"Alright, son, you're name is Todd Samson," As the U.S. Marshall spoke, I couldn't help but wonder how he managed to tell all of us our new identities, our new history, our new everything, so fucking casually. He spoke of this information like they were real facts, like what he was saying didn't completely change our lives forever. "You can go by nick names if you want…Ted or Teddy for example, if you choose." He finished his little speech to me by handing me my new social security card, complete with my new name that he had so unceremoniously just told me.

I was staring at the offending card as my mother, now formally Ruth, cleared her throat quietly and spoke up.

"C-can we call each other our, um…old names around the house when no one is around or…?" She let the sentence fall probably because she was dreading the worst. I was, too.

"Well, it might help to call each other by your new names at first, just so they get used to it." He answered her before going over petty things with my parents. I was no longer listening, my hand closing tightly around the card as I tried to remember the times before this.

My gaze naturally turned to my dad, who looked at the man with an achingly depressing expression on his face. Though I didn't blame him for this necessarily, I could still be mad at him about it. I understood that he did the right thing by testifying, and I understood that he saved a lot of other people from getting hurt, probably killed, by doing so, but he still tore up the family in the process. He still took away everything I've known for seventeen years and let this man tell me to forget about who I was and everyone I cared about it.

I grimaced as I realized I was already agreeing with their little plan by referring to everything in the past tense. It's not who I was; I'm still the same person. A little card and a new name doesn't change the person that I am. I still care about all my friends, my cousins, my grandparents, though I could never see them again. Todd Samson doesn't change how I feel.

"Now, Todd," Mr. Government turned his attention back to me and I glanced blearily up at him but he didn't notice my expression as he kept talking "back in Maine, what was your focal hobby? Your career aspirations?" I had no idea what this had to do with my new identity, but I answered him cautiously just in case.

"Art. I'm an artist."

He didn't seem exactly satisfied with that answer.

"Exactly, son, what did you do?" I was going to punch him if he called me 'son' one more goddamn time.

I couldn't help the sigh that escaped my lips before I answered, "Painting, mostly. Drawing. Music. I want to go to art school and become a professional artist."

His lips pursed and he shook his head, looking down at his documents before answering, again in the factorial voice, "Not anymore, you're not. You will be on the track team…and baseball…soccer, too, if you want, at your new school. You will give up your art hobby; act like sports are your entire life. Hopefully you can get a sports scholarship for college and take a few odd art courses if you so please."

I felt all the blood drain from my face and I couldn't hold back my emotions anymore.

"This is bullshit! Mom, Dad, you can't take that away from me! You can give me a new name and new friends and a new life, but you can't take art away from me!" My voice echoed around the large and seemingly empty kitchen, but I couldn't care. This was intolerable, and Mr. Government didn't scare me as much as he did my mother.

"Sweetie-," My mom started, but Uncle Sam's son held up his hand to stop her.

"Of course, inside the house you can paint and do any art form you so please, you just can't let people think you're only an artist. With a new name comes a new personality…new preferences, everything. I assure you, all of these changes are only for the protection of your family." He finished with a smile that was supposed to reassure me as he handed me the documents he was previously looking over. It listed my new school and the classes I would take and the list of sports they had already signed me up for.

"I hate sports." I stated blankly.

"Todd Samson doesn't, though." He answered condescendingly. I sneered at him and took a closer look at the list of sports, my eyebrows gradually moving upward with each name I read.

"I don't even know how to play baseball. Or soccer. Or basketball…and there is no way I will survive in track." If they thought a hardened smoker like myself was going to do well with running around for long lengths of time, they had more problems then I originally thought. I was going to voice this, but the fear that he would tell me I had to quit stopped me. No way in hell was I giving that up.

"You'll learn. They're easy sports, and you're a man." He said. My eyebrows rose even higher.

"What does that have to do with anything?" I really thought chauvinism in Government officials was just a stereotype, like thinking all Germans were Nazis, but I guess I was wrong.

"Just, Todd, please cooperate. For the sake of this family." My dad finally spoke up; his voice rough and low with stress. I turned my glare at him but kept my mouth closed, not wanting to make him feel even worse.

