Page 5

The world was silent.

The air smelled of burned rubber, remorse, and the issues of the wealthy.

I peeled my face off the airbag, massaging away the fuzzy sensation of betrayal that accompanied being assaulted by the very thing that was meant to protect me.

Beside me, Ethan groaned, pushing his own airbag aside with all the annoyance of someone deeply inconvenienced by basic safety features.

"Clark," he said, voice strained. "What. The hell. Was that?"

I barely heard him. Because there, in front of us—

The bunny.

The exact same small, fluffy, harmless forest creature that had single-handedly caused this disaster.

Only, instead of hopping away like a good, respectable rabbit, it began… floating.

Not jumping. Not bouncing. Floating.

Defying the laws of physics with the arrogant carelessness of something that didn't give a hoot if the world was rational.

My breath caught. A bunny suspended in mid-air. A levitating bunny. One of the most elusive creatures. We could have trashed the car, but—this was worth it. I guess.

The bunny hung a few inches above the asphalt, small paws fluttering as if it were doing a lazy backstroke through the air.

I pointed at it. "SEE?! SEE?! I TOLD YOU!"

Ethan rolled his head. His mouth fell open.

The bunny twitched an ear. Then, without so much as a farewell, it ascended.

Like some kind of fluffy forest deity, it kept going higher and higher until it vanished into the leaves of the tree, leaving behind only silence and cosmic confusion.

Ethan let out a slow, exhalation breath. "Okay. So. Flying bunny."

"No, a levitating bunny," I corrected.

We sat there, still strapped into our seats, trying to make sense of the fact that we had just crashed because of a floating rabbit.

Then Ethan glared at me, expression empty.

"You screamed about that?"

I glared back at him, indignant. "Screamed? Ethan, I had a totally sane reaction."

"Sane?" Ethan repeated, voice rising. "Clark, you nearly killed us—OVER A FLOATING

RODENT!"

"It was a bunny, Ethan!" I snapped. "And you were the one who yanked the wheel like we were dodging a bum missile!"

"Because you SHOUTED!"

"BECAUSE YOU WERE GOING TO WRECK IT!"

Ethan exhaled and massaged his face with one hand, muttering something that sounded eerily like a demon incantation of patience.

Then, like suddenly reality caught up with him, his eyes snapped to his car.

The scratch. The folded-over airbags. The inevitable fact that his stupidly expensive, brand-new convertible had been ruined.

He sat there, paralyzed, for an extremely long time.

Then, in a slow, hollow tone, he muttered, "This car is not insured."

I blinked. "I—wait. What?"

Ethan combed his hair. "It's new. I just purchased it. I haven't yet acquired the insurance."

I glared at him. "Are you kidding me? A billionaire's son with no car insurance?.... But at least your dad can pay for it."

"No, he can't," he said almost in an instant.

Something about the way he said it made me hesitate. There was no hesitation, no excuse, just immediate dismissal.

"Why?" My voice dropped a little.

Ethan tensed. "It's complicated, okay?"

"HOW?!"

"JUST—DROP IT!" His voice was cruder than before.

And like that, my stomach flipped.

The air inside the car felt denser. Chilled. My fingers clenched into a fist, the back of my mind trying to recall a memory—something terrible, something I didn't want to remember.

The reason why I hated demons.

But I suppressed it before it materialized.

Ethan was not him. This was not then.

I pushed the air out, my grip on the seat relaxing. "Fine," I muttered. "Your rich-kid deep, dark problems are your own."

Ethan massaged his temples, exhaling. "Great. Glad we are on the same page."

There was a silence between us, broken only by the crunch of the leaves where the bunny had disappeared.

Then Ethan, finally, exhaled, looking at his wrecked brand-new convertible like it had taken from him something valuable.

I waited.

And waited.

And—

"Okay," he finally said, “I can’t tell my dad about this. So, I’ll just… figure it out.”

I squinted at him. “Figure it out? That’s your grand plan?”

"Yeah." He waved a hand like this was the simplest thing in the world. "I’ll raise the money myself."

I stared at him.

He stared back.

We both knew he was lying.

"Okay," I replied, rubbing my temples, "let's pretend for a second that I do believe you're telling the truth. How do you plan on getting the money?"

