After lunch, me and Destiny went to our Math class. We were put in groups of three and Mr. Gibbons turned on Kahoot.

Me, Destiny, and Jaden paired up.

It felt like forever since I'd used Kahoot, but it was fun. Honestly, anything's better than quizzes.

He had us complete five different games and one was for trigonometry, which none of us passed.

Afterward, he let us pick different topics, and the class mostly stuck with movies or Anime shows. There were old songs and movies that I was able to identify because Regina liked them.

It lasted three games before we got bored and he gave us free time to listen to music or talk quietly.

Then, the bell rang and me, Destiny, and Jaden went in different directions. I went to Social Studies, she made her way to band class, and he went to English class.

Social Studies class is dark. The only light we have is from the box television on the wheeled cart and the blue light from Mrs. Nielsen's computer.

She's playing us a tape about the Civil War. It's a reenactment in black and white. I watch men firing guns and falling after returned shots. They flop to the ground like they're injured while helicopters zoom past.

Looking around, most of my classmates are either on their phones or sleeping with their hoods up.

Someone taps my shoulder, so I look behind me.

"Hey, do you have a pencil," Andrew whispers. I squint at him, then his hands on his desk. He's holding a mechanical pencil, repeatedly tapping the eraser so the lead stick slides out of the tube.

"No." I stare at him for a bit, then face the TV. The back of my head is hot; I can feel him watching me. He taps me again, but I don't budge.

I don't have anything against him, but I'd rather not speak to someone the other Leila is into. Hopefully, she's following the same girl code, because if Keenan tells me he saw her flirting with Troy, no one would be able to stop me from going back to 1990.

I furrow my eyebrows and tilt my head.

Who would I even take my anger out on if I went back? He'd only flirt with her because she looks like me.

I shrug and slump in my seat, adjusting the coat drawn over my torso like a little blanket.

Well, I guess it doesn't matter, because I can't confront her. I wish I could, though, just to see her face and hear her voice.

Andrew pokes my shoulder blade with the end of his pencil, and I close my eyes. I huff so much air that my cheeks inflate.

I whip around and the chair squeaks when the feet scrape the floor. Through gnashed teeth, I whisper, "What," and his smile rests at the side of his face.

"Why're you so angry," he asks, leaning back in his seat. He's holding both ends of his pencil in both hands. "I thought I told you I don't like hostile girls."

"Why're you so annoying? Maybe I should tell you that I don't like annoying boys." He glances at the TV and I follow his gaze. Mrs. Nielsen's staring at me from the side of her computer, slowly chewing the salad she got from lunch.

She lifts her pen from the cup of writing utensils, then spins it to signal for me to turn around. I do as instructed but cut my eyes at Andrew.

It plunks and tinks against the others when she returns it to the cup. She tucks the frizzy, brown side pieces behind her ears and continues typing.

"Monica broke up with me." His voice and breath are so close to the back of my head that his words send chills down my neck.

Without moving my head, I watch goosebumps prick at my arms.

"What does that have to do with me," I ask. He doesn't immediately respond, but I feel that hot flash from earlier that told me he was staring at me.

"I thought," he says, stammering. He makes a noise like he's struggling to find the words, then he just sighs. "Nevermind."

I look around at the lowered heads either sleeping or staring at phones hidden under the desks. I wasn't gone for long, but part of me understands the other Keenan's anxiousness to go home.

I didn't have a phone until the other Leila somehow convinced my parents to buy one, and even though I used to get angry at them for telling me no, I enjoyed the face-to-face conversations.

There weren't many until I met Keenan, but it was smoother. Now, everything feels so - digital.

It felt like that during lockdown last year, and it only got worse since.

I raise my hand and clear my throat. When Mrs. Nielsen looks at me, I ask, "Can I go get some water," and she nods.

I lay my jacket on my desk and walk down the aisle. A few people glance at me before returning to their phones.

Mrs. Neilsen lifts a plastic back scratcher from beside her computer and hands it to me when I stop at her desk. It has her name written on it in permanent marker.

I carry it out of the room, gently opening and shutting the door behind me. The halls are empty, but the sounds of adults teaching spill out of the nearby classrooms.

I walk toward the other end of the building where the girls' bathroom is since the boys' bathroom always stinks.

When I reach the fork, I slow down. The band students are blowing horns and beating drums, but only a few are in sync.

I step toward the door and peek through the glass. Mr. Caruso is standing at his black podium, waving his left index and his stick in his right hand.

He grimaces when one kid misses his cue and plays a note from his tuba late. It comes out as a deep squeak and a few students mess up their notes from smiling or snickering.

Mr. Caruso sets his stick down on the podium and runs his hands down his long face. The school's having a Christmas performance and they've been practicing since August.

I turn at the hips to continue down the hall, but I stop when I see a poster taped on the blank wall between the door and the lockers.

Presenting: Glenn Davis Middle School's
Third Annual Winter Talent Showcase Auditions

Dates: November 21st - 27th
Location: Auditorium

Show us your talent and be part of this exciting event!

My eyes widen. This is what I've wanted - to perform and be admired - and here's my chance.

I look around but only see an administrator near the main office, talking to a boy and his mom.

Destiny's staring at her sheet music on her podium, her fingers mashing the keys on her flute.

I wave at her with one hand before adding the other. I stand at the door, flailing my arms over my head and the tuba kid glances at me. He does a double-take, then watches his teacher singing the lyrics to help the students stay on cue.

Mr. Caruso has his head down and is snapping his fingers at his sides to the beat.

The chubby kid taps Destiny and she looks at him over her shoulder. He nudges his chin in my direction and without missing a note, she turns her attention toward the door.

