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If you are a student at Noah's Arc Academy, that automatically makes you a friend of Hafsa's, or so goes the saying. There is not a creature alive that the serval would not welcome with open arms. This is what makes a popular girl a popular girl, after all. The person with the most friends.

Her affability borders on saintlike. In her two years of studying there, not a single animal can recall a snide comment, rude remark, or ill-intent gossip escape her lips. Truly, the student council president is devoid of malicious judgement; she is an angel filled with the cotton candy-flavored love of her school and its student body.

Sike.

There is a Hyde to this Jekyll.

"Good morning, Hafsa!" Greets Maria the sable ferret while passing the smiling serval in the hallway.

"Good morning!" Hafsa chirps back.

_Ugh, ferrets reek like a half-eaten corpse. Are you allergic to deodorant? _

"Hey, Pres! Morning!" Fritz the tortoise gives her a small wave as she walks in homeroom.

She smiles. "Good morning, Fritz!"

God, his claws could be used as chopsticks. Not to mention his horrendous scales.

Wendy the jackal is the next to approach. "Hi, Hafsa! Thanks so much for helping me with math the other day!"

"It's no problem at all! Let me know if you get stuck again!"

This dumbass didn't even know what a polygon was. I'd be surprised if she even got a D- in the finals.

As she sits down, she's greeted by her desk neighbor, a duck named Polly. "Morning, Pres!"

Hafsa looks at her with shimmering eyes. "Good morning, Polly! Wow, I love your skirt!"

That is the ugliest effing skirt I've ever seen.

The menagerie of animals that crosses her path evokes countless untold aspersions from within her. Mouth-breather, slut, burnout, four-eyes, dickhead, moron, creep.

As you can see, the mind of this seemingly upstanding feline is festering with vitriol. The insult-to-compliment ratio is precisely five to one. Her verbal abuse is thankfully tucked away in her stream of consciousness, though she occasionally has bouts of paranoia that there could be a mind-reader secretly listening in on her mental tirade against Hyena Mike's obnoxious cackling. If her thoughts were somehow ever broadcast, she'd be run out of town by an angry mob.

One would think that her fellow members of the cheerleading club would be exempt from her scalding judgement. Her closest friends, her comrade in arms (or pom-poms), her sisters. In fact, the other cheerleaders receive the worst insults by far.

Marisol has an ego as big as her spindly toothpick legs, and has an inside voice louder than a howler monkey's outside voice. Poppy pretends to be a sweet, innocent little maiden when she's hooked up with half of the male rabbits on campus. Mari sucks up to everyone so much she puts vacuums to shame. Kiki thinks she can say whatever to her just because they're both felines. Kristen, the panda, is always going off about bands nobody cares about and could stand to lose a few pounds. The cockatiel sisters, Penny and Piper, are attention whores who love the sound of their own voices.

In the cheerleading community, someone with Hafsa's personality is called a "no-good, two-faced, lying, backstabbing fake bitch", or NGTFLBFB for short. However, it is also a well-known fact that every other cheerleader is also a NGTFLBFB. The beauty of the cheerleading club is that all of these NGTFLBFBs work in perfect harmony by keeping up the pretense. Hafsa can only imagine what the other girls secretly think of her. But thanks to the cheerleader's code, she will never know, and vice-versa. It's an unconventional kind of relationship, far from a "friendship" in the traditional sense, but for Hafsa, it works just fine.

Hafsa almost wishes she could have an uncomplicated friendship with these females, like what Desmond has with the ram-fighting club. It's not like she doesn't feel guilty about her critical thoughts. But despite trying and trying, they continue to pop up like acne during almost all of her social interactions. She's long since stopped trying to control them. As long as she keeps them to herself, there's no real harm.

There are exceptions, however. Molly is an equally spiteful person, but unlike the serval, has never once felt the need to censor herself. Though her energy might be highly unpleasant for most animals, Hafsa finds her nastiness refreshing. Priya, despite being kind of a nutcase, somehow managed to bypass the social death sentence that is being born a tiger, and Hafsa can only respect that as a fellow feline. And then there's the student council.

