Chris stood up and looked at his reflection in Derek's bedroom mirror. Tight black T-shirt (emphasizing his new unmuscular lanky frame, something he hadn't had since he was about 10 years old), tight black jeans with a studded belt, and worn black sneakers. Then there was also the long straight black hair that fell across half his face. It was all very strange, but he apparently accepted it.
There was a knock on the door. "Derek? Do you have someone in there with you?"
"Who's that?" Chris asked.
"It's my mom." Derek stood up from the floor and opened his door.
"Who's in there with you?" asked a slightly chubby middle-aged woman.
"It's my friend. Chris."
She looked over at a boy who shared her son's general appearance. She had never seen him before. "I didn't know you had any friends."
"Mom. What did you want?"
"You should be getting ready for school."
Derek sighed. "I am. We're leaving soon."
His mom nodded, then left. Derek closed his door.
"I'm not sure I want to go to school," Chris said.
"We have to go to school. Don't worry too much, Crisis. I'll be there with you, sharing in your pain."
Chris smiled, just a tad, then looked depressed again.
"Plus, it's important to show everyone how much we're suffering."
Derek grabbed his schoolbag, which was actually a satchel, and started to leave.
"Wait a minute," Chris said. "I don't have my stuff here. I have to go home."
"We'll stop there on the way."
"Okay."
Then they left.
