Not too long ago, Rio was held in a clothing store after he was accused of shoplifting. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, unfortunately; he’d gone to leave after collecting a small bag of items, and the store-owner confronted him. “Sir,” said the middle-aged woman, blonde and wearing too much jewelry. “Where do you think you’re going?

It was a different woman than the one who’d cashed him out. She had a serious look about her, eyeing him up and down, old enough to be his mother. “Well, I’m finished here, so I’m just leaving.” He thought this was self-explanatory – but Rio’s smart enough to know when he’s being racially profiled. When he was out with his fathers, this sort of thing was even worse. More than once, his fathers had been followed in a store, or questioned at the doors of their own home, or forced to provide proof of their parentage.

The woman’s arms were crossed. It was fortunate for her that Rio knows how to keep his temper at bay. “I saw you shoplifting a necklace before you left.” She hadn’t seen shit, and she knew it. “I’m going to have to ask you to let me look through your backpack.”

In situations like this, Rio used to call his father. Most times this didn’t work anymore, because his fathers aren’t white either. Once or twice he had called Sage, but Sage is shy and not very good during confrontations. He’s taken to calling Eleanor, who’s not only forward, but also knows the law quite well. He sighed. “You didn’t see me do anything. All I have in my backpack is schoolwork and an extra sweater.” He hadn’t needed to explain this, but he’s learned how best to handle a situation like this. “Look,” he’d said, and pulled his pockets out. “I didn’t steal anything. I’m just trying to go home.”

Several other employees had noticed, and some had gathered around. It always happens like this: employees believe their superiors, even without a hint of proof. Rio tried to continue walking, and the store-owner blocked his way. “Sir, I need to check your bag.” He knew denying her this would make him seem guilty, even though he’s never shoplifted a thing in his life. Everybody says innocent until proven guilty. But no one really means it. And so he’d handed over his bag, reluctantly, for it to be searched. Many people watched, but not one stepped forward, which Rio had learned to expect. Unless you confront a person by name or gesture, nobody is willing to help.

“Can I go now?” Rio received his bag back; all of his school papers had been ruffled. “Since I clearly didn’t steal anything?”

He remembers the police being called, at one point. He remembers the owner closing the store, locking the doors, and keeping Rio inside: this was degrading and humiliating. Rio knows he’s not a criminal. Everyone else knows it, too, but they won’t admit it. When he called Eleanor, she was on her way home from work, and turned around instantly to come to his rescue. Rio hates being rescued. He isn’t a helpless child, and he isn’t a shoplifter.

Rio had his first gay experience at senior prom, which seems very cliché. In high school, he still thought he was straight, and so did the rest of his family. Rio went to prom with a girl named Lucy, who was a junior, and ditched him halfway through the night. He was fine with this, though; he had a lot of friends in high school. After the dance, he’d gone out to the home of one of his hockey teammates, and they’d had some drinks, and Rio’s teammate Ian had begun to flirt with him. He wasn’t opposed to this. For a guy who thought he was straight, Rio sure found a lot of men hot. They’d stayed out late that night, drinking and chatting, and discussing their plans for college. Rio always wanted to join the NHL. He still does. After hours of socializing, when it was very late, he’d hooked up with Ian in the bathroom, and he enjoyed it. The event was sort of a turning point for Rio. His first year of college, he thrived in this, experimenting with men and women alike – and maybe both at once. He supposes he has Ian to thank. It’s sort of sad, actually; after all that, they don’t even speak

anymore.

It’s Ostara, the time of year when the Goddess, in her Maiden form, meets her reborn consort in the form of the God. It takes place in March, on the spring equinox, and this year, Rio can’t make it home. Ostara is meant to be a time of cleaning, but Rio has always had trouble parting with items he doesn’t use anymore. Ostara is a spring festival that honors Eostre, the goddess of dawn. Rio helps decorate the altar with flowers, candles, and seeds. As children, he and Cassia and Sage always painted eggs.