The Man turned his head to face my parents again and I grumbled under my breath, "Do I at least get to pick my friends?"

I didn't mean for anyone to hear, but apparently The Man had improved senses or something and told me, "We oblige you to make friends with the boys on your sports teams, actually. It'll help with the image we're trying to create for you."

"You want me to get along with the Jocks? To joke around, talk about girls, make rude and immature comments all damn day long and listen to their shitty music?" I asked venomously.

"Todd, language." My mother scolded, though it was just for the sake of the Marshal. She had a reputation as a suburban mother to up hold and all that bullshit.

"Oh, Mother, I have to speak like this. It's the new me." I snapped sarcastically. I only felt a little bad about it after it was said, but when my gaze landed on The Man the guilt was forgotten.

"Look, if you don't do these things there could be a chance that someone finds you and your family. You actually think they'll be merciful to you?" He was trying to guilt trip me, I knew it, and I didn't let myself fall for it.

"I didn't say I wasn't going to do all this shit. Just don't expect me to take it all easily." I said through clenched teeth. He appraised me for a second before nodding his head firmly and turning away. I still glared as he spoke to all of us now.

"Alright, your back story is all in place and all three of you need to read over the documents and memorize all of your new information, even all of the things that you would consider trivial. Every bit helps. I just have one more detail that we must go over. This is important, so I need your full attention," the last sentence was implied towards me but I tried to not get too upset by it "Even though you have new lives and new names does not mean you are one hundred percent safe. They could still find you. Now, to ensure your safety and the safety of others, we must request that you not make serious connections here. Have friends and social lives if you please, but never get too close. In the event that they do find you, we will have to move you again and it will be harder to cover your tracks for the second time so it will just be easier if there isn't anyone here to dwell your leaving. At the same time, don't do anything to cause attention, try to blend in. That means not showing signs of depression or anxiety in the public eye. Gossip goes a long way, as I'm sure you know. Stay safe, blend in, and don't get completely comfortable here, because once you do, that's when they find you." And with those ominous words he bid each of us separately goodbye, also reminding to call him if we needed help adjusting or if there was any problem. He shook my hand and I glared at him hard in the eyes.

"I know this is hard on you, and I'm sorry that your life has been uprooted, Todd. Your parents are very proud of you, I hope you know that." One more firm shake and he was walking out of the kitchen and through the living room to the front door. I didn't even hear it close as he quietly left the house. I guess government men really were sneaky bastards.

"Todd-," my dad started, but I rounded on him before he could finish, my voice low and rough.

"My name is Ander. It will always be Ander no matter what this stupid card says."

He sighed in exasperation, and my mom looked ready to burst into tears. I kept my glare on him however, knowing that the second I showed vulnerability, he'd pounce.

"Look, just until you get used to be called Todd-," he started again, but I of course cut him the fuck off.

"Once I get used to Todd, I won't answer to Ander. I want to answer to my real name. At school or in public fine, Dad, but in this house please call me Ander. Don't take that away from me." My voice was subconsciously quiet by the time I finished and I mentally berated myself, thinking that he would take that opportunity and use some mindfuck technique.

Instead, shockingly, he nodded, his face carefully expressionless.

"Alright. I know this is hard on you…I won't make you be someone you're not when no one's looking." I didn't completely miss the 'when no one's looking' part, but I figured it was the best I would get from him.

Then my mom really did start crying, and I kind of grimaced before realizing it was a really shitty thing to do. Awkward back pats didn't seem much help either though, so I left my dad to console her by grumbling about looking up sports on the Internet.

The stairs were a beige color, I noted sadly as I descended to my room. It didn't look right. I was used to the black rug and dark gray tile steps at my old house. My home.

The permenate grimace I wore only intensified as I walked into my room, the door banging loudly against my own will as it shut.

The room wasn't mine, again. I had all new bed sheets and furniture, different posters and different colored walls, a new wardrobe; half of which I probably wouldn't even wear. They took the whole 'new image' thing a little too seriously, I noted as my eyes drifted to the polo shirts folded perfectly on my bed. Why they thought that I would actually wear pastel blue, the world will never know.

