Today's weather report: blue skies with a 40% chance of blue skies and a 99.98% chance of bloodshed.

                     Here's how it went.

                    "Meet Cloudy," says the girl who introduced herself as Lacy. She seems around fifteen, with piercing eyes and shiny brown hair. There is an ease to the way she holds herself, and I guess it comes from living in the middle of the Mafia.

                    Once Hunter agreed to Veah's debt, they disappeared. Now it's me and Cassie, being led towards the room Cassie is going to stay in.

                    "Oh, he's a dog," I exclaim, crouching down to scratch his furry white ears.

                    "Yeah, he's―"

                    I am still kneeling when I hear a familiar voice. 

                   "I'm heading out to the market―Jude made a special request for pistachio-chip ice cream."

                  It takes me too long to slowly, carefully look up.

                  From where I am crouched, my fingertips digging into the soft fur beneath Cloudy's ears, I slowly rise to my feet.

                   We are standing in front of a door in a sleek, polished corridor, and it is now open, revealing the last person I expected to find here.

                    "Kaya?"

                    "Tommy?!" 

                     "Kaya . . ."

                     "Tommy," I blurt out . "What are you doing here?"

                     A flush darkens his porcelain skin. He rakes a hand through his chestnut curls, his blue eyes bright in the corridor's light. "Well, I . . ."

                     "Zio, can we take Cloudy on a walk?" says Kiara, eyes flickering between us like she doesn't want to get in the middle of this.

                     The girl next to her, who called herself Lacy, blinks her round green eyes innocently. And with Tommy's nod, they take off down the corridor, pulling Cassie along with them.

                     I'm pretty sure I hear the echo of giggling.

                     Tommy looks like a deer caught in headlights. His eyes are wide, and he keeps running his fingers through his soft, curly hair.

                     "Um, Kaya," he begins. "So . . ."

                     "I didn't know you were an uncle," I say.

                     "Um, yeah. About that . . ."

                     "Lacy and Kiara said they were going to take us to see Hunter's brother," I say suspiciously. "Where is he?"

                      I peer behind him into the room, as though Hunter's brother will somehow magically appear.

                      There is nobody there.

                       I have a bad, bad feeling about this.

                       For once, I wish I wish my common sense would try a trick called Vanishing. 

                      "Please, please tell me you're not Hunter's brother."

                      Tommy looks down. "About that . . ."

                       My voice is getting higher. "Because if you're Hunter's brother, that would mean you're a gang member. That would mean you're literally the heir to a crime organization and that you're a part of the Mafia."

                       "See, the thing is―"

                       "And that would mean you never told me?"  I'm probably shouting. I don't care. My best friend is a gang member. "Why wouldn't you tell me you're a part of the Mafia?" 

                       "Because I knew you'd react exactly like this?"

                       "Tommy!"

                        He slinks back into the room, letting me through. The guest bedroom is coloured with cream and gold, quiet and inviting. But I don't care, not as I push Tommy with a single hand.

                      "Are you kidding me?" I snap. "Do you know how wild these past few days have been? First, I wake up handcuffed on Halloween to some hot girl. Next, I find out she's being chased by the freaking Japanese Mafia and that we're now both in danger. Then I get kidnapped by the Yakuza because they want me to hack into some database, I sign a contract, I'm pretty sure I'm about to die―except the hot girl comes back and saves me even when she doesn't have to! So the next thing I know, she's telling me in order to get out of this mess, we have to fake my death, make a new identity, and go to bloody Tokyo! And let's not forget the fact the wonderful little visit home just today! Today!  When the stupid, reckless, idiotic, hot girl managed to break my stepdad's arm and help me save my sister and bring us here."

                       I poke his chest again. For emphasis.

                       "Four days ago, I didn't give a rat's ass about the Mafia! All I wanted was to make enough money to support Cassie through med school! Now, guess what? I'm being chased by the Yakuza and it's all because of a stupid cute girl, who―and guess what―happens to be a goddamn Yakuza boss runaway!"

                       Tommy holds up his hands in surrender, grimacing.

                       "Now you're going to tell me my best friend, and possibly my only actual friend, is a part of the Mafia, too? Hell no!  There's no way this is fucking real. Cue the cameras. I'm ripping up this fucking script. I'm done with this movie or show or book or whatever the fuck is going on behind the scenes! I'm done! There's no way this is real!"

                       There are tears in my eyes by the end of this.

                       I'm breathing harshly, and I scrub furiously at my lashes, smudging away the moisture there.

                       Is this a mental breakdown? Possibly.

