“Under… over… loop—ah…”
I observed my tie, making sure it was done correctly. Nothing was wrong with double-checking your work, after all. I moved my hands from the tie to the white cuffs around my wrists, one at a time. I hadn’t been awake much during my time out of school, and I felt a strange sense of rustiness because of it. It wasn’t anything I could put a name to. I took one last look in the mirror and sighed, lightly touching the small bump over my windpipe before removing myself from the bathroom.
I made my way over to the kitchen, my feet hitting the steps of the oak staircase. I saw a brown-haired woman in the kitchen.
“Morning, Mom!” I greeted her with a wave, then proceeded to my chair at the round table.
“Good morning, sweetie,” she answered as the smell of scrambled eggs wafted through the kitchen. There was also the smell of toast, but the eggs smelled much more delicious.
“Are you ready to return to school?” she asked while placing a plate in front of me. I was about to dig in when she set down a glass full of water with a small plastic packet leaned against the cup. I stared at it disapprovingly until I received a look from my mom.
As I tore the packet open and poured in the white powder, I answered, “Yes, I am. After everything that transpired last week, it’d be great to get back on track.” I stirred the powder into the water.
“Are you sure, Carter? You just got out of the hospital the other day. The school couldn’t possibly mind if you missed another day for recovery.” Mom asked, and a sigh escaped my lips.
I knew that wasn’t her real concern. It was what sent me to the hospital that worried her. In my mom’s mind, if it happened once, it would happen again—no matter how much more effort they put into security. If students were desperate enough… Well, I’m not even a mind reader—she admitted as much just yesterday.
I used my fork to scoop up scrambled eggs onto a piece of toast and replied, “Mom, I’m 100% sure. Dashburke High students are more terrified of being patted down by Zel.Corp task forces than by a security guard or cop.”
I took a bite of my food while she exclaimed, “Wait, is that what they’re threatening students with!?”
I nodded and swallowed before elaborating. “They’ve agreed with Zel.Corp to have task force agents join the school security team. Last week’s fiasco was considered high-profile, high-risk. I also heard rumors that some task force interns might go undercover as students.”
I took a swig of my medicine and coughed. I hated it. The taste, the feel, the effects—everything.
Mom raised a brow. “And where’d you hear that rumor from, huh?”
The explanation was surprisingly easy. “Marco’s been stubbornly keeping in touch since I woke up in the ICU. The rumor came up in one of his updates after I got out.”
I finished breakfast and pulled myself up from the chair. After rinsing my dishes, I washed them, the dull sound of water and clanking ceramic filling the kitchen. It wasn’t sharp—it made me uncomfortable. But doctor’s orders.
“So… are you two friends again?” my mom asked, her voice hopeful, which only made me feel guilty.
“I wouldn’t say that yet. He seems glad I’m still kicking, at least.” That was my answer, and honestly, I did want my friend back.
But I wasn’t someone who crossed lines or applied peer pressure. If he wanted to be friends again, that was Marco’s choice. He seemed more supportive now than he had been back then. Still, it’s hard to read people when you no longer know their boundaries. For now, I wasn’t hoping too much—just keeping a respectful distance.
After the dishes were put away, I grabbed my bag and tied my shoes while my mother maneuvered around the cabinets.
When she handed me my lunchbox, she said, “There’s a four-ounce spray bottle in there filled with cayenne pepper water. It’ll be mildly irritating to the eyes if you get jumped on the way to school. I’d prefer giving you real pepper spray, but I suspect they’d find it at the school entrance.”
I accepted it. Fair. The least I could do was meet her halfway. I patted her shoulder once the lunchbox was attached to my backpack. “Thanks, Mom. Love you! Have a safe trip to work!”
She patted my shoulder back and shivered. “Love you too, Carter. And you better stay safe. Your condition got worse while you were out!”
“I know!” I called back. Then we went our separate ways.
