His name was Coach Tristan. Joseph didn't know if it was his first or last name, only that he was only ever referred to as Coach at the gym. An older African American man, with a fuzzy gray beard and a shock of white hair atop his head like a cluster of wisps, he had the build of a man who had gone to seed a long time ago, yet when he spoke, he spoke with power, despite his frail voice racked by a smoking addiction that he promised to quit every year.

Joseph was fourteen when he met the Coach, who was the older brother of his Track coach (whom everyone just called Mr. Alder) at school. High School, now. Not Alsbury Private. Joseph's grades had been far too low for that. He tried not to think of the way his parents had looked at him when he had failed his admission test. They still looked at him like that, every so often, when they pulled their heads out of their asses and paid attention to him.

No, another private school then. And if he was honest, Joseph was relieved. Martin Wood had a good athletic program, probably the only thing he was ever good at. He already was catching a few eyes at Track, and Mr. Alder was talking to him about other extracurriculars.

“Come down to my brother's gym,” he said, “I think he'll want to meet you.”

Like his parents gave a shit. They weren't even home by nine or ten nowadays. They wouldn't even notice that he had been out for the evening after school, when the unspoken rule was he was to be home and working on schoolwork.

It was a sweaty place, as he walked in. A large ring was set up in the gym's center, a couple of men dancing around each other in bright blue and red gear. A couple of punching bags lined the wall.

It was a boxing gym.

Joseph almost turned around, but Mr. Alder spotted him before he could.

“Joseph!” he called out, “Over here!”

And Joseph walked over, rolling his eyes. His coach introduced the Coach, with a capital 'C', who was wearing a simple gray coat, a cigarette in a weathered, long hand. Coach Tristan gave Joseph a once-over. Joseph crossed his arms.

“You're scrawny,” Coach said.

“You're a dipshit.”

At that, Coach Tristan let out a wheezy laugh.

“Ha!” he said, “You got the attitude for it, I guess. What's your name, son?”

“Joe.”

“Joe. Joseph. You not like your daddy's name?”

“Not really,” Joseph said, “But it's mine.”

“Once you turn eighteen, you can change it,” Coach Tristan said, “My brother, he says you’re a runner?”

“I run,” Joseph said, “Jog. Track. I don't box.”

“Not yet, you don't,” Coach Tristan said. He looked at his brother, “You're sure he's actually any good?”

“He's good at anything I throw at him,” Mr. Alder said, “He's been in Track since he started High School, but I've seen him in Basketball, a couple pickup games of Baseball after school. Kid's good.”

“Ball games ain't boxing,” Coach Tristan said, “But, alright. Let's see what the kid can do.”

He reached underneath his chair, pulling out a pair of pads that he put over his hands, which he then raised up.

“Alright, Joe,” he said, “Punch me.”

Joseph blinked.

“I'm not doing this,” he said.

“I said, punch me.”

“No way, weirdass,” Joseph said, “I'm not punching you-”

“Shut up and punch me!”

Coach Tristan swung his right lightly, slowly, so slow that Joseph easily ducked underneath. Yet Joseph didn't. Instead, he rolled his eyes, allowed the swipe to puff the side of his head as he reared back and threw a punch, one that landed in the square center of Coach's other hand.

It was a lazy hit. A wild one. Devoid of any practice whatsoever. But Coach Tristan nodded.

“He's an idiot who needs to learn when to get hit and when to dodge, but he's got a bit of power to him. A bit of that raw edge I like.”

He looked Joseph up and down.

“Your daddy don't mind if you come here?”

“My dad doesn't give two shits about what I do,” Joseph said, “But I'm not going here.”

“Naw, naw,” Coach Tristan said, “I'll give you a deal, now, son. I teach you to box. You can come here whenever you want, between eight in the mornin' and eight at night. Just so long as you come.”

“What's the catch?” Joseph asked.

“The catch?”

“Yeah, the catch,” Joseph said, crossing his arms again.

Coach Tristan leaned in.

“You’re an angry boy, you know that?”

Joseph's eyes narrowed.

“You come here, I give you something to punch. That wallop you just gave me, there's some real power behind it, though it's clumsy as shit. I’ll give you something to punch, and punch it right. Punch it so good, it sees the starry sky.”

And Joseph dropped his guard at that, relaxed his shoulders, which had been tensing up.

