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April

The newsroom was April's favorite room in the entire high school, mainly because she felt like it was where her leadership skills and intelligence shone through. She felt like it was a good place as any to get a 'jumpstart' on her interest towards journalism. Of course, not everybody on the newspaper shared the same career choice as her, but April was just happy that everybody cared enough to show up to the meetings held twice a week and put in the effort to find and publish a good story. Their editor-in-chief, Theo Walsh, fought tooth and nail for Roosevelt Prep High to have a newspaper crew, claiming it would strengthen the school's community by informing and connecting with others. Their principal granted them full autonomy from the rest of the office, with only two exceptions: one, that anything they would publish would be run by him first and the newspaper crew's advisor, Mr. Rudinsky; two, they wouldn't publish anything that made the school look bad.

When she heard this, April wasn't too shy to fiercely express her opinion about the second rule. During her time here, April had come to learn how scandals and rumors were the ugly cold sores Roosevelt Prep High tried to shoo away— or rather, keep a lid on. For instance when she was a freshman, there was a rumor the gym teacher the school had at the time was sleeping around with his female students. There wasn't any reputable evidence to support this claim (and if there was, the school sure as hell didn't share), and by the time the new semester rolled in, the gym teacher had resigned and left to open his new gym in Staten Island.

And near the end of her sophomore year, there was another rumor that drugs were being sold out from the science lab under the supervision of biology teacher Ms. Blake. Roosevelt Prep announced they would handle this internally, but April knew it was just another way of saying, "We'll probably pay the poor fool their money and keep the house clean!" After some snooping and innocent questioning, April found out that Ms. Blake grew a weed garden out of her apartment and was actually selling to a couple of her students. The students who were suspected were asked to not disclose what happened, while Ms. Blake was paid her year's pay and did not come back for April's junior year.

Each instance, all April and the crew could publish were implicit statements of dismissal and cheesy slogans like, 'See something, say something' and 'Got a problem? Stop by the counselor's office!' April didn't know what frustrated her more: Roosevelt Prep pretending they were this perfect angelic school with zero skeletons in the closet or caring more about their reputation than the truth. It also didn't help that most of the students attending this school were children to some of the most prominent and influential people in Manhattan. The list included uptight lawyers, the head chief of Manhattan's biggest hospital, CEO's of finance establishments, and of course— the captain of the NYPD. If April was Roosevelt Prep, she wouldn't want some of her biggest donators to cut off her funds just because they heard about some diddadly-dooda through their friends at the office.

"Okay, fellas!" Their production manager, Josie Reyes, a senior, clapped her hands to get everyone's attention. When Mr. Rudinsky wasn't here, she made sure everyone stuck to their deadlines. "Where are we with editing, online publication, and photos?!"

Noah Stratford, in charge of publishing the newspaper on the school's website, raised his hand. "School's server crashed at the last second, so I'm going to need at least another day to upload everything," he reported.

"You're good with computers, so I'll trust you'll handle that." Josie looked over to the next two people, who happened to be Theo and his editor assistant, Sheryl Lewis. "Teddy, Sheryl, how's things on your end?"

Nobody really used the nickname 'Teddy' when referring to Theo, but April knew Josie was the only one who did since she and Theo grew up together. "Proofreading's a bitch, but thankfully I have Sheri to help me with that, right?" He and Sheryl did a little fist bump.

"The more the merrier!"

After their graphic artist/designer and printing manager updated Josie, she then called to Mak, who sat on the lounge seat across from April. April noticed how when he got here, all he did was watch the others and kept to himself. She couldn't blame him for that— not when he almost got killed because his classmates' were involved in a ninja conspiracy. The fight with Shredder's soldiers felt like ages ago, although April had to remind herself that it was an event that happened recently. How awkward could things get if you and the person who now knew ninjas existed were in the same crew?

"Um, well, I uploaded the photos I took of the soccer game and sent them to Theodore for editing," Mak said. "I know they're probably not the most flattering photos you've ever seen."

Josie crossed her arms. "Makoto, right? Well, trust me when I say that your photos look like they've been taken by someone who actually knows how to handle a camera— unlike our last photographer. Plus, you did catch a pretty good angle of soccer player #14 scoring the team's winning victory. You should make a copy of a perfect picture like that and keep it for yourself, huh?"

Mak blushed profusely. Josie chuckled. "Just kidding! I mean, only an obsessively compulsive person would do that, right? But seriously, nothing bad for a newbie! Keep it up and I might hire you to be the photographer at my future wedding."

Mak stared down into his lap, uncomfortable. April thought, Heh, if he's going to be part of the newspaper, he's gonna have to survive Josie's humor first!

