Zack Bailey," Lexi stated, shifting awkwardly where she stood. "Complicated history," she added in a loud whisper.

"He got his ass kicked," Benny said simply.

Part of Chance wanted to laugh at how blunt and nonchalantly Benny had said it, but he restrained himself when he saw the discomfort and embarrassment on Junior's face.

"Sorry," Chance murmured. "I just... Sorry..."

"It's okay," Junior scoffed. "Ancient history." He took a deep breath and looked at Chance with a smile. "But let's not get into it."

"Are you going to be okay, Junior?" Chance asked.

"Yeah," Junior said weakly. "No worries." A loud bell rang through the school and Junior exhaled sharply, a sigh of relief. "Well, I'm off to class! Catch you all later."

And he hurried off.

Great, Chance thought. Less than a week and you're already offending your friends...

---

Coach Salt's whistle once more called them to gather around him in the usual half-circle, his clipboard already marking who was present and who was absent. After a moment, he smiled at them happily and cleared his throat noisily.

"Well, cubs, today we're going to be focusing on the usual fitness tests," he announced. "There's going to be a series of tests at the end of the semester which you'll all need to be in shape to pass."

"Tests?" someone asked. "Like what?"

"Like what we'll be doing today," he explained, "and don't interrupt. Today, we'll be doing the mile. Running the mile, I mean. And your grades will depend on your times. But don't worry, we'll have plenty of practice runs. So, if you'll follow me outside, we'll head to the track."

Coach Salt started to lead the way outside and Chance found himself walking in the back of the group, keeping his head down and looking down. He looked up only once as a buff, dark-furred shape brushed past him irritably; it was Zack Bailey looking grim and ominous as usual as he did so. The jackal glanced back briefly as they got the track, soon lining up at the starting line.

"Boys, you're up first," Coach Salt said. "At the line. Remember, four laps around the track is one mile."

Chance took his spot in the group, once more at the back; much to his surprise, Zack stood beside him. But he had barely any time to think before he heard the coach's whistle blow once more. The crowd took off and Chance followed automatically, running slightly behind the group.

One lap, and he was feeling confident. He hadn't been going as fast as some of them, but he was doing pretty well and--

He fell forward, falling onto the track and feeling his leg scrape against the rough surface. As the sharp, stinging pain ran through his leg, he let out a hiss of pain, but soon another ache raced through his body as someone else tripped over him, kicking his side as they tumbled.

Quickly, Chance sat upright, running a paw over his wound. He looked down at his paw, his heart beating painfully in his chest as he saw the warm, reddish liquid droplets. He soon felt himself lifted up by his shirt, almost nose-to-nose with Zack Bailey.

"The fuck's your problem?!" raged the angry jackal.

Chance let out a shout and pulled away; he felt Zack release him and he fell backwards. Almost at once, Coach Salt was there, kneeling beside him.

"Break it up, boys. You okay, Argent? Don't look to bad. Just a small scrape." Coach Salt looked over Chance's wound. "Yeah, nothing too serious." He looked up at Zack. "There's a first-aid kit in the gym beside the fire extinguisher. Bring it here. Now. And make sure that it's clean and bandaged. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," Zack said very begrudgingly.

Chance's body continued to shake when Zack came back; Coach Salt had told him to sit down off the track while the rest of the class continued to run the mile. Zack soon kneeled beside him, pulling out a bandage and antiseptic wipes from the kit. He wiped the wound once, twice, ignoring the hisses of pain from his patient as he did so before putting on the bandage.

He stood up again, saying nothing.

Chance's breathing calmed as he looked up at Zack. "Thanks," he murmured.

"Whatever."

---

Zack was already in the room when Chance arrived to the art club. Mr. Wagner greeted him warmly and Chance took a seat, once more across from Zack.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," Zack echoed.

"Thanks for earlier," Chance said, "and I'm sorry about tripping you."

"You're a clumsy little fucker, aren't you?" Zack grumbled.

Indignation welled up in Chance at the remark. "Well, you tripped over me! That makes you just as clumsy!" Zack's dark glare focused on him and Chance's next words snagged in his throat. But the jackal said no more as he resumed painting. "What're you working on?" No reply. "Can I see?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Not done."

A moment of silence passed as Chance opened his sketchbook to a blank page and started to draw. He glanced up every now and then, but Zack seemed so focused on his painting. His eyes were narrowed in concentration and he seemed unaware of anything outside of his work. Chance's eyes surveyed the jackal closely, admiring the musculature, the well-combed fur, and those eyes like dark pools to get lost into and--

"Must you stare?" Zack said suddenly. "It's weird."

"How'd you get so buff?" Chance asked suddenly. What the fuck did you just say? He's going to think you're even weirder now!

"I work out," Zack answered simply.

"Bet you can pass the fitness tests without even breaking a sweat," Chance continued, despite everything in his mind screaming at him to shut the fuck up.

"Probably."

"How much do you bench?"

Zack's paw stopped moving and at once, Chance thought he should get up and walk away. Go hide in the library. Or the bathroom. Or anywhere that's out of arm's reach of Zack. But his body seemed frozen as those dark eyes focused on him, analyzing him strangely as if the words spoken hadn't been understood. Or perhaps, not believed.

"What?" Zack said.

Stop it, stop it. Back away now and just pretend it never happened. Don't you dare say-- "How much do you bench?" Chance repeated. Damn you, mouth.

"Why do you care?"

"Well, I was just thinking, maybe, it'd be cool to finally be strong and buff and stuff," Chance said, rambling. "Because, you know, just to not be so small and scrawny and--"

"Weak."

"Hey!"

Zack shook hi head. "You can't just lift a bunch and suddenly get buff. You gotta work up to it."

"You sure know a lot about working out and stuff."

Zack rolled his eyes before speaking. "Well, I do it all the time."

"It shows. You look good."

Zack gave him a flustered look. Then he went back to painting. "Just...work on your drawing or whatever."

Chance couldn't stop a grin coming to his face.

---

"So, how was your club?" David asked monotonously as Chance got into the passenger seat, flitting through his sketchbook.

"Nice," Chance answered. "Thanks for letting me join."

"Right, but you know you're still grounded right?" David asked as he pulled away from the school. Chance looked up. "Which means this weekend, I'll have plenty to keep you busy."

"Like what? Drawing your wife?"

"Watch yourself, boy," David said warningly. "Don't piss me off. I'll have a long list of chores and housework for you to do, including doing a nice portrait of Michelle. And you'll also be joining me and her at church on Sunday morning. And no, you don't have a say in this."

"Come on! I've been nice all week!" Chance griped. "I should get to sleep in! Why do I have to--?"

"Because I said so!" David snapped. "And don't make it worse!"

Chance huffed and looked back down at his sketchbook. "Mom wouldn't make me do that," he murmured under his breath.

"What?"

"I think I'm getting better at portraits," Chance said hurriedly. He had flipped to the artwork he had been working on for the past few days. Certainly, he was getting better; this handsome jackal's visage was proof of that.

"Who is that?" David asked, peering over.

"Just a classmate," Chance answered shyly, closing his sketchbook. Just a classmate...