And so it was that Joseph joined Coach Tristan's gym. He didn't go every day. He sometimes went weeks without going. Yet whenever he was angry, whenever he had one of those arguments with his parents that were becoming more intense, more heated, he would find his way here. It was close enough to his school that he could jog to it.

And he would punch. And Coach would show him how to use his legs, how to raise up his fists to protect his head, how to counterpunch, and take more than the other guy.

The gym became his second home. No, it became more than that. There was a life there that was more fulfilling than anything that was back home.

Track, too, became more fulfilling. The two of them, running and boxing, went hand in hand in Joseph's head. Some days, they were the only thing that got him out of bed.

And the years of High School passed.

***

“It's a good scholarship, Joseph.”

“I know,” Joseph said, “But... isn't Harvard.”

“You're right, it's not,” Mr. Alder said, “But it's still a full ride. Esther University's got one of the best Track programs in the country. You could go far.”

“Or boxing,” Joseph said.

“That, too,” Mr. Alder said, “Or wrestling. Swimming. You'd be good at that, I think. But the scholarship's for running, so you'd probably want to concentrate on that.”

Joseph looked down at his coach's desk. Mr. Alder sighed, gave a nod.

“Just think about it, alright?” he said, “Keep it in mind. Senior year's going to be over before you know it, and as an educator, it's sort of my responsibility to push you towards college.”

“And, not as an educator?” Joseph said, “How about as just a person?”

A smile flickered on his coach's face.

“Well,” he said, “You're good at running. I'd hate to see that go to waste.”

***

He was eighteen at this point. A senior. The future was wide. Vast. Or so his teachers told him. They had given a speech, each of them, on the first day of classes, with by and large the same beats. Almost the same words, too.

But to Joseph, who was running to the gym, the future was like a vise.

His parents had started paying attention to his grades again. And, while he was passing his classes just fine, they were not-

He missed a step, almost tripped.

They weren't good, not to them. Never to them. Never would be.

Every conversation they had, when he got home at night, was about Harvard. His grades. His latest report cards.

Always, the disappointment just brimming in his dad's eyes. The stolen glances towards the wall when his mother spoke about his siblings. Success stories, all three of them, to some degree or another. And here was Joseph, the youngest, the fuck-up.

Like Joseph gave two shits about that.

He got to work almost as soon as he got to the gym. Just walked over to the nearest punching bag and stanced up. His strikes over the last four years had become surgical and precise. Yet there was raw anger in them, parts of him that he could barely suppress nowadays coming out and pumping through his arms, into the bag. A flow of energy. Like his soul awakened.

“You didn't stretch, again,” he heard Coach Tristan say, “And you didn't warm up again, either.”

The old man was walking behind him. Aside from Brock and Ivan sparring in the ring, they were the only people in the gym. He was, as usual, wearing his old gray coat. He had tried swearing off cigarettes last month, so he had a mean look to him. Joseph glanced over to him for a moment, then turned around and continued punching.

“Man, what did I say to you?” Coach said, “You stretch. You warm up. You don't just walk in and start beating on the bag like it hurt your daddy.”

Joseph continued punching. His hits became more savage. Less focused. He lost his form.

And Coach Tristan's hand landed on his shoulder. Joseph whirled.

“What the-”

“Stop,” Coach said.

Joseph gritted his teeth. For a moment, he wanted to just keep going. Push him back. Do anything. Then, seething, he shrugged Coach's hand away and walked over to the wall, leaning against it, taking deep breaths.

Coach walked over to the bag and stilled it.

“You look like you wouldn't care if someone hurt your daddy,” he said.

“I wouldn't give two shits.”

“Naw, don't say that,” Coach Tristan said, “You don't say that about your family. Even if they aren't the best.”

“I-” Joseph rolled his eyes, “Sure. Whatever.”

And Coach Tristan fixed him with those eyes again. That gauged Joseph.

“Something happen?” he asked.

“Scholarship, from your bro,” Joseph said, “Track. In Seattle.”

“Well, knew you were good for something,” Coach Tristan said, “What school?”

“Esther,” Joseph said.

“Never heard of it.”

“Exactly why my parents wouldn't want me to go,” Joseph said, “It's Harvard, or bust.”

“And is Harvard an option?”

Joseph squeezed his eyes shut. Forced out a ‘No.’

“Well, now,” Coach Tristan said, “Seems like that path is clear, if you want to take it.”

He glanced over to see Joseph shaking. Glaring at the wall. Almost fighting back tears. Coach Tristan’s face went somber, the anger and the sarcastic smile dropping.

