Page 2 of Bad Bunny
“I don’t have a lot of extra time for a pet,” I said. “I’ve got my job. A boyfriend. My mom’s been sick.”
I slipped my finger through the wire and gently ran it along the creature’s flank.
Wow. So soft.
The little guy shivered, then settled onto his haunches, eyes closing. His sides moved in quick, shallow breaths.
“You have to take him,” the man said. “He’s perfect for you, miss. I can see it already. You’ll make a great pair.”
Still, I hesitated.
“Think about your kids,” the man pressed. “They’ll love him.”
He was right about that. I could see it already, walking into the classroom with the cage tucked under my arm. The kids lighting up. The squeals. The way they’d crowd around, eyes wide and shining.
We could do math problems about how much to feed him based on his weight. Talk about habitats. About camouflage. All the possibilities unfurled in my mind. How this bunny could revolutionize my classroom.
Maybe even raise standardized test scores…
“Okay.” I stood abruptly, a burst of purpose and excitement flooding through me, the kind I hadn’t felt in years. “I’ll take him.”
That’s how I came home with the bunny. To the house where I live with my mom, who smiled so wide when she saw him, full of joy. She lifted a shaking hand to pet him, and I was glad in that moment. Sure I’d made the right decision. I was even more sure when I carried him into my classroom the next day. Friday. When the kids danced around the cage, shrieking with excitement. Just like I pictured.
Thank God he hadn’t bitten any of them.
Not when they reached into the cage to pet him. Not when we sat in a circle and let him hop between us, pausing to sniff our shoes. He even nibbled on Davie Gibbon’s shoelaces to everyone’s utter delight.
The bunny had been gentle with the kids. Almost careful.
But now he’s bitten me.
And I have no way to track that old man down.
No receipt. No phone number. I even drove past that same stretch of road on my way to school this morning. Empty.
Ugh.
That’s when I hear it.
A click.
The slow creak of metal behind me.
The lights flicker overhead, go out completely, then snap back on, brighter than before.
Then…
A man’s voice. Deep. Strangely accented. “Excuse me, Nora?”
I freeze. My eyes flick to the classroom door to my right.
Closed. Locked.
No one could’ve come in without passing me.
What the—
Slowly. Ever so slowly.