                       "I wanted to tell you," Tommy says. "I really did. But it's safer if―"

                       "Whatever!" I growl. "Don't even finish that with something like, I'd tell you but then I have to kill you. I'm so sick of you bloody criminals!"

                        Tommy winces. "It really is. Safer, I mean. Anything you know―"

                        "Can be used against you?" I let out a frustrated sound. "God! You sound like the fucking Godfather! I've had enough, Don Corleone."

                        Tommy stares at me blankly. "I don't really know what is, but let's go get some cinnamon buns."

                        I throw my hands in the air and let out a shriek between my teeth.

                      "I'm not even going to bring up the irony of you being a part of the Mafia and not even knowing what the Godfather is."

                        "Movie, right?" He gives me an easy grin. "Come on. I did mention cinnamon buns, right?"

                        He knows just how to soften a girl. I hate him.

                        "You think you can just make this better with cinnamon buns?" 

                        He tilts his head, considering. "Well, yeah."

                        "Well, fine!" I snarl. 

                        "Fine," he says.

                         "Fine," I grit out.

                         His lips twitch. The semblance of a smile. "Okay, fine, let's go."

                     Updated weather report: chance of rain. Sunny skies. A gruesome and terrible death. Beautiful day outside!

                      The cinnamon buns are so good I want to cry.

                      Today might be a little bit of an emotional day.

                      "Are you PMSing or something?" Tommy asks from across me.

                      I narrow my eyes at him, shaking my cinnamon bun at him like it's a knife. "Don't you dare bring that up, Thomas Winston Easton. That's as insensitive as, like, slaughtering a cow."

                      "That didn't make any sense."

                      "Good," I say, still glaring. The warm icing melts in my mouth, the cinnamon-and-sugar flavour dissolved with a flaky bite. 

                       The Mafia has no right making such good cinnamon buns.

                       "About what you were saying earlier," he says. "The hacking part. Did the Yakuza really try to recruit you?"

                       "Yeah," I say, swallowing. "They wanted me to get through a firewall. They didn't say for what, but they had looked up all my records―they knew all the tests I had passed."

                       "So they basically figured you were a genius?"

                       "Excuse me. I am a genius."

                       "What kind of genius wakes up handcuffed to a Yakuza boss?"

                        "The drunk kind!" I snap. "And I'm not appreciating these inconsiderate accusations."

                        "Okay, Albert Einstein."

                        "That's offensive for two reasons. One, because Albert Einstein stole most of his wife's collaborated work and credited it as its own. And two, because you're annoying."

                        Tommy grins. "In case you forgot, we're beyond sixth grade. You're annoying isn't an actual comeback."

                       I throw a precious piece of cinnamon bun at his face. I'm that mad.

                       "When your best friend decided to conveniently forget the fact that he's a gang member of some stupid Mafia family called the Wolves, I think it's appropriate."

                       Before he can say something that will infuriate me further―fine, I might be having a bad day―a woman appears at our table.

                       She is lovely and brown-skinned, with a full red mouth and a bright smile. 

                       "I couldn't help but overhear you two arguing," she begins.

                       "I think everybody in a twenty-mile radius heard you arguing," another woman chips in. Her hair is sleek and black, with soft, glittering eyes. She must be of Japanese descent. She kisses the first woman's cheek with an adoring look.

                       "My name is Gianina, and this is my fiancée, Mikayla," the first woman explains. 

                       It actually softens me a little. It's silly, but whenever I see a gay or lesbian couple something in my heart melts a bit. Just the fact that's it's possible. That they're accepted. That it's not even a big deal.

                       That's what I want. One day.

                      "By Yakuza boss, do you happen to mean Heaven Tanaka?" says Gianina.

                       I blink, a little surprised. "Yeah. That's her. Veah."

                       I must say Veah with something wistful, because Gianina and Mikayla exchange a knowing glance.

                       Immediately, heat creeps up into my cheeks.

                      "What?" I say defensively. "It's her fault I'm in this mess. I didn't ask to get changed by homicidal Japanese Mafia and make a new identity."

                      "There's one thing you should know," Mikayla says.

                      I set down my second cinnamon bun at their grave expressions.

                      "Heaven Tanaka isn't just a Yakuza boss, she's an assassin. So if you're getting chased now, it has to be because of a hit that went wrong. A kill that went bad. It's the only possible reason they're after her now―nothing else is a good enough reason."

                      "So, she did something dangerous?"

                      "Yeah," Mikayla says. "Something bad."