I sighed and grabbed that horrendous pastel blue polo, and the orange one while I was at it, and stuffed them under the door. I tripped on my new desk chair on the way to opening the window, the jet lag and lack of sleep finally catching up with me.

Once the room was perfectly smell proof, I dug into my pockets an extracted two slightly crushed Camels. I straightened them out as best I could, stuffing the little pieces of tobacco that were hanging out back into the paper and lighting up.

The first drag calmed me, slow and tiring as the smoke left my lips, but the ones after that were all frantic as I tried to get a hold of my new bearings.

Those polo's and baggy jeans were all a representation of what I was to become in this state. They were just materials, yes, but the second I stepped out of that ugly new car, I'd get all the wrong type of attention. The wrong type of girls would look at me; the wrong kind of guys would befriend me. All the right people would look at me disdainfully, and I knew Casper would call me a sell out for this, had he not know the real reason.

Another sigh left my lips as I thought of Casper, my best friend since we were five. We were the only two kids to get mad during arts-n-crafts in Kindergarten when our dragons turned out looking more like bright green blobs, and we stayed behind to fix them while all the other kids ran outside for recess. We formed a friendship that day, the two misfit kids, and it never faltered, though Casper took up music more then art, and myself vise versa.

Now, after twelve odd years of talking to each other at least once every day, I would never see him again. It stung a little, knowing that I could never tell anyone this. Never get close to people. I would have to keep this all bottled up, and that seemed near impossible.

I knew what Mr. Government would say on this matter. 'Put all that aggression into sports.'

My dad would probably agree.

My mom would probably start crying again.

So, just to spite him and everyone else that decided that I could no longer be who I was, I grabbed my car keys, stubbed out the cigarette, and opened my door after taking the now rumpled polo's out from under the door.

The stairs were taken two at a time and I vaguely called out to my parents telling them I was going into town to buy a soccer ball to practice with as I left the house.

I glanced up at my car, scowling at it as I walked close enough to open the door roughly and slam it closed quickly.

I hated this car with a passion, and didn't hold my feelings back about it. Apparently, I had to change my car as well; my old El Camino either not fitting with this new image or I just couldn't really have anything connecting me to my real/old self. I suggested to just change the license plates, and Mr. Government literally laughed at me.

So, they took Cam to an impound lot and gave me this brand new fucking Cadillac Escalade. It was black and bulky, the leather interior the same beige color as the staircase and it had that annoying new car smell. I missed the turpentine and cigarette smell of my old car.

So, once again, I lit up the last crumpled cigarette, keeping the window rolled up as I started the car because that smell sticks and I knew with just two more cigarettes, the new smell would be gone.

I immediately grimaced as horrid rap music filled the car rather loudly, my hand flying towards the power button and nearly breaking it with the force I put to shutting the damn thing off. It seemed they had also programmed my radio to the stations they wanted me to listen to.

I, thankfully, got to keep all of my music collection from the old house and I quickly leaned over and popped open the glove box where I stored some of the CD's and grabbed the first case in there, not even looking at it as I shoved the disc into the slot and turned the radio back on at the same time. I only got a second of the offending music before the CD was switched on, and was glad to hear Radiohead screeching through the speakers.

Putting the car in drive proved to be a short malfunction, my hand used to the slight stick that was in the Camino from a piece of Casper's gum that had somehow gotten stuck in the gear shift.

I vaguely thought of all the other things that could possibly and would probably go wrong this day as I finally backed out of the driveway, having no idea which direction town was, but deciding that I would just ride around until I found what I was looking for. It was a small town anyways.

So small, in fact, that everyone I passed seemed to stare at the shiny new car driving by, almost like they knew one of the new neighbors was behind the wheel. It might've been my paranoia that had reached an all time high recently, but I didn't get to dwell on that fact before I spotted a gas station and quickly pulled in, almost running into the store and buying a carton of cigarettes. I was worried that I no longer had my fake ID, but it seemed they didn't card here, or I looked older then I was, and the guy let me buy them without any problems. I laughed a little as I handed the man the new credit card that was bestowed upon me by the government, snickering at them in my head while I bought something they were wholly against.