Hafsa's intrusive thoughts cut her deeply when it comes to the other members of the council. Unlike the rest of the students in Noah's Arc, Hafsa genuinely enjoys their company. They are exceptional animals in every sense of the word. If Hafsa were a better animal, she would look at them with only admiration. But she can't.

Brian is adorable, sweet, and has an unnatural patience, but his ignorance towards social protocol (especially when it comes to interacting with carnivores) puts her in a tough spot, much to her annoyance. If he gives her a surprise hug when she's running on an empty stomach, it could get ugly quick.

Solomon is... complicated. Hafsa would very much like to think about him as little as possible to avoid coming to any risky conclusions. He's one of the most handsome males she's ever met, and is intelligent, popular and cool. For a carnie, and a feline at that, his social grace is only paralleled with hers. But... damn if he doesn't know when to shut up sometimes. Though it's born out of good intentions, Solomon is prone to speeches. Pedantic speeches. Long pedantic speeches. While his expertise and passion is evident, sometimes it can be a little too much to bear.

And finally, Desmond. Never has an animal aggravated her as much as Desmond has. A pint-sized ram who drove her to nearly commit predation during their very first conversation. A waspish herbie who has it out for every carnivore alive. A power-hungry jock only interested in grappling other rams and slinging insults at her.

She likes Desmond most of all.

Because with him, she's allowed to be both sides of the NGTFLBFB she is. She's allowed to be sarcastic, and tired, and grumpy, and witty. She's allowed to yawn widely, and scarf down snacks, and guffaw like an idiot. She's allowed to be a carnivore. She's allowed to be Hafsa.

He couldn't think any worse of her, so it's fine.

---

Desmond walks out of the library with two books wrapped inside his sweater and safely tucked in his backpack. With his head down, he briskly scutters back to his dorm room. Since it's the afternoon, it's blissfully empty. It is only there, seated crosslegged on his bed, where he dares to place the two books in front of him.

He stares at them. To his left, a thick nonfiction textbook: "Feline Behavior, Volume III: Wild Cats". To his right, a novel with a garishly bright cover depicting a wolf and rabbit in a deep romantic embrace: "A Tale of Moon". He breaks into a sweat.

He was simply browsing the library aimlessly. Why these books piqued his interest is a mystery to him. He just felt compelled to pick them up, and even more so to check them out. Now, as he gawks at them, the weight of how embarrassing this whole situation is hits him like a ton of bricks.

What possessed him to do this so thoughtlessly? No, what possessed him to do this at all?! What is he doing?!

No, slow down. This has a perfectly logical explanation, if you really think about it. Desmond's aversion towards felines would of course manifest itself in wanting to know more about what makes them tick. Why else would he be interested in such a thing? It's simply a matter of getting to know the enemy. Well, not that they're enemies. Anymore. Maybe?

Whatever. The novel... well, that's trickier to explain. Umm... It's because the cover is so eye-catching, of course. Sometimes it's good to judge a book by its cover. Its tacky, trashy, cringey cover. Desmond had never read a romance novel before, much less a racy intertrophic one like this. A carnie and a herbie... that kind of a story is meant to appeal to drama-obsessed teenage girls. He has no interest in that kind of subject matter at all. So, it's because the cover was eye-catching. Yep.

He continues to sit there, his hands gripping his knees, his black fingernails scratching the fabric of his pants nervously. He should return them. This is stupid. He doesn't move.

The sun is a pinkish hue by the time he makes a move. He picks up the smaller book, the novel. Might as well get the shorter one out of the way. With moist fingers, he flips to page one.

"It's a full moon, so I'll come and say hi..."