                      I swallow. I know how cold, how vicious Veah can be. In the time we've been together, she must have killed around twelve people.

                      We've only been together four days.

                      How much worse does it get? How high is her body count?

                      Mikayla laces her fingers through Gianina's. "All I'm saying is . . . if you're going to Tokyo with her, watch out."

                      "Okay," I say, and I'm thinking I might actually pay attention to my common sense for once. 

                     Tommy gives me a relieved smile once they leave, and it makes me think that he was worried I was about to blow up again.

                     The truth is, I'm too confused by Mikayla's warning.

                     Something bad. 

                     I should have asked.

                     I had the chance―I should have asked Veah, Why are they after you? Why do they want you dead? 

                     Why didn't I?

                     When Tommy's head snaps up suddenly, so does mine. 

                     He is looking at the entrance to the market place. Towards the blonde bitch who is walking purposefully in our direction, a sneer on her mouth, murder in her eyes.

                    Latest weather forecast: severe storm, lightning, death of a dumb blonde, and heavy rainfall.

                     Being smart sucks. Sure, most people love the idea of a kid genius―a ten year old that ranks in the 99th percentile of the SATs. But when you're in fifth grade, labeled as a child prodigy, it's intimidating. 

                     The other kids don't want to sit next to a know-it-all. And it turns out, those other kids are the same ones that are going to follow you through middle school and all the way through high school.

                     It's safe to say I wasn't popular in the friend department.

                     I was always too smart for my own good.

                     And it sucked. 

                     I found friends in books; in code; in knowing things I shouldn't. And yeah, I bet that sounds pathetic. A little bit lonely. But it worked for me.

                    Because I had Cassie―I always had Cassie.

                    Once, I came home from school to find my sister crying. The boy she liked had asked her out, and the entire week, she had been excited for the date. Writing his name with little hearts in her notebook. Singing Whitney Houston's I Will Always Love You in the shower. Picking out a pretty outfit―deep red flannel sweater, Converse and ripped mom jeans.

                    That day, after school, she had waited for him in the parking lot.

                    He hadn't shown up.

                    And later, while she walked home, him and his friends had driven by in a Ford Ram 4x4 and laughed at her.

                   Fine, I didn't have friends. But people didn't mess with me―people didn't bully me. It might have been the fact that I had once led a SWAT team to an illegal meth lab in some boy's basement. Long story.

                   You know that rule, about not snitching?

                   Well, fuck that. If you're going to be an asshole, then I hope you're ready to deal with the law. Rules made sense to me―rules stand for order. You don't have to agree with me―but you have to understand, when someone is a complete dick to my little sister, I'll ruin them.

                  I got the boys arrested. I went digging into their text messages; I hacked into their computers.

                  You can probably guess what they had pictures of.

                  Bonus―they were all under eighteen.

                  Yeah, they got charged with child pornography. I don't regret it―not even a little bit. Because if I'm going to snitch, I'm going to do it good. The law doesn't bow for anyone, and it especially doesn't bow to horny teenage boys with illegal pictures of their underage girlfriends.

                  I was smart, and maybe it sucks, but it's useful.

                  In a computer science class, I had found one thing I was very, very good at. Hacking. And I weaponized that. For good, only―although maybe the ethics of hacking into someone's computer and phone are a little skewed. 

                  I made a promise to myself: I would only ever hack for good reasons.

                  Like when one of my neighbours got beat so badly in the street he couldn't walk for a week. I hacked into the police database, found the details on the cop, and I posted them anonymously on every single justice website I could find until he was arrested.

                   The law is there for a reason. Sometimes it just needs a little help.

                   But this. 

                   Sometimes there's no greater good.

                   Sometimes, you just have to a slap a bitch.

                  "That's Emilie," Tommy says under his breath.

                  "Who?"

                  When she arrives at our table, she pauses meaningfully. Like we are supposed to know who she is.

                  "Who's this?" Emilie asks Tommy, like somehow I am not there.

                  Nothing upsets me faster than someone pretending I'm incapable of hearing what they're saying when I'm right there. 

                  "My name is Kaya," I say calmly. Because you have to have manners to strangers. Social rules are just as important as governmental ones.

                  "I want that slut gone," Emilie hisses.

                  Excuse me? 

                  "Excuse me," I say politely. "Did you just call me a slut?"

                  "Are you deaf?" 

                  "Well, besides the fact that I am clearly not deaf, slutshaming is stupid. Women have the right to do with their bodies whatever they want. Slut shouldn't even be used in the context of something negative, so maybe you should try checking out that internal misogyny."