I added a water, large cup of shit coffee and some doughnuts to my purchases, again smirking at the image of the sports documents that I had earlier received that strictly called for a healthy diet and no cigarettes or drugs of any kind in order to be the best athlete I could. It also suggested I start working out so I could bulk up or some shit, but they had another thing going for them if they thought I was going to do that.

I left the store with the man giving me weird looks probably because of my snickers and smiles, and entered my car, lighting a new cigarette and grabbing a doughnut while driving away from the gas station and aimlessly looking for the next stop on my schedule of the day.

More then once I got the thought to call Casper and see what he was up to before remembering my current predicament, and that just made my hand holding the steering wheel grip tighter and my speed increase slightly. I missed the rumble of the Camino's engine, and the way its worn tires seemed to glide over the roads of Maine.

I started listing all the things I hated about the evil SUV, but my eyes landed on what I had been looking for, and I quickly turned on my turning signal and veered towards Winston's Art Supplies as fast as I could without causing attention.

I parked and grabbed one of the packs of cigarettes as I climbed out of the car, stumbling slightly when I hit the ground a little too hard.

"Goddamn lifted car," I grumbled while walking up to the store, grabbing the door's handle aggressively and walking briskly into the establishment.

My eyes admittedly looked all over the store, taking in every detail greedily. Art stores always smelled the best to me, for some reason, and I forgot for a second where I was as I took everything in.

Not surprisingly, there weren't many people inside the store, and only an old bird with cat-eye glasses and a fat boy with a rather bad case of acne looked to be working.

Rows and rows of fake flowers were the first things I saw, behind that looked to be wedding and party decorations, and finally beyond that I saw a single canister holding paint brushes, and I nearly ran over to them, accidentally knocking over a flower display in my haste, but I didn't pay it any mind as I kept moving towards the brushes, more supplies coming into view the closer I got.

An empty cart lay dormant in one of the wedding aisles I passed through, and I grabbed it without breaking stride, and was in front of the beloved brushes within seconds.

When Mr. Government came to our house, he gave my mom, dad, and I each our own big, black duffle bags and told us to put all the necessities in them as quick as possible. We had ten minutes to leave the house, and I didn't even bother packing mine full of clothes like my mother did. I grabbed my CD's, books, movies, the few precious items I had, a framed picture of Casper, his girlfriend Judy and I, and all of my notebooks and papers. The only pieces of clothing I owned now from back then was what I was currently wearing. Gray Converse, dirty, straight-legged jeans, a black t-shirt, a black vest, and my favorite leather jacket.

I could live in this outfit for the rest of my life, but apparently it didn't fit the image, hence all the polo's and baggy jeans.

I shook my head of those thoughts as I quickly made my way through the aisles, grabbing all the art supplies I needed and wanted.

Again, just to spite certain people, I didn't stop with just painting supplies. I piled sketchpads, drawing books, pencils, charcoals, inking pens, hell even sidewalk chalk into the basket.

When I was done, I wasn't surprised to find that the cart was nearly overflowing with everything and I happily wheeled the basket to the checkout, bringing it up to the boy. He stared at the pile with wide eyes as I unloaded everything onto the conveyor belt, but his shock was short lived as he surprisingly started scanning things rather quickly.

"Are you…just starting to do art or…?" He asked as he scanned the seventh can of turpentine. I was about to open my mouth and say something along the lines of: No, it's just I didn't have any time or room to pack all of my old art stuff because we left our home in a hurry. When I remembered Mr. Government and our alibi for moving here, and decided to at least do one thing right by him.

"Uh, yeah. My…physical therapist says that I put too much…rage into my sports and told me I should find a different creative outlet as well so I wouldn't end up injuring myself to the point where I could never play…again." I had no idea if I made any sense whatsoever, and the look on the boys face told me that I might have told him a little too much information. A simple 'Yes, I am.' Would have fucking sufficed, but shit I was new at all of this and virtually had no idea what I was doing.

"Oh." He said finally. I just nodded and watched as he still rung up stuff.