“Joseph?” he asked.

“I didn’t-” but Joseph almost broke for a moment, taking a deep breath, pulling himself together.

“It’s alright, son,” Coach Tristan said, “Let it out, slow-like.”

It took Joseph another few moments to compose himself. His voice was still shaking and ragged as he spoke, though.

“I… I know I'm not what they wanted. I know I was the surprise. I just wish... I just wish they cared more.”

The Coach nodded.

“Maybe that's their way of carin',” he said, “They like that with the other ones?”

“Yeah,” Joseph said, “But there's a way my dad looks at them. At Luke and Jonathon. There's a way my mom talks when Lily comes home. There's a way they-”

He took another deep breath.

“A way... A way they look at them, that they don't look at me. Like… I’m…”

At this, Tristan nodded again. Sagged a bit. He looked away from Joseph, let the young man have a shred of privacy, give him a second to force himself back under control again.

And Joseph did. He was good at that.

Good at forcing everything down. Letting it stew in his belly.

“Me not getting Harvard, that's that for them,” he said, “They really want me to go. That's all they talk about. But I'm just... I'm not good enough, Coach.”

Tristan nodded at that.

He pulled out a cigarette out of his pocket, lit it up. Joseph looked over at him, his eyes narrowing.

“Thought you quit,” he said.

“I don't give two shits about what you think,” Coach said, “And I thought you didn't give two shits about what your parents thought, either.”

“Maybe I do,” Joseph said.

“...Yea, maybe you do,” Coach said. He took a drag from his cigarette, the smoke drifting out in curls from his cracked lips, “You want my advice?”

“...Sure.”

“Take the scholarship, Joe,” Coach said, his voice low and serious, “Even a college like Esther is better than no college at all.”

“It's not Harvard.”

“Hell no, it's not. But it's still college. It's still education. Opportunity. It's a full ride, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then it's a chance to be on your own, without your parents breathin’ down your neck. They can't try and control you with money. It's all the way out in Seattle.”

“My parents,” Joseph said, “Aren't trying to control me.”

And Coach Tristan let out a harsh, shocked laugh at that.

“Boy,” he said, “Your parents been trying to control you since the day you was born. I bet it's how they show that they love you, that they pick your future like they did. They probably want to make sure you're well and set when you're out of their roost.”

“Yeah,” Joseph said, “Maybe.”

“But I also know, not every little bird's the same, right?” Coach said, “Some are sparrows. Some are hawks. And sometimes, you gotta do what's right for you. Yeah?”

“I just don't know what I'm gonna tell them,” Joseph said, “Like, how do I even broach it? Tell them I'm going somewhere else?”

“You give it time,” Coach said, “You prepare to say your piece. You say it. Their reaction, that's on them. But don't let them shout you down, Joe. You're better than that.”

He rested his hand, again, on Joseph's shoulder.

“But you gotta tell 'em.”

“I... will,” Joseph said.

And they went back to work. Boxing. Coach let Joseph get it out of his system, gave him tips when Ivan invited him over for a quick spar. His world, once more, became one of movement and energy.

And he didn't tell his parents when he got home.

He would not tell them until much later, when it was too late.

***

They arrived on Melmaen from a Traveling Point in the nation of Carda. A nation that had recently won its independence from the Julianisan Empire, the Traveling Point was located in Carda's capital city, which had been founded specifically to capitalize on the Traveling Point's mercantile opportunities, for Melmaen was well-acquainted with the multiverse.

They were greeted by Federation soldiers as they stepped through, though this far from the Eye proper, they were given only a few meager questions, and then were released into a city of cobblestone walkways, brick-and-mortar buildings with scaled roofs, and airships plying the skies above. A series of towers lined the city's outer walls, acting as ports for flying galleons with runes glowing on their hulls. A few of them reminded Joseph of the Dreamer's Lament.

“Right,” Rosemary said, “Come on, let's get something to eat. I'm starved.”

All three of them had the unvoiced thought of leaving the area of the Traveling Point quickly. The terrorist attack on St. Malendia's weighed heavy on them as they walked down the road to find a place to sit down. As they dodged out of the main plaza and down a side road, Joseph took a look back at the Traveling Point.

It shimmered, just barely. Flanked by two Federation soldiers. Guarded by no one else.

“Joseph,” Rosemary said, “Come on!”

“Right,” Joseph said, “Right, let's go.”

