"Sometimes, the scariest part of a story is knowing that you're a part of it."

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I FIND MY FEET SHAKING ON THE PODIUM of the crowded auditorium and something about it brings my heartbeat to an unnatural high. The air is stale, it's the start of the year after all, and there are too many bodies crammed into one space. Their stares cling to me, and Principal Hastings's voice cuts through it all, sharp and unnervingly cheerful, but his words dissolve into a murky haze. My thoughts are frantic, too consumed by the primal urge to vanish into thin air, to melt into the cracked floorboards beneath my feet.

We can't have everything in life.

"And let's all congratulate Avra Bennett on her position as Hall Monitor for this year!"

The applause feels wrong, much like the footsteps in an empty house, the echo bouncing off walls. The audience claps, but it's distant, unreal. My chest tightens and I try to focus on my breathing. I'm supposed to feel honored, but I don't. I feel like prey, suddenly aware that everyone is watching me, judging me and making assumptions about me. My eyes search for Jax, who stands rigid, his gaze a hard, feral stare. He looks like he's barely keeping himself together, like he's going to stab someone if someone gave him a knife. I see the anger and violence simmering beneath his skin.

He isn't just angry—he's terrified. It isn't just friendly concern, either. His sister, Amelia Arnault, had stood here too, in this same spot, clutching the same badge. And now, she's in an institution for a psychotic disorder.

The memories of Amelia creep into my mind and plague my already chaotic thoughts. Her grades and extracurriculars had her bound for Harvard, and she was one of the few juniors accepted into their summer program. She was perfect once, poised to conquer the world—until she wasn't. Until she took this very job and, in layman's terms, went crazy.

I never liked that word: crazy. It feels too simple, too dismissive. It's the kind of word people use when they don't want to dig deeper, to understand what really happened. It's the word they used to use on me. Amelia wasn't "crazy." Something happened to her, something that changed her, broke her in ways no one wanted to acknowledge. And now, as I grip the smooth, icy surface of the Hall Monitor badge in my trembling hand, I feel like I'm holding a curse.

I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't have this.

It's not that I believe this job did that to her, but she spiraled. She took on too much pressure, and perhaps it backfired on her.

The crowd's murmurs blur into a low hum, and it warps around my peripheral vision. I see the faces in the audience twist and distort, some of them glaring, others pitying. Being the Hall Monitor is a prestigious thing to put on your resume. Maybe it could make up for my lack of extracurriculars, and give me an edge. That's why it's a coveted position. 

A knot tightens in my stomach, making my throat uneasy and my breathing slow. My mind is already asking too many questions, and a memory latches itself onto me again—Amelia's blank stare when I visited her with Jax two weeks ago. She didn't even recognize us.

Meanwhile, Jax's eyes stay fixed on the pin in my hand. I'm lightly stabbing myself with it, my finger stinging slightly from the pressure. As Principal Hastings's hand lands heavily on my shoulder, I flinch, nearly driving the pin of the badge into my palm. Blood wells up from the small puncture, and I'm startled by how vivid and red it looks against my pale skin. I press the wound harder, welcoming the sharp sting. Anything to ground me, to make this moment feel real.

But it doesn't help. This place, this moment—it all feels wrong.

Not now, Avra. Not now.

I want to faint to the floor like Sleeping Beauty and not wake up for a hundred years. But I'm not living a fairy tale. I'm a teenager in high school, with a badly paid job that will probably work me to hell.

I force a smile as I turn to face the auditorium, trying to meet everyone's eyes without flinching. Most of them are already looking at their phones, the excitement of the announcement already wearing off. From the back of the auditorium, I spot a group of students near the back. Their faces are mostly unfamiliar, but their eyes... their eyes are wide and gleaming with something I can't figure out. It isn't curiosity. It's not even pity anymore. It's like they know. Like they're waiting to see how long I last before I, too, disappear.

I'm overthinking this, aren't I?

Principal Hastings is still speaking, something about the responsibilities of the Hall Monitor and how it's an "honor" to uphold the school's history and traditions. But his words blur into background noise as I scan the room for Jax. In the few moments that I was staring at everyone else, he has disappeared from his seat.

This is hard for him. Of course, it is. He doesn't need those memories again. Amelia's mental health didn't just impact her; it affected her entire family. Jax got the brunt of it. I watched my sarcastic, funny best friend become a shell of who he used to be. I can't blame him for leaving. If I could have, I would have bolted out of there too. But I'm stuck, frozen on the spot, forced to smile and pretend I'm proud of this stupid badge.

But he hasn't left. I find him standing against a far wall, arms crossed, his jaw clenched tight. Our eyes meet, and he gives a subtle nod.

The ceremony wraps up quickly after that, students filing out of the auditorium in a wave. I linger near the stage, and Principal Hastings notices.

"Avra, can I help you?" His voice sounds normal enough, but there's something in his eyes—something cold and watchful, like he's evaluating my response. For what, I don't know.

I smile, hoping I look normal enough. I have a resting bitch face, which hasn't earned me many friends over the past few years. "Sir, I don't understand. I never applied to be Hall Monitor."

Principal Hastings gives me a dull nod and grabs his black tailored suit off the podium. His gaze sharpens for a moment before he gives me a mechanical nod. "A team reviewed the student body and selected the most suitable candidate. You have the necessary qualities."

