Sunlight spills across the nursery floor. Blocks clatter. Little voices squeak and bounce off the walls.
Hugo presses his quills flat and grips the strap with both paws. His feet dig into the doormat. And will not budge.
One paw shuffles inside. A sharp crayon smell fizzes under his nose. Plop. A rabbit lands on the carpet, stacking blocks.
Hugo's ears fold flat. He squeezes his back against the shoe rack and peeks out one eye.
A red ball slides across the tiles. Faster. Faster. Straight toward his green backpack.
BONK! The ball smacks square into the backpack. Hugo tips sideways. The whole room goes quiet.
The rabbit snorts. Then she howls, a wobbly, snorting, can't-help-it giggle. Every little mouth in the room opens wide.
Hugo looks at the ball. Then at the laughing room. One tiny paw lifts off the cold tile.
He raises that paw. High. Slow. A small, uncertain wave, like a flag in a gentle breeze.
The rabbit waves back, her block tower wobbling in the other paw. Hugo's quills uncurl, one by one. He sets a yellow block on top.
