That kid looks at me like I’m made of stories. He doesn’t flinch when I raise my voice. He laughs when I teach him probabilities through card tricks. And something inside me—something ancient and raw—wants to be worthy of that.
Still, I say, “I want her to see I can build things. Good things. Not just break them.”
Garkin exhales slow. “You’re really in this deep, huh?”
“Drowning.”
He shakes his head. “Fine. I’ll get the permits. But if I end up making kindness-themed cupcakes, I want hazard pay. Triple. And a back massage.”
“Deal,” I say, biting into the crust of my slice.
It tastes like glue and regret.
Perfect.
And just like that, Kindness Week is born.
CHAPTER 11
KAIRO
The school smells like glue sticks and desperation.
There’s a cluster of folding chairs arranged in a loose circle in the library, which has been poorly disguised as a “Planning War Room” with construction paper banners and a sad tray of lukewarm caf sludge. I slide into a chair near the back, hoping to lurk, observe, and escape before anyone ropes me into decorating hallways with glitter glue.
Ben’s somewhere down the hall in aftercare, probably teaching poker to the other four-year-olds.
Principal Jennings bustles in, hair slightly singed at the ends, likely from the science lab explosion yesterday. “All right, team!” she says, breathless. “We’re here to brainstorm our school-wide Kindness Week! Let’s think big, think bold, and please, someone hide the dry erase markers from Room 2C!”
I chuckle along with the others, until the doors swing open.
And in walks Jav.
Wearing a button-up shirt that probably cost more than my aircar. Holding a datapad. Smiling like sin dipped in honey.
He saunters to the front like he owns the place—and, knowing him, he probably filed a false deed to prove it.
“Good evening, fellow educators,” he says, as if the words don’t burn in his throat. “I’ve taken the liberty of drafting a few ideas for Kindness Week.”
Jennings blinks. “Oh. Wonderful.” She clearly has no idea who he is—or if she does, she’s too tired to care.
Jav taps the screen, and a holo projection flares to life behind him.
“First, an ‘Adopt-A-Starship’ initiative, where each classroom sponsors a long-haul freighter and sends encouragement vids to the crew.”
A few teachers murmur politely.
“Second, an ‘Alien Cuisine Potluck’ to promote interspecies empathy. I’ll personally prepare the Grolgath bloodroot stew—mild version.”
Someone coughs nervously.
“And third,” he adds, eyes glittering as they sweep the room, “a mural project called ‘Kindness is Universal,’ painted across the front wall of the gym. Volunteers from every species. One community.”
It’s absurd.
It’s dramatic.
And damn it—it’s working.
