Kalila Miracle Hart

I've practically been living at school for the past two days. Evara's workspace has turned into our makeshift bedroom, with blankets strewn over chairs and papers serving as pillows. We've been holed up here ever since our app went live, watching as it started to gain traction among the students. The number of participants and viewers has been steadily climbing, and it feels like we're on the brink of something big.

Evara, being the resourceful one, managed to hire an IT student—actually, maybe it was a software engineer—to help us create a simple but effective app. They even taught us how to monitor the app's activity and keep track of the participants. It's been a crash course in tech for all of us, and would I like to learn it again? NO.

The app itself is designed to be as interactive as possible, blending creative expression with the study of human behavior. When you first open it, you're given two options: an Artist or a viewer. If you choose to be an Artist, you have set up a profile and upload your art pieces—anything from paintings to photography. The key here is anonymity; no names, just a unique ID number. It's meant to protect the artists while still allowing them to showcase their work.

But if you're a viewer, that's where things get interesting. You can browse through all the uploaded art, like, comment, and even vote on your favorites. The voting system has been the trickiest part for us to manage. Viewers can not only vote but also reach out to the artists directly via text message—though the artist's identity remains hidden. It's up to the artist to decide whether or not to accept the request, which adds an extra layer of intrigue and security.

For our part, we've divided the monitoring duties by category so that none of us get overwhelmed. Each of us is responsible for a specific type of art, ensuring that we keep track of everything and nothing slips through the cracks. If a viewer wants to connect with an artist, we personally send the alert message to the artist first, and the artist can choose whether to engage or not. If they agree, we provide the viewer's contact information; if not, the request simply doesn't go through. It's our way of ensuring the safety of our participants by risking our own personal data.

The things we do for grades.

I've been assigned to the photography category, which has been relatively calm so far. There are only a few slots left for the artist, and nothing too crazy has happened yet. But even in the quiet moments, there's anticipation in the air. We're all waiting to see what will happen next, and it's this sense of the unknown that keeps us going, despite the exhaustion.

Tonight marks our third night camping out at Evara's workspace, which we've now affectionately dubbed 'our base.' The place is a total chaos, but even then  It became our little sanctuary.

"I'm ordering in—what do you guys want?" Evara called out, she's was been our mother at this point.

"Sushi!" Sumer shouted from across the room, her voice laced with excitement.

"Chinese," Akira chimed in softly, her eyes lighting up at the thought.

"Just a cup of ramen for me," I said, too drained to think about anything more elaborate.

Evara nodded and started placing the orders, effortlessly multitasking like she always does. A few minutes passed before Evara and Sumer went to pick up the delivery. I sank deeper into the bean bag, letting the soft fabric cocoon me. As much as I love what we're doing, I can't help but wonder when will this torture end. I miss the comfort of my bed, and the familiar scent of home. The exhaustion is creeping in, making it hard to keep my eyes open.

"Are you that tired?" Akira asked, settling into the bean bag beside me. She looked at me with those wide, curious eyes, and I could only nod in response.

"Aren't you?" I asked, more out of surprise than anything else. She shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips.

"I didn't really have friends before, and sleeping over with you guys makes me happy," she said, her voice laced with genuine warmth. Her words tugged at something in my chest. Akira is such a sweet soul; it's hard to imagine why she didn't have friends before.

"Did you participate in the Art Connections?" I asked, steering the conversation into safer waters. She nodded, her excitement showing obviously.

"Let's check your progress," I said, pulling out my phone. As I scrolled through the app, I wasn't surprised to see Akira's painting climbing to the top of the voting charts. Her work was a clear favorite, with comments pouring in from viewers who were captivated by her talent.

"Seems like a lot of people want to connect with you," I said, scrolling through the flood of comments and messages. "Did you respond to any of them?" I asked, glancing up to see her shake her head, in shyness.

Before I could probe further, a notification pinged on my laptop. It was one of those alerts we get when someone fills an Artist slot. I walked over to check, curiosity piqued.

User's Number: +1456 444-543-0000
Category: Photography
ID Number: 0000000009
Art Piece: Veins trace the path of thoughts unspoken.

I clicked on the entry, and my initial excitement turned into exasperation. "A hand? Seriously? Okay, pervert," I muttered under my breath. Judging by the picture, it was clearly a man's hand. Rolling my eyes, I copied the user's number into my phone.

Akira noticed my frustration and walked over, her curiosity piqued. "What's wrong?" she asked, peering over my shoulder.

"Look at this," I said, pointing to the screen. "Does this look like art to you?"

She leaned in closer, her face inches from the screen, and to my surprise, she nodded vigorously. "His hand is very pretty," she muttered, her voice almost dreamy. I blinked, taken aback by her reaction. Didn't expect Akira to be into this kind of thing.

Now that I look at it more closely, I have to admit—those hands are something else. Strong, almost mesmerizing in a way.

"Kalila, can you zoom in on that bracelet he's wearing?" I frowned but did as she asked.

"That's an awfully expensive piece." I squinted at the picture. Really? It looked pretty normal to me.

And as if Akira was reading my mind, she continued, "It's made of really rare tiny black diamonds." My eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. I looked at the picture again, squinting. I couldn't really tell if they were diamond or just tiny sequences.

"How do you know all this?" I asked Akira, my eyes never leaving the picture. "Well, a really famous artist created that. He only made two pieces, which is why it's insanely expensive," she explained.