In the final result, it cost so much that even I would've cringed, but this credit card was given to me so I could buy things that I needed because they knew we left behind a lot of shit, and it was a necessity to have all this, so the guilt was quickly wiped away.

"Um…do you need help taking this all to the car, or...?" He trailed off, looking at me uncertainly. I smiled genuinely and shook my head.

"No thanks, I'll just use a cart." I said politely, and he looked kind of fucking shocked. I realized a beat later that this kid was probably tortured on a daily basis by the kids at the high school, and I had just sort of hinted that I had rage problems and I was in sports. I sighed, knowing that I should get used to the outcasts shying away from me from now on.

The cart squeaked as I rolled it towards my offending car, and not even the prospect of painting again, or buying more shit could perk me up.

A cigarette could help, though, I noted as I pulled away from the art store and headed aimlessly around again, looking for the next stop of the day.

I got more stares at the mall, so I bought my clothes rather quickly and got into my ugly fucking car and sped towards the grocery store around the corner from my house that I noticed earlier, grabbed a cart and wheeled through all the aisles getting my favorite foods that I would inevitably end up storing in my room.

The middle-aged woman with unnatural red hair and hot pink talons that worked the cash register welcomed me to the town, and I mustered up the kindest smile I could before picking up all of my groceries and nearly running out of that store.

I kind of hoped every store was as laid-back as the art supply place, but I knew that was just wishful thinking. A town like this, everyone's bound to know about the new family that quite suddenly appeared. Usually a town has a time lapse between new families moving in, but we just all of a sudden…appeared, I guess, and it seemed like it was the biggest piece of town gossip at the moment.

Didn't help that I was driving this huge fucking Escalade everywhere. Why couldn't they just give me an old car like every other teenager?

I kept up my grumbling all the way back home, re-playing OK Computer when all the songs were listened to.

I pulled into the driveway and almost immediately my mother came rushing out the house, running up to me and hugging me tightly. I stood there stoically while she refused to let go.

"I didn't know where you went, Ander." She whispered into my chest. My mom's really fucking short, and I'm really tall so she only reached about mid abdomen on me. It was cute.

"I, uh, had to get some stuff…didn't you hear me yell something about a soccer ball?" The one thing I forgot to buy…

"Oh, we both know you didn't go out to buy a soccer ball. I'm not that dense. Your father may delude himself into thinking that he's finally going to get the athletic song he always wanted. The next Pele-,"

"Who?" I questioned, but she just kept going.

"You're an artist. You've always been an artist, and that will never change." I felt that she was going to go back to apologizing about this whole situation once again, so I put my hands on her shoulders and forced her to raise her tear-stained face to look up at me.

"Mom, I'm fine. Yes, this is hard but it's nothing I can't survive. I'm sorry if I've been…difficult, but I'm an angsty fucker. I promise, I will live through this. I'd rather have to change what people see me like then be put in danger. To have you and Dad be in danger." I hated heart-to-hearts, especially with my mom because she cries a lot, and she didn't disappoint, throwing her arms around my waist again and sobbing all over again.

"Ma…Mom, come on before the neighbors see this and cause more gossip." I told her quietly. I felt her nod and heard her sniffle before her arms finally let me go and I walked to the back of the car to retrieve all of my bags.

She saw the full car, and abruptly stopped crying.

"What's all this?" She asked incredulously.

"Necessities, Ma." I told her while grabbing multiple bags. She tisked and started reaching for some of the bags but I wouldn't let her.

"I bought all this shit, I'm going to carry it." Her eyes narrowed, and the blue color darkened slightly. I gulped nervously, knowing that she was a scary bitch when mad.

"Do not use that language, Ander," she started and I internally rolled my eyes. She always told me that, but I never listened and she knew it. I think she even liked the fact that I used that language because she always wore small smiles whenever I used my colorful vocabulary. "And you are not carrying all of those bags by yourself. I'll get your father to help you." She sniffed one last time before turning around and walking towards the house. I panicked as soon as I realized she was completely serious.

