Chapter Five

“I can’t believe you got a blue bunny,” Kia said, her voice precariously close to a wail. She sat on my bed, clutching the small, glass figurine to her chest.

                I pinched the bridge of my nose, and then smoothed the stress wrinkles out of my forehead. With a sigh, I said, “I still don’t understand what the big deal is. It’s just a little glass rabbit.”

                “It’s a bunny,” Kia corrected sharply. “A blue bunny.”

                “Okay, a little glass bunny that happens to be blue,” I said, not bothering to hide my sarcasm. “I just don’t get it. What are these blue bunnies for?”

                “Did you not read the school history book that we got at orientation?” Kia asked.

                I raised my eyebrows at her. “Uh, hello? I was in Paris during orientation,” I reminded her.

                “And what happens if I don’t want to do this? What happens if I don’t accept?” I asked, crossing my arms and leaning back against the wall. Something hard and heavy had settled in the pit of my stomach, and I just wanted to curl up in a ball.

                Kia gaped at me. “You’re joking right? Nobody turns down the Blue Bunnies.”

                I gasped out a stuttering laugh. “Surely someone has,” I said.

                Shaking her head solemnly, Kia replied, “No one has turned them down. I would not want to be the one to find out what happens when someone does.” She paused and arched her eyebrow at me. “Do you really want to take that chance?”

                “Well, maybe not, but can you at least tell me about them so I can assess the risk to my health and safety?” I asked drily.

                Kia patted the bed next to her where I reluctantly sank down. She handed me the little glass bunny, and I turned it over to peer at the bottom again where someone had written my name in permanent marker. A shiver raced along my spine as I thought about the fact that a random stranger had been watching me.

                “The Blue Bunnies started in the 1920s. The actual origin is a little murky, but what is agreed on is that by the stock market crash of 1929, the Blue Bunnies were well established here. During the thirties when everyone was broke, most of the members of the Bunnies were wealthy. That fact alone made them powerful, and as the years went by they could basically do anything they wanted,” Kia began.

                I ran my hand along the smooth top of the bunny’s head, and said, “So, they were a snooty, rich sorority? Something must have changed because I guarantee no sorority wants me.”

                “Hush,” Kia said. “Let me finish. They aren’t a sorority. They are an elite secret society.”

                “If they’re a secret society, how do you know about them?”

                “Ugh, stop being a smart ass,” Kia said. She seemed genuinely annoyed with me at the moment, which surprised me. I bit my lip, and looked down at my hands. After a heavy pause, she continued, “Not much has been written about the Blue Bunnies, for obvious reasons, but the bits and pieces of information that have leaked out, we know that the Bunnies have two arms.” She paused and raised her eyebrows at me. Half a dozen retorts popped into my head, but I kept my lips pressed tightly together. 

                Kia made an approving noise deep in her throat. “They do a ton of anonymous philanthropy. And yes, I know that’s an oxymoron, but there are certain…hallmarks of the Blue Bunny brand of charity. The other arm is more sinister. They’re like a vigilante mob, but they are never seen, never caught, and never take credit for anything that happens. I heard that last year there was a guy who was stalking some girls in his art history class. The Blue Bunnies put an end to that. He’ll never stalk anyone again.”

                I raised an eyebrow. “You mean, like he’s wearing cement shoes at the bottom of the Lagoon?”

                “Someone—obviously the Blue Bunnies—stalked him and posted embarrassing photos of him on all campus social media. I mean, that’s just one example. There are so many starting way back in the thirties that it is more than just urban legend. I heard that in the eighties, campus police would ask the Blue Bunnies for help controlling things on the campus. Something about how after the riots in the sixties and seventies they weren’t taking any chances. And the Blue Bunnies are damn effective,” Kia said as she nodded resolutely.

                “You make it sound like some nutso cult or something,” I said. “Sorority on steroids.”

                “Don’t laugh,” Kia said. “And don’t ever let them hear you call them a sorority. Or making fun of them. That behavior just won’t fly with them.”

                “Come on, Kia,” I said. “It’s not like they’ve bugged the room or anything.”

                Kia glanced around nervously, her eyes darting from one surface to the next. “I hadn’t thought about that,” she said. “They could have. We should probably stop talking about them. But I’ll tell you this much, once you are a Blue Bunny, you are one for life. No one ever leaves the group. Never.”

                “You can’t be serious about all this?” I said with a laugh, certain that Kia was messing with me, that all of this was part of some crazy prank. When I saw the dead serious look on her face, all laughter shriveled up in my throat. I swallowed, and stared at the little glass bunny. The absurdity was gone, and suddenly the little figurine seemed sinister. What was I going to do?