Silvia

Concealed beneath the oversized guise of Rabbit-o, I stood outside Twinkle Toys, clutching a bouquet of balloons as if they were the last fragile threads of my rapidly fraying sanity. The bright colours seemed determined to serve as a cheerleading squad for my decidedly less optimistic thoughts.

The encounter with Jared while impersonating Silus had lodged itself in my mind, as though his scowl had signed a long-term lease. No plans for vacating, no intentions of quieting down.

As if fate itself delighted in irony, Jared was approaching. His stride brimmed with an exuberance so out of sync with the villainous persona I had crafted in my imagination. It was like witnessing Darth Vader skip through a field of daisies, jazz hands included.

His enthusiasm bubbled over as he neared. "You won't believe what happened the other day."

Beneath layers of fur and fabric, I forced myself to remain composed. "What happened?"

"I finally stood up to that guy at school," he declared with a triumphant grin. "You should've seen him—he was terrified. Bullies always fold the moment someone pushes back."

I nearly lost my grip on the balloons. "Wait—bully?"

"Yeah," he said, his grin faltering slightly. "I guess I never mentioned it before. I didn't want you to think I was...well, a coward."

Jared, afraid of appearing cowardly? The same Jared who once found a lost kitten and tried to pass it off as a talking toy, only to be apprehended by the mall cop unimpressed by its unconvincing meows? No, this didn't align at all.

Determined to sound sincere despite the hindrance of my rabbit-shaped guise, I said, "You're no coward, Jared. If anything, you're more like...the wise sage of this story. You could have chosen the reckless path, but instead, you chose the high road."

He glanced down at his sneakers, suddenly engrossed in the crisscross of his laces. "You're right," he murmured, as though attempting to convince himself the words held truth.

I stood there, the balloons bobbing faintly in a mysterious draft that had managed to infiltrate the mall. The absurdity of the situation wasn't lost on me—here I was, dressed as a giant rabbit, dispensing life advice to a boy who had no idea I was the sister of the one responsible for his troubles. Yet, there was something oddly profound about it all. Or perhaps it was the lack of oxygen inside the costume clouding my judgment.

Regardless, one truth shone with startling clarity—Jared was never the villain. That dubious honour belonged entirely to my brother. Jared was the victim here—the well-meaning, slightly awkward victim caught in the tangled mess of Silus' mishaps.

Our conversation was cut short by a stampede of hyperactive children. They swarmed around me like I was the last toy on Black Friday, and in an instant, I was engulfed in a cyclone of tiny hands, wild eyes, and balloon-thieving chaos.

Jared, bless his heart, made a valiant attempt to offer me a proper farewell. Unfortunately, the situation devolved into an unintentional game of charades as I tried to wave him off with exaggerated bunny hops. Judging by his bewildered expression, I wasn't sure if he interpreted my gestures as a warm goodbye or an open challenge to a hopping contest.

By the time my shift finally ended, I dragged myself home, the weight of the day clinging to me. Every thought from the past few hours ricocheted in my mind like a pinball machine—Jared's unexpected vulnerability, Aiden's unnervingly sharp instincts regarding my Silus disguise, and the precarious house of cards that was my entire charade. None of it would settle long enough for me to find clarity.

I collapsed onto the living room couch, sinking into its familiar embrace. The cushions seemed to cradle me, as if they understood how much nonsense I'd dealt with today.

I stared at the ceiling, my mind unable to slow its relentless spin. With a frustrated sigh, I smacked my forehead lightly, as though hoping to reboot my overworked brain. My fingers traced the faint furrows in my brow—physical proof of the monumental headache my life had become.

Reaching for the nearest cushion, I buried my face into its fabric and let out a muffled groan. Somewhere in the haze of my exhaustion, I sent up a desperate, silent plea for deliverance—whether in the form of pizza, a miracle, or a conveniently available magic genie. At this point, I wasn't picky. I just needed something, anything, to grant me even the briefest reprieve from this mess of lies and problems.

***

As the sun's morning rays lazily stretched across the school grounds, my footsteps mirrored their lethargy. A yawn escaped me, echoing through the dreary corridors I was, regrettably, beginning to feel an affinity for.

I had resigned myself to the notion that today would be as thrilling as watching paint dry. But, as usual, the universe had other plans. Apparently, monotony was too much to ask for.

There she was—Miss Leroy, radiating a fury so intense it could give the sun a complex. Her glare, sharp enough to kindle a flame, was fixed on poor Felicia, who stood rooted to the spot. Miss Leroy's voice lashed out, each word a verbal dagger, and Felicia's dignity appeared to be the first casualty of the public execution.

