Silvia

Concealed beneath the oversized head of Rabbit-o, I surveyed the chaos spilling through the front of Twinkle Toys. Tired parents dragged children by the hand, balloons bobbed like escaped thoughts.

Yet the one constant in my shift—Jared—was absent. Ordinarily, he appeared at least once, hovering by the entrance. Perhaps he was off rescuing kittens and being carted off by the mall cop again.

The hours crept by in the way only mall hours could—stretched and twisted, measured in endless repeats of the same jolly background music that had long since become torment.

By the time my shift wheezed to an end, I practically tore off the costume, desperate for fresh air and a return to humanity.

Stepping out of the store, I braced myself for anticlimax—only to falter. There he was. Jared, hands stuffed in his pockets, standing as though he were contemplating the mysteries of retail life—why fitting rooms always had appalling lighting, or why human beings refused to return their shopping trolleys.

His gaze met mine. "By any chance," he said, with alarming casualness, "are you Rabbit-o?"

The word short-circuited me. "Y-yes."

A disarming smile tugged at his lips. "Thought so. I figured it was time I met the person behind the costume."

Relief swelled inside me, warmer than I wanted to admit. I hadn't realised how much I missed his cheerful presence until it landed squarely in front of me.

We relocated to the food court, a battlefield of aromas—curries, stir-fries, fried chicken, and coffee strong enough to jolt the soul. Laughter rose from nearby tables, snatches of conversation fluttered past, and for once I found myself glad for the noise—it made the awkwardness between us feel less glaring.

Jared leaned forward. "How long's it been since we first met?"

I counted quickly. "Three months. Unless we're using rabbit years, in which case I'm due for retirement."

My joke fell flat. Silence settled, the kind that made you question your entire comedic existence.

"It feels strange, doesn't it?" he said at last, fiddling with his fingers. "Talking without the costume."

"Yes. As if our conversation's lost its...hop."

Another joke, another failure. I could practically see him wrestling with whether pity-laughter would be more polite than mercy silence. Perhaps I should've kept the mascot head on—at least I'd have an excuse.

He tried again. "So...why a toy store?"

I shrugged. "Where else can you find adults who've refused to grow up?"

"Really?"

"I'm joking. They were hiring. That's all."

"Do you need the money?"

"Sort of." The truth dangled there, heavy and unsaid. Too complicated for a food court table.

His expression softened, settling into something uncomfortably earnest. "Don't push yourself too hard, okay? Your happiness matters too. Otherwise you'll have people like me up at night, worrying."

Heat climbed to my cheeks. I ducked my head, smiling despite myself. "You're right. I'll...try not to dwell. Thanks, Jared."

He shook his head lightly. "No. Thank you."

I blinked. "For what?"

"For reminding me to find silver linings. You once told me: 'When life gives you lemons, make a lemonade stand and charge double on rainy days'."

My eyes widened in horror. "Did I really say something that dreadful?"

His smile widened. "Guilty. We'll dissect your entrepreneurial skills another time. For now, let me walk you home before it gets too late."

Together, we stepped out of the mall into the crisp night air, the moon slipping in and out of clouds.

As we walked towards my house, Jared loosened up. He launched into a string of mall disasters, each one told with such wild animation that I half-expected him to act them out right there on the pavement. There was the tragic saga of a mannequin missing a shoe, followed by the legendary showdown between a pigeon and the mall cop wielding a broom.

His laugh—loud, unrestrained, almost reckless—echoed through the sleepy street. It was the kind of laugh neighbours would normally curse, but I found myself wishing he'd keep going. It cut through me like fresh air after hours stuck in Rabbit-o's suffocating head.

By the time we reached my doorstep, I was absurdly disappointed. If time could stall, this would've been the perfect moment for it.

As I reached for the handle, his hand caught my wrist—light, but enough to freeze me in place.

Moonlight spilled over him, sharpening his features. It gave him a mysterious allure that wouldn't look out of place in a vampire movie. "I just realised," he murmured, "I never asked your name."

My nerves scrambled for something clever. Instead, I blurted, "It's Silvia. And don't worry, I'm garlic-free."

He blinked—startled—before releasing me. I waved quickly, ducking inside before my own heartbeat betrayed me.

But the thrill faded fast, replaced by something heavier. The Jared who had walked me home—easy, warm, effortlessly funny—felt like a stranger compared to the boy I'd seen at school, sharp-edged and bitter. The difference unsettled me, as if two versions of Jared lived in the same body.

And then there was Silus. The thought of him twisted something tight in my stomach. What had he done to carve such a rift in Jared? How deep must those wound run?

***

Morning came, and I found myself locked in a battle with Silus' locker. Calling it a "locker" was generous—it was a chaotic museum of lost homework, flattened snacks, and papers that might qualify as archaeological findings. The thing needed divine intervention or at least an exorcism.