"You two are left!" Josie tilted her chin towards April and Vanessa 'Nessie' Nguyen, the newspaper's only reporters.

Vanessa had her laptop open in front of her on her lap. She read the report she had prepared in a document: "Right, well, we can report to the student body that the preparations for the school's upcoming Halloween dance are running smoothly. The chairsperson of the party planning committee confirmed the location, catering, decorations, and music."

The Halloween dance was Roosevelt Prep's second most important event, coming after prom that took place in the spring. Everybody was already gossiping about who was going with who and what they would dress up as. Halloween was particularly April's favorite holiday. As a kid, nothing thrilled her more than entering all those haunted houses and counting and separating the candy she gathered into different categories when she got home. She, Raph, Mikey, Miwa, and Donnie took great pleasure taking Leo's chocolates, knowing well he wouldn't eat them and instead go for the blueberry sour strings. April and Talia went to the dance the past two years and would always have a blast, but considering her best friend's circumstances, the redhead wasn't sure if Talia was in the holiday mood to attend this year.

"Ah, yes! The Halloween dance!" Josie took a slice of pizza from the box left on the table stationed in the center of the room. Through a full mouth, she muffled, "The one night of the year you can dress up as slutty as you want and no will give a damn. Thanks, Nessie! April, anything to add?"

April grabbed the pen tucked behind her ear and repeatedly clicked on the pen's retractable plunge. The click-clicks were a strangely satisfying sound to her. She actually zoned out for a minute because how the hell could she think of anything to say when this damn migraine was a pain in her ass?

"I overheard some girls say that our chairsperson, Kristy Ashworth, is inviting the entire school to her after-party that same night, which will also serve as her big birthday bash," April revealed.

The sound that came out of Josie's lips was one of surprise. "Isn't her birthday the day before Halloween?"

April shrugged. "You feel special if you host your birthday party the same day as a holiday. Anyways, her party will be hosted at her father's country club, so it's going to be very high-class."

"Everything about her is high-class," Theo snorted. "I heard that she had an actual bouncer to check people's invites for her summer pool party like it was The Pentagon or something."

"I've never been to a Kristi Ashworth party before," Sheryl commented. "I hear only the coolest of the coolest attend."

"She loves to show off, but at least she's a good host," Josie admitted.

"Whatever you do, though, don't wear the same Halloween costume as her," April warned, massaging her temples. "Last year, her and clarinetist Felicity Warner wore the same Fembot costume and Kristi claimed Felicity stole her idea."

"But didn't nobody knew what Kristi's costume was until the day of the dance?" Vanessa asked.

April sighed. "Kristi may be an excellent party planner, but that girl is more vain than the queen from Snow White."

"Great. I guess I'll just leave the house naked."

During the rest of the meeting, everyone spent half of their time productively— finishing typing up reports and editing the paper to be sent to the printer— but the crew were also pigging out on soda and pizza, cracking jokes to each other and bouncing off the walls giggling from a major sugar rush. The only ones who weren't in such a state were Mak and April, the latter attempting to study for her upcoming chemistry test (while failing miserably at it), and Mak who was intently sketching something while listening to music. Didn't interact much, did he?

April cut between from YouTube videos explaining chemical structures and the slides her chemistry teacher provided to take notes on. Her eyes' biceps must've tripled in size because she had no idea how many times she rolled her eyes back. How could anyone NOT mix up endothermic and exothermic reactions? Or exergonic and endergonic reactions?! Maybe she could finish that study guide her teacher suggested the class do for extra credit on the exam. Hey, a fifty-percent on the test was better than the thirty-percent April knew she most likely was going to score on! Worse— what if she forgot to write her own damn name on the line at the top of the paper and she'd get no grade at all? Or what if it got lost? Hey, it could happen! 

She tried to push those thoughts of doom and gloom out of her head and remembered what her therapist used to say: "Ask yourself: is the thought realistic, helpful, or harmful?"

Well, especially in a high school setting thoughts of failure were common, so April voted realistic. "How would you challenge that thought exactly?" Her therapist would then ask.

April closed her eyes, imagining herself back in her therapist's office lying down on the comfy gray couch and hearing the humidifier hiss beneath the potted calatheas relax her muscles. I would tell myself that there is no way I would forget to write my name because writing your name down is like a signature to show its your own work. Second, my chemistry teacher is way too responsible to lose my test— name or no name, would be April's reply.