A small crowd of students had gathered around them, eager spectators at what seemed to be the most riveting show on campus. I couldn't decide whether to fetch popcorn or a fire extinguisher.

"What's going on with the weekly newsletters? Why the delay?" Miss Leroy's voice cut through the murmur of onlookers. "I thought I made it clear, Felicia! Being part of the Newsletter Club means having these publications ready every Monday. What could possibly be causing this slip-up? You've been daydreaming in my class, haven't you? If you're aiming for a scholarship to Rosecrest, you need to start taking your responsibilities seriously. At this rate, you're on track for absolutely nothing."

The whispers around us thickened, and Felicia's face was rapidly transitioning from pale to tomato. Judging by the tremble in her posture, her composure was about to pop faster than a balloon next to a cactus.

I couldn't just stand by and let this public evisceration continue unchecked. Summoning every ounce of courage I could muster—along with a touch of reckless optimism—I stepped forward. "Someone who doubts their own students and needs a map to find encouragement isn't exactly teacher material."

The crowd collectively gasped, their wides eyes darting between Miss Leroy and me as though watching an intense tennis match. Miss Leroy's head snapped towards me with such speed I briefly worried she might need a chiropractor. Her eyes flared with indignation, and I wondered if I'd taken my Silus impersonation too far—possibly straight into the depths of permanent detention.

"Listen here, you delinquent," she hissed. "I don't need a nuisance like you meddling in other people's business. Walk away before—"

A throat cleared behind her, the sound so commanding it might as well have been the grand finale of a symphony. Miss Leroy froze mid-sentence, her tirade vanishing as quickly as it had begun. I turned to see Principal Cronin standing a few paces away, the very embodiment of no-nonsense authority. His mere presence seemed to command the entire hallway to hold its breath.

"Miss Leroy," he said, his voice calm but imbued with enough authority to silence even the fiercest of arguments. "Why don't we continue this discussion in my office? There's no need for an audience."

Her anger deflated instantly, leaving her expression to settle into one of reluctant compliance. She shot me a final glare, but it lacked the ferocity of before. With a stiff nod, she followed Cronin, her defeat palpable.

I exhaled a breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding, a strange sense of triumph mingling with the undeniable awareness that I'd likely invited a new level of consequences. The cluster of female students who had witnessed "Silus" playing knight in tarnished armour were utterly dumbfounded. Their jaws hit the floor—so low, in fact, I considered offering them as footrests.

As Miss Leroy's stormy exit faded into the distance, the tension vanished faster than a pack of gum in a classroom. My attention shifted to Felicia, who remained frozen in place, looking like she'd been sideswiped by an emotional freight train.

Approaching her cautiously, I attempted to sound sympathetic, though the words came out somewhere between concerned and the bleating of an inept sheep. "Hey, uh, are you...um, okay?"

She didn't lift her gaze, her head hanging in a tragic posture of defeat. "I didn't ask you to butt in," she muttered.

Undeterred, I leaned in closer, squinting in an effort to glimpse her face. "But...you're crying."

Sure enough, her cheeks bore the unmistakable streaks of tears, accentuating both her distress and my remarkable knack to make an awkward situation exponentially worse.

"Okay, let's not turn the hallway into a waterpark," I said, gently taking her arm. "Come on—let's go somewhere quieter."

We shuffled over to an empty corner, far from the wide-eyed spectators who, by now, had likely decided they'd witnessed the dress rehearsal for a tragic school play.

Felicia buried her face in her hands, and the dam finally broke. "Why is it every time I try so hard, I end up failing? Everyone keeps comparing me to your sister, and it's driving me mad!" She scowled at me, eyes red with tears and exhaustion. "No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, no one sees how much I'm struggling. My parents are constantly yelling at me. I've lost hours of sleep trying to meet everyone's expectations. I don't even have friends because I'm always too busy studying! Even the teachers are losing faith in me! What more do I have to sacrifice just to make everyone happy?!"

I stood there, silent, as a wave of guilt and understanding washed over me. For the first time, I truly grasped the magnitude of her struggles—her relentless pursuit of that Rosecrest scholarship, a goal that seemed to consume her entirely. The image of Felicia, so poised and competitive on the surface, shattered before me, leaving only a deeply tired and utterly human girl beneath. "I'm sorry," was all I could manage.

She grimaced, clearly unimpressed by my feeble attempt at comfort. "Why are you apologising to me? You're just making me the guest of honour at a pity party I didn't even RSVP to."