"No! Mom, here you can help, you can help!" My voice was in a higher octave then I wanted it to be, and I could practically hear her smirk as she turned back around and almost danced her way back to me, her hand held out expectantly. I gave her some of the lighter bags at first, knowing that my mom wasn't exactly strong, but she huffed and grabbed about ten canvases, all of the sketchpads, and some other bags proudly and stomped her way over to the door. I watched her go with a shake of my head and turned back to the other things, discovering that I actually could carry them all since it seemed that my mom took all of the art supplies except one bag of writing utensils.

I started up the drive quickly because if I was being honest, all the bags were fuck heavy and I wanted them out of my arms as quickly as possible.

Running up the stairs seemed impossible, though, so I kind of stumbled my way up and into my room to find that my mother was not in there, and neither was all of my shit that I just bought.

"Ma?" I called cautiously, wondering if she went to the dark side and showed my dad the stuff I bought. I knew he'd despise it all and attempt to take it back, claiming that I would need to give up on art and focus on sports now. That's why I initially panicked when she went to get my dad, because I knew that I'd get the speech and I didn't want the speech again. She knew my weaknesses and played them very well.

I dumped all the stuff I was carrying on my bed and walked back out of my room and back down the stairs, wondering where the fuck she was.

"Mom?" I called once, my thoughts drifting to an even worse outcome where they found us so quickly and was currently water boarding my mother for information. Just as I was about to literally possibly scream her name rather loudly, she appeared behind a door, a smirk on her features.

"Where the fuck were you?!" I asked. She just smirked more.

"Sweetie, where's the rest of your stuff? I thought you needed the food by you when you worked." Her head titled in the most curious way while saying that, and I knew she was up to something.

"It's in my room. Where all my other art stuff should be so I can work." I stated calmly. She shook her head and laughed a little, and I started worrying about her mental health.

"You're not going to work in your room, Andy." She said. I cringed at the nickname, but persisted in this weird half-interrogation.

"Then where the shit am I going to work, Mother?" I asked. Again, her lips curled upwards that the use of the expletive.

"In your studio." She said simply, like I actually had one and it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Mom, I don't have a studio. I have a room." I told her slowly. She laughed again and grabbed my hand, turning towards the door she was previously behind and dragging me with her down some stairs.

Her hand flipped a light switch at the same time that she said; "I figured you could use this as your studio."

I didn't answer her because I couldn't believe what I was looking at.

She turned the basement into my own art studio, already putting stools and tables down here for me to place strategically around the room, and I even saw some of my bigger canvases that I thought had been left behind in Maine. I guess she made Mr. Government let her take them.

The pile of bags that I couldn't believe she had carried were sitting in the middle of the room, the little window on the east wall shining a beam of light on them. It was a huge space, and dark. It also was musky and smelled like wet cardboard, but it was perfect. Absolutely perfect.

"How did you-," I started before she interrupted me.

"I know that you needed a place for your art, and that your room isn't big enough to house your work along with your other things…besides, when you come down here you can forget about being Todd. You're not Todd in this house, Ander, but down here you can be anything you want. You don't even have to be Ander if you don't. Just be you."

I had never heard my mother make a more beautiful speech, and I told her so. She just smiled and reached up to pat my cheek with her cold hand.

"Thanks, Sweet. Now get your ass up there and bring those other things down here so we can go out." She said. I shot her a confused look and her eyebrows raised incredulously.

"You don't actually think you'll be bringing our coffee maker down here? And using my towels for that nasty turpentine? No, we're buying you your own rags and coffee maker and everything else. You'll need tables to put your paints on, too…this can be a whole new project for me!" With that she abruptly turned around and started climbing the steps.

"But I just got back from being in town!" I protested. Her footsteps halted and she turned towards me, her face indignant.

"Well you should've asked your mother if she wanted to come with you, shouldn't you?" She asked rhetorically before turning back around and resuming her dash up the stairs. I stared after her for a second longer before looking around the space again with a smile on my features. If I could live in this basement for the most part, this whole pretending to be Todd business maybe won't be so bad.

Standing in the basement staring at the end result, I almost felt kind of fucking happy that we had moved. At my old house, I didn't have a studio. I'd have to paint in my bedroom, and it was cramped and I had tarps for carpet because of how many times I'd spilled paint all over the floor.