I tugged at a textbook jammed between soda cans when Dane sauntered over, arms folded. He leaned against the neighbouring locker with the casualness of someone who'd practiced it in a mirror.

"Silus," he said, tilting his head, "were you home yesterday after school?"

I forced a smile, surrendering the textbook to its soda-can prison. "Yes. Why?"

"Really? 'Cause I rang the doorbell. No answer."

I shrugged. "Must've been mid-hibernation. Epic nap."

"That explains it. You nap harder than a bear."

I narrowed my eyes. "Wait. How do you even know where I live?"

"You still live in the same house we used to run around at, right?"

I smirked. "Wow. Your peanut brain actually remembered something?"

He clutched his chest like I'd wounded him. "Excuse me, I didn't come here to get roasted alive."

The banter felt...familiar. Like slipping on an old sweater you'd forgotten was still soft. Memories flickered—of me dragging him into water-balloon ambushes, of him grumbling but always following anyway. For the first time in ages, it felt like maybe we hadn't lost all of that.

"Dane," I teased, "we all know you're the reigning champion of trailing behind in every subject."

He snorted. "Yeah, but without you, I'd be breaking records as the slowest student alive."

Laughter bubbled out of me before I could stop it—real, unforced, startling in its brightness. It'd been too long since I'd laughed like that.

His gaze lingered, a beat too long. Something flickered in his eyes—surprise, maybe something softer. Heat prickled across my face, and for a panicked second I wondered if I had spinach stuck in my teeth. Or worse—a rogue piece of Rabbit-o fur clinging to me.

Dane cleared his throat, fumbling with his phone like it had suddenly become the most urgent thing in the universe. "I, uh...I better go. Catch you later, Silus."

As he walked off, I exhaled, grateful my flimsy disguise had survived another round of scrutiny. Turning back to Silus' locker, I launched into a full-fledged organisational crusade.

By the time I slammed the door shut, sweaty and victorious, it felt less like organising books and more like slaying a dragon.

I spun on my heel, triumphant—only to smack into someone head-on.

Jared.

The look on his face froze me in place. His expression darkened instantly, jaw locking as his eyes narrowed. "You again?" His voice was acid.

He shoved past me, hard enough that I stumbled into the lockers. My glasses flew off and clattered on the floor. I scrambled to grab them, cheeks burning, praying my dignity hadn't shattered with the lenses.

Still, I couldn't let it end like that. Not when Silus had clearly wrecked him so badly. If there was even a sliver of a chance to fix something, I had to try.

Swallowing my nerves, I jogged after him, daring to catch his shirt between my fingers.

He spun, slapping my hand away so hard it stung. His eyes blazed. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I just...want to apologise," I blurted, forcing my voice steady even as my heart thrashed in my chest. "For what I did."

The words barely left my lips before he had me by the collar, slamming me against the lockers. Metal rattled, echoing through the hall.

"You think a sorry fixes this?!" His voice cracked with fury—and something rawer. "Do you even remember what you did to me? Dumping your milkshake on me? Your friends laughing while I sat there humiliated? You called me fat. Ugly. Worthless. Every day you made me feel like I didn't deserve to exist. I wanted to end it all because of you."

Each word hit like a blade. My hands trembled. My throat locked. What could I possibly say? Sorry felt insulting in the face of that kind of pain.

"But I changed," he spat. His grip tightened. "I clawed my way out of the hell you put me in. And now? I'm going to show you what it feels like. Watch your back."

He flung me down like I was nothing. My body smacked the cold floor, pain spiking sharper than it should've. Around us, whispers rose—but no one stepped in. No one wanted to help Silus.

Jared's footsteps pounded away, leaving me shaking in the silence he carved behind him. I forced my glasses back on, my vision still blurry with fear and humiliation.

What on earth did you do, Silus?

The bell saved me, sort of. I dragged myself to history, my back aching more than I'd expected from the earlier impact with the lockers. It wasn't like I'd hit it that hard, yet the pain felt disproportionate.

Slumping into my seat, I pressed my forehead to the desk, wishing I could disappear between the woodgrain lines.

The room buzzed with the usual chaos—kids trading snacks like shady stockbrokers—but I stayed still. Invisible. Or so I thought.

Mila's radar for misery was infallible. She appeared at my desk, brows furrowed. "Hey, what's wrong?"

I didn't lift my head. "You shouldn't talk to me. People will spread rumours."

"I don't care," she said firmly. "I've ignored you long enough, and my guilt-o-meter just maxed out."

From the corner of my eye, I caught Dane watching us. Confusion painted his face, like he was watching a dog play chess. But I didn't have the energy to untangle his thoughts.

