I awake with a start. I notice immediately that a blanket has been placed on top of me. The sky is still dark, the sun beginning to rise. I look around me. My shoulder bag containing my laptop and clothing is still in my possession, fortunately. I study the strange blanket in wonder.

Faded and worn, it is one of the iconic Hudson's Bay Company blankets; off-white with green, red, yellow, and blue stripes. It seems to be pure wool, fraying at the edges. It certainly has seen better days. Curious.

I rise and stretch, raising my arms and inhaling a large, refreshing breath, placing the blanket carefully on the ground. The cool air is crisp in my nose and throat. I rub my eyes.

"Sleep well?"

I nearly leap in surprise, quickly facing the voice that speaks to me. Jagger leans against the trunk of a tree casually, his arms crossed. Realizing who the blanket must belong to, I hand it to Jagger without meeting his eyes.

"Now now, don't pout." 

I watch him grin through the corner of my eye. 

"You can't just expect us to trust you right off the bat. We had to test your story somehow."

"Test my story?" I quote him, casting a questioning look.

"Yeah. To prove you weren't lying about being scared to go home," he explains. "And that you aren't just doing this for media attention."

An epiphany of realization overwhelms me. A small gasp escapes beneath my breath.

"Yeah." He nods, scratching his head.

"You would have felt immensely remorseful if I would have been hurt." I turn away, lifting my chin.

"You weren't hurt--"

"I could have been!"

"Bullshit." He laughs, mocking me. "You're just being a wimp. A preppy wimp."

I look away. His words sting my abdomen bitterly. He is correct, but not for the reasons he believes. I am a coward for avoiding my responsibilities. I could be sleeping in my bed in my dormitory at this moment but I am not; my ability to take responsibility for my actions and face authority has perished. My pride has been demolished.

"Hey--I didn't mean that," Jagger says softly, stepping toward me. "Let's go back to the house. I bet you're freezing."

A shiver crawls up my bare legs and spine. I shake my head, my gaze remaining downward.

"Come on." He nudges my arm playfully, taking hold of my shoulder bag and beginning to walk away.

"Stop at once," I call after him. "I refuse to return to your hostile environment."

"Hostile? Nah." He continues to walk. 

"Come along." He gestures his hand. "I'll fix you hair."

I run my fingers across my scalp. Realizing I essentially have no other option, I follow.

"We'll have to find you some different clothes," he says once I meet his gait. "You look way too preppy. You'll get reported."

I look down at my clothing, comparing it to that of Jagger. I am foolish for not having thought of this previously.

"Wait here."

We stop in front of a strange house surrounded by dirt, patches of dead grass, and small plastic automobiles. It is large compared to the other houses in the area. A sign near the door indicates that it is a group home for foster children. Handing me my shoulder bag and the blanket, Jagger quietly hurries to the door and enters without knocking. He returns less than a minute later, his arms full of various articles of clothing, torn (purposefully?) just like his own.

"Stealing from needy children is illegal and immoral," I whisper accusingly.

"We're not stealing. These are my friend's clothes," he says, beginning to walk again. "I figured mine wouldn't fit you very well. He's about the same size as you are. He'll understand."

He is correct, I will admit. Jagger's clothing would hang from my shoulders and hips like an over-sized blanket.

When we reach the house, Jagger leads me upstairs to the washroom, handing me the clothing.

 "Put something on and we'll see what we can do about your hair." He closes the door stiffly. 

A vast amount of cosmetic products line the cupboard above the toilet and counter, neatly arranged and colour-coded. The bathroom mirror is clean, edges speckled with chips. The aged linoleum creaks beneath my feet. I remove my clothing and inspect my new wardrobe.

The denim appears very narrow and has so many holes I do not know which ones my legs go through. I choose the polyester short-sleeved shirt that appears to have had a can of paint thrown at it. Slowly I open the bathroom door, emerging only my face.

"Jagger?" I whisper loudly, scanning the hall. He steps into my view.

"I feel quite ridiculous in this sloppy attire."

He opens the door fully, revealing my uncomfortable presence.

"No, you need the whole look," he says, pushing me aside.

He hands me a gray zippered hooded sweatshirt. I decide it is best to simply abide by his instruction. I put it on and he adjusts it on my shoulders, leaving it unzipped. He loops a faux leather vest with an interesting collar and many pockets over the sweatshirt.

Jagger crosses his arms, casting a curious glance.

"I feel quite ridiculous," I mumble beneath my breath.

"It's not that," he speaks, squinting at me suspiciously. "Anyway," he continues. "we have to do something with your hair." 

"Is that entirely necessary?" I plead. "I would be highly displeased with colouring it."

"We won't dye it," Jagger says, rolling his eyes. He leads me into the bathroom. "It's long enough to straighten."

He removes a flat iron from a drawer and plugs it into the wall. It buzzes as it comes to life, the outlet emitting a few sparks. I cringe.

