“Really, it’s not a problem,” I protested. “I’ve just had a lousy couple of weeks, that’s all. I’ll get over it. Trust me on this.”

“Maybe you need to talk to somebody,” Cassie suggested. “Like a professional.”

“Yeah, Cassie. ‘Uh, Doctor Freud? My dad’s thinking about remarrying. See, he thinks my mom is dead, but she’s not. She’s actually a slave to an alien race trying to conquer the planet. And did I mention the fact that I’m fighting this alien invasion myself? That I do it by turning into animals? Say what? What size strait-jacket do I wear?’”

“Well, okay,” Cassie replied gently. “But what about us? We are your friends, Marco. You can talk to us. Keeping stuff all locked inside is what makes you get so stressed.”

“Cassie, everyone here has problems. Ax is the only member of his species within a trillion miles who’s not a Controller; you’re a pacifist who spends half her time battling aliens; Jake is just a dumb jock trying to play General Eisenhower; Rachel is about three millimeters away from morphing permanently into the Terminator; and, oh, by the way, Tobias is a bird who lives in a tree and eats mice for breakfast. We all have problems. We are not exactly the poster children for Mental Health week.”

“Dumb jock? Excuse me?”

“The point is we’re all hanging on by our fingernails. What right do I have to go nuts?”

Cassie shrugged. “As much right as anyone.”