Continues to Pretend

Lauren huddled behind the bush, her sticky skin prickling under the yak hair as tourists pointed and laughed through the glass. The pond shimmered temptingly across the grassy field, but dashing there meant exposing herself to the crowd. She couldn't risk them seeing a "monkey" shed its fur like some bizarre magic trick. Waiting until closing seemed safer—pretend to be an ape, blend in, then flag down a keeper after hours.

But the sun was high; closing was hours away. Her stomach growled, and the tranquilizer's haze lingered, making her limbs heavy. She glanced at the climbing structure, a tangle of ropes and platforms. Maybe she could hide up there, out of sight. Or stick to the bushes and forage like Coco might, to avoid suspicion.

A family pressed against the glass, a kid banging on it. "Look, Mom! The orangutan's hiding!" Lauren's cheeks burned. She had to move, or they'd call a keeper to check on the "shy ape."

Crouching low, she shuffled on all fours toward the structure, mimicking movements she'd seen in documentaries. The hair shifted uncomfortably, but it held, the honey acting like glue. Halfway there, she froze—a keeper appeared at the edge of the enclosure, scanning with binoculars.

She could climb the structure quickly to hide higher up, hoping the keeper doesn't spot her awkward movements.

She could stay low and shuffle back to the bushes, acting more ape-like to blend in if seen.