“A prank,” Vance said softly, waving his hand as if swatting away a fly. “A foolish, immature prank, certainly. I will speak to Chloe and Zoe about the appropriate boundaries of senior year high jinks. But a prank, Maya, does not justify physical violence. You threw a student over a desk. You kicked another to the floor. That is assault.”
“It wasn’t just a prank!” I snapped, leaning forward. “Look at my bag! My laptop is in there. My final presentation for the Sterling Grant is on that drive. They knew exactly what they were doing. They destroyed my project so Chloe would win by default.”
Vance sighed, sitting down in his high-backed chair. He opened a manila folder on his desk. I caught a glimpse of my own face on the top page—my admission photo from two years ago.
“The board of trustees has zero tolerance for violence on this campus, Maya. You know this. It is explicitly stated in your scholarship agreement.” He folded his hands together on the desk. “I am suspending you immediately, pending a formal expulsion hearing on Monday.”
The words felt like a physical blow to the stomach.
“You can’t do that,” I whispered. “The Sterling Grant review is at noon. If I’m not there, I forfeit.”
“You forfeited the moment you raised your hands against another student,” Vance replied, his tone chillingly devoid of empathy. “I suggest you go to your locker, gather your personal belongings, and leave the grounds. I will be calling your mother shortly to inform her of your suspension.”
“They planned this,” I said, my voice rising. “How did they even get into the lab? The doors are locked electronically until seven a.m. I got here at six-forty. They were already inside. They had to have a staff keycard.”
Vance’s eyes narrowed just a fraction of an inch. It was a microscopic shift, but I saw it. His jaw tightened.
“Students find ways around the security system all the time,” Vance said smoothly. “Do not try to deflect blame, Maya. You are responsible for your own actions. Now, go.”
I stood up slowly. I grabbed the handle of my ruined backpack. It felt like hauling a bag of wet cement. I didn’t look back as I walked out of the office, past the secretary who was staring at me with wide eyes.
The hallway was entirely empty now. The first bell had rung. I was a ghost again, but this time, I was a ghost being permanently exorcised.
I walked mechanically toward the senior locker bay. My brain felt sluggish, trapped in a thick fog of panic. How was I going to tell my mother? She had worked a double shift yesterday just to buy me a new dress shirt for the presentation—the very shirt that was now stained green.
I reached my locker and dialed in the combination. The metal door popped open.
I stood there for a moment, just staring at my textbooks, my spare gym clothes, a picture of my mom taped to the inside of the door. The sheer injustice of it burned in my chest, hot and suffocating.
I couldn't just leave.
I pulled my backpack onto the narrow bench in front of the lockers and carefully unzipped it. The smell of paint was overpowering. I reached inside and pulled out my laptop. It was completely encased in thick green slime. The liquid had seeped into the keyboard and the ventilation ports. I tried to press the power button, wiping away the sludge. Nothing. The screen remained dark. The motherboard was completely fried.
Tears finally pricked the corners of my eyes. I wiped them away angrily, leaving a streak of green across my cheek.
I grabbed some paper towels from my locker shelf and began wiping down my hands. As I was scrubbing the paint from my knuckles, I noticed something odd.
The paint wasn't acting like normal craft paint. It wasn't water-soluble. It was incredibly caustic. Where it had pooled on the metal bench, the finish was actually bubbling slightly.
This wasn’t a prank from a craft store. This was industrial solvent paint. The kind used by the maintenance crew for outdoor resurfacing.
My mind began to race. Chloe and Zoe wouldn’t know how to mix or acquire something like this. They wouldn't have carried a massive bucket of it through the parking lot. They had to have gotten it from the school’s maintenance closet.
And the maintenance closet, just like the AP Biology lab, required a staff keycard.
I looked down at the hallway floor. The trail of green drops I had left behind led back toward the science wing.