The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting their flat yellow glare on the rows of desks and the open backpacks scattered at the back of the room. Emilia had her hand in her bag, fishing for a pencil case, when she felt the small, warm body shift inside. Her fingers froze. The duck stretched his neck, shook his feathers, and let out a small, clear quack that carried across the classroom like a bell.
The sound cut through the low murmur of third-grade morning work. Heads turned. Emilia's face went hot, her hand still buried in the bag, her glasses sliding down her nose. Three rows back, a pencil clattered to the floor. Sofia dropped it, her eyes wide but her voice flat when she said, "That's my sister's duck."
The teacher, Ms. Patel, turned from the whiteboard, marker raised. "Excuse me?"
Before Emilia could answer, a flash of white feathers launched from her backpack. Pebbles hopped onto her desk, his orange feet pattering against the laminated surface, black beads of eyes scanning the room. He tilted his head at the nearest cluster of children, then waddled to the edge of the desk and took a short, fluttering flight. Three rows of gasps followed him as he landed on Sofia's shoulder, his beak brushing her ear.
"Oh my god, a duck!" someone shrieked from the back corner. A girl with braids stood up, pointing. "Is it real?"
"It's so small!" another voice said, and then a wave of gushing broke over the room — squeals, laughter, a boy asking if it pooped. The boy next to Emilia, his name was Marcus, reached out a tentative hand, and Pebbles ruffled his feathers but did not flinch.
"Everyone sit down," Ms. Patel said, but her voice had no edge. She was staring at the duck on Sofia's shoulder, marker still frozen mid-air. "Sofia, is that a duck?"
"It's my sister's duck," Sofia repeated, her tone even, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. She reached up and scratched the top of Pebbles's head with one finger. The duck leaned into her touch, closed his eyes, and made a soft, cooing sound.
Emilia's heart hammered. She wanted to crawl under her desk and never come out. She could feel the teacher's gaze on her now, the weight of a question that had no good answer. Around her, the class was dissolving into chaos — kids standing, crowding toward Sofia's desk, asking questions all at once. "Can he fly?" "Does he live in your house?" "Can I pet him?"
"He doesn't bite," Sofia said, a hint of pride in her voice, and she let a girl with a ponytail stroke Pebbles's chest feathers. The duck puffed up, clearly enjoying the attention.
Ms. Patel sighed, a long surrender. "Alright, everyone back to your seats. One minute of duck time, then we're back to fractions."
The students groaned but settled, still craning their necks. Emilia's hands were shaking under the desk. She could feel Sofia's calmness from three rows away — that iron stillness her friend wore like armor. It was the same calm Sofia used when she plotted something or when she was about to break a rule. Emilia didn't know which this was.
The door at the back of the classroom swung open. A boy named Josh, who had gone to the bathroom five minutes ago, stepped in, glanced at the commotion, and pushed the door wide. The draft caught Pebbles's feathers. The duck lifted his head, swiveled his beak toward the open door, and in a single fluid movement launched from Sofia's shoulder. He flew low, skimming over heads, and shot through the gap just as the door began to close.
"Pebbles!" Emilia's voice cracked as she scrambled from her seat. The door clicked shut behind him. The hallway outside stretched long and empty, lockers gleaming under the fluorescent tubes. Emilia saw a flash of white at the far end, heading toward the gym.
"I'll get him," Sofia said, already on her feet, brushing past Ms. Patel's outstretched hand. "He's fast. I know how he moves."
Ms. Patel called after them, "Girls! You cannot—" but they were already through the door, the teacher's protest swallowed by the slamming of lockers.
The hallway was a labyrinth of corners and side corridors. A janitor with a mop bucket looked up as they ran past; a teacher stepped out of a classroom, saw the duck disappear around a corner, and shrugged. Somewhere, a voice shouted "Is that a duck?" but no one gave chase. Pebbles was too quick, too small, darting into the art wing, then through the cafeteria, his white body a blur against linoleum and painted cinderblock.
Emilia's lungs burned. Her glasses kept slipping. "He's going to get lost," she gasped, bent over at the knee as they stopped at the entrance to the auditorium.
