The morning air was crisp as Lottie stepped into the school courtyard, the pale sweep of blue overhead holding a strange, taut quiet, sunlight gilding the edges of the old brick walls. She inhaled sharply, the cold air catching at the back of her throat, grounding her with its clean bite. Her phone buzzed relentlessly in her pocket, each vibration like a quiet drumbeat against her hip, but she didn't need to look. She already knew.
The moment she reached the front doors, she slipped into the shadows of the entryway and drew out her phone.
110 unread notifications.
Her lips curved—not quite a smile, more the ghost of one, sharp at the edges. A breath slipped through her teeth, fogging faintly in the cold as she unlocked the screen. With a few precise taps, she uploaded the video she'd filmed at dawn—the camera fixed, her hands working steadily through each problem, narrating the solutions in a calm, unshakable voice. She remembered the feeling of the pencil between her fingers, the scratch of graphite on paper, the pulse beating hard in her throat as she fought to keep her voice steady.
The screen lit up with comments before the upload even finished buffering.
"Wait… she really knows her stuff."
"This is next-level."
"Okay, Evelyn's camp has some explaining to do."
The rush of satisfaction was sharp and clean, slicing through the exhaustion humming beneath her skin. But Lottie tempered it, dragging in a quiet, measured breath as she slid the phone away, her fingers brushing the cool metal zipper of her bag, grounding herself against the faint tremble still lurking in her muscles.
Inside, the school felt different.
As she crossed the threshold, whispers rippled through the hallway. A girl paused by the lockers, phone half-raised, her gaze flickering from screen to Lottie and back again. A group of boys huddled near the water fountain fell silent as she passed, their eyes wide, glances darting between each other like sparks catching dry grass.
Lottie kept her stride smooth, deliberate—the whisper of her shoes against the polished floor the only sound she let herself focus on. The beat of her heart thrummed steady in her ears, her fingers flexing faintly against the strap of her bag. She passed Amy near the stairwell, the girl's head ducked low, hands clenched around her phone like it was a lifeline unraveling.
Their eyes met for the briefest heartbeat.
Amy's mouth twitched—half-apology, half-plea—but Lottie looked away first, a flick of lashes, a turn of the shoulder, as if Amy were nothing more than background noise in a storm she had already outgrown. Beneath the practiced calm, a tiny pulse of hurt sparked in her chest, swift and fleeting, but she swallowed it down before it could bloom.
At the far end of the hall, Leo leaned casually against the lockers, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other idly tapping his phone. His gaze flicked up as she approached, a brief quirk of his mouth tugging at one corner, dark eyes flickering with an amused glint.
"Didn't think you'd actually post the video," he murmured as she neared, voice pitched low beneath the hallway buzz.
Lottie gave him a sidelong glance, the faintest arch to her brow. "I'm full of surprises."
His smirk deepened, slow and easy, but his gaze sharpened as it swept the hall behind her, noting every turned head, every stifled whisper. "You've got them rattled." His voice dropped, softer now. "Especially her."
Lottie's fingers brushed the zipper pull again, a pulse ticking hard in her throat. "Good."
The air shifted as the bell rang, the sudden swell of movement crashing over them like a wave. As students surged toward classrooms, Lottie felt a dozen eyes brush against her skin, prickling sharp as thorns. She let her chin lift fractionally higher, shoulders pulling back, spine drawing long and straight.
In the staff room, the teachers murmured, voices hushed, sentences unfinished, heads tilted toward computer screens displaying the very forums where Lottie's name now blazed like a matchstrike in the dark. She caught a glimpse through the cracked door as she passed: Ms. Parker's brow furrowed, Mr. Hartley tapping thoughtfully at his tablet, eyes flicking up as though sensing her just beyond the frame.
Evelyn sat three rows ahead in homeroom, posture impeccable, phone resting delicately atop her desk. From behind, Lottie watched the stiff line of her shoulders, the precise tilt of her head, the way her fingers hovered just a fraction too long over the screen. The perfect image—but Lottie saw the hairline fractures, the fine, splintering lines spidering beneath the surface.
A thrill curled in her chest—sweet, sharp, addictive—but she crushed it ruthlessly beneath the heel of control.