Sommer appears in the doorway, notebook in hand. Her hair has been braided this time, twisted across the back of her head and over her shoulder. Her eyes are painted a black that has a slight luster, her lipstick dark red. She glances at me before looking at her brother, giggling lightly. Jagger exits the bathroom and returns with an old wooden chair.

"I feel foolish." My statement is not regarded.

I take a seat in front of the mirror as Jagger takes hold of the flat iron.

"Doesn't he look like Titus in these clothes?" Jagger asks his sister. She continues to giggle, nodding.

Except not the hair, she writes.

"Who is Titus?" I inquire.

"You're wearing his clothes."

He brushes his fingertips across my head, causing my hair to splay in all directions. He takes a strand and clamps it with the iron. The sharp heat near my scalp makes me anxious.

"A close companion?" I question, a nervous attempt to occupy my mind.

Sommer smirks playfully.

"Sommer shut up," Jagger says.

Titus is going to be jealous...

She holds the notebook so that Jagger and I can read it.

"No, he won't." His cheeks flush.

Maybe Metro will get jealous when he meets him...

She giggles profusely at this.

"I do not understand what you are implying," I respond. Sommer grins innocently.

"Give me that." Jagger rips the notebook from her grasp. I squeeze my eyes shut in fear of the hot iron in near proximity to my scalp.

"What do you think about a side bang?" Jagger quickly changes the subject.

I open my eyes. Sommer purses her lips and nods slowly, studying my reflection. Jagger continues to straighten my hair, moving the longer front strands against my forehead.

"Of course, if you ever plan to go out in public, you're gonna need to talk differently," he inquires.

"I fail to comprehend."

"Yeah. That's exactly what I'm talking about."

"Are you suggesting that I lower my advanced vocabulary to the level of the lower class?"

"You don't want to anger the wrong person, do you?" He frowns. "You're life's at stake, man."

He stares at my reflection seriously. I return the state, horrified. Suddenly he bursts into laughter.

"Your face!"

The hot iron singes my scalp. I wince in pain.

"Sorry," he says between laughs. "You just looked so terrified." 

"Unlike yourself, I do not find this amusing," I speak, a tinge of bitterness in my voice. "You leave me to spend the night alone without shelter, gambling with my life. You seem to enjoy torturing me with your hot iron and foolish comedic actions. I happen to be very fearful of the mutt's response to my studies in their community. I have, in fact, been educated about the dangers of entering communities of poverty with a lack of education like this one. I could be severely injured by you people; possibly killed."

A few seconds of tensed silence is shared between us. Suddenly Sommer slaps me across the face before storming out of the room. Jagger quickly sets the iron down runs to meet her. Heat rushes to my cheek. I rise foolishly. Suddenly I feel remorseful. I feel as though I must leave.

I exit the washroom, rushing down the stairs and toward the exit.

"Metro." Jagger rushes to my side. "Wait." 

I stop. 

He adjusts his stance and crosses his arms. Tilting his head as he stares at me calmly. I wish to apologize but cannot find the courage. I swallow my fear and stare at the floor.

"If you really feel that way, then why are you here?" Jagger asks finally, after a long silence. I do not respond.

"I can tell you why," he continues. "I got you thinking, didn't I? That day I spoke with you after you met with your parents. Got you really thinking about what defines success."

I recall our previous encounter.

"Now I want to give you something else to think about," he proceeds. "Sommer and I have grown up being told that we are basically stupid, that we have to respect you, the superior ones, no matter what. We don't have access to good education. Your people don't think it's worth it. They think we're a lost cause, that we don't matter." He scratches his head. "And there's nothing we can do about it. The more we rebel, the more we stand up for our rights, the more hell we get put through."

I begin my apology.

"No, I don't want you to apologize," he interrupts. "Just listen."

I nod solemnly.

"When I said that your life was at stake, I treated it like a joke. Because really, it is," he speaks softly, anger lacking in his voice. "Nobody here's gonna hurt you. That would be stupid. Do you even realize much shit someone would get into if a mutt decided to cause harm to a purebred? Especially you, Metro Riverton."

He shuffles his feet.

"And, we're not wild animals. It's not like we just go on purebred killing sprees."

I meet his eyes.

In this moment, I do not see Jagger as the intimidating boy I saw previously. Although he has every right to be angry with me and lash out, he remains composed, collected. Apologetic, even. His frightening demeanor has materialized.

"Why have you decided to confide in me?" I ask after a moment. "Why not simply abandon me? Are you afraid that I will inform my superiors of my involvement with you?"

"No." I notice his piercing twitching nervously again. "I just...I feel like you're really going to do something. And you have the influence to actually make a difference. Sommer wants to kick you out, but I think you should stay."

"Thank you," I reply softly.

We stand in silence for some long seconds.

"I now feel inclined to meet your high expectations of me," I state, straightening my stance. "Quite frankly, I believe you have a different envision than I do."

"Don't underestimate yourself," he replies.

"I am in your debt," I say honestly.

"I'm sure you'll find a way to repay me somehow."

He leaves me in solitude.