Before we could continue the conversation, the door swung open, and Evara's bright smile filled the room as she walked in with the food. Akira's attention shifted instantly—from admiring the bracelet to not caring about it at all. But I think Akira's exaggerating a bit, right? It can't be that expensive. I looked it up and immediately turned off my phone as soon as I saw numbers I couldn't even count.

Sometimes, I can't fully grasp the idea that I live in a country with people who have that insane amount of money to burn for one freaking bracelet, while some of us are starving to death. Anyway, back to my ramen. I took a few sips, savoring the warmth of the soup, when a few notifications pinged on my screen, cutting through the brief moment of peace.

I glanced at the laptop and saw that they were from viewers who had requested to connect with ID number: 0000000009—ah the pervert. With no other choice, I quickly put down the ramen cup and sent a few connection requests to the artist. I waited, watching the screen as the minutes ticked by, but since it was already past midnight, I figured the artist was probably asleep.

I'll check in tomorrow

"How about we go to bed early tonight?" Sumer suggested, her voice laced with the kind of tiredness that had been settling into all of us over the past few days.

"Well, it is early now," I said, taking the last bite of my noodles. "Early in the morning." My attempt at humor sent them all into fits of laughter, the kind that bubbles up easily when you're running on empty.

"Kidding, let's head to bed after eating," I added, more seriously this time. We hadn't been getting much sleep lately, and I knew if we kept pushing ourselves like this, it wouldn't be long before our bodies gave out.

The fatigue was starting to catch up with me, making everything feel a little heavier, a little slower. I could see it in the others too—the way Sumer's shoulders slumped slightly, the way Evara's usually bright eyes were tinged with exhaustion, and how Akira's soft-spoken nature seemed even quieter.

As we wrapped up dinner, the room began to settle into a comfortable silence, each of us lost in our thoughts. The day had been long, and the night ahead seemed like a welcome reprieve. I glanced around at my friends—this little makeshift family we'd built in the chaos of this project—and felt a wave of gratitude. Despite the sleepless nights, and the stress. we were in this together. And somehow, that made all the difference.

We cleaned up a bit and settled into our bean bags "Maybe tomorrow will be easier," I thought, though I knew better than to count on it. But for now, in this quiet moment, let's just close our eyes and let sleep take over.

-

"Kalila," a soft voice pulled me from sleep, nudging me back to reality. My eyes fought against the brightness as I opened them to see Akira gently shaking me awake. I groaned, every muscle in my body heavy with exhaustion, desperate for just a few more moments of rest.

"Your laptop has been beeping for the last three hours," she said, her tone laced with concern. I stretched, my body stiff and aching, as if I'd been hit by a freight train.

"What time is it?" I mumbled, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep.

"It's 1 in the afternoon."

"What!" I shot up, the realization hitting me like a punch to the gut. I'd slept through the entire morning, completely unaware.

"Evara and Sumer went home to change and will be back soon. I'm heading home too," Akira said as she gathered her things, her voice calm, though I could see the weariness in her eyes.

"I slept all morning and you guys didn't wake me up?" I asked, disbelief mingling with a pang of guilt.

"We all woke up around lunch, and Evara thought you needed the rest," she said with a soft smile that warmed my heart. I sniffled, overwhelmed with gratitude for my friends, who always seemed to know what I needed before I did.

"I gotta go now, and you need to change too," Akira reminded me gently. "But check your laptop first." She waved goodbye, and the sound of the door closing made my body want to collapse back onto the beanbag for another nap.

But the persistent beeping from my laptop kept me on edge. I dragged myself over, blinking the sleep from my eyes as I looked at it.

The sight on the screen sent my heart into overdrive. The app we had poured our souls into was crashing, the system buckling under the weight of too many participants. My pulse quickened as I look over the screen—chaos was brewing. And it all seemed to revolve around an artist named Carcel Dawson. The name tugged at something in the back of my mind, but I didn't have the luxury of time to figure out why it sounded familiar.

The app was overwhelmed, struggling to keep up with the surge of users. My hands shook as I grabbed my phone, desperately trying to call Evara. No answer. Panic gripped me as I dialed again, each unanswered ring tightening the knot in my chest. Frustration and urgency mixed as I quickly sent Evara a text.

We need to shut down the app temporarily. The system's crashing!
Sent 1:11PM

And who the hell is Carcel Dawson?!
Sent 1:11PM

He's making everyone crazy, fuck him! please rescue me!! ASAP
Sent 1:11PM

My heart was pounding against my ribcage, desperately hoping for a solution to appear. Notifications flooded in, the app teetering on the edge of a total meltdown. My mind raced, and panic clawed at my thoughts as I considered shutting down my laptop, as if that might somehow stop the impending disaster. It felt like I was handling a ticking time bomb, unsure if the next click would cause it to explode.

Suddenly, the door burst open, and Evara rushed in, her eyes wide with concern as she saw me. "Miracle! What's going on?" Her voice was laced with worry as she took in my disheveled appearance, the desperation evident on my face.

"I... I sent you a text," I stammered, my words tumbling over each other in my panic. I could barely form a coherent sentence as I tried to explain what was happening.

She looked puzzled for a moment, then pulled her phone from the cabinet. "I left it in here," she said, her tone tinged with frustration. "And what text? You only called."

Oh, great. Just fucking great.

"The app's system is crashing," I finally managed to say, my voice trembling with the weight of it all. The words felt like a boulder rolling off my chest, but they did little to ease the rising anxiety.

"What?!"