I scratched my wig, ostensibly looking contemplative, though I suspected I looked more like a perplexed clown. My eyes darted around, unsure where to land amidst the emotional chaos unfolding before me.

"Life is a bit like a rollercoaster, isn't it?" I began, inwardly cringing at my own metaphor. "There will always be someone who seems better, flying through the loops while you're stuck on the incline. But that doesn't mean you're stuck in their shadow forever. The thing is, you've been pushing yourself to climb towards that goal without stopping to look back. That takes real effort, and that's what counts. You're not alone in this." I pointed to myself. "You've got at least one friend who believes in you. But the bigger question is—do you believe in yourself?"

Felicia blinked at me, her tears drying faster than I expected, as if I'd handed her a lifetime supply of validation in one go. She appeared thrown off by the sincerity of my words—especially since, as far as she knew, they were coming from Silus. Realising she had let her guard down, she quickly averted her gaze.

"Of course I believe in myself," she mumbled, though her voice lacked the conviction to match her words. Still, there was something different in her softened expression—like the idea of someone else believing in her was a new, unfamiliar concept.

I hesitated, unsure if I should press further, but curiosity nudged me forward. "Can I ask you something?"

"What?"

"This whole Rosecrest dream—are you chasing it because it's your dream, or are you chasing someone else's? And when you get there...will it be enough for you?"

Her eyes widened as though I'd knocked the wind out of her. Silence followed, louder than anything I could have said, and I could see the gears turning in her mind.

Sensing her hesitation, I softened my tone. "It's alright, you don't have to answer that." Reaching into my pocket, I retrieved a tissue and gently dabbed at the lingering traces of her tears.

Her cheeks flushed a shade of red so vivid it could have stopped traffic. "I can wipe my own tears, thank you very much!" she huffed, snatching the tissue from my hand with all the indignation of someone whose competence had been called into question.

I chuckled at her reaction—it was almost endearing in its stubbornness—though I masked it as a polite cough. "I suppose I should be off. Take care of yourself, alright?" For some inexplicable reason, I gave her a quick, entirely unnecessary pat on the head, like she was a confused kitten in need of consolation.

Felicia froze, her wide eyes silently questioning every decision I had made until this point. Frankly, I wasn't about to linger long enough to analyse that look—more like, I lacked the courage to. With a wave that was more awkward than charming, I made my escape, hoping I hadn't obliterated the fragile goodwill I'd worked so hard to build.

As I continued down the bustling hallway, an Aiden-shaped obstacle blocked my path. Exactly what I needed—another interruption, complete with a smirk capable of fuelling a thousand poor life choices.

My irritation flared as I came face-to-face with his insufferable grin. "Still convinced I'm a girl?" I asked, resisting the temptation to slap the smugness clean off his face.

With his trademark flair for feigned ignorance, he raised an eyebrow. "I didn't say anything."

I narrowed my eyes. "I know exactly what your problem is," I said, crossing my arms. "You've met my twin sister, haven't you?"

"Ah, so that's why she looked familiar," he mused, as though the realisation had just now meandered into his conveniently selective memory.

I rolled my eyes. "Everyone knows about you, Aiden. It's hardly shocking you've confused me with her, given your brain's singular obsession with girls. Do us both a favour and take a time-out. Stop buzzing around me like an annoying fly."

I deliberately bumped his shoulder as I stalked off, casting a glance over my shoulder in time to see him standing frozen, as though my words had short-circuited his entire system. Apparently, I'd developed a surprising knack for leaving people in stunned silence today.

The school bell rang out, sounding more like a warning siren heralding Miss Cowan's legendary stare-downs than a friendly reminder to get to class. Determined not to become her next victim, I dashed towards homeroom.

Sliding into my seat, I wiped the unwelcome layer of sweat on my forehead. My eyes met Mila's, her arched eyebrow speaking volumes: "Did you come from a sauna?" I swiftly averted my gaze, deciding I wasn't in the mood to explain my spontaneous cardio session—or the Aiden-shaped stress that had preceded it.

Slumping into my chair, I propped my chin on my hand, my mind racing through every possible strategy to evade Aiden's hawk-like scrutiny. Every scenario felt hopeless, like trying to outwit a nosy pigeon. No matter how clever I thought I was, he always seemed to inch closer to putting two and two together. If there was one person I couldn't afford snooping around my carefully constructed charade, it was him.

I didn't know much about Aiden beyond his close friendship with Dane and the mutual loathing he shared with Silus. But that was more than enough to classify him as a threat. He was sharp, far too sharp, and entirely too unpredictable. The risk he posed wasn't just irritating—it was downright dangerous.