Friday arrived, but the boy who went to school was a ghost of Martin Cologna. The shock of the night before had hollowed him out, leaving behind a fragile shell that moved through the hallways on autopilot. His usual, defensive nonchalance was gone, replaced by a blank, thousand-yard stare. He didn’t joke. He barely spoke. He was just… present, a quiet, pale specter haunting his own life.

  Jennifer and Caleb watched him from a distance, their silent communication more frantic than ever. His behavior had shifted from strained normalcy to something unmistakably broken.

  Did he find out? Jennifer’s eyes screamed across the classroom at Caleb.

  Or is he just having a bad day? Caleb’s slight frown seemed to reply, though his tense shoulders betrayed his own fear.

  They didn’t dare approach. The memory of the thrown textbook was still fresh, the “space” he’d demanded now a vast, uncrossable chasm.

  As the final period neared its end, their homeroom teacher clapped his hands for attention. “Alright, listen up! The graduation dance for the SSS3 students is tomorrow. We need volunteers from SSS1 to help clean and set up the main hall after school today. It’s a few hours of work, but you’ll get free entry to the dance, plus food and drinks.” A murmur of interest rippled through the class. “If you’re volunteering, write your name on this sheet before you leave.”

  A scramble ensued as a line formed. Martin didn’t move from his desk. He stared out the window, watching clouds drift past as if they held the secret to a future he no longer had.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Later, as the chosen volunteers gathered in the corridor, the teacher called out names from his list. “…Jacobs, Briggs,… and Cologna. Let’s go, people.”

  Martin’s head snapped up. Cologna? He hadn’t written his name. He looked around, confusion cutting through his numbness. Jennifer, whose name had been called, was looking at him with equal surprise. Caleb, who never volunteered for anything, simply stood with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

  With a resigned sigh, Martin fell in line with the group from both Class A and B as they were herded toward the main hall. The crowd was a mix of eager and reluctant, a buzzing hive of post-school energy.

  As they turned a corner, Ava Mioro peeled away from the Class B group. She touched the teacher’s arm, her voice sweetly apologetic. “Sir, may I use the restroom? I’ll catch up.”

  “Make it quick, Mioro.”

  Two of her friends made to follow, but she waved them off. “I’m fine. Go ahead.”

  She watched the group disappear toward the hall, then turned and walked briskly in the opposite direction, her heels clicking a sharp, purposeful rhythm on the linoleum. Her destination wasn’t the bathroom. It was the deserted science wing.

  She pushed open the door to one of the labs. The smell hit her immediately—acrid, ammonia-like, unmistakably reminiscent of urine. She gagged, covering her nose with her hand.

  In the back of the room, Jeremy stood over a workbench, stirring a conical flask filled with a pale yellow liquid. He was dressed in a full lab coat, gloves, and a surgical mask. Seeing her, he pulled the mask down, a proud, unsettling grin on his face.

  “Bad, right?” he said, his eyes gleaming. “That’s how you know it’s potent.”

  Ava stayed near the door, trying to breathe through her mouth. “Is our date certain now?” Jeremy asked, taking a step toward her.

  “Hold your horses,” Ava said, her voice muffled by her hand. “The deal was you make him miserable enough to leave. He’s still here, isn’t he? You’re not even close.”

  Jeremy’s grin didn’t falter. He took a deep, theatrical breath of the foul air. “Still. I can almost smell it. The date.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” Ava said, her patience thin. “Just get everything ready. And air this place out before someone catches you.” Without another word, she turned and left, leaving Jeremy alone with his concoction and his grim ambition.

  The pieces were in motion. In the hall, Martin mechanically picked up a broom, unaware of the plot brewing in the empty chemistry lab, or of the cruel, specific humiliation that was being prepared just for him.