Necessary qualities. What does that even mean? My mind is  grasping for logic, but logic feels slippery. "I don't think I did anything remarkable—"

It's the truth. I have a few above-average grades, but that's where the achievement stops. I don't participate in anything—not sports, not arts, nothing. So, it's difficult to understand what "qualities" the team found in me.

"Don't overthink it, Avra. You should be proud of yourself."

Principal Hastings leaves the auditorium without looking back once, leaving a sickening unease coiling in my stomach. Jax, who has been waiting at the hall entrance the entire time, makes his way toward me.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice low, as if someone might eavesdrop on us.

"I don't know," I admit, my eyes drifting to the blood-stained badge. It feels more like a burden than an achievement.  "This wasn't supposed to happen. I didn't even think they knew my name."

"Exactly," Jax says, his eyes narrowing. "It doesn't make sense."

"What am I supposed to do, though?" I ask, seeing no way out. "I can't just refuse, can I?"

He pulls a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and thrusts it into my hand. "Look at this."

The names blur together as I scan the list—decades of Hall Monitors, stretching back into the past. And then, the pattern emerges. All girls. All since 2010. And all of them broken, lost in ways that defy explanation. Some ended up in hospitals. Some vanished. Some... changed. Jax has marked them with Xs for those who ended up institutionalized, and Os for those who dropped out. Surprisingly, there isn't a pattern to that—but odd things happened to them all.

He points to the name from last year. Jessica Miller. 

"But Jessica Miller just got into a private boarding school." That was the big news last year. The fact that Jessica was able to snag a seat at a fancy school made at least half the class apply to be Hall Monitor. That's why this is so surprising. It doesn't make sense that the committee chose me over everyone who actually applied.

"Yeah. And her social media accounts have been inactive since," Jax explains. "And Jessica lived for coverage."

Jessica Miller was an amateur journalist and blogger. She posted nearly every day, much to my annoyance. But ever since she got the job right after Amelia, she stopped posting. We assumed it was just because of the workload. She looked tired most of the time and seemed stressed. We knew the job was demanding, so when she got the offer to attend a private school for her senior year, we were overjoyed for her—and for the next Hall Monitor.

But now, listening to Jax, I'm scared. I can't understand what he's implying. "What are you trying to say?"

"I think someone—something—is doing this to them, Avra," Jax says, his words thick with desperation. "Amelia... it wasn't just burnout. It was something worse.

I let out an involuntary laugh and roll my eyes. "Not this again, Jax. Come on. The job just takes too much time and energy."

Jax pulls the sheet from my hands, his eyes not leaving mine. "You think I'm joking?"

I put a hand on his arm and nod. He calms down a little, his eyes fixed on my hand. "Jax, it's just... It doesn't make sense, okay? Say you're right. Why would they do that?"

"I don't know. That's what I want to find out. But first, you need to tell them that you can't take the job."

I think about it. Principal Hastings has given me a golden opportunity to make up for my lack of enthusiasm for school-related activities. He's handed it to me on a silver platter, and giving it up feels...wrong. But Jax is right. After everything that's happened in my life, I don't need to take on more stress.

"Okay," I say, reassuringly. "I'll try talking to Principal Hastings."

Jax lets out a breath, his posture relaxing slightly. "Good. We'll figure out a way to get you out of this. Amelia stopped talking to me a few weeks after she got the job. I don't want that to happen to you."

I nod, but a small part of me is still hesitant. I don't want to admit it because he's so hurt about it all. What if Jax's patterns are just that? Nothing but meaningless patterns? I don't want to pass up an opportunity that could really help me in the long run. But the fear in Jax's eyes, the way his voice trembled—it's enough to convince me that this isn't worth the risk.

As I walk out of the auditorium, Jax walks close beside me as if he's trying to shield me from something. I appreciate it, but it also makes me feel uneasy. We've been through a lot together, but I've never seen him this worried. Maybe that day when Amelia stopped talking to him, but that was it. The Jax who spiraled is showing up again, and it hurts that it's partly my fault.

"I'll go with you to talk to Hastings tomorrow," Jax says as we reach the lockers. "He might try to pressure you into staying, but don't let him. Just say no."

"Okay," I agree, opening my locker and shoving the badge inside without looking at it. I'm supposed to have it on me at all times for recognition purposes, but it's a small relief to have it out of my hand and away from me. It's like distancing myself from whatever weirdness it represents.

Jax lingers for a moment, his eyes boring into mine. "I'll see you later, okay? If anything happens, just text or call."

"Yeah, okay," I say, forcing a smile. "Later."

I hate making decisions based on what others feel. I hate it so much, and my past is the reason. That's when I learned that I shouldn't trust anyone but myself. Then I met Jax, and he was nothing but nice. I don't want to disappoint him, but I also don't want to make a hasty decision out of fear and a mostly meaningless pattern.

After all, what are the chances that something is really wrong? People burn out all the time, right? That's the nature of stress. Whether it's the academic princess of Brookfield or the budding journalist, some people just can't handle the pressure. It doesn't necessarily mean something sinister is going on.

But the look on Jax's face, the haunted expression—it keeps coming back to me. It makes me wonder how long he's been holding onto that list. How long has he been waiting to talk to someone about it? The fact that he has this information leaves me confused again.

What more does he know?

I glance down at the badge in my hand, and for the first time, I swear it's pulsating, like a heart. Or a warning.

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