They found a nice little cafe to stop at, ordering a couple of sandwiches, a cup of tea for Rosemary and Joseph, coffee for Phineas, who slurped it loudly as they ate and went over their plan.

“Right,” Rosemary said, “So we're here.”

“That we are,” Joseph said. He watched as a magitek car went by, runes on its front, some joyride a guy was taking his lady friend on. He could hear her laughter, high and grating, echo down the street as they disappeared down a bend.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

“So,” Phineas said, “Where is this Museum of Unnatural History?”

“On Melmaen,” Joseph said.

“Yeah,” Rosemary said, “But where?”

Joseph blinked. Sipped his tea.

“Um,” he said, “I'm not sure.”

Rosemary grimaced. Phineas scratched at an arm.

“Well, uhm,” Rosemary said, “Neither do I. Phin?”

“I have no idea where it is,” Phineas said, “I only heard about this museum as Joseph started packing up to leave.”

The three of them sat in an awkward silence. Down the street, they could hear a couple of sailors start arguing with each other over a dropped crate.

“We'd...” Rosemary said, “We'd better start doing a bit of research, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Joseph said.

“Research is good,” Phineas said, “Only fools dislike it.”

“We should have done this before we left.”

“We were in a hurry,” Rosemary said, “Better late than never, right?”

“Right,” Joseph said.

“Indeed,” Phineas said.

They simmered back into the awkward silence. Their server walked over to them, and refilled Joseph and Rosemary's tea. She offered some more coffee to Phineas, who declined. Joseph sipped. Rosemary coughed.

“We should get to it,” Joseph said.

“Yeah, let's,” Rosemary said.

They started by asking the server.

“The Museum?” she asked, pouring Joseph another cup of tea, “Not sure. There's a Museum of Natural History, down the way.”

“No,” Joseph said, “Unnatural History.”

“Well, now, that just don't make a lick o' sense,” the server said, “What even is that? Ain't ever heard of unnatural history.”

“It is a weird name,” Phineas conceded.

“Now, there's supernatural history,” the server said, “Ghosts, like. Why, my sister, Cindy, she lives just outside o' town, and she suh-wears there's a ghost living in her attic.”

“Uh-huh,” Joseph said, “Right. We'll be taking our check now.”

The server wilted.

“Aw, heck,” she said, “Foreigners never want to hear about the ghosts.”

They left the cafe with more confusion than answer. After a few minutes of conferring amongst each other, they headed for the docks.

***

“Yeah, the Museum of Unnatural History,” Joseph said, “Heard of it?”

He had managed to pull two sailors away from their work loading cargo onto the pulley system held within the tower. Stone elementals hidden in the tower's walls began lifting the floor up towards the top, where they could load the cargo onto the airship moored high above. But both of them were looking at Joseph like he had grown two heads.

“I'll be honest,” one said, “I've never actually been to a museum.”

“Really?” the other said, “They're pretty good. My dad used to take me to the local one, back when I was growing up.”

“Thought you grew up on a farm.”

“Yeah, I did,” the other sailor said, “But he'd take me to the one in town. Was one of them freak show places, with two-headed cows and stuffed metahumans and the like.”

Joseph's blood ran cold at that.

“Th-the Museum?” he said, “Unnatural History.”

“Oh,” the sailors said, together, “Well, there's one in town. Natural History, though.”

“Yeah, we know,” Rosemary said.

“I should go, I think,” the first sailor said, “I've never been.”

“Why don't,” the other sailor said, “On our break, once we finish loading up, we go?”

“Aye, I like the sound of that.”

Joseph rolled his eyes.

“Hey!” he said, “Museum of Unnatural Goddamn History. You heard of it?”

Both sailors turned to look at him. One looked angry. The other just looked confused. Joseph glared at both of them.

“It's a simple question,” he said.

“Then here's a simple answer,” the first sailor said, “Neither of us know of a Museum of Unnatural History, so bugger off.”

“Really, if we knew what it was, we'd have told you,” the other sailor said. He looked at Rosemary, “Kind of a simpleton, isn't he?”

“Ooookay,” Rosemary said. She grabbed at Joseph before he threw himself at them, the air smelling like ozone, “Thanks for your time. We'll be leaving.”

***

“Great,” Joseph said, “Fuckers.”

“Well, they did not know,” Phineas said, “And moved on to other topics. Seemed logical, to me.”

Joseph shot Phineas a look. The Deep One just shrugged.

“Well,” Rosemary said, “What other options do we have?”

