What's Wrong With Us?

A new morning dawned at school, the hallways buzzing with the clatter of lockers and the  hum of conversation. Students drifted past tight-knit clusters, bags slung over their shoulders, while the faint scent of breakfast hung in the air. Laughter rippled through the corridors, lighting the day with warmth.

In Class 2.0, the desks were anything but neat. Guitars and ukuleles strummed familiar chords, fingers drummed rhythms on desktops like heartbeats, and a half-chaotic chorus belted out "505" by Arctic Monkeys. The room throbbed with raw, chaotic energy.

In the middle of it, Archer leaned toward Mackenzie, his voice barely audible beneath the music. She tilted her head, catching the edges of his words.

"I still can't believe there are rumors about me..." she muttered, biting her nails. Scary. Weird. The words still echoed in her head, sharper than she'd admit—especially coming from Loxley, of all people.

Arch leaned back with a laugh. "Saw it coming, honestly. You've got that vibe."

Macky shot him a glare, the kind that could kill a plant. "Wow. So supportive."

"She's got a vibe, yeah," Basilio added, her slight Filipino accent softening the blow. "When you went off on that girl? It was like your eyes went black, girl. Possession level."

Macky turned toward her, lips tugging somewhere between a scowl and a smirk. From the side, Kamaria smirked and flicked her chin toward Celestia. Macky followed her gaze—Celest was fully immersed in the singalong, completely unaware she was the center of gravity. Just like that, the knot in Macky's chest loosened. She smiled, despite herself.

The four of them kept talking, their voices threading into the music, when a sharp throat-clear sliced through the chaos. Mr. Jacob had entered the room.

Everything stopped.

Students scrambled to stash instruments, chairs screeched against the floor, and the air shifted from carefree to caught-red-handed.

"Good morning, Mr. Jake!" they chorused, rising in eerie, almost military unison. Too perfect. Too practiced.

"Morning, everyone," Mr. Jacob replied, calm as ever, walking to his desk. He set down his laptop and added, "Sorry I'm late—quick meeting with the other teachers."

Before the room could settle, a voice rang out from the back, deep and loud: "It's okay, Sir Jakey!"

The boys in the back burst into grins. Mr. Jacob paused mid-motion, his lips twitching toward a smile before shaking his head, pretending not to enjoy it.

Mr. Jacob began writing on the whiteboard, the marker squeaking as he listed the Student Officer positions: Class President, Vice President, the whole lineup. He turned to face the room, eyebrows raised.

"We teachers talked," he said. "It's time to vote on who's taking these roles. Let's keep it real—no joke nominations."

His eyes swept the classroom. A few students squirmed, fingers laced in anticipation, silent prayers etched across their faces: Please not me. With a smile, Mr. Jacob scribbled the last few titles.

"Alright," he said, capping the marker. "Who wants to run for Class President? Or nominate someone?"

Ria's hand shot up so fast her pencil case nearly toppled. She spun around in her seat, shooting a glance at Arch behind her, grin stretching wide.

"I nominate Archer!" she announced, her voice bright with mischief.

Mr. Jacob looked over at Archer, lifting a brow. "That cool with you, Mr. Wright?"