Sofia was not even winded. Her eyes scanned the dim space, and she pointed. "There. Under the stage."
Emilia squinted. A small white shape was pressed against the black curtain at the base of the stage, feathers slightly ruffled. He had stopped running. He was waiting, his head tilted, beak open as if to say what now?
"He's playing," Sofia said flatly. "He does this at home. Runs until someone catches him." She walked forward, casual, and crouched. "Come here, duck. Time to go."
Pebbles waddled out, hopped onto her outstretched palm, and settled into the crook of her arm without a fuss. He let out a soft, satisfied quack.
Emilia exhaled, her whole body sagging. "I'm going to be in so much trouble."
"Nah," Sofia said, carrying the duck back toward the classroom. "You just tell them he escaped. Everyone saw. The teacher already gave up."
They reached the classroom door. Ms. Patel was standing outside, arms crossed, foot tapping. Behind her, the class had their noses pressed to the windows. "Sofia Moreno. Emilia Chen. Explain."
Sofia held up the duck. "He got out. He's back now. We can put him in the backpack and he'll sleep the rest of the day, I promise."
Ms. Patel stared at her for a long moment. Then she looked at the duck, who blinked up at her with his black bead eyes, and something in her face softened. "Fine. But if he makes one more sound—"
"He won't," Sofia said confidently. "He only does that when he's excited."
Emilia wanted to argue — Pebbles could quack at any moment — but she kept her mouth shut, took the duck from Sofia, and gently tucked him into her backpack. The zipper didn't close all the way; a small white head poked out, but Pebbles was already settling, eyes half-closed, beak tucked against his chest.
The rest of the morning passed in a low hum. Eyes kept drifting to the backpack at Emilia's feet. Ms. Patel gave up on fractions and assigned silent reading, which was really just damage control. Emilia held a book open but couldn't read a word, her ears tuned to the soft breathing of the duck behind her.
Recess came like a reprieve. The bell rang, the class erupted, and Emilia grabbed the backpack before anyone could investigate. She and Sofia found a quiet corner of the blacktop, near the fence where a few trees cast thin shade. Pebbles, sensing openness, wiggled out of the bag and hopped onto the grass.
A red ball lay abandoned near the swings. The duck pounced on it with sudden, joyful ferocity — shoving it with his beak, chasing it, flapping his wings when it rolled too far. A group of first graders gathered to watch, laughing. Sofia sat cross-legged on the grass, arms draped on her knees, and watched with an expression that was almost fond. Emilia sat beside her, close enough to feel the warmth of Sofia's shoulder.
"You're good at catching him," Emilia said quietly.
"I've had practice. He's not my duck, but he's around enough." Sofia picked a blade of grass and twirled it. "You're not mad I told the teacher it was yours?"
"It is our duck," Emilia said. Or at least, it was Hazel and Ivy's duck, but the duck chose her backpack.
The ball came to a stop near Sofia's foot. Pebbles waddled over, nudged the ball with his beak, then crawled into her lap and settled, curving his body into the hollow between her crossed legs. His eyes closed fully now. He was done playing.
Emilia felt a warmth spread through her chest. She leaned over, her temple brushing Sofia's, and they sat like that as the recess bell warned them back to class. The duck did not stir when Emilia picked him up and tucked him back into the backpack. This time, he stayed asleep, his small body rising and falling with each breath, soft and warm against the notebooks and pencils. Not a single quack escaped him as they walked back inside. He had had his adventure.
The classroom settled around them like a held breath. Ms. Patel was at the board, chalk scratching through fractions, but Emilia couldn't follow the lines. Her ears were still tuned to the whisper Sofia had left there, the same way they were tuned to the small body breathing in her backpack.
Sofia's desk was two rows ahead and one to the left. She hadn't turned around. Her shoulders were straight, her hands flat on the desk, her posture the same iron stillness she wore when she was about to do something irreversible. Emilia had seen that stillness before — in the hallway when she'd claimed the duck, in the bedroom when she'd pressed the red balloon between them, in the dark when her body had shuddered through its sixth orgasm and gone soft and vulnerable in a way that made Emilia's chest ache.
