I looked up at the ceiling. Right above Vance’s desk was a small, circular smoke detector.
In a modern building like Oakridge, the fire safety system was hardwired into the electronic door locks. If the fire alarm was triggered, every magnetic lock in the building would automatically disengage to allow for evacuation.
I ran over to Vance’s desk. I grabbed a heavy, brass paperweight shaped like a globe. I climbed onto the leather chair, balancing myself carefully as I stepped up onto the pristine mahogany surface of the desk.
I reached up with the heavy brass globe and smashed it directly into the plastic casing of the smoke detector.
The plastic shattered. I hit it again, harder, driving the brass into the sensitive internal wiring.
Instantly, a piercing, deafening siren erupted through the entire school. The emergency strobe lights in the hallway began flashing violently, casting harsh white shadows under the door.
I jumped down from the desk and ran to the door. I grabbed the brass handle and pulled.
The heavy oak door swung open easily. The magnetic lock was dead.
The administrative suite was already in chaos. Mrs. Gable was running toward the exit, her hands over her ears. The hallway outside was flooding with students pouring out of their classrooms, confused and chattering, moving toward the designated evacuation zones.
I didn't follow the crowd toward the football field. I turned and sprinted against the current, shoving my way through the panicked students, heading straight for the auditorium.
My lungs burned. My heavy, paint-stiffened skirt restricted my movement, but I didn't slow down. I reached the double doors of the auditorium just as the crowd began to thin.
The auditorium was massive, dark, and cool. The stage was brightly lit.
I burst through the doors, the heavy hinges groaning against the sound of the distant fire alarm.
The room was nearly empty, occupied only by the five external committee members sitting at a long table near the front row, and Chloe Harrington standing on the stage. Principal Vance was standing near the edge of the stage, his face pale, holding a walkie-talkie.
They all turned to look at me.
I must have looked like a nightmare. My white shirt was stained a horrific, chemical green. My hair was plastered to my forehead. My chest was heaving, and my eyes were wild.
“What is the meaning of this?” an older woman at the center of the committee table demanded, standing up. “Is there a fire?”
“No,” I said, my voice echoing loudly in the cavernous room. I walked straight down the center aisle, my eyes locked on Principal Vance. “There is no fire. But there is a fraud.”
Vance dropped his walkie-talkie. He lunged toward me, his professional demeanor entirely shattered. “Security! Someone get her out of here! She is suspended!”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I said, pulling the folded papers from my pocket. I reached the committee table and slammed the documents down onto the polished wood right in front of the older woman.
Vance grabbed my arm, his grip bruising and desperate. “You are trespassing, Maya. You are having a breakdown.”
“Let her go, Arthur,” the older woman said sharply, looking down at the papers. She recognized the Oakridge letterhead immediately.
Vance froze, his hand trembling on my arm. He slowly let go, stepping back as the color completely drained from his face.
Chloe stood on the stage, her clicker frozen in her hand. She looked from me, to the committee, to Vance, the reality of the situation slowly dawnng on her.