For years after the accident, Rio had flashbacks of Cassia falling to the floor, and of Sage screaming in response. He’s the oldest. He’s supposed to keep everyone else safe. Today, Sage has their first public performance. Rio would have liked to attend for moral support, but in between hockey and academics, he doesn’t have much time for visiting.

Cassia’s favorite food was blackberries. In the bathroom of his dorm, Rio places three washed blackberries into a small golden bowl: one of the few he uses for deity offerings. He likes to think the little girl hangs around; it gets cold in the presence of a deceased loved one, and Rio gets a feeling of being followed. “Hi, Cassia,” he says, placing the bowl on the corner of his makeshift altar, lighting a candle to accompany it. “Your favorite. Stay as long as you want.” She always does.

Every morning, Rio meditates when he wakes up. This is something his father suggested he start doing years ago. Meditation helps with astral projection, and trauma healing. On the days when memories feel particularly overwhelming, he’ll call his father on the phone. Many people don’t have good families or loving parents. Rio is lucky to have both.

When the hockey team enters the ice rink for the beginning of the game, a timid girl approaches; her friends stand behind her, giggling and hiding their mouths behind their hands. She’s a first-year student. Rio can always pick a first-year student out of a crowd. “Hi, Rio,” she says, giggling nervously, standing on her toes to look him in the face. “My name’s Lara. Uh-“ she hesitates, earning a jab in the elbow from one of her fellow freshmen. “I’m in your science class.” He didn’t know this. He doesn’t pay much attention to younger students, unless they stand out to him. “I’m just wondering if you could help me study for the test? I’m having a hard time understanding the material, and you seem to get it pretty well, so….” She trails off, looking embarrassed, though there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. She’s cute, with large glasses and sloppy bangs. Rio isn’t the school’s best student, but he gets good grades - and people gravitate to him, because he’s attractive and talented. It doesn’t take a genius to see this.

“Yeah, why not? Sit with me next class.” He winks; Lara’s friends lapse into nervous giggles again. “See you around,” he says to the girls, before bounding off onto the ice.

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Sage used to get very annoyed about the amount of time it took Rio to get ready in the mornings. As a teenager, he straightened his hair regularly until his father suggested this was damaging it. While Sage's hair is coiled and tight, Rio has thick, loose curls that need to be frequently moisturized. He used to hate this. It’s not rare for a stranger to feel his or Sage's hair in passing: but Sage is passive and anxious, and Rio calls out bullshit. Being disliked used to make him uncomfortable. He befriends everyone, and used to fixate on people who don’t like him. He isn’t sure why this is. It’s impossible to be liked by everybody - but Rio is an adaptable man, and he’s approachable. His parents were sure to teach him, when he was young, how to handle rejection with grace. Rio isn’t entitled to other people’s affection or time. Sometimes, people pretend not to like you because they don’t like themselves.

Rio’s hockey team almost always wins. He weaves up and down the ice with ease and easily tricks opponents into giving up the puck. In middle school, he played soccer. In Florida, he liked sandboarding and beach basketball. About a decade ago, a crocodile grabbed Sage by the foot at Florida Keys, pulling them under the water. The Keys are always filled with tourists, but no one ever notices a croc that sneaks up from the distance. Rio had been swimming with his siblings on a day they insisted on going alone. Adrenaline can accomplish impossible things. When the croc bobbed Sage up and down by the legs, Rio acted quickly, and still doesn’t know how he managed. If you distract a croc long enough, you can potentially escape it. Poking the crocodile in the eye gave Sage enough time

to pull their legs away, and for Rio to pull them back onto the sand.

He’s no stranger to crocodiles or alligators. Growing up in South Florida means learning how to recognize and outsmart them. Crocs and gators look a lot alike at first glance, and can be easily confused by people who don’t know the difference. Crocodiles are much bigger, heavier, and aggressive. The crocodile that attacked Sage was easily thirteen feet long, and had to have weighed almost nine hundred pounds. Rio wasn’t a very big kid. Despite this, he’d somehow pulled himself up on top of the crocodile before pulling it off of Sage. Crocodiles are instigators. Alligators sneak up on you.