Joseph grimaced.

“I'm not sure,” he said.

“The library,” Phineas rasped, “Whenever I have to do research, I do it there. Don't you, Joseph?”

“I do,” Joseph said, scratching the back of his head, “I'll be real, though, I'm kind of sick of them, though. Feels like all I do back at the guild when I'm not fighting is reading.”

“All you did,” Phineas said.

Joseph caught himself at that.

“Did, right,” he said, though he did not sound convinced, “...Did.”

He was quiet for a moment, lost in his own thoughts. His hand balled into fists as he remembered all of the times he went into that damn place, poring over every metahuman volume he could find, begging Becenti if he had any more.

All this time, and the answer could have been here. And Wakeling had forbidden him because of some damn businessman.

The same businessman Ichabod had gone after.

He felt his soul circuit, hot and angry.

“Regardless,” Rosemary said, “It's worth a shot.”

“Let's just go,” Joseph said.

“I can ask around,” Rosemary said, “There's bound to be a map, or something.”

“I don't care,” Joseph said, “Let's just do it. Go.”

There was a dark edge in his voice. Rosemary and Phineas looked at one another for a moment, hesitating.

“What?” Joseph said, “What's the holdup? I'm leaving the guild, you're helping me, right?”

“Joseph,” Rosemary said, “We-”

“Let's go. Start asking around,” Joseph said, “Let's just find a goddamn library. Read through books, again. Maybe we'll find one that we're looking for.”

And he strode off, leaving the two of them behind. Phineas rested a hand on Rosemary's arm.

“He is angry,” he said.

“I know, Phin,” Rosemary said, “No excuse to take it out on us, though.”

“Agreed,” Phineas said, “We shall just help him look, then.”

He made to start waddling after the metahuman, before stopping to look back up at her. There was a distant, sad look in her eyes.

“Rosemary?” he said.

She shook herself from her stupor, and gave Phineas a soft, false smile.

“Yeah, Phin,” she said, “Let's go.”

***

They found a library soon enough, asking around for a small while before settling on one in the inner city. It was an old building, with that familiar, dusty book smell. Books were piled high on desks and on shelves, thick tomes that went over Melmaen's vast, almost impossible histories. The man at the desk was helpful, at least.

“The Museum of Unnatural History?” he said.

“Yeah,” Joseph said, “And if you say that there's already a museum of NATURAL history here, I'm going to lose it.”

“I'm quite aware of the Museum of Unnatural History, young sir,” the librarian said, “Hmm, perhaps it's best if I show you a map.”

He got up, grimacing a bit as he put weight onto his old wooden leg. He walked with a limp over to one of the shelves tucked away in the corner, weathered hands sorting through books of geography, before stopping and picking one out.

“Here we are,” he said, “A map of the Julianisan Empire's borders, circa a hundred years ago.”

“Won't that be out of date?” Joseph said, “It was a century ago.”

“Not for what I'm going to show you,” the librarian said.

He laid the book down at a table, the three guildmembers crowding around him as he opened it up and flipped a few pages. He stopped, pointing down at a map of the Julianisan Empire's holdings on the northern continent.

“Here we are,” he said, “The floating island of Stellaluna.”

“Stellaluna,” Rosemary said, “That's a pretty name.”

“Indeed,” the librarian said, “I remember my grandmother telling me about it. An old floating island that was brought here from another plane around five thousand years ago.”

“And it's still part of the Julianisan Empire?” Joseph asked.

“I believe so,” the librarian said, “But don't go spouting that off in public, eh?”

“Whatever,” Joseph said, “Stellaluna, where is it?”

“It's floating isl-”

“We know,” Joseph said, “Where is it?”

“That's what I'm trying to tell you,” the librarian said, and his voice was barbed with trying patience, “It's a floating island. It migrates, depending on the time of year. Most of the time, you'd be able to charter a ship. But...”

“It could be on the other side of the globe,” Joseph muttered.

“Err, disc,” the librarian said.

“Fucking whatever,” Joseph said. He moved off, exiting the library, taking a second to himself.

“Sorry about him,” Rosemary said to the librarian, “He's been going through it.”

“Quite alright, I suppose,” the librarian said, “Would you like to check out the book?”

“I think we will be alright,” Phineas said, “We only needed to see where the museum was. Thank you.”

“Of course,” the librarian said, “Have a good rest of your day.”

