Page 2 of The Jack*ss in Class

“This is definitely gonna go viral,” Isak yelled, phone held high as he chased after all of us. “Best Scholar-Athlete rally ever.”

The things I did for this school. The things I did for this team. And now, apparently, the things I did for random baby donkeys in dragon costumes.

For a tiny donkey, that thing could move.

“Left, go left,” I yelled as our sparkly-winged fugitive darted between students’ legs, causing a chain reaction of dropped books and spilled coffee. “Gryff, cut him off at the student center.”

Gryff had already been moving in that direction before the words were out of my mouth. Twin telepathy strikes again. It was no myth, and damn fucking useful in football and foot chases after donkey-bats out of hell.

“On it.” He split off toward the historic brick building, while Artemis vaulted over a bench and took the path past the fountain.

“You crazy little donkey, come here.” Freddie was surprisingly fast for someone so tiny, her soccer training showing as she wove through the growing crowd of spectators.

“What’s the donkey’s name?” Isak called out, still filming everything.

“I don’t have a clue.” Freddie ducked under someone’s arms.

Because that was clearly our biggest problem right now was not knowing this little terror’s name. Not the fact that there was a mini donkey in a Dragons jersey running wild across campus while half the student body filmed it on their phones.

The donkey banked hard right, its tiny wings flapping as it headed straight for the science building. A group of students emerged from the doors, arms full of project boards from what looked like chemistry.

“No, no, no.” I put on a burst of speed. Those project boards definitely looked explosive.

“I got him.” Artemis lunged, hands outstretched.

The donkey pulled a spin move that would have made our running backs jealous.

Artemis crashed into Gryffin, who’d been coming from the other direction. They went down in a tangle of limbs, and I heard my brother’s distinctive wheezing laugh.

“Dude,” Isak zoomed in on them with his phone, “this is better than the time Trixie’s rooster crashed Chris’s surprise birthday party.”

“Focus.” I jumped over my brother and his best friend, who were still trying to untangle themselves. “That donkey’s heading for the coffee shop.”

The outdoor seating area of Dragon’s Brew was packed, because it was one of those sunny sixty-degree Colorado days in January. Dozens of students sat at the scattered tables, most of them wearing headphones and staring at laptops or textbooks. None of them had noticedthe chaos heading their way.

“Look alive people, incoming,” Freddie yelled in warning.

A few heads turned. Someone screamed, or maybe laughed. A half dozen coffee cups went flying.

I had a brief flash of tomorrow’s headlines. KINGMAN BROTHERS DESTROY CAMPUS IN DONKEY DISASTER.

Dad would laugh. Coach would not.

The donkey’s wings flapped faster as it wove between the tables, surprisingly graceful for something with hooves. It was heading straight for a girl curled up in one of the oversized armchairs in the corner. She hadn’t looked up from her book once, despite the chaos around her.

“Watch out,” I called, already envisioning the lawsuit. “There’s a?—”

The girl turned the page of her book, then held that same hand, palm out, right into the path of mass donkstruction.

The donkey skidded to a stop.

Just... stopped. Right in front of her chair. Then stuck its tiny gray nose directly into her palm like it was getting pets from its favorite person in the world.

What the actual?—

“Thank god.” Freddie caught up to me, doubling over as she tried to catch her breath. “Tempest, I can explain. Don’t kill me.”

Tempest. The girl in the chair must be Freddie’s sister. The one who owned a yet unnamed pet donkey.

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