Remembering her therapist's advice was crucial for April feeling a little less stressed than she would be; it didn't mean it was always that easy. There was a period of time where she thought she was jinxed— or rather that was how she described her bad luck when something good happened to her. For instance: rafting trip running smoothly? Betcha it's going to pop anytime soon and leave you stranded in the water. About to win your sixth grade compass treasure hunt? Betcha you'll get lost and run into some serious poison ivy. Y'know, little things like that.

The best way April could describe this to her therapist was feeling as though there was an actual freakin' voice inside her head, taunting her when she thought things were going so well nothing could ruin it. She even became convinced that this voice was a living fucking entity, but her therapist assured her that was her self-doubt and negativity speaking. The voice can't hurt you unless you let it.

It sounded totally crazy (the voice being an entity thing), so the only two people who knew she felt that way was her therapist and herself. Last thing she needed was for her friends and father to think she was some kind of nutcase.

April quickly checked the time on her phone. 4:10 pm. Today's meeting wouldn't end for another twenty minutes, but April was considering leaving early to go home, pop some of her migraine pills, turn off all the lights, and lay in her bed to take a long snooze! But Josie skipped over to her and asked since she and Mak looked like they had nothing better to do, to retrieve more newsprint from the library.

Hey, might as well do one last productive thing before she left, right?

"Come on, Mak!" April hollered, pushing the metal cart out of the room.

Mak tagged behind her, but April noticed he was keeping his distance as if she had a bad case of tuberculosis. He was also staring down the entire time he walked with his hands in his pockets. Okay, maybe he didn't like eye contact, but he was going to have to stare up if he didn't want to bump into a wall or anything.

It was a fast walk to the library. They snaked through the towering bookshelves all the way to the back of the room, where April inserted the key the librarian gave to the news crew to use for access to the storage room into the the keyhole and opened the door with one thrust.

April put her hands on her hips as she stared at the big bundles of newsprint stacked in the corner. She glanced at Mak. "How about this: I give them to you and you load them neatly on the cart?" She grabbed one bundle— almost blown away by how heavy it felt— and gave it to Mak.

Neither one said a word during this process at first. April's head just about felt like it was one pressure sack away from rupturing, and Mak was busy finishing the task as quick as he could so he could leave.

Since Mak was going to run with the crew now, April decided that there was no better time than now to get to know the guy (and to hopefully erase any reason he would have to fear her, if he had any). "So, how are you liking the crew so far?" She asked casually.

When Mak figured out she was actually asking him, he said, "They're certainly. . . nice. Friendly. I just wasn't expecting Josefina to, um, well, mention the photo I took. . ."

"Ah, Josie does that to everybody! Hey, when I first joined, she also put me on the stand for my reporting skills. But she sees potential in you. I'm just glad we have a new photographer cause man I was stuck taking care of snapping pictures when our last photographer quit!"

Mak blinked. "But, um. . . couldn't you just find another photographer?"

April clucked her tongue. "Oh, it ain't so easy! Nobody really wants to sign up to write when they already have a shit ton of homework baggage. Plus, unless we have social pull, nobody really pays attention to us. We sorta just publish about clubs, drama plays, and sports."

"Then. . . why do it?"

"Well—" April hesitated to tell him, but then thought, why the hell not? "—okay, it's not only to make this school more interesting than it already is, but I hope to eventually bring a gossip column to the newspaper. Of course, that would mean I would have to go to war with the principal and our advisor, but if people can see that we can publish a good story, maybe they'll pick up the newspaper and we'll own our rep!"

Mak frowned. "A good story like what?"

"I don't know, it could be anything! For one, if I had my way, I would've definitely published about that pervert gym teacher and teacher-turned-weed seller."

Mak's face contorted to say, We had a what now?

April shook her head. "Story for another time. But for now, we have to stick with Halloween dances and Moon Over Mississippi plays— y'know, those things don't exactly ruffle feathers with the principal's business tycoon friends."

That 'good story' may have seemed out of reach, but April was determined. All she needed was a ladder or one of those stepping stools toddlers used to reach it, to somehow convince both her principal and her advisor that publishing controversies an scandals can be a way to share information strategically and usefully, publish the said good story, and then the RPHC News would be taken seriously!

She was aware that if she wanted any of that to be a reality, of course, she was going to have to find a source first. And who in hell would talk to her if everyone at school knew she was the police captain's daughter?

April and Mak went back to work again. They were almost done when April suddenly remembered the day of the pep rally and what happened after. . . well, the furthest she could remember was her, Talia, and Mak on the stage, ready to be taken back to Shredder by three of his ninjas— which wasn't possible because per Talia's claim, April pulled a freaky power move that saved everyone's lives— and after that, the memory became hazy. Obviously, there was no way it could be true, but since there were another pair of eyes. . .