***

They had seven thousand credits to their name, roughly. They had to round back to the plaza with the Traveling Point to exchange Phineas's gold coins for the Julianisan gel, before snooping back to the port towers to find a ship that would take them to Stellaluna. They found one, just barely.

For two hundred gel. Five thousand credits.

All three of them winced at that.

“You're lucky,” the ship's captain said, “Island's close to us this time o' year. We can drop you off on the way over.”

“Two hundred gel, though,” Rosemary said, “It's a bit steep, isn't it?”

“Outlanders attract trouble,” the captain said, “For all I know, you could be on the run. You got the looks of it.”

“What does that mean?” Joseph asked, darkly.

“We'll take it,” Rosemary said, “Two hundred.”

“Deal,” the captain said, fixing Joseph a warning look, “Be sure to keep this one in check.”

“What does-”

Rosemary elbowed him. Joseph grimaced.

“Fine,” he said.

And they were off on another ship. One with a name, though this time Joseph didn't bother to learn it. No, instead, he sat down on the bunk that had been provided for him, and closed his eyes. A pounding headache had crept into his skull while they had been on Melmaen, and it throbbed and pulsed as his anger, for a bit, subsided.

“Two days,” Rosemary said, as she settled into the bottom bunk, “Two days, Joe. Then we're there.”

He didn't respond. He merely closed his eyes.

Memories came back to him.

***

“Two weeks,” his father said, “Two weeks until the end of classes, and you've yet to make a decision.”

They were back at the dinner table. His dad. His mom. Luke. Joseph was leaning back, the dishes cleared away, the plans once more back in front of him. None of them had been accomplished. Not the right school, not the right grades, not the right extra-fucking-curriculars. All three of them were looking at him now with different looks. Luke looked awkward, fidgeting a bit and glancing every so often at their dad, whose face was set in a look of profound, exhausted disappointment. His mother was looking at him as though she were seeing him for the first time in her life.

It had been a year since he had first spoken to his two coaches about the athletic scholarship.

And he still had not told his parents.

His heart was hammering as he took a deep breath.

“I know it's not what you guys want,” he said.

“It is not,” his father said. His voice was flat. Tense.

“Joseph,” Luke said, “What were you doing, these last few years? Were you studying?”

“I was,” Joseph said.

“Evidently not enough,” his mom said. She picked up his report card, “Bs in English, Math, Science? Joseph, that's not even close to acceptable.”

Joseph was quiet.

“Did you write your introductory letter?” Luke said, “You were supposed to have it by now.”

“I'll write it in the Summer,” Joseph said.

“Damn the Summer!” his father yelled. He rose to his feet, anger etched into every line on his face, as he pointed a finger at Joseph, “What is wrong with you?”

They all froze.

“Joseph Zheng!” his father snarled, “You were supposed to be working on getting into a good school! What have you been doing? Every night, I come home to see that you're out, that you're not studying, not writing, not getting any of your homework done on time!”

He stepped over to him now, leering over Joseph.

“What have you even been doing? No doubt more of that boxing, getting concussions, getting brain damage! Your brain is the most important part of your body, Joseph! You can't get hurt, not now! Not when your brain's all you have!”

Joseph mumbled something under his breath.

“What was that?” his father said, “Speak up, Joseph. Don't make me tell you again.”

“I said, maybe my brain's not all I have.”

His answer created a moment of quiet. His father froze, anger still burning in his eyes, in the way that a vein was popping out of his temple. Luke glanced at his mom, who spoke up.

“What do you mean by that, Joseph?” she asked.

“I've been...” Joseph's heart raced as he looked up to meet his father's face, “I've been meaning to tell you. I've been offered a scholarship. Full ride, Esther.”

“What. Is. Esther?” his father forced out.

“It's a college.”

“Ain't Harvard,” Luke murmured. He was staring at the table.

“Isn't MIT, either,” his father said, “What sort of scholarship, Joseph?”

“For Track,” Joseph said.

“Track?” his father said, his eyes widening in disbelief, “Track?!”

“I know it's not what you want,” Joseph said, “But it's an opportunity-”

“You're supposed to be a doctor, Joseph! Or an engineer, or something worth something in the world! What, are you expecting to be the next Usain Bolt? Hmm?”

“No, but I-”

“What good is another runner? When you could be helping save lives, push the future forward?” his father snapped, “You need to be able to support yourself, Joseph! You think you're going to be doing that running?”

“Dad,” Luke said, “Maybe-”

“Stay out of this, Liu!” his father said, “Joseph, do you understand what I'm saying?”

