It was a day like every other day, and the high school bell rung repeatedly to signal the ending of classes. Children poured out every pore of the school that wasn't locked, like sweat on the hot summer street. School had just begun another term, and day one had gone just as every day had gone for the freshmen of every year. The crazy process of hazing and beating made it hell for the new comers, some of which couldn't take the heat and had stopped coming.

Thankfully, for one brand spanking new Junior, he didn't have to deal with that his first day. He had been the one to lead his class in a revolt against the Seniors, a protest that got him detention for defiling the school with rolls of toilet paper he had used as projectiles, but a battle won indeed. These newbie's were half as intelligent as him, and he scoffed at their ability to get trampled on by the idiots of the upperclassmen.

That Junior, that genius was Mac.

Mac had grown older and even wiser over the years. His stature was still short, a tiny 5'2 compared to his 6' friends that towered over him like the sky scrapers of Townsville. Even though Mac was small, he was a star on the soccer team, a sport he had adopted through the rigorous 'training' his brother had done making him run all the time. At least now, he was able to put his leg strength to good use.

Mac's hair stayed at his shoulders, just like in his childhood, and his favorite shirt – though altered in color – remained its original style, a t-shirt over a long sleeved shirt. Not the best fashion, but he preferred to be practical and comfortable rather than not.

His pants, always a size too big for them and as regularly khaki brown as ever, to match his forest green shirt which he had gotten this year for Christmas and loved so. His sneakers were about the only things in style, as they were the newest ConStar model he had gotten with his birthday money, money he had been saving up for a special occasion.

He was just a bit disappointed when his shoes were the same color, size and feel of his old shoes. Yet, he was still held in a bit more respect to have that brand name on it – all the popular kids would even give him high fives down the hall.

Something's never changed; such was the case for his back pack. It was a large thing, and he refused to get rid of it. Not with all those memories. Although beaten up and worn, it still could carry books and he never got tired of finding mysterious stains on it when he was going to put it in the wash.

Now, with faithful bag slung over his shoulder, he pushed past the crowd of children in the hall to reach his locker, where he skillfully seized the lock and was turning it precisely when a strong hand came slamming near the side of his head. He looked in terror, thinking it was his older brother come to terrorize him again – but instead, with wide brown eyes, he only saw a stranger.

"You don't remember me, Mac?"

His name was spat, spitefully almost. Upon further inspection, he could tell the stranger easily.

It was his rival, his rich rival. His taller, rich rival.

The teen had hair that had been gelled back, sticking straight out and waved. The uniform of a private school student buttoned to his body in perfect fit, and his 6' foot stature looming over him like a dark cloud of discontentment.

"Aren't you supposed to be at school, Richie?"

Mac hissed, pulling his lock out of place and clenching it in his palm, freeing his locker of its confines. He twisted around to fully face his enemy, the enemy wasn't particularly afraid of but still didn't appreciate the threat of how close he was.

Mac was not a huggy person.

"I am at school."

"I mean your school."

Richie only scoffed, snorting his snobby laugh, using his nostrils to make some disgusting sound he assumed he taught himself smelling his own butt all the time. He giggled in his head at such a funny joke, but quickly was brought back to reality when yet another arm came to trap him against his locker and the laughter abruptly stopped.

"Ah… well… back to business."

What business? Mac thought out of reaction

"Foster's, you go there right? Well, I want it."

"You…. Want it?"

"Yes."

Mac tried to wrap his head around the concept but fell short, Richie was well… rich but he couldn't OWN Foster's. Foster's was a charitable organization, and as far a Mac knew – not for sale. Suppose he was wrong?

Flabbergasted, Mac's face turned an unsightly pale color. Staring quietly, he pulled the lock he had been fondling for the last few minutes to his chest, cupping it with both hands and fiddling with it nervously – he could feel cold sweat drip down his neck. Now, Mac was a smart boy, but even so – he was worried about what the power of money could do.

"Why…?"

Was the only thing that could sputter from his lips, unbeknownst to him – his body was shaking like a leaf and Richie was slowly getting closer to his face, trapping him in a bubble of fear and confusion.

A barely audible hiss of a whisper crawled into his ear, making his face grow red and his heart pump faster than normal. Sweaty, and hot – this feeling was strange… it felt so wrong.

"Because I need you."

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Authors Note: Holy cow, I'm back! Well, I've been REALLY in to Fosters Home fanfictions lately and so many good ones are out there that I just needed to make one for myself. Please read and review my friends! I'll be having this beta'd very shortly, so please keep grammar and spelling comments to yourself because they'll be revised within a day or so.

Disclaimer: I don't own Fosters or any of its characters.