The minute hand crawled. Fractions became reading time. Reading time became a worksheet. At some point, a girl with braids asked to pet the duck, and Ms. Patel said no, the duck was sleeping, and the class groaned but settled. Emilia kept her eyes on the worksheet, her pencil tracing the same number over and over, leaving a groove in the paper.
At the next break — not recess, just a bathroom pass rotation — Sofia stood, caught Emilia's eye, and tilted her head toward the door. A question. An invitation. Emilia nodded before she knew she'd decided.
The hallway was empty except for the hum of the water fountain and the distant echo of a classroom reciting multiplication tables. Sofia led her past the bathrooms, past the supply closet, to the alcove near the gym where the drinking fountain had a crack in its basin and a thin trickle of water that never stopped. The sound filled the space, a constant hiss that swallowed their footsteps.
"So," Sofia said. She leaned against the wall, arms crossed, her voice flat in a way that meant she was nervous. "The duck wasn't the only thing I've been hiding."
Emilia's heart was already beating too fast. She thought of the bedroom, of Sofia's body under hers, of the way Sofia's voice had cracked when she'd come. She thought of the red balloon, deflated and forgotten on the floor. She thought of the bottle with the sticky note — DO NOT DRINK — and the way Sofia's pupils had dilated after she'd swallowed the milk, the way her voice had gone dreamy and young.
"What do you mean?" Emilia asked. Her own voice came out thin.
Sofia looked at her for a long moment. Her eyes were dark, unreadable, the same eyes that had watched the duck chase a red ball across the blacktop with something almost soft in them. Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, folded square of paper. She held it out.
Emilia took it. Unfolded it. It was a page torn from a notebook, the edges ragged. On it, in Sofia's blocky handwriting, was a single sentence: I drank the milk. I remember everything.
The hiss of the water fountain filled the silence. Emilia stared at the words until they blurred.
"I don't—" she started.
"I know," Sofia said. Her voice was steady, but her hands were shaking the way Emilia's had been shaking all morning. "I didn't remember at first. Not when I woke up. Not when we—" She stopped. Swallowed. "Not when we were on the bed. But last night, when I was trying to sleep, it came back. The milk. The balloons. The way I felt. Everything."
Emilia's throat closed. She thought of Hazel's milk, sweet and thick, the way it had made her feel safe and small and seen. She thought of the balloon, the soft latex against her skin, the way the world had softened into something gentle. She thought of waking up in Emilia's bed, the remnants of a dream she couldn't hold onto, and the hollow ache of something missing.
"Do you remember what we did?" Emilia whispered.
"I remember wanting to touch you," Sofia said. Her voice cracked. "I remember wanting you to keep touching me. I remember feeling like I was falling and not caring if I hit the ground." She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. "I remember calling your name."
Emilia's knees felt weak. She leaned against the wall beside Sofia, close enough to feel the warmth of her arm, and let the paper drop to her side. "I was so scared you'd hate it," she said. "That you'd wake up and be disgusted."
"I'm not." Sofia's hand found hers, fingers tangling, a familiar weight. "I'm not disgusted. I'm just—" She exhaled. "I don't know what I am. I don't know what this means. But I'm not disgusted."
They stood like that, hands woven together, the water fountain hissing its endless song. Somewhere down the hall, a door opened and closed, a teacher's voice called a name, a bell rang, the world moved on. But in the alcove, for a long moment, it was just the two of them and the truth that had finally been spoken.
"What do we do?" Emilia asked.
Sofia squeezed her hand. "We figure it out. Together."
The bell rang again, a warning. They had to get back before Ms. Patel sent a search party. Sofia let go, but her fingers trailed along Emilia's palm as she pulled away, a promise, not a retreat.
"Tonight," Sofia said, her voice low. "Come to my room. I have balloon we haven't opened."
Emilia's heart stuttered. "Okay."
Sofia smiled — a small, real thing, not her usual armor — and turned, walking back toward the classroom with her shoulders straight and her head high. Emilia followed a beat later, her body still humming, her hands still shaking, the duck still sleeping in her backpack, and the future unfurling ahead of them like a ribbon she couldn't see the end of.