How did this happen?

Was the question that swam through the young man's head as he hurried down the sidewalks of his home town, not even noticing the sweat stains under his arm pits or how completely red his face had gotten. No, Mac could only pay attention to the throbbing of his entire body as he rushed forward, walking fast, but not quite running.

A book gripped to his chest, the life – or there lack of – being squeezed out of it by the boy's shaking, stressed arms. His head down, his hair in his face, and without much of a mental picture where he was heading, he walked as fast as he could away from school and away from Richie Wildebrat.

Sub-consciously, he found he had led himself to the park, to his favorite park bench, under his favorite oak tree, but even these luxuries did not calm him. He plopped down upon the wooden seat, and shoved his back pack beside him – dropping the book in his lap in the process. His hands flew to his shoulders, hugging them to him as if it were cold out, his entire body in a violent tremble that he could not control.

This isn't right.

Mac took a great deal of time to calm down, at least an hour. By that time, the sky had gotten just a bit darker, and he could feel his legs again. That's when he recalled the events that led to this particular outcome, the events that had rattled him from the inside out.

--

"Look, I know how much Fosters means to you."

Mac only stared in awe at Richie, who whispered to him his motive for saying such a thing, a thing so disgusting he was feeling uncomfortable in his own skin.

He would have given anything at that moment to be by himself, to get away from Richie.

It wasn't right. It wasn't right at all.

"Here's my… proposition. Either you do what I want, when I want it or… I'll buy Fosters, and turn it into a mall or something. Get it?"

Mac couldn't believe the words he was hearing and he didn't believe them to be true. It was all just a stupid joke he was playing on him, and in the end they would laugh and Richie would go back to his own school and stay there.

Mac desperately wanted this to be reality, but he quickly realized it wasn't. Not just by the look on Richie's face, but in the seriousness of his voice.

Richie pushed himself skillfully from the lockers, dismantling the box he had forced Mac to stay within, he only smirked as Mac took off like a rocket when he was given the chance, dropping his lock on the floor in the process, forming an unsightly crack down the middle of the plastic plating on the dial.

--

It was almost comical, how hard he had been shaking and what kind of thoughts went through his head – ranging from 'Maybe if I blow up his house' to 'I'll just get a lion and let it loose in his backyard'.

Once the shaken teen calmed down, he began to slowly consider each option he had.

If he listened to Richie, he wouldn't have any dignity left. Made to do some sort of chore, or do other such embarrassing things, like wear a dress in public or something. If he didn't, what if Richie purchased the land Foster's was on and evicted them? Richie's father was the 2nd richest man in the world, after all – anything and everything was at his disposal. That thought terrified him to no end.

Then he began to consider another possibility – What if Madam Foster simply doesn't want to go? He tried his best to make himself feel better, explaining to himself that Madam Foster was an icon, and she was a strong willed women. No one would be able to just buy Foster's on her watch.

Mac smirked at his new discovery, gathering up his things and heading to Fosters after his few moments of thought and consideration. On the way, he had got to thinking about why Richie even said those things he said… Wanted him? What could he want him for?

Before he could go any deeper, he arrived at Fosters at exactly the ding of 3:00. Mr. Herriman glared in his direction, as his foot had barely been through the door at the time of the ringing. Mac only smiled and waved in his direction, to which the stuffed up rabbit huffed and hoped off to chastise some poor soul somewhere.

Bloo stormed down the stairs when he heard the door pull open and shove his face into Mac's accusingly – at least, what he could reach of it.

"You said we'd test it today Mac! You're late!"

"I know, I know… I'm sorry. Let's go."

Mac hushed Bloo with a pat on the head, throwing his backpack where he usually put his shoes, on the shoe rack that had been recently installed in the corner of the entry.

He followed Bloo up the stairs, which usually became a race, but for some reason today – he just let Bloo ahead of him, too worn to participate in the one-sided competition. Soon after, he followed Bloo into the room he still shared today with Coco, Eduardo and Wilt. A few years ago, Wilt had gotten his own special bed, and just to pay him back for all he's done for Fosters, Mac and the gang had even raised enough money to buy him basketball themed sheets.

None of the friends he shared special bonds with were present, giving them the room to themselves.

On the floor, in a mess of gadgetry was a special contraption that Mac had ordered through the internet. Shaped like a watch, its purpose was to change the appearance of imaginary friends for whatever need the creator wished of it. However, if purchased as a whole it would have cost hundreds of dollars, so Mac had ordered the necessary parts of it and staring a week ago with Bloo, together they were going to construct it with a guide he had also found on the oh so useful internet.

Mac plopped down on one side of the gadget, and Bloo on the other. Bloo picked up a piece of paper that had been set next to it and peered at it a few moments, scratching his chin in thought.

"What's a led?"

"That's LED, Bloo"

"Oh… I knew that! That's just how the FRENCH pronounce it!"

"Right, sure… pass me the really small screw driver."

The two prattled on about their days, mostly Bloo did the talking. Mac hadn't had the chance to speak about his day, but the weight on his chest was starting to suffocate him and for 10 minutes he had sat there screwing in the same screw the wrong direction – it was only when Bloo corrected him did he start on another one.

"So buddy, what happened with you today? Stick it to Terrance?"

"… Nah… just…"

Mac stared intently at his work for a moment; his hands had begun to shake again. Calmly as possible, he set down the watch and sighed.

"Well, remember Richie Wildebrat?"

"Yeah, that no good hiccup stealer!"

"Right… hiccup stealer… anyways, he came to my school today… and he said something really weird…"

"What? Like Oogah Boogah?!"