She narrows her eyes at me to get a better look, and when she realizes who I am, she widens them.

I mouth, "Come here," while fanning her over. Destiny lowers her instrument in one hand and raises the other.

She asks to be excused and he pinches his nose bridge but, apparently, allows her to step out because she frantically sets the flute on the stand.

I jolt aside with my back to the lockers when Mr. Caruso glances at the window. From this angle, I watch her step down the platforms and speed walk to the door.

She opens it and the music pours out of the room. With furrowed eyebrows, she gently shuts it behind us.

"What is it? What's wrong," she asks, stepping in front of the other set of lockers while facing me.

"There's a talent show coming up," I say, my voice shaking with excitement. I know I look like a crazy person with my huge eyes and smile.

"Yeah, I know. They mentioned it on the intercom during the morning announcements." Usually, I'd feel bad for being so distracted, but nothing can tank my mood. I time-traveled because I thought I'd be a star. This could be the moment I was chasing after. "The auditions start today. You left class to tell me this?"

"No, I wanted water, but I stopped when I heard you playing." She purses her lips, bows her head, and crosses her arms. "I wanna audition."

"Knock yourself out," she says, then leans forward on her sneakers to approach the classroom door.

"Wait!" I plant my free hand on her arm and step beside her on the other side of the door. "I want you to do it with me," I say, and she narrows her eyes at me while tilting her head. "No, seriously, you're really good at the flute and I know how to sing and act. I was in the drama club for a little while."

"What am I gonna even play if we audition," she asks, tossing up a hand halfway and letting it fall. It slaps her leg over her jeans.

"I like what you all are playing in there." I glance at the disorganized group of boys and girls playing notes too late or too soon.

"The Nutcracker?" I look at her. She shakes her head and folds her arms. "No, if we're gonna do this, I'm playing something cool."

"Well, what do you have in mind," I ask. She lifts her hand to her face, sitting her fingers under her chin and tapping her lip with her thumb.

"I'd like to play Johnny Dang," she says, dragging her words. "But I know they won't let us."

"Johnny Dang?" I narrow my eyes. The administrator steps into the office and the woman walks toward the front doors with her son.

He looks around our age, but is wearing a uniform from a different school; black slacks, a beige button-down, and black loafers.

"Yeah, the song from TikTok." She takes her phone out of her back pocket and clicks it on.

Her lock screen is a picture of her and an older man with short, coily hair in a car with leather seats. He's wearing shades and the lenses are dark brown at the top, then light on the bottom.

I assume he's her dad because she has his nose.

Destiny puts her pin code in and searches for the song on YouTube. The thumbnail is a man with tattoos on his arms wearing a cowboy hat, holding his mouth open to show off his grills.

Next to him is an older man in big jewelry with the same pose.

She plays the song really low.

He starts the song rapping so fast, it's like jumping down steps and running before your feet hit the ground.

She bobs her head along to the beat and scrunches her face, her mouth drawn up to her nose like she smells something bad.

I can't understand much of what he's saying.

Halfway through the song, Destiny rocks her shoulders too. I just shake my head with a smile and lowered brows.

"I hope you plan on singing because there's no way I can." She chuckles while shutting off her screen. "Why does he roll his Rs on words that don't have an R?"

"I don't know," she says, tucking her phone in her pocket. "But, seriously, what do you think?"

"It was cool, but I don't see how you'd be able to play a flute to that." Destiny sits her hands on her hips.

A girl steps out of one of the classrooms further down the hall. Her dark hair is in box braids that stop at her shoulders and are curled outward on the ends.

"Lizzo literally played one to one of her songs," Destiny says. I want to tell her that Johnny Dang is faster than the songs I've heard from Lizzo, but my attention is locked on the light-skinned girl.

She steps to the fountain across from her classroom and holds her hair in one hand. She's wearing a burgundy overall dress over black leggings and a black long-sleeved shirt.

Destiny follows my eyes as the girl leans closer to the fountain. My heart beats faster. My fingers twitch around the back scratcher.

I could easily spot Sara from a mile away.

Destiny points her thumb in Sara's direction as she turns her head to me, then asks, "Isn't that the girl you got into it with?"

I want to say no and run to class. It's not that I'm afraid of her, I just don't want to get into any unnecessary trouble or drama.

Sara backs away from the fountain and drops her hair. She turns to leave but stops mid-way. Her head slowly turns to us and she stands that way for a few breaths.

My heart drops when she pivots and strolls toward us. Her head is tilted and she's smiling with her top row. Her Chelsea boots click through the hall.

"Long time no see," she says, stopping near us. "And I see nothing has changed. Well, nothing worth mentioning."

"I'm gonna go back to class," I mumble to Destiny who switches her attention from Sara to me.

"I'm sorry, did I scare you?" Me and Destiny turn our heads to her at the same time. Her voice is soft like an old Hollywood Disney princess. She places her hand on her chest and says, "I've been told recently that I have a — threatening demeanor."

"The only thing that's threatening is your breath," Destiny says. Sara side-eyes her. "Back up before you get smacked up."

"I see you're still her Rottweiler." Sara looks her up and down, then narrows her eyes. Her smile hasn't left. "You know, if you touch me, my dad will fight yours?"

"What is this, third grade," Destiny asks, chuckling at either herself or Sara. "Back up, dragon breath."

"Cute," she says with squinted eyes and a scrunched face, only to relax them when she turns to me. "I'll see you around, Leila."

Destiny raises her palm in front of Sara's face and says, "You need to see some mouthwash."

We watch my enemy look at the fingers below her eyes, glare at the big ones sizing her up, and then walk back to her class.

This is the calm before the storm.