"What exactly happened in the auditorium?" April asked.

She turned to Mak for an answer. He kept his gaze down, scratching at his arms. Don't tell me, he's also going to say the same thing Taly said about me doing—

"Nothing really," Mak answered. "They left us alone and that was it."

April frowned. Shredder's ninjas left? So easily? What, did the boogeyman scare them away that badly they abandoned their mission? "You telling me that they just. . . gave up? They didn't fight back?"

"Well, that's how I saw it. But you were there too."

"I know, but my brain isn't sure what happened between the time the cheerleader shot those arrows at me and when I woke up after I blacked out. Shouldn't I be dead? And shouldn't you be, too?" April pointed at him, confused. An assassin wouldn't go through the trouble to infiltrate a school, put the student body to sleep, and corner her and her friends just to 'leave them alone' like Mak said they did. She was missing something here.

"Maybe they decided not to waste time on us? Maybe we weren't worth it."

"I don't mean to sound egotistical, but in their eyes, yes we were." April double-backed her words. "You better be careful," she warned Mak. "These guys don't exactly keep witnesses alive."

Panic momentarily flashed in Mak's eyes. "So they could come back for me?"

"They're bloodthirsty and goal-driven. If I were you, I'd enroll myself into some self-defense classes."

". . . What about Raphael? And the other guy with him? How can you be so calm knowing what they are?"

Please, I didn't even know my childhood friends were ninjas until a month ago! April sometimes wondered what other things the Sa— er, the Hamato family could be hiding as well. Did she really know them as well as she did?

"They're good guys." April chose to state. "Really, really, good guys."

***

The slamming of her apartment door, the faucet running water over one of the kitchen towels, kicking off her shoes, and the migraine capsules rattling inside the plastic bottle— all sounds were the exemplary definition of satisfaction. It meant she could finally relax and put this pain-in-the-ass migraine to sleep. Literally!

After she took her medication as prescribed, she took the liberty of sending a text message to Talia asking her if there was any update on the drug bust the guys did at the docks. Once she took this nap, she'd wake up and read all the juicy details her best friend would tell her.

She turned off the lights, got on top of her bed, found a relaxing music playlist on Spotify to listen to, took the towel and placed it over her eyes, and tried her best to drift to sleep. It took maybe ten minutes for the effect to kick in, where she felt her eyelids droop lower and lower. . . and then she was gone.

It was hard to describe time when you were asleep, but April took a guess that only fifteen minutes passed when her mind started to waver— jumping back and forth between the awake and dream realms. She felt the waves in half of her brain flow slower than normal. That was when she felt her mind fall down a rabbit hole that was a deep sleep. Her body weight shifted upward, her sight dead-locked at her door. Her heart raced father than an Olympic athlete's. She heard about sleep paralysis and what a terrifying thing it was, but if it was that, how was she able to move her body? And wasn't she supposed to see some kind of ugly sleep paralysis demon with ram horns and shark teeth and razor-sharp claws?

She swung her legs over, stood up, and leisurely walked to the door. But since part of her was still asleep, her brain couldn't register at the moment that she had to turn the damn doorknob to actually open it. It took a few head bumps against the door for April to lift her hand, twist the brass knob, and stand in the doorway like a mannequin.

April didn't know where she'd go next. When she sleepwalked, her body was practically on autopilot, taking her wherever— the local park, the fire escape, her neighbor's bathroom (yeesh! How embarrassing), but this time her body found itself walking down the hallway— almost like a magnetic force was calling her name and she had no choice but to be at its beck and call.

Her body stopped in front of a door at the end of the hallway. April felt her lips go dry. She hadn't entered in years; she never dared to. A room that was just meters away from visiting and yet, April treated it as if it were a quarantine room. Her body ran into the door, hoping it would phase through the wooden material after a couple of tries. She hated it, but she would rather keep colliding with the door than to enter.

But she still found a way. The creaaaaak! noise charged a prickling sensation through her that even a regular person could feel in their sleep. Finding the light switch, the room lit up, exhibiting easels displaying abstract art, shelves lined with bottles of paint and buckets of brushes, sketches of humans and shapes and animals pinned to the walls, and the star of the show: the 'desk of inspiration' right in the middle of the room missing its artist to paint the blank canvas sitting on top.

And as if the desk had chosen her, April headed over and sat on the stool. She stared at the canvas, hearing whispers take place in her subconscious. Each whisper told a different tale, and it grew so hard to distinct who was telling what, but soon the story became clear: she had no choice but to narrate it. Then she looked back towards the half-used paint bottles, the old dirty paint brushes, and the color-vomit splotched palette. Like a robot following its programmed orders, she grabbed the first paintbrush she gazed upon. . .