The morning passed in a blur of shifting glances, half-heard whispers, a classroom energy wound tight as a wire. Lottie felt it in the twitch of notebooks turning a beat too slow, the dart of eyes across the room, the way even Ms. Parker's voice faltered slightly when calling attendance. A pen slipped from someone's fingers at the next table with a clatter that rang too loud, making her pulse spike for half a second before she forced her breath out slow, steady, through her nose.
By midday, the forum had exploded.
"She dismantled everything."
"Can we get her in student council already?"
"Evelyn's been too quiet today, hmm…"
Lottie scrolled through during lunch, one hand curled around a bottle of water, condensation dampening her fingers, cold seeping up her wrist in slow, aching pulses. She twisted the cap absentmindedly, the crack of plastic sharp in her ears. Her throat was dry, but the taste of victory on her tongue was enough to swallow.
A new comment blinked into view.
Amy:I'm sorry, Lottie. Truly.
Her thumb hovered, a flicker of something unnameable scraping at the edges of her chest. A thin ache, almost fragile, shivered just beneath her ribs. For a heartbeat, she considered replying. Then her phone vibrated again.
Leo:Told you. Stay sharp.
She smiled, small and private, the kind of smile that felt like slipping a dagger into a velvet sheath. Her shoulders relaxed by a fraction, the knot between her shoulder blades easing just enough to draw a slow, measured breath.
Across the cafeteria, Evelyn sat with her usual circle—perfect posture, perfect laughter, perfect stillness. But Lottie saw it—the too-tight grip on the edge of her tray, the way her smile pinched at the corners, the faintest flicker of her gaze sweeping the room like a searchlight. She watched the tension coil in Evelyn's wrist as she lifted her water glass, the delicate clink against her ring louder than it should've been.
Lottie leaned back slightly, letting her head tilt as if in thought, fingers tapping a quiet rhythm on the table's edge. She could feel the heat of Evelyn's attention brush against her skin, light as a moth's wing, sharp as a thorn.
The quiet murmur of the cafeteria pressed in: the scrape of chairs, the hush of laughter, the soft clatter of trays. Lottie caught snippets of conversation as they drifted by.
"Did you see the comments? She's on fire."
"I mean, Evelyn's cool, but… that was brutal."
"Lottie Hayes just became the most dangerous girl in school."
In the last period, Mr. Hartley paused halfway through the lesson, clearing his throat as his gaze flickered toward Lottie.
"Excellent work on the problem breakdown video," he said lightly, his eyes crinkling just slightly. "Shows real initiative."
A flush crept up Lottie's neck, heat prickling beneath her collar, but she dipped her chin, murmuring a soft, "Thank you," and let the faint ripple of surprise that passed through the class settle like silk over her skin. A recalibration of the room, delicate as the shift of light across glass.
Outside, the sky had deepened into the muted blue of late afternoon when Lottie slipped into the quiet of the library. The walls smelled of old paper and faint lavender polish, the hush so complete it wrapped around her like a second skin. She sank into a chair by the window, the last rays of sunlight threading gold through her hair, the hush of the room a balm against the frantic rhythm still thrumming under her skin.
She checked her phone one last time.
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Top Comment:"Truth cuts deeper than rumors."
Her throat tightened unexpectedly. For a moment, the cold mask slipped, just a fraction—the quiet ache of having clawed her way back from the edge with nothing but grit and precision to hold her upright.
Then, just as swiftly, it was gone.
As she turned the screen off, a final notification flared.
Unknown:Don't get too comfortable.
The words carved a cold line down her spine. Lottie's fingers brushed lightly over the glass, the faint warmth of the screen a delicate, shivering echo against her skin.
The weight of the room pressed in: the muted hush, the faint rustle of pages, the almost inaudible shift of footsteps behind the shelves. She drew in a slow, steady breath, eyes closing for the briefest second, pulse ticking slow and deliberate in her throat.
She wasn't done. Not even close.
Outside, the hallway waited—alive with whispers, with glances, with promises.
Lottie opened her eyes, the steel sliding back into place behind her gaze, and rose.