“Dad,” Joseph said, “Just, hear me-”

“Harvard, Joseph!” his father said, “If you're not going there, then what good are you-”

“Oh, will you fuck off!”

Now Joseph was rising to his feet. He was his father's height, now. Maybe a few centimeters taller. His father even took a step back.

“What,” his dad said, “Did you say?”

“I said, fuck off,” Joseph said.

“You do not-”

“I'm going to-”

“You do not speak to me that way!” his father roared. Joseph fell back into his chair as his father beared over him, caked him in his shadow, “I am your father, boy. You will respect me!”

For a moment, Joseph's stomach boiled, as part of him tried to force down his emotions. But another part of him, something whispering on his shoulder, in his ear, exploded out.

“Oh, fuck off with that!” he snarled, “Father? Like hell you are!”

“Woah, Joseph,” Luke said. His mother was gasping.

“What does that mean?” his dad said, “I pour my soul into my work, to support a family, to support you-”

“You didn't even want me!” Joseph said, “I was the fucking mistake, remember?”

“And still, we raised you!” his father said, “We did not have to do that, Joseph!”

“Yeah, you fucking did!” Joseph said, “I'm your son, right? I'm supposed to be! But you aren't even home when I am! You never have been. Never! When I was-”

He doubled, for a moment, fighting down a sob.

“When I was ten, and Cameron was bullying me, what did you do?”

His father was silent.

“Nothing!” Joseph snarled, “I had to fight for myself, and all I got from you was yelling!”

“That has nothing to do with your grades,” his father said, “That has-”

“To hell with my grades!” Joseph screamed, “To hell with school! Fuck Harvard! That's all you ever talk about with me! You don't ask me anything except to ask me about my GODDAMN grades, my school! Do you even know what I've been doing outside of school?”

“I know what you're supposed to be doing,” his father said.

“What?” Joseph said, “Studying? Like some fucking hermit? Do you even know who my friends are?”

His father was quiet at that. Luke was staring at the wall, his hands balled into nervous fists. His mother's breathing came out in short, panicked bursts.

“You don't know me,” Joseph said, “You don’t even try.”

There was a moment where his words remained in the air. All of them were deathly quiet. Outside, they could hear police sirens blaze somewhere in the night. Privately, Luke and his mother wondered how it had gotten so hot inside.

Then, his father brought out a hand.

And slapped Joseph across the face.

Joseph stumbled back, cheek stinging, his father stepping forward. His face was one of mutiny as he turned back to look at his father, who returned it in kind.

“I,” Zheng Hong said, “Am your father. You do not-”

Joseph's swing was decisive. His fist shot into his father's face like a bullet, a right hook that was far stronger than Joseph had expected. His dad crumpled. His mom screamed.

“Joseph!” Luke was yelling, “What the hell?”

But Joseph was already moving, grabbing his phone, his wallet. He strode to the door and began putting his shoes on, tying them. Luke was moving around the table to check on his father, who was shaking as he rose to his feet, rubbing his jaw.

All three of his family stayed away from him as Joseph stood tall.

He wanted to say something to them.

Anything.

But he was seeing red. His curled fist throbbed.

Without another word, he walked out the door.

***

He would crash at his friends' houses for the next few days, couch-surfing and attending school. Every evening, he would make his way to the gym. He didn't tell Coach what had happened. But he knew that the old man knew, in the way that he boxed now, his punches taking on a more savage edge to them. In the way that Joseph walked.

On Sunday, he finally took one of his sister's calls, after ignoring them, and Luke's.

“They just want to make sure you're okay, Joseph,” Lily said.

“You know that’s not true,” Joseph said, “They don’t even talk about me, do they?”

Lily was quiet at that. For she knew he was right.

“I’m fine,” Joseph said.

Lily let out a deep sigh.

“Joseph,” Lily said, “Luke and I have been talking. School's almost over. Finals are coming up. You have to be home.”

“I'm not going back there,” Joseph said, “I'm doing just fine as is.”

“That’s…” Lily faltered. Well, it wasn’t ‘fine.’ But what else could she say?

“We'll... I guess, I don't know,” she admitted, “We'll rent you a motel room while you take finals. Then, once school's out, you can crash with Luke for the Summer.”

“I've got my boxing here,” Joseph said, “I've got the gym.”

“Well, we're not going to pay for a place for you the entire summer, dude,” Lily said, “So either you... do whatever you're doing, or you have a roof over your head. Have you… you’ve been able to eat, right?”