Everybody tells Rio he has an accent. Until he left Florida, he never thought this.

It’s easy to win a hockey game, and rare for Rio to leave the rink without being swarmed. He doesn’t mind this. It’s common knowledge that he’s the best player on the team. It’s common for girls who’ve watched a game to ask for his phone number, or get shy during conversation. It’s midday. The fun thing about living on campus is there’s always people around to spend time with in between classes.

“Why are you still pretending to hate me?”

Ivo sits at a table in the foyer, looking at a textbook through a large magnifying glass. Rio’s bored, and getting under people’s skin can be fun. “What did I ever do to you?” He’s attracted to Ivo, for some reason. He’s pretty. He dresses like Rio’s grandfather. “Don’t ignore me, Four-Eyes. You like it when I fuck you, and you like it when I kiss you. I’m not going to leave you alone until you get that giant stick out of your ass.”

It’s hard to come to terms with the fact that not everyone will like you. All through school, Rio was friends with everyone. Until university, he was never openly disliked. People may have disliked him, sure, but he never knew about it. Nobody exists to be liked, but Rio is good at it. Ivo looks through his metal magnifying glass, sarcastic and monotone. “I’m surprised more people don’t hate you. You act obnoxious and conceited to cover up the fact that you’re insecure about not being liked by every single person on the planet, and you think you’re hot shit because you play on the

hockey team.”

“Aw, Four-Eyes.” It’s noisy. The foyer is always filled with students, no matter the time of day. “That’s what I like about you. You’re always so blunt. You don’t give a single shit if you hurt people’s feelings.” Rio isn’t insecure. He bugs Ivo because it’s fun, and because he’s bored. “You know what your problem is? You sabotage every relationship because you’re scared of abandonment, and you think that somehow, if you fuck up people’s feelings before they can get close to you, you won’t get hurt. But guess what, Ivo. You’ll get hurt anyway. That’s how life works.”

It doesn’t matter how hard you try to keep people in your life. If they want to leave, they will. Sometimes, people are just meant to teach you lessons.

Rio’s father is filled with motivational quotes. It became frustrating in Rio’s teenage years, but he’s grown to appreciate it. Amani has something to say in every situation. Rio has met a lot of his patients. Ivo stands. He’s short, and very scrawny. Rio could toss him around easily. He fumbles to put his books inside a backpack, and then throws the backpack onto his back. It’s nearly as big as he is. He always stands up straight.

Feelings are so strange and unpredictable. People can be drawn to others in the most unusual ways. Rio has no idea what’s gotten into him.

“Go out with me.”

Later, there’s a party in the dorm. There’s usually a party on weekends. It’s almost Rio’s twenty-first birthday, and Devon’s promised to take him out to a bar.

Ivo stops, turning around, pushing his glasses up on his face with one finger. He does this a lot, even when they aren’t falling. “What?”

Rio is out of his mind. He dates a lot, but life is far too short to commit. He doesn’t really have a type. That’s what everybody says. “Go out with me, you fucking dick. Don’t make me say it again.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m bored.” Boredom is a good reason to date someone,

right? “And because there’s only one person in the world who will ever put up with your shit, and that’s me.”

He’s a hard boy to convince. Everybody has a soft spot. “What makes you think I want you to put up with my shit? I’d rather shove a fork into my eyes than go out with you.” He’s a liar. He deadpans everything he says.

“It comes with home cooked meals and free transportation.” Rio grins, although Ivo probably can’t see this. “And you can’t pretend you don’t want to be fucked every chance you get.”

Ivo squints. “Fine. Now fuck off, dipshit.” Adjusting the straps of his backpack, he begins to walk away, and disappears into a throng of students.