                   Tommy groans. "Listen, people, seriously, there's no need to―"

                   "No, Tommy," I say pleasantly. "I'm curious now." I turn to the girl. "Why do you have a stick shoved up your ass? Did I offend you in some way? In that case, I'm sorry and I'll be sure to hire an electrician as payment. Clearly, something's got you worked up."

                   "Why would I need an electrician?" she snarls.

                   "Well, you know that old joke. How many blondes does it take to change a li―"

                   "Kaya, shut up," Tommy says under his breath.

                   Right. Bad mood. 

                  "Sorry," I say. "That was kind of rude. I―"

                  "Get out of my face, slut!"

                  Okay, now I'm mad. I was polite, then I apologized, and then she still called me a slut even after I explained to her why that's a ridiculous word.

                  "What's your problem?"

                  "My problem is that you come in here, flirt with my boyfriend, and then pretend like you're some good girl in front of everybody!"

                  "I don't even know who your boyfriend is! And rest assured, if he's of the XY chromosome combination, I wouldn't even bother! Flirting with him, that is!"

                  "Then why did I see you slipping your number to him?"

                 "I don't know who you saw, but it wasn't me!" 

                 She comes too close to be comfortable. Her teeth are bared now, her electric blue eyes lined thickly with dark, smudged eyeshadow. "Don't lie, little girl."

                  "Why am I a little girl?" I bite out. "Just because I'm five foot and a quarter―"

                  Someone slides into the booth opposite from me, next to Tommy. A glimpse of deep brown, shoulder length hair, and piercing grey eyes.

                  "What's going on?" Veah asks coolly.

                  Somehow, just the sight of her is enough to make the blood thin in my veins.

                  Until Emilie opens her mouth again.

                  "Listen, you lying, whoring bitch, I―"

                  Veah pulls out a gun and lays it flat on the table. As casually as if she is placing an order. 

                  Emilie instantly cuts off. "Are you trying to threaten me?"

                 "I sure am," Veah says easily. "Is it working?"

                "You―that's―" Emilie splutters. "You can't do that."

                 Veah takes out a knife from the inside of her jacket. "No? Why not?"

                 "I'm not afraid of you," Emilie says, her bottom lip curling.

                  Veah's answering smile is cold and frightening. "You should be," she says softly, but she is looking at me.

                  Should I be afraid of you?  I think.

                  The rational answer is yes.

                  But I shouldn't feel so safe with someone I am scared of, should I? 

                  Veah takes out a third weapon and lays it on the table. Until knives, daggers and sleek guns are arranged over the surface.

                 Tommy's eyes are wide. Anyone else would mistake that for terror, but I know he already thinks Veah is awesome.

                 Veah stands up so swiftly I almost miss it.

                 There is a knife in her hand and a lock of Emilie's blonde hair tugging between her fingers.

                "You wouldn't," Emilie breathes.

                Veah slices off an inch from one of Emilie's ringlets.

               "Get out of here," Veah whispers, still smiling. "And don't threaten my fucking girl."

               Heat surges through me, so fast it is dizzying.

              Emilie practically runs in an attempt to get away. "You're a sociopath," she spits out. 

              "I'm a serial killer," Veah says, still cold. "Same difference."

               After that, Emilie can't get away fast enough.

               Veah sits back down. I let out a breath at the same time as Tommy, and she places the lock of blonde hair on the table.

               And then she starts laughing.

               It is too contagious to resist. Slowly, a giggle bubbles out of me. "You just . . . you cut her hair." 

             The idea is so ridiculous to me that I am suddenly clutching my side, gasping for breath.

             "You snipped off her hair,"  I say.

             "I did," she agrees. "And I promise I'm not a serial killer."

              Don't threaten my fucking girl. 

              Did she really say that?

              Did I imagine it?

              A sudden beep interrupts the breathless laughter. Tommy glances down at a black device on his wrist. 

              "I hate to interrupt," he starts.

              "What is it?"

              "Well, you mentioned getting chased by the Japanese Mafia, didn't you?"

              "Yes," I say irritably. "A minor detail."

              "I think they might have found you."

               Veah becomes as still as stone. "What do you mean, you think?" 

              "I mean, the Yakuza are outside the Underground and they're asking for an exchange." Tommy looks down nervously, like he's afraid to read the words. "A hostage in exchange for Kaya."

              Weather report: thunder, wind, possible kidnapping, and a rainbow.

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What letter do you identify with in LGBTQ+? For me, it's (L).

And oh my goodness, thank you all for the votes on this story.

From the moon and back,
Sarai