"Everything's just...hard," I muttered, words scraping out of me like gravel.

Mila crouched beside me, voice quieter now, almost pleading. "Hey," she said, leaning in until her eyes met mine. "I'll come by after school, okay? We'll talk. I don't like seeing you like this."

Mr Hunt marched into history class with the authority of a general on inspection. The room snapped to attention, books rustling like nervous recruits. Even Mila, who'd been parked loyally at my side a moment earlier, slunk reluctantly into her seat.

"Homework," Mr Hunt barked. "Those who did it will earn a gold star. Those who didn't will enjoy a romantic afternoon with detention."

His favourite game began—Random Selection Roulette. Names were fired, questions volleyed about World War I, and one by one, students crumbled. Mila and Dane included—stammering through their answers like contestants on a game show where every lifeline involved calling their grandparents.

Mr Hunt's forehead creased deeper with every failure. "Unless World War I has suddenly become the latest dance challenge, I'm afraid we're all on the wrong battlefield."

His gaze swept the room and landed on me. His smirk sharpened. "Silus. Our resident anchor, dragging this class straight to the ocean floor. Let's see if you rise above mediocrity for once. Two causes of World War I. And no, 'someone forgot to RSVP to the peace party' isn't an acceptable answer."

My brain, still buzzing from Jared's outburst earlier, acted on autopilot. "The immediate cause was the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, which led Austria-Hungary to declare war on Serbia. That triggered the network of mutual defence alliances—Russia backed Serbia, Germany declared on Russia, France joined against Germany and Austria-Hungary, and when Germany attacked France, Britain was pulled in."

The silence that followed was suffocating. Every jaw in the room sagged. Even Mr Hunt blinked like I'd recited Shakespeare in fluent Mandarin.

"Do you...have the summary sheet in front of you, Silus?" he asked.

I glanced at my desk, where only a lonely black pen sat. "Summary sheet? Oh, right. I think it's on holiday with my motivation, sir."

His lips twitched, betraying amusement. "Well. It seems we've stumbled upon an accidental genius. Brighter than a glow-in-the-dark sticker, if only for a moment."

The class rippled with laughter, muffled giggles bouncing off the walls. I slouched low, heat crawling up my neck.

I hadn't just answered. I'd detonated Silus' carefully cultivated reputation.

When I risked a glance at Dane, his wide-eyed stare pierced me. My stomach clenched, panic racing through me. If he connected the dots—if anyone did—this disguise would collapse.

By the time the final bell rang, relief flooded me in waves, but it was thin and fragile. On my walk home, that relief curdled.

The telephone poles that sported missing posters of Silus now stood bare. Torn edges of tape fluttered in the breeze like ghosts. Their removal felt deliberate, almost threatening, and a chill snaked down my spine.

At home, the first thing I did was rip off the wig. By then, it felt less like hair and more like a rabid ferret plotting revenge. Red marks striped my forehead, a reminder of just how far I'd gone for this charade.

The doorbell rang. Mila, of course—her timing as impeccable as always. We retreated to my room, collapsing on my bed. I braced myself. Mila in serious-conversation mode could mean anything from heartfelt advice to an argument about whether pineapples belonged on pizza.

"Jared's out to get me," I confessed, the words trembling as they fell.

Her eyes widened. "Wait—what?"

"I provoked him," I said, swallowing hard. "Apparently Silus bullied him. Badly."

Shock didn't register. Indignation did. Mila's face darkened. "Silus. Seriously? I thought he was just lazy, but bullying? That's beyond pathetic. He lost his mum—so did you—but instead of dealing with it, he turned into an asshole. Slacking, stealing girlfriends, trashing his grades, and now this?"

I buried my face in my hands. "He adored Mum. But...sometimes I wonder if that's just his excuse."

"Excuse or not, it doesn't cut it. He's making everyone else pay for his misery. And now Jared's paying it forward, only you're the target."

"I don't know what to do." My voice cracked. "Jared's all smiles when he sees me, but the second he sees Silus, he looks ready to end me. I'm terrified."

Mila's hand slipped over mine, steady and grounding. "Then he's got to get through me first. I'll be your bodyguard. The cloak to your dagger. The SPF100 to your summer day."

I groaned. "Please don't. People already think you and Silus are plotting a joint breakout from history class."

She grinned. "Let them. Their gossip matters as much as memorising the periodic table. Unless Jared challenges you to a dance-off, you're safe."

A small laugh escaped me, fragile but real. I squeezed her hand. "You're my best friend, Mila. Which is exactly why I can't let you dive headfirst into my disaster. Unless you come equipped with a parachute made of memes."

Our friendship was one of the few things I could rely on without question. I was determined to protect it, even if it meant facing Jared alone.