He considered her offer – more Luke's, he knew. He had only talked to Lily every so often, and knew that she was only calling him because she knew he was still angry at his brother.

But still...

“Fine,” Joseph said, “I'll call you later. I'm going to pick up my stuff from Mom and Dad's.”

“They won’t-”

“I’ll do it when they’re gone,” Joseph said, “They never come home anyways.”

“...Alright,” Lily said, “I'll see you, Joe.”

Joseph picked up his books while his parents were out – his dad once more at work, his mom probably out and about. Maybe getting tipsy with her girlfriends, especially after what had happened. At least she had a shoulder to cry on. But, more likely, she wouldn’t mention him at all. Would never mention him again.

He stayed at the dingy, roach-ridden motel for the last dregs of the school year. He passed his classes. Got the scholarship. His last day at Coach's gym was like any other. He did his warmups, his practice drills, sparred a bit with Ivan. His goodbye to the Coach was like any other.

He hadn't even told the Coach he was leaving for LA. But he knew that the Coach knew, in the way that Tristan looked at him. Shook his hand, his grip just a bit too tight.

After that, the morning after, Joseph left for Los Angeles. Stayed in Luke's guest bedroom over the Summer, doing research on Esther's dorms. He video chatted with his dormmate, who was moving all the way from Texas, with the pronounced Southern drawl and everything.

“So, what're you goin' to Esther for?” his dormmate said, “You studyin' to be a doctor?”

“Nah, man,” Joseph said, “In it for Track.”

“Huh,” his dormmate said, “Goin' the other way, I guess.”

“Something like that,” Joseph said.

He kept to himself. Jogged almost every day, wandered around the city, had the whole world to himself. He made no friends there. Talked little to Luke, or his wife, or their children.

They were, in retrospect, the loneliest months of his life.

They visited Nai Nai at the end of August. Luke loaded up, dragging Joseph along. They were, at first, worried about the rift between him and his parents. But Nai Nai had insisted, had screamed and ordered her son to let Joseph come. And so, the entire family came together to visit her, in her old house with the movie props and the strange statues. Joseph slept in the same room as the painting of ‘Saturn Devouring His Son,’ as he had every Summer.

Lily was there, with her family.

Luke, obviously, was there.

Jonathon, his other brother, was there, babbling incessantly about his classes.

And his parents were there. His father gave a simple, curt nod to Joseph. His mother tried to make light, horribly awkward small talk, though Joseph brushed her off.

Nai Nai gave no indication of suspecting anything was wrong. She was her old, caustic self, like battery acid given form. At least she was blunt and honest. Not like the rest of his family. She insulted Joseph, called him a dishonorable wretch, a blemish on the Zheng name. But she did not have the two-faced, hidden look to her eyes like the rest of them.

“Track,” she said, “You're going to school for Track and Field.”

“Yeah, Nai Nai,” Joseph said, “Running.”

“Hmm,” Nai Nai said, pursing her thin lips, “That is good. Us Zhengs, we are good at running.”

And that was all she said about that.

***

Joseph moved to Seattle. Attended his classes. Made a few passing acquaintances with other students. He called them his friends, though he knew little about them. Those were days of hard partying. Of running on the field, practicing relays with Esther's Track and Field team. He did little else.

He did not speak to his family, save for the occasional awkward phone call with Lily, or Luke. The next two years after that fateful Summer, Joseph lived his life in Seattle. Told himself he loved it. His friendships there became a bit deeper. He ran in a few events, and did well. He chose a Major, then switched it a semester later. Then switched that a semester later, too. He dabbled, took a cursory glance at engineering. At being a doctor. Though he was mostly using those as excuses, all told.

And then…

And then one day, his father called him. Joseph was about to ignore it, but something made him pick up the line.

He was outside that day, in the middle of a jog, staring down at his phone, his eyes hard.

And then he answered.

“Hey,” he said.

“It's your grandmother,” his father said, “She's sick, Joseph. We're going up to Seattle to visit her. You will come with us to see her, and be a dutiful grandson.”

He knew that Nai Nai was insisting they all come together.

Part of Joseph hated her for that. Part of him worried for her.

“Alright,” he said, “I'll be there.”

He hung up. Bit his lip, pushed down emotions that he hadn’t let bubble up for a long time. And continued running.

…

…

It was the first time his father had spoken to him, truly spoken to him, in two years.