Page 55 of The Jack*ss in Class

“She was my ‘lil sis.” She smiled, clearly remembering good times. “I was a bridesmaid at their wedding.”

The donkey slipped right out of that bandanna and trotted over to my father, who until now had been watching the scene unfold with his arms crossed. To everyone’s surprise, the animal pressed its head against Dad’s leg like an oversized puppy. A muscle twitched in Dad’s jaw, the closest thing to a smile he showed in public.

“She was quite the prankster,” Dr. Sterling said softly, her stern facade cracking slightly. “Always getting into scrapes, but her heart was in the right place.”

Dad cleared his throat. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, it seems.” He reached down absently to scratch behind the donkey’s ears. “Though this is a new level of chaos, even for a Kingman.”

Aha. I knew what to do.

“Dad,” I started, “I know it’s a lot to ask?—”

“No.” His voice carried the same authority that had commanded football fields for twenty years. “Absolutely not. I have neighbors, Flynn. Respectable people who don’t expect livestock next door.”

Uh, that was bullshit. Trixie and Chris lived next door and had the noisiest rooster on the planet who woke up the whole damn neighborhood most mornings.

The donkey looked up at him with big, soulful eyes. Dad’s hand stilled on its head.

“Sir,” Tempest addressed my dad, her voice quiet but determined. “We’ll find another solution. I promise?—”

“One week,” Dad interrupted, and I could have sworn Isaw the ghost of a smile as the donkey nuzzled his hand. “You have until next weekend to figure something else out. And you’ll both be responsible for its care.” He fixed me with the look that had launched a thousand wind sprints. “This doesn’t interfere with your combine prep, understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well,” Dr. Sterling said, looking at the donkey now contentedly leaning against my father’s leg, “I suppose this is a fitting tribute to April in its own way. She always did say college was about more than just grades and rules.”

She turned to Mrs. Henderson. “We should overlook this incident. After all, the April De la Reine Leadership Award is meant to honor sisters who think creatively and make a difference in unexpected ways—though perhaps next time, we’ll stick to less... furry forms of philanthropy.”

Mrs. Henderson deflated like a popped balloon.

I felt Tempest’s hand brush against mine, a silent thank you that sent electricity up my arm. I resisted the urge to grab it, to pull her close and promise that I’d always have her back.

“Right,” she said, straightening her shoulders. “Let’s get this chaos machine to his temporary home before he decides to redecorate the whole house.”

“Lead the way, Queen Titania.” I grinned, then turned to my father. “Think Declan will bring his truck over to help with the move?”

Dad pulled out his phone, his expression softening almost imperceptibly. “Already texted him. Your brothersays he’s bringing Wiener the Pooh for moral support.” He paused. “God help us all.”

The donkey brayed in what sounded suspiciously like agreement.

The thing about having seven siblings is that crisis management becomes a spectator sport. Within fifteen minutes of Dad’s text, my brothers had turned Operation Donkey Evacuation into a full-scale production.

“I still say we dress him up as the Dragons’ mascot,” Isak said, filming everything on his phone. “No one questions the mascot.”

Declan, who’d shown up with his fiancé’s dachshund, shook his head. “And risk another head-falling-off incident? Did you learn nothing from the pep rally?”

“Boys,” Dad’s voice carried across the KAT house lawn. “Less commentary, more action.”

I turned to Tempest, who stood next to me watching my family’s chaos with wide eyes.

“Sorry about... all of this.” I gestured to where Hayes was attempting to coax the donkey with organic carrots while Everett consulted Wiki How articles about livestock transport. This is what the off-season looked like to my family.

“Don’t be,” she said softly. “I’m not used to people helping like this, and honestly, it’s kind of entertaining. Definitely good for a, uh, story later.”

Something in her voice made my chest tight. Before I could respond, Gryff jogged up with Declan’s truck keys dangling from his finger.

“Got the getaway vehicle,” he announced. “ThoughDeclan says if there’s any damage to his precious truck, you’re running suicides until the combine.”

“Noted.” I caught the keys. “Where’s Chris? We could use him to quarterback this situation.”

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