I heard once that a bunny’s heart explodes if they get too anxious. I think about that sometimes, when my heart jumps around my chest and rattles my ribs. Yet, there was a purple pair of swim trunks in the laundry this month. And two less sweaters than normal. And I do my homework on the pillowy grass. And sometimes, I drive home from school with the windows down. I pass the strawberry field by the highway, newly unfurled leaves soaking up the last of the rain. I see twice as many surfboards sticking out sunroofs. Only half the surfers still don wetsuits. I watch tourists wash in, sunblocked white and peering from beneath ugly straw hats. My tan lines start to blur, ombre into semi-even shades. Sun drips into cold, dark crevices. A breeze cups my face and kisses my cheek with the promise of spring. And three bunnies sit on my lawn, hearts perfectly intact.