I finished blowdrying my fur and stepped out of my bathroom, feeling refreshed from my post-workout shower. I examined my nude body critically in the full-length mirror, comparing myself with the hi-res digital pic I'd taken when I ordered the exercise equipment.
It does look like my abs are getting firmer. I turned slightly to look at my backside. No sag left in buttocks. Glutes getting firmer. I turned back. Maybe my pecs are a little bigger. Hard to tell.
My body doesn't have to be perfect now. Or even next week at the Academy interview. Three years to get it into perfect shape. Dean Porter will just want to see potential. And commitment. I'll convince him I've got commitment out the wazoo.
I sighed and lay back on my bed, taking a rare moment to relax. The interview was coming up, and it would be easy to be nervous about it, but somehow I wasn't. I smiled. Nerves are for people who don't believe in themselves.
I tilted my head back to look at Marshall's head, on the flat shelf topping the headboard of my bed, and rolled over to see him right side up. I brushed away a strand of hair that had fallen across his right eye. "You knew I could do it before I did," I whispered, "I won't let you down."
I jumped slightly at the knock on my door. "Who?"
Andrew's voice betrayed a slight annoyance. "Who do you think?"
I shook my head. Could have been Dad, could have been Waldo. Andrew always thinks he's the world's only person. "Minute."
I decided Andrew wasn't worth the time it would take to throw on a pair of shorts and a shirt. I grabbed a towel from the bathroom, using one hand to hold it closed. I automatically examined my shoulders in the mirror. They seem bigger. Maybe broader. I should have measured some things earlier so I could tell.
I unlocked the door and gave Andrew a sour look. "What do you want?"
Andrew's eyes went wide, his throat showing a visible gulp. He seemed to be flicking his eyes over whatever bare fur was available to be seen. Oh, come on, Andrew. You've seen lots of guys — and females too — with nothing on at all. And have I acted like I'm at all interested? "Well?"
"I — I..."
Andrew was acting oddly enough lately, but it wasn't at all like him to stammer.
Finally he seemed to gather himself. "I was thinking you should get one of those genetic tests. Most people do at your age, you know."
I knew about the tests, which screened for any known genetic diseases that might be passed along to one's offspring. But why on earth would Andrew care if I had one. I squinted at him, trying to read his expression. "Andrew, of all people who might need one of those tests, I'm at the bottom of the list. You know I'm going to the Hanging Academy. I'm not going to have kids, and I'll be dead in three years." I kept my voice low. I hadn't told Father about the Academy yet. That would be delicate. It was within his rights to forbid me to go. The Academy wouldn't admit any boy against his parents' opposition.
He shook his head. "You don't know you're going there... Wynn." It still sounded strange when he used my actual name, in place of whatever demeaning epithet he'd been about to use. But he was getting better at it, the hesitation was barely detectible. "You haven't even interviewed yet."
"Well, thanks for all the moral support and encouragement. I thought you wanted me to go there!" The only reason I'd told Andrew was that I thought it would be his fondest wish. I'd be out of his way, a slave, unable to keep any money, or any possessions at all other than a few personal items I could keep in my room. All of Dad's money would go to Andrew. I'd even pointed that out to Andrew, as if he couldn't figure it out himself. I'd promised I wouldn't try to get something out of Dad beforehand and give it away to a worthy charity, or anything stupid like that. I had hopes that I might, for whatever it was worth, get some help out of Andrew. So far, his biggest help had been not passing along my plans to Dad.
"I — Well, I do, yeah. But you have to think about what happens if you don't make it. You'll feel like shit, and you won't want to do anything. You might as well do the test now, especially since it takes a couple of months to get the results. If you don't get in the Academy, then you can get some good news afterwards to cheer you up. You know there's probably nothing wrong with you genetically, and the test will show that. You can get married, maybe even have kids. Life goes on, right?" Andrew seemed to become aware he was babbling. "I'm just thinking about what's best for you."
I choked back laughter. "I'll alert the news media to that. Anyway, if I wanted to, I could get married and have babies and everything without going through a service. People do it all the time."
Andrew seemed to hesitate, not quite sure how to go on. I was sure Andrew was working hard to avoid giving away his real motives — successfully, so far. I had no clue where this was all coming from. "Maybe, but lots of anthros want to see the results of the tests before they commit. You know, they've got so many potential mates to choose from. They like to feel safe."
I tried to find a way in behind the facade by digging deeper. "Andrew, why could you possibly want me to get married?" I didn't bother to mention the obvious: if I did marry, half of dad's money would not only pass out of Andrew's hands, it would, in a sense, leave the family altogether as I started a new one with an outsider. That part of the fortune would remain with my spouse, forever out of Andrew's control, even after I was skinned.
Andrew shook his head and repeated, "Look, I'm just thinking about what's best for you."
I sighed. I wasn't about to get a straight answer. "Well, I appreciate that. Thanks."
Andrew looked at his watch, and looked relieved at seeing a natural way out of the conversation. "Hey, I've got a date. Look, school is over, you've got a lot of free time. Why not just take an hour one day and do it?" He stopped, then seemed to think of something. "Hey... are you in love with that horse? Did you have sex with him while you were hiding in the tent? Was he your first?"
"No, no, and no. Fine. If it'll get you off my back, I'll start tomorrow. Now get out of here and let me get some clothes on."
Andrew gave me something of his old smirk, looking at my towel. "You look dressed enough already."
"Yeah, right." I closed the door in his face.