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'Nina?'

The thought hit me before I even really processed who it was. Nina Shoka from my class. She was just walking along, probably listening to music, totally unaware that this car had lost control and was sliding right toward her.

I didn't think about it. Didn't weigh the pros and cons or consider my options. My legs just started moving.

I dropped my phone and sprinted toward her. The car was maybe three seconds away from hitting her when I slammed into her side, pushing her as hard as I could toward the sidewalk.

She went flying, landing hard on the concrete but definitely out of the car's path.

Me? Not so lucky.

The impact felt like getting hit by a train. One second I was pushing Nina to safety, the next I was flying through the air. Then I hit the ground and everything went wrong at once.

I couldn't move my legs. Couldn't really move much of anything, actually. There was this weird warm feeling spreading across my chest and stomach, and when I tried to breathe, it felt like drowning.

'Well, this sucks,' I thought, staring up at the sky. 'Guess that's what I get for being a hero.'

My vision started getting all swimmy and weird, but I could make out Nina crawling over to me. She had pulled out her earbuds and there were tears streaming down her face.

"Why did you do that?" she kept asking, over and over. "Why would you do that?"

I wanted to shrug, but my shoulders weren't really cooperating. It seemed pretty obvious to me - she was in trouble, so I helped. That's what you do, right? Nothing fancy about it.

She was talking to me, saying my name a lot. I didn't realize she even knew my name, to be honest. We had been in the same class for like three months and I don't think we had ever actually had a conversation.

"Kofi, stay with me, okay?" she was saying. "You're gonna be fine. The ambulance is coming."

The week leading up to the school festival was a blur of quiet, focused activity. Thea spent every spare moment at the dining table, her world shrinking to the space between her eyes and the tip of her pencil. She worked with a silent, fierce determination, the five chosen pieces of paper spread out before her like a battlefield map. The unfinished wing was her final challenge, and she poured all of her fragile, newfound courage into every single, meticulously drawn feather.


Chapter 130 - The Art of a Fragile Truce