The hallway outside the bathrooms had officially stopped being a hallway and started being a weather event. A tornado made of glitter, platform sneakers, and high pitched squeals spun toward one point, Jace Wilder, who was moving fast but not fast enough because three girls in front had apparently decided personal space was a myth invented by people who hate joy. Someone shouted, “JACE, I LOVE YOU!” Someone else shouted, “JACE, LOOK AT MY TATTOO!” (I seriously hoped it was fake.) And because the universe enjoys irony, the person they were chasing looked like he would rather be anywhere else, including possibly a haunted basement. He kept his head down, shoulders tight, dark hair falling into his eyes. Not the soft, controlled “stage messy” look. The real messy. The human kind. He took a sharp turn, right toward the bathroom corridor where I stood half frozen, my brain flipping through its options like a broken vending machine. Option A: Do nothing. Let security handle
Last Updated : 2026-01-10 Read more