The air was cold, which made my school uniform feel less suffocating as the chill autumn air settled into this corner of the world. Leaves fell, and flowers, for the most part, were shriveling up and dying for the season. On my way, I saw one of the few flowers that still remained intact within the confines of its bushes. It was a beautiful blue flower. I couldn’t resist gently touching its petals.
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Then frost singed the edges of the petals where I touched it. I decided that was enough and went on my way. Other than that, nothing of note occurred on the trip.
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When I arrived, I winced at the utter disarray the school was in. The southern part of the building was mostly burned. Yellow tape was strung along that entire area. Of course, other parts of the building had it too—just not to the same degree. Clearly, the volunteers hadn’t finished the yard cleanup, with scattered debris still here and there. A line had formed at the last functional entrance, leading to a security checkpoint.
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To think—the school hadn’t ever been this extra before.
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While waiting in line, students chattered, laughed, and, of course, in normal teenage fashion, there were occasional screaming matches that led to staff handing out detention slips. Security had to escort one student off campus. I felt a lingering sense of worry. Maybe I was overthinking it, but a part of me hoped the student had just gotten suspended instead of bringing who-knows-what into school.
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By the time I reached the checkpoint, the man in front of me wore a standard security outfit—except his vest was either bulletproof or “insane patient”-proof, judging by the gadgets strapped to it.
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“Name?” he asked while taking my backpack.
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“Carter Carson,” I answered, watching as he searched through it. It seemed like a surface-level search while his fingers tapped the screen of a square device.
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“Your student records state you’re a Neitleim patient. May I view related records?” the guard asked, beginning to take books out of my bag.
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“Is that… regular standard protocol?” I asked—not snappy, just genuinely curious. Because it did sound sketchy. The “related records” he mentioned? That counted as medical information.
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“To make sure you’re properly registered, it is,” he replied.
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I nearly deadpanned. “I wouldn’t be able to be an enrolled student here if I wasn’t on the patient registry,” I explained. “But if there’s any confusion on your end, check the name ‘Casey Carson.’ My mom changed my first name on my sixteenth birthday. I assume there’s a chance it hasn’t been fully updated?”
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The Neitleim condition was one of many things that had raised eyebrows over time. It used to be met with straight-up bigotry when it first emerged—a new form of ableism. Then a handful of patients lost their marbles, and that was all it took to force a registry into existence. Directly after diagnosis, parents had to register their child to enroll them in anything important, like school. The registry was supposed to be updated regularly.
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Supposed to be.
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The security guard nodded while checking the screen. “According to your file, it’s in need of an update. Any other changes I should note before sending a report to my superiors?”
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Zel.Corp was the company in charge of the registry. As far as the public knew, those who could file update reports were either from their task force or their security team.
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I told him, “Anything else relevant besides the first name change? Overuse of my condition makes me cough up blood now. And I was put on sensory suppressants.”
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He took a thermometer, placed it on my forehead, then pulled it back. He wrote notes on his screen using a stylus. “Temp seems normal for you. Mind making something small—like a snowball?”
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I did, then tossed it onto the ground a few moments later.
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“Lastly, school I.D.?”
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I showed it to him. He paused, then returned my belongings.
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“You may proceed.”
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I nodded.
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Now I understood why they told students to get to school earlier. If security took this long, this new protocol was going to be the stuff employees and students both complained about.
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I opened my locker, grabbed my books for Math and Science. My first class was Advisory, but students had already been warned that multiple classes would now share classrooms due to the damage. Not enough space for separate ones—at least until everything was rebuilt.
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I walked into class and sat in the back, placing my books on the table in front of me. Students filed in through the door. The dullness of the background noise was unusual. Did everyone go about their day hearing this little? It was weird.
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Then again, I was weird by majority opinion.
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I flicked my pencil against the desk with a soft tapping noise. As everyone settled, the teacher walked in—along with a boy I’d never seen before. He had sandy blond hair—wavy, a little messy—and red eyes. I suspected minor albinism or Neitleim was the cause.
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Mr. Bontfah introduced the boy to the class. “Greetings, students. Today we have a new student joining us. Please welcome Malverie Sarai. Malverie, your assigned seat is in front of Carter. Carter, please raise your hand.”