Now, with my own workspace, I wouldn't have to worry about paint falling on my favorite book, or my bed sheets smelling permanently like turpentine. I could have a place to sleep, and a place to do my art.

Then again, I could also sleep down in the basement, since my mother insisted that I had to have a couch and coffee table down here, too. I didn't object to that, but I did put up a fight when she wanted to put more light in the room. I liked it the way it was- dark and stuffy. I know how everything set up exactly how it should be: the largest easel sitting in the middle of the room, wood stools with cans and paints and brushes on top of them placed around the frame, the previously mentioned couch and coffee table last in the back East corner. A low, round table sat under the window, and it housed two coffee makers and all of the food and water bottles. Four rows of shelves above that held the mugs, cups, and plates. Near the couch was where the stereo was set up, and there was strangely a bathroom down here, so I had a sink to wash my brushes. I didn't even want to think of how they possibly had a bathroom underground, but it was fucking there and I appreciated it.

Everything was spread out exactly how I like it, with my blank canvases leaning against the northern wall, and the other easels next to it. I would never have to specifically look for anything because nearly all of it was visible.

I sat down on the floor cross-legged with a smile on my face and leaned over to grab the medium-sized canvas that I had laid out.

I used the denim of my jeans as a palette, since the material was already black and I was going to be using only grays and other dark hued colors. I didn't need to think of what I wanted to paint once all the colors were mixed, just lightly put the brush to canvas and once I started painting, everything else just slipped away.

I didn't exactly realize how much time had gone by until all of a sudden my mother was standing in front of my sitting form, a tender expression on her face.

"Did you sleep at all?" Her voice was a quiet type of sad, and I just shook my head without moving my eyes from the finished painting. She sighed and crouched down to run her fingers through my messy, dark hair.

"I should have figured your insomnia would come back." She commented mostly to herself, I let out one humorless chuckle, and she turned around to stare at the floor-easel behind her.

"It's great, Ander." She whispered. I didn't respond, just kept staring until she turned back to face me and I finally ripped my eyes away from the grays and blacks.

"You know if you end up falling asleep in class randomly they'll think your Narcoleptic." She said. Now I really did laugh for real, nodding my head in complete agreement with her.

"That will set me apart from Ander, too. He doesn't have Narcolepsy." I said sadly. Her eyes abruptly turned flat, and her face losing all teasing it possessed mere seconds ago.

"You're still Ander. No matter what. Just think of this like…Todd's a character in a play that you have to perform in. You gotta pass the class or you won't graduate." She said. I nodded again, not really trusting my voice.

She stood back up, but her gaze was cast downwards towards me and I looked up into her eyes.

"I hate to say this but you have to get ready for school. In character, so go upstairs and take a shower and dress in the horrendous clothes that I laid out for you. I'll make you some coffee." She ordered. I sighed and pressed my palms to the cold concrete floor in order to haul myself up.

"I can pick out my own clothes, Mom. I'm not five." I told her. She smirked at me, her eyes finally gaining that mischief that should always be there.

"Yes but if you had your way, you'd be going to school exactly as you are now, and that's just not acceptable for Todd." She said. I shrugged and muttered, "Can't argue with that." Before sluggishly walking to and up the basement and main floor stairs, passing my dad in the hallway without a 'hello' as I closed the bathroom door and turned the shower on.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me." I told my mom when I rounded the corner into the kitchen. She turned around from where she stood at the toaster, and her face did this funny little expression where her lips pressed together and her eyes squinted. She seemed to be holding back laughter. It lasted for about five seconds before she couldn't stop the giggles and chuckles.

"That's it, I'm wearing my clothes." I said, turning around completely ready to climb the stairs and change.

"Ander, you can't. It's not…it's not so bad." The laughter in her voice completely ruined the latter part of that statement, but I knew the former was true and I sighed before turning back to face her. She attempted a smile through her giggles.

I was wearing Nike shoes, baggy jeans, and some surfing company shirt. A hoodie was clutched tightly in my hand, and I felt like I was going to throw up.