---

It's been a week. At 11:58pm, Desmond quietly skulks in the library. He makes sure to return the books at the last possible hour before the library closes, safe from potential witnesses. As long as he places the books on the return cart in a random order, he'd be untraceable. The librarian would put them back on the shelves first thing in the morning, they'd be marked as returned, and it's like the whole thing never happened.

The library is deathly silent. The librarian, an elderly marmoset, is nowhere to be seen. Perhaps she's somewhere in the back, locking up for the night. Well, it's now or never. With each breath, heartbeat and footstep painfully obvious, Desmond tiptoes his way to the return cart. A hodgepodge of books are piled up on it. Good, better to hide these two. He places both books on top of a stack. As he scans the tray to determine where to blend them in, a voice speaks up from behind him.

"It's quite late."

The instant he recognizes that voice, his blood goes cold. Slowly, his head cranks back to confirm his fears. A pair of steely, hazel eyes glares down at him. The secretary. Solomon.

"Ba--" A pathetic bleat escapes the Jacob sheep's throat before slapping his lips to shut himself up.

"Sorry, I didn't even say hello." Solomon expression remains unchanged. "Good evening."

Desmond chocked down a dry, painful swallow. "Y-yeah."

The caracal's eyes narrow. "Returning some books? At this hour?" He tilts his head, trying to peek over the sheep's horns.

The smaller male forcefully slams into the cart, blocking the two books from sight. "Yes. What are you doing here?"

Solomon flashes a smile. "Mrs. Silva needed some help with the filing system, so here I am. We've just finished."

"O-oh."

"There's no need to be so wary. Aren't we fellow student council members?" Saying this, Solomon reaches behind Desmond and grabs the topmost book, which happens to be the romance novel.

He raises his brows. "Well... this is unexpected."

Desmond snatches the book from his hands and chucks it back on on the tray. "Th-that--! I lost a bet to one of the rams, and they made me read that! It was a bet! I didn't even read it all!"

This was of course, a lie. Desmond was so engrossed in the novel, he read it three times, front to back.

"What an unconventional bet. Your friends are quite... sophisticated."

Desmond grits his teeth. This fucking guy...

"Well, regardless of what it was," The caracal continues. "It's a good choice."

The sheep says nothing.

"As the saying goes, reading is power. Even reading... that. It sparks the imagination, like any good fantasy. It's nice to imagine a world where a carnivore and a herbivore really could be together." He chuckles. "Even if it doesn't reflect our reality."

"Really, now..." Desmond growls. "I thought you'd be all for interspecies relationships."

"Interspecies, yes. But not intertropic." Solomon steps closer. "I don't think that's a controversial take. I'm all for the integration of all animals, but... come on, now. A carnivore and a herbivore? It's just common sense it wouldn't work out. It's biologically incompatible.

"Fantasizing about dating a carnie is one thing, but you'd have to be extremely delusional, or extremely idiotic to actually try it." Solomon closes the gap between them, stretching an arm to reach behind the sheep once more. His free hand remains firmly on the ram's chest, where only a few centimeters beneath his clawed fingertips, Desmond's heart pounds wildly.

And just like that, the feline pulls away, book in hand. He inspects it once more with a look of amusement, flickering through the pages like a flip book. "Perhaps that's what your friends were trying to teach you with this bet."

"Maybe." Desmond mutters. The two lock eyes. Solomon's pupils are narrowed into dangerous slits, but with a single blink, they revert back into harmless roundness.

Monster.

That's all Desmond could think of. Hafsa had made him forget how monstrous carnivores can truly be.

I feel sick. I want to vomit. I can't breathe. I need to leave. If I spend a second more with this beast, I'm going to die.

He shakily stomps out of the library, not even uttering a goodbye. Solomon watches without saying a word. He remains there, fanning the novel in his hand, until the sheep's footsteps disappear entirely. The caracal straightens up and goes to place the novel atop one of the stacks on the cart. One of the books catches his eyes, from the same pile Desmond had placed the romance novel.

"Feline Behavior, Volume III: Wild Cats".