***

"April, sweetheart! I'm home!"

At the sound of her father's voice, April's fingers twitched. Her shoulders stirred. She lifted her head in a groggy manner, squinting at the average-sized figure— her father, she realized—taking off his coat and setting a pizza box down on the table.

"Uh. . . Hi. . ." April was almost astounded by how dry her voice was. And a fact that was even more astounding— what was she doing sitting at the kitchen table when she was supposed to be in bed? How did she even get here? Wait, no. . . don't tell her. . . !

Fuck. . . It happened again! April sunk her head down again and groaned inaudibly. On the bright side, at least she didn't end up in her neighbor's bathtub again blowing bubbles and playing with rubber duckies!

"Were you doing homework and fell asleep?" Her father asked. He had this small smile as if he were to say, ah, look at my daughter! Keeping up with her work like a good student!

April stretched and opened her mouth wide enough to extract a long-stretching yawn. She also noticed she drooled a puddle on the coastal table mat, which she used her sleeve wipe off quickly. "How was work?" She asked, completely avoiding the question.

"Oh, the usual— commanding my squad, completing paperwork, make a few arrests— nothing too interesting."

"Nothing interesting happened to me today either, so, it looks like we're on the same boat."

"You sure? You always have something to report."

"Does the excruciating migraine I had count?"

Her father cringed. "Another one, huh?"

"Yeah," April said dully. "I popped some pills when I got home, but honestly? It would be better if the school actually allowed me to bring my medication with me. Chronic migraines is a clinical condition! I can't control it if I happen to have one randomly."

"I know, sweetie. But teachers can't tell the difference between an aspirin and OxyContin. They have a reputation to uphold."

"That's bullshit."

Her father raised his hands. "I admit, it's not ideal, but it is what it is."

April grumped. So what, teachers wouldn't even be able to tell the difference between ground-up Smarties candy and coke?! It wasn't just 'not ideal', but it was totally fucking unfair.

"I brought home your favorite—" her father pointed out, "—barbecue chicken pizza."

"Sweet! Thanks, Dad."

Her father smiled warmly, until he suddenly frowned. "What's that on your hands? Have you been painting?"

April didn't know what he was talking about until she finally looked at her hands— which were smudged almost entirely with paint stains. "No. . .?" She uttered, confused. How did this get here?

"Alright, well, you should wash up. I'll get changed and then we can eat."

Her father walked away to leave April trying to come up with a conclusion about why her hands looked like she'd been in a game of paint splatter. If she did paint, she would've certainly remembered it.

But then again, she couldn't really remember anything after sleepwalking.

"April? Can you come here, please?" Her father's voice called. It was weird; he sounded slightly concerned.

So April went over to where her father was, who was standing in the doorway of the room at the end of the hall. Now, it wouldn't be such a big deal if April didn't know the room, in question, was her mother's art studio. Well. . . to some degree, anyway. See, her father didn't have the heart to throw away her mother's artwork when she died, so when he and April moved into this apartment years ago, he thought it was a good idea to decorate an empty room with all those unsettling paintings and sketches and art supplies to create a reminiscent of her old art studio. April knew this sounded mean, but she honestly wanted nothing to do with that creepy shit. That room had more of a haunted ring to it than a paranormal investigator's collection of cursed artifacts, but even though her mother fell off the rails a long time ago, April knew her father still held a candle for his wife. Still, she couldn't stand being in that room and she made sure to let her dad know since day one of moving here.

"Dad? What are you looking at?" Her dad didn't believe in ghosts and other stuff belonging in the category of paranormal, so highly unlikely it was that, but it got him so spooked that he simply pointed ahead.

April decided to see for herself. She gently squeezed her way in through the not-big-enough-for-two-people doorframe and beheld the view in front of her. The blank canvas that had remained untouched had now been painted over to resemble a breathtaking scenery that looked straight out of a real-life crime scene: a lounge study as the background, but the main attraction being the middle-aged man in a limp posture sitting on his leather chair, three bullet holes in his chest seeping blood that looked a little too real; eyes ripped out from its sockets; a dead bird was stuffed in his mouth. Glass shards were scattered across the marble floor. But the eerie part was that April had a feeling this wasn't a nobody, that she recognized him from somewhere. Why did he look so familiar?

Then she took a closer look. There was a signed date in the bottom left corner, but instead of today's date, it had another that had April's stomach squirming like a bucket of worms— 10.31.16.

"April?" Her father croaked. "Why did you paint mayoral candidate Cooper Ashworth?"