"Okay, this whole ensemble does not fucking go with my body type. Guys who work out all day and eat like savages wear this shit." I told her firmly. She nodded her head, still fucking giggling.

"Gotta agree with you on that one. Skinny but sturdy guys should not wear that…" she trailed off, her eyes looking me up and down from head to toe.

"So I can go change?" I asked with actual pure hope in my voice. She shook her head sadly, and I felt my shoulders slump.

"Government orders, Andy. Sorry." She said at the same time that the toaster dinged. She turned to it and extracted four pieces of bread, placing them on a plate so she could put the jam that my father loved so much on them. I shook my head while ripping open a package of mini powdered doughnuts.

"Ander, that is not the healthy breakfast that your new diet calls for. You've got to bulk up muscle for sports." Her tone had a mocking edge to it, so I knew she wasn't serious.

"Yeah well, I'm not going to be excelling in sports. I'm going to be the worst on those damn teams so they kick me out. Damn government officials putting me on track." I said while taking a seat at the counter.

She laughed and leaned over to put a plate under my hands where I held the doughnuts so I wouldn't get sugar all over the pristine white counters.

"I think it'll be funny to see you wheezing your way around a track. You can't run at all." She said with a wink. I smiled and nodded, a smile on my face.

She knew about my smoking because she caught me once a year ago, and instead of the living shit being kicked out of me, she once again surprised me by asking for one. It was our little secret, and she only smoked when she was particularly stressed.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll be getting a kick out of it." I said dryly. She laughed and set my coffee mug in front of me.

"Just so you know, Todd dear, you need to leave in two minutes." She said. I jumped up and ran towards the door, calling out all the usual goodbye bull shit on the way.

My backpack was lying by the front door and I gripped the handle tightly and flung it over my shoulder at the same time that I was opening the door.

I could hear my mother's laughter as I closed the door, but I didn't pay it any mind as I walked briskly to my ugly car door and quickly got in.

She knew that I had a thing about being late and always loved to tease me about it. I rolled my eyes while lighting my cigarette, thankful for really fucking tinted windows as I pulled out of my driveway and sped down the road in the direction that I hoped the school was.

I ended up following a car full of teenagers, expecting that they went to the high school I was supposed to be at.

Turned out my intuition was right, and I let out a breath of relief that I didn't know I was holding as I stubbed my cigarette out in the ash tray and turned into the school parking lot.

I parked, but didn't get out right away, instead looking at the sea of faces. I was unnerved, oddly. I knew it was because I had to come to this school as someone I'm not, and it would've been a lot fucking easier and more comfortable to attend this school as myself.

My eyes spotted the group of Neanderthals complete with letterman jackets, and I knew that they were whom the Marshals expected me to befriend. As I looked at them, and the near identical attire all of them, including me, were sporting, I couldn't help but feel like this was all wrong. Sure, it was only high school, and okay it was only two years of this, but two years is still a fairly long time. I also had a personal philosophy in myself to never sell out or act any less or more then I am. Depending on your perspective, I was either acting less or more then who I truly am, and I felt sick at myself.

But I knew I had to do this. Knew that I had to do all I could to keep safe and to keep my mother and father safe. I wouldn't let them find us, and I would never be able to live with myself if it was my fault that we got found.

With that thought, I pushed the door open and emerged, trying not to notice how everyone seemed to turn towards me. I couldn't blame this on paranoia, they really were staring at me, judging me, and I couldn't help but duck my head down as I walked towards the main building.

People continued to laugh and talk and act normal once I started to walk, and for that I was thankful. I just kept my head slightly ducked as I passed rows and rows of cars, my chest feeling considerably less tight with every step I took that led me closer to the sanctuary of the building.

"Great, another immature, rich bastard at this school." I heard a quiet voice say as I passed a group of people. My eyes darted towards the sound, and I locked eyes for a brief second with a pair of big, green eyes. They belonged to a girl, and her gaze was soft for a second before they turned into a hard glare, and I abruptly returned my gaze towards the main building, not really blaming the girl for having that reaction towards me.

Because I knew, if I was still being Ander, that I would've said the same thing had I seen Todd.