Tiny Glitches: A Magical Contemporary Romance by Rebecca Chastain

reached for him. Kyoko followed. The Samoan, in his haste to avoid being felt up, hemmed Hudson against the trailer. Kyoko spied the open parking lot and freedom, and the men were forgotten. I lunged for Kyoko and grabbed her around the neck. The elephant dragged me two feet before she stopped, and then only because Hudson pushed in front of her.
    We were almost beyond the side of the Suburban. Another step, and the world would see me hugging a baby elephant. Kyoko swung her head, agitated. Her trunk smacked me in the butt, and I yelped.
    “She’s pervy with women, too,” Ski Mask said, snickering.
    “Huh,” the Samoan said.
    “Any day now, guys,” I said.
    The Samoan finally stepped forward. “Hector, get your arms under her neck and front legs,” he said, gesturing to Plaid Shirt. “Tim, you and Xavier get her right side. I’ll take the left.”
    Behind him, Mark braced his hands on his knees and nodded when the others looked to him for affirmation. Hudson joined Ski Mask on my side, Hector squatted to grab Kyoko’s neck, and the Samoan slid his arms under her belly. I let go, reaching for a carrot.
    “On three,” Hudson said. “One, two, three.” They hoisted Kyoko a foot in the air.
    Kyoko prodded Hector’s back, questing beneath the waistband of his sagging shorts and straight down the center of his crack.
    “Those aren’t kiwis!” Hector shouted, springing away from Kyoko. Her trunk snapped free of Hector’s waistband, and she loosed an ear-blasting trumpet, dangling front legs flailing. The Samoan lurched back a step, catching the brunt of Kyoko’s squirming weight. In an awkward pyramid, the men tilted two steps back, then three forward.
    I leapt for the Suburban, scrambling inside ahead of Kyoko, less concerned with flashing the men than I was with Kyoko’s safety. The elephant poked the hatch door, hooking her trunk on the lip. I grabbed the curled tip of her trunk and pulled her head down, trying not to think about the agile appendage’s most recent location.
    “A little help,” the Samoan said, teeth gritted.
    “No way! That elephant molested me. It touched my cajones!”
    “Man up.” Mark shoved Hector behind Kyoko. They each braced against a cheek and pushed from behind. The moment Kyoko’s front feet touched the carpeted Suburban, she bugled again and flailed with her back legs. Faces red with strain, the men shoved her the last two feet into the SUV. The tank-size vehicle tilted, groaning, before settling at a twenty-degree cant. Everyone staggered back and Hudson whisked shut the hatch, locking me inside with an irate elephant.
    I threw myself over the row of seats in case Kyoko was in a trampling frame of mind. The roof cleared her head by less than a hand span. The sides weren’t much wider than her rotund belly. She tried to turn around, knocking her butt, then her head against the plastic-wrapped metal bracings. She plastered her cheeks against the rear window, and through the tinted glass, I saw the Samoan point and laugh. All the men scuttled to the side when the glass gritted in its mooring. I grabbed the last of the carrots and dumped them onto the carpet.
    “It’s okay, girl. This won’t be for long,” I said, praying the Suburban would make it all the way to my aunt’s. I didn’t think Kyoko—or Hudson—would be up for doing this twice.
    Kyoko slid the tip of her trunk along the window, then the back of the seat. I let her snuffle my hand and arm but leaned back when she went for my hair. There were limits to where I’d let her put that thing, especially since I knew her exploratory predilections.
    She tilted her head back, trumpeted loud enough to rattle the windows, then reached for a carrot and stuffed it into her mouth.
    I straightened my dress—how long had the top been that low?—then jumped out, ears ringing. I brushed hands down my body and winced at my knees rubbed red from the carpet and tender to the touch. Through the tinted windows, I could