Mac chuckled gently; the light hearted imaginary friend could always make him feel better, even without meaning to. Choking on his words got a bit more bearable with Bloo by his side.

"… He told me… he wanted to buy Fosters…"

The air grew quiet, and Mac's stammered sentence caused Bloo to stare as intensely as he had seen Bloo stare since he tried to solve that brain teaser last week. But this stare had something different about it… disbelief, he could describe it as.

"WHAT?!"

The Bloo blob screamed, grabbing Mac's head and shaking it like newly purchased chocolate milk. Mac pushed away from him, leaving Bloo to pace nervously, his eyes becoming bloodshot. Mac could almost hear Bloo's heart racing.

Then Bloo turned to him, and Mac knew instinctly what he was going to do.

"No Bloo!"

But before he could utter those words, he took off in the direction of Mr. Herriman's office, and blindly Mac's feet followed, creating a thundering noise on the wood of the hallways.

Mac, somewhere, knew it was hopeless to follow him because he couldn't move nearly fast enough when Bloo had a good 10 second start. Bloo had already reached Herrimen when he reached the top of the stairs – panting; all he could do was watch as Bloo told Mr. Herrimen everything he didn't need to know, at least… not quite yet.

The rabbit looked to Mac with eyes as wide as saucers, eyes that narrowed when he began to form an opinion on Mac's inability to tell him. He beckoned Mac down with his finger, instructing him to stand next to Bloo.

"Why wasn't I informed of this, Master Mac?"

"Because… because I think Richie was just teasing me…I mean… he can't actually buy Foster's… right?"

Mac laughed nervously, but Mr. Herriman's face did not alter from its original look of seriousness. He lifted his head up, puffing his jacket and shook his head to allow Mac to sigh with relief.

"No, Foster's is definitely not for sale. Regardless, matters of such severity should be reported at once."

With that, Mr. Herriman seemed to not only ease his own worries, but Mac's and his friend's as well. Bloo looked to Mac and smiled, more of a smug look. Mac glared down at him.

"Bloo, why'd you do that?"

"I don't want to be a hobo, at least, not with the rest of Fosters! Do you know how uncool that would make hobo's? Mac, you really know nothing about it."

Bloo scoffed, crossing his arms and turning his back to him. Mac rolled his eyes, knowing his imaginary friend did care more about Foster's than he let on – but regardless, Mac never did enjoy getting in trouble, but at least he would be able to spend the rest of the day at Foster's without a worry.

--

Before Mac knew it, the clock struck 8 and he was to return home. He waved goodbye to Bloo, who promised to beat him up if he wasn't on time tomorrow and even stopped to give a hug to Frankie, whom - from what he could tell - seemed particularly irked by Herriman that evening.

When he opened the giant oak doors of Fosters, a rush of the cool night air blew his hair back and he was on his way back home to eat dinner and watch some TV, relaxation well earned.

However, he couldn't shake the feeling he was being followed halfway past the park he had rested in. He shrugged it off his paranoia, but it still bothered him. His paranoia was further more justified when he noticed at just the other end of the park was a limousine, quietly following him with his head lights off.

For a few minutes, he played it smooth, acted like he didn't notice, but when he noticed the turn in front of him, where the roads they both were on met into one street was coming up faster than he thought it would – he instantly took off running, pursued by the screech of tires closely behind.

The wind rushed past him, and his soccer-built legs pushed themselves to their limit as ran around the same block at least four times trying to evade the car. But energy ran out faster than gas, and his pace slowed. He tried his best to run, but his chest felt like it was going to his explode, and his trembling limbs were just too tired from the stress of the afternoon that he was forced to stop in his tracks and the limo quietly, indiscreetly, pulled up beside his panting body.

He wasn't surprised to see the person behind the heavily tinted windows.

"Mac, don't you want a ride home?"

Mac glared, breathless, he was unable to reply. Leaning his hands on his knees, he tried to shake off his exhaustion – but to no avail. After a few minutes, he forced himself to walk – the car only followed like he thought it would.

"Don't give me that, don't you remember our deal?"

"Leave me alone, Richie. I know you can't buy Foster's."

"I don't need to. I can adopt every one of your friends at Foster's. The bird thing… that orge…"

"Madam Foster would never let you."

"That's not the impression I got from her on the phone today."

Mac's eyes widened, unable to separate the truth and fiction from his explanation. Was it possible? Could he have contacted Madam Foster, asked permission and set up a date to pick them up? Could that be why he hadn't seen them all day?

Mac wiped the sweat from his forehead, and allowed his body to stand erect, puffing out his chest to seem larger, stronger than he actually was.

"What do you want with me?"

"Your loyalty, that's all Mac. I could make your life a dream, or I could make your life a hell."

"I'm not just another car, Richie. I'm a person and I'm not for sale."

Mac saw Richie's face contort in frustration, Richie Wildebrat wasn't ever told no. What happened next, not even Mac could predict. Throwing an arm forward, Richie grabbed onto Mac's shirt and pulled his face near his own, he could feel his breath on his lips, smelling like whatever expensive dinner he had eaten that night. Mac felt his heart beat like it had hours ago, his skin just as uncomfortable as it had been. Richie seemed even more intimidating with clenched teeth then he did with just his size alone, looking like a crazed wild animal, true to his last name.

"Get in the car, or I swear I will adopt and abuse every friend in that god forsaken house!"

Richie snapped, animalistic and rude, not anywhere true to the classy snob he used to know. Mac, frightened, ran around the car and hopped in, finding himself in more of a pickle than he thought he would be in this day – of all days.