Ethan's lips parted—then snapped shut.

Parted again—halted.

At last, he exhaled. "I'll. find a way."

I laughed. "That's not a plan, Ethan. That's merely you hoping the universe will magically deliver the solution."

Ethan crossed his arms. "Sometimes it does."

Then, as if this wasn't the most bizarre morning of my existence, Ethan simply walked out of the car into the middle of the road—

And waved down a school bus. Not Paramount High's.

I swear.

A public-school bus.

Like some kind of peasant.

The bus groaned out a tired whistle as it screeched to a halt, its driver already radiating that if-only-he-hadn't-been-born look.

Ethan smiled at me. "Get in. You're already late."

I glared. "And you?"

"I'll think of something."

I hesitated. Ethan could have just called his dad's phone and a new car would be brought in under five minutes, but he wasn't going to do that. No, instead, he was being suspiciously secretive.

Either way, I had more pressing things to think about.

I took a breath, walked into the bus, and walked towards an empty seat.

My phone beeped.

Joy: Clark what's up?

Me: Today so far has been a nightmare.

Joy: Good. Spill.

Shun: R u okay though?

Me: Physically? Yes. Emotionally? No. Oh, and Ethan's car is smashed.

Joy: YES. YES. THIS IS EVERYTHING I HOPED FOR. CONTINUE PLEASE.

Shun: …seems like we missed a lot of things.

When I got to Paramount High, everyone already knew.

The gossip had started before I'd even ventured into the main hallway.

Teens clustered together, talking behind their hands, their eyes flicking to me as I passed.

Some were subtle, some not, and a handful didn't even try to hide their smiles.

My stomach formed knots all the way down the ten-miles hallway.

But that didn't matter. Not then.

For the first time in my entire life, I wasn't called to the principal's office to be praised. No certificate, no applause, no congratulatory handshake with awkward eye contact and a compulsory smile for the school newsletter. No, not today.

This time, I was in trouble.

This time, I'd done something wrong—something as dumb and ridiculous as arriving late to school. As late as missing the first period.

The two doors to the office of Principal Catherine loomed before me like the doors of judgment. I knocked once, and they loudly creaked open that had not been as loud last week for certain. Inside, lavender and the aroma of leather-covered books floated about, just like always.

Principal Catherine stood behind her massive mahogany desk, a commanding presence of part-human, part-horse, and full-time authority.

Her hooves clicked sharply against the marble floor as she turned to face me.

She crossed her arms, her tail flicking once behind her in an expression of disapproval more eloquent than any words.

“You’re late,” she said, her voice as sharp as her cheekbones.

I swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

She let out a theatrical sigh—a sigh to end wars or spark them, depending on how one felt. "Clark. Clark. Clark. My greatest student. The star of Paramount High. The one child who made me feel like academic excellence wasn't lost to the ages."

I nodded cautiously, never quite sure if I was being complimented or put in front of the firing squad.

"And yet you are here," she continued, wafting one beautiful hand in my general direction, "...a disgrace. A disappointment. A lost cause."

I blinked. "I—what?"

"Next time—detention," she warned, suddenly businesslike. And then, she finished up with a softening voice, "Now go to class before I cry."

I didn't have to be told twice.

"And by the way, that backflip was dope," she quipped as I left.

Classic centaur.

By break time, I had flopped across the cafeteria table opposite Joy and Shun, resting my head on the plastic as if it were the pillow I so desperately needed. Quarter-way through the day, and already I was dead tired, like I'd just run a marathon in dress shoes.

"It began with a floating bunny," I muttered, my voice muffled in my sleeve.

Joy leaned in, eyes wide, always willing for a tale which sounded borderline fictional.

Shun merely raised an eyebrow. "This should be good."

And as I painted it all—the ridiculous, unbelievable specifics—sunk in the weight of it. Not only the events, but the consequences. The things which had insidiously had come for me out of the margins were now standing front and center, inescapable.

The truth hit me like a punch in the gut.

Ethan needed help.

And whether I liked it or not—most probably not—I was part of the reason he was here. I was there. Shouted ‘BUNNY’ like an idiot. And pretending otherwise wouldn't make it go away.

Like it or not, it was my fault. Part of it.

And that meant I was going to have to do something about it.

Damn, god help me.