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I did as instructed. The second Malverie was introduced, students began whispering to each other. I didn’t need to hear it to know—he had joined the school at the worst possible time. Most of us had just been discharged from the hospital. The school was still in shambles. Rumors were already spreading like wildfire. He was going to have a rough time.
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I put my hand down as he took his seat. The class fell quiet again with a simple raised hand from Mr. Bontfah.
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The next three periods ticked by in the suffocating classroom. When Advisory ended, Mr. Bontfah switched out with Mrs. Sovrey, the Mathematics teacher. Students were frequently shushed for their complaints, but otherwise, nothing stood out—until Ms. Lockwen took over for Science class and one student almost triggered last week’s fiasco 2.0.
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Then the bell rang, signaling everyone’s favorite part of the day.
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Lunch.
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Lunch didn’t happen in the cafeteria anymore—that was one of the places still under heavy investigation. If the constant presence of authorities was anything to go by, it probably wouldn’t reopen for a while. In simplistic terms, lunch had been moved to the gymnasium until further notice. As students flooded the space that used to feel too big for one P.E. class, it now somehow felt too small. Everyone shared the same lunch period, and the gym started to resemble an overcrowded classroom.
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Most students grouped up and sat on the floor. A few of us opted for the bleachers.
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After confirming with a lunch lady handing out trays of questionably fresh, premade food, I learned that sitting in the bleachers was an acceptable arrangement. The metallic steps echoed as I climbed and found a spot. It was the closest thing to distance I could get with how things were going.
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Then I heard it—that painfully enthusiastic voice.
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“Carter! Carter! That’s your name, right? Kid I sat next to—Carter!”
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The new student.
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I internally thanked the medicine for dulling the sensory input enough to keep me from physically cringing.
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“Yeah, that’s my name… Err, what’s—why are you coming over here?” I asked, confused.
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“You seemed really lonely over here. And you seem cool,” Malverie replied.
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I couldn’t tell if that last part was a pun, but the first part made me want to roll my eyes and say, ‘oh no, that was almost the point’. Still, I could read the room. He’d probably already been rejected by the other students. He looked like someone just kicked his puppy.
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“My name’s Malverie! Even though Mr. Bontfah already told the class that,” he added cheerfully.
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“Carter. But you knew that,” I replied.
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An awkward silence followed.
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“A lot of students seem… uptight,” Malverie finally said.
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I nodded. “Within reason. Most just got discharged from the hospital. Some students and even teachers are still grieving lives lost. The school’s under high security and investigation. The school board barely avoided sending us to a different school for the rest of the year just so they could start repairs. No one likes the new security protocols either. Rumors are spreading like wildfire on this side of Dashburke.”
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Malverie winced. “Okay… yeah, my transfer went through at the worst possible time, then.”
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“Were you supposed to attend before the fire?” I asked.
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He nodded. “We were going through the process… but it got delayed due to last name issues. I was born before my parents got married, so I still have my mom’s last name. She has my dad’s now—we just haven’t fixed mine yet. Then my little sister was born after their wedding.”
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I shrugged. “Huh. Does she go here? Why aren’t you hanging out with her?”
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It wasn’t exactly subtle—I wanted him to leave. I felt guilty the second he answered.
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“She’s thirteen. Still in middle school.”
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“Ah,” I said, and that was all I *could* say.
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“Do you have any siblings?” he asked.
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I shook my head. “Nope. My parents divorced when I was… three? Four? I don’t even really remember my dad. Just that he was negligent.”
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The conversation kept going while we ate, and then the bell rang.
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Back to the classroom we went. The rest of the school day passed without anything out of the ordinary. The walk home was uneventful. Everything seemed… fine.
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Or so I thought.
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Until I opened the front door and saw a strange man standing in the hallway.
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Without hesitation, I pulled the small spray bottle from my lunchbox, aimed, and hit him in the face with a jet of cayenne pepper water